Saturday, May 3, 2008
New Horizons: Seattle
Yesterday my neighbor Damien brought home a waif like heroin junkie. I called him from my side of the duplex and he said, "Why don't you get over here."
I went over to his side and there she was, very thin, but attractive. She had dark features and was half Puerto Rican. On the corner of her mouth was a giant hepatitis sore. She monopolized the computer, bending over the keyboard with her small nearly emaciated bottom pressing close to my crotch, fully aware of her space and where her extremities where directed. Her body was like a twelve year old girl's, but her personality was fully developed.
She insistently showed us videos on youtube and myspace. She had a slide show on myspace showing pictures of her when she was healthier and more filled out. Some of them featured her in self made Star Wars costumes, including a Princess Lea Jabba slave bikini. Geeks have been getting sexier by the year and after my first few episodes of Attack of The Show on G4 network I was hip to the talent pool of fandom, and this young aficionado of all things Force reiterated nerd potential for me. Too bad I am more Folk Life Festival than Sci Fi Con. There is just too much of a rift between nature and pop culture, but I have learned not to typecast myself that way. One never knows who is waiting in the wings to share the stage of life.
Our new friend was a charmer to no end. She played music on the computer and danced a little in her seat and on the kitchen floor and was just adorable all around. My captain save-a-ho instincts were seething through my brain. I wanted to take her under my wing and nurture her, to spoon her...to fork her.
It is a very primal thing, the attraction between man and downtrodden prostitute. Who can blame Jesus for loving Mary Magdalene? I once tried to write a song called Fragile Dolls. It was great in theory but never got past the title. I wanted to sing about how the toughest, most street smartest chicas are also the ones who have experienced the darkest life has to offer, lived to tell the tale, broken, and how it is all part of their mystique and appeal.
Against my better judgement I drove her down to Bell Town to get her fix. On the way there I gave her, in only so many words, the basic "you're way to hot to be fucked up on that shit" lecture. The unfairness of life was not lost on me, there, in the car, saddened at beauty gone to waste. I mean, she could be doing more productive things with her time, like breeding for crying out loud. No, she was more than just a good pair of genes. She could tailor her own jeans and that means she would make a great partner in crime. But what was unfair is that had she been homely the conditions of her despair, and no one can claim this young woman was not in despair, would have seemed more fitting.
She proclaimed that she was unhappy sober, and she cried. I couldn't tell if it was a fake cry. Women will fake an orgasm and they can fake tears, sometimes both at the same time if they really have game. And who can blame them. They are faced with a bottomless well of douche bags in the world. Too bad I don't have time to get to all the girls. Because I'm superman.
"I'm not superman." I told her.
"I know, I know," she said.
When she spoke she spoke in flail speak, street language that was up tempo, full of double entendres and ambiguity and far too abstract to recreate here. I could understand her but not comprehend her when she asserted nothing and stated vague fleeting facts. Do I surround myself with these types of people to fill some void? Is it that I want to feel sane by being immersed in crazy geniuses or that I just feel like I can be myself, unjudged and content?
I didn't have the time or resources to sponsor a junkie, even if she did treat me like her savior and share my bed. It's a good way to ruin a career, getting involved with a woman. Guys who through nepotism or luck manage to have a torrid love affair while simultaneously amassing their fortune are few and far between. Any guy who still excuses his infatuations with interesting women, women who by default and sheer charisma demand attention will often point to those lucky blokes who balance money and vagina. But the examples given as evidence are often older more traditional men who had traditional women. The modern relationship is a different breed entirely, taking the form of a friendship rather than a top down male lead bureaucracy, a model which if possessing few good qualities is at least conducive to the cut throat and dominative world of capitalism and business . If a guy like myself happens to fall in love with a modern woman who is not as driven or ambitious in similar artistic and creative fields as I, I'm bogged down, and my time is diverted, enslaved by the fascinating layers of a woman while my career potential fades. That would be tragic, because I have a lot of potential, and realizing that potential would open up my access to more interesting and creative women.
Before I dropped her off, she asked for my number, cute as a button. I gave her my acting business card with my picture on it. That way she can remember my name and face combined.
I went home and waited for her to call. I felt like a puppy but didn't sleep like one.
Posted by Author Gabriel Land at 9:26 AM