Pico de Orizaba

Pico de Orizaba
Taken from Huatusco, Veracruz, the closest town to Margarita's family's ranch.

Friday, April 26, 2013

Joey... Illusions, Fantasies, Realities and enigmas... Part ?


Now what does that mean?  :-)  

The other day, a woman passed by our coffee bar wearing a sun dress I remember Joey had worn years ago.   It's interesting how little things can bring back little chunks of our past....

It wasn't the first time a stranger has caused the reflection towards Joey...  Sometimes it's a facial structure; the shape of the eyes, eyebrows, forehead and bridge of the nose.  I have the urge towards asking the person "when is your birthday?" imagining their response being June 27th... Other times it is the person's hair...  This time it was her sundress...  I imagined Joey's chest just below her shoulders and neck.  

Fantasies... Illusions.  What percentage of our lives and relationships is based upon the truly unreal?  

But who wants to live outside of a Hollywood, Disney or Randomhouse fantasy?

What do you want to know about Joey?  However, anything I could say about her would be an illusion or an alusion towards someone I may have thought I knew...  Who am I?  But maybe you don't truly want to know...  We only want ficcion and distraction and entertainment.


Sometimes (I imagine most of the time) I believe I will write about her.  But today I believe that would be unfair. how can you write about someone whom you never truly knew? Yes, she lived with me from just after 9/11 until somewhere around July the following year.  However, I imagine she was an enigma, just as I believe I was to myself. 

Nor have I written about those 5 years between Randi and leaving for Mexico.  That has become an enigma to me.   My 5 years as an "artist" in NYC.  In a strange way, I'm more an artist today in  Mexico than I was in New York.  In New York I was more a strangely fortunate vagrant... In ways I'm sure I wasn't so different from Basquiat; possibly less crazy; possibly less wild.  But, being that who I was then is an enigma to me now, I couldn't tell you the true truth.  

I miss New York.  I relish the few remaining memories.  I miss some of the wild experiences; the intense illusions and the intense fantasies; the paradox of the life lived as both fantasy and reality at the same time.

Joey was this experience of simultaneous illusion and reality.  But where do you go with that?

I think about "what if we were to meet again?"  That's the strange fantasy.  But, the question is always answered by reality.   There is a long pause until the following triggering of thoughts about Joey and the illusion or fantasy askes the question again, only to be answered by reality.  What is reality?

We can live reality and fantasy simultaneously.  It's the fantasy that prolongs the relationship... if the relationship will not work...  

What is Joey doing today?  In a city of 9 million inhabitants in a world of almost 7 billion, I imagine that it doesn't really matter.  But, for some strange reason, she exists within my mind, although I haven't seen her for coming on 11 years now.  

Do you remember when I recited a poem to which you danced?  But who were those people who invited us to join them?  How did we know them?  Where did we meet them?  And did we see them again?  That was real.  And I imagine it was incredibly stimulating.  Maybe it could have led to something...  But it didn't.  I guess because you and I were meant to explode apart; I was meant to leave for Mexico and marry Margarita and become a much "better" person...  


But why think about you?  if we aren't meant to start up the conversation again, if we weren't meant to see each other? And, what would happen if that suddenly became an option?  Don't get me wrong.  I don't see why either of us would truly want that.  I'm just thinking.

There was something else... In how you appeared in my life... in your role in my not becoming ill... in the surgery...  Reality; you were my last ejaculation.  It's one of those memories that don't fade...  The most visual one was lying on your mattress on your floor in the far East Harlem... I remember your window.  When I think of that evening I see the track a few blocks down...  I don't know why...  My last ejaculation.  Sounds crude.  But it truly isn't.  You made it easier for me to go to the hospital, to see the doctors to have the horrible examinations to have the surgery...  And then I lost my ability to ejaculate.  It means a lot.  It's very personal.  Could be symbolic.  But it is real.  

I think about why you wouldn't forgive me. Many reasons.  And it doesn't really matter the spiritual  connection.  For at least 10 years since you left NYC for Denver, I thought it was the spiritual connection between you and I that you should remember.  But,   it's not true.  It's the lived experience that matters too...  An assassin could be spiritual connected to me because he or she was part of my destiny, my learning experience or what  must remove me from this life.  I guess I wouldn't want to meet them again.  And I wouldn't want to meet again many aspects of me those 1.5 years we were together...  

Illusions, fantasies, enigmas, difficult realities...  we were beautiful for a moment.  But just a moment... More than a few seconds or minutes or days.  But quickly reality changed the fantasy, the illusion...  We were laying on your bed naked and you brought me to orgasm and I ejaculated all the way to my chest... And that's my last ejaculation memory.  At least six months later I asked you to do that for me at Mount Sinai Hospital, because I knew something had changed between my legs after the surgery.  But, I figured you could stimulate me enough to see if I was correct.  And that was that.  

At times we slept all day in your bed.  We had so much time.  Probably because we truly had so little time.

The other day Margarita noticed a small scar on my left testical and asked me about it.  I told her that I had had surgery for hernia when I was 5.  And she responded a few days later, "ya know what?  I imagine you've never impregnated a woman because you never could; There were at least two cases in my ranch where the child had surgery on his testicals for hernia and later on as an adult he wasn't able to impregnate a woman..."  Who knows?  The history changes the experience; the perspective of the history changes the experience.  Maybe it wasn't the last surgery that made my incapable of impregnating Margarita.  Maybe it doesn't really matter that nothing comes out.  It doesn't matter to her.  She appreciates/enjoys me just the same.

Sounds strange.  Are you embarrassed?  Are you ashamed of me (reader) for sharing such personal information...?  But, almost half of the world's population must ejaculate for a few decades of their life.  And almost the other half of the world's population wants/expects them to ejaculate.  Without the ejaculation...  There are many answers.  And all of them are incredibly logical.  You shouldn't feel offended.   The church, the synogogue, the mosque should consider the act of ejaculating a beautiful event, since they believs that sperm is sacred since it is the only way of continuing the "race"... so why not talk about it?  And afterall, that memory with Joey was incredibly beautiful.  In as wonderful is my marriage with Margarita, I can't have that wonderful experience with her, which makes me sad.

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