oh, man, it appears that this post of mine got unearthed, so let me recommend a narrative (because, well, that’s my thing now, apparently) that serves as… let’s say an antidote for this way of thinking, namely: tuca & bertie’s most recent season (it got revived after getting axed by netflix, in case you haven’t heard!), which explicitly featured the haunted house analogy in its premiere episode, which is available on youtube in its entirety (!)
(spoiler alert: bertie might feel like a haunted house some (well, most) of the time, but that’s okay, actually. her fiancee is an architect obsessed with fixer-uppers, her best friend loves creepy stuff, so they don’t even mind. they still love her, even when she’s being her supernaturally-infested-and-falling-apart self)
also, do read the entire article! it features some good advice, but then again: ask polly is consistently great. i would highly recommend reading her (that is to say, heather havrilesky’s) books, too!
oh, man, it appears that this post of mine got unearthed, so let me recommend a narrative (because, well, that’s my thing now, apparently) that serves as… let’s say an antidote for this way of thinking, namely: tuca & bertie’s most recent season (it got revived after getting axed by netflix, in case you haven’t heard!), which explicitly featured the haunted house analogy in its premiere episode, which is available on youtube in its entirety (!)
(spoiler alert: bertie might feel like a haunted house some (well, most) of the time, but that’s okay, actually. her fiancee is an architect obsessed with fixer-uppers, her best friend loves creepy stuff, so they don’t even mind. they still love her, even when she’s being her supernaturally-infested-and-falling-apart self)
also, do read the entire article! it features some good advice, but then again: ask polly is consistently great. i would highly recommend reading her (that is to say, heather havrilesky’s) books, too!
Fuck, man. I’ve really got Shame on the brain since reading the script.
You seen this movie?
I don’t want to be one of those people, but I’ll tell you about the one scene. Brandon (Fassbender) and his lady friend Marianne (Beharie) are in a nice-looking hotel room. There are wide views of the harbor and East River or something. This is one of those scenes where they’re undressing and in mid-dishevelment, breathing heavily, with no music at all to ruin it. It’s a good scene. What you realize, though, is that there’s a bit of hesitance. An awkward laugh. Brandon’s got her on the bed and she’s beautiful, of course, so you figure he’s about to really fuck her like he’s fucked every other woman he’s been with since the start of the film. He’s struggling and reaching for his dick and eventually so’s she, but nothing happens. He finally gives up and walks away, leaving her to commence what would have been the post-coital replacement of bra and slinky top. She looks hesitant and unsure. It’s a moment that makes you want to hold her and tell her you’re sorry, it’s not her fault.
“You know, it’s cool,” she says. “It’s okay. Should I go?”
“Sure.”
A few scenes later Brandon is fucking a prostitute up against the window of the same hotel room.
This isn’t about why he couldn’t get it up for Marianne. You’ll have to watch the movie to put that all together. What’s on my mind is that minute when you’ve got her there, and she’s beautiful and breathing hard for you and reaching for you because you’re there, God, you’re there and so’s she and you shouldn’t be thinking at all. Instinct and experience ought to take over. Still, you can’t go through with it. Something fails to trigger in your brain.
You is me, of course. I don’t expect you to really know. The telling here is just an idea of what this is about.
It’s about this one time when I failed to get into the moment. It was a night with someone new who I didn’t feel anything toward. A date for the sake of a date, as is sometimes the case. She was going down on me and I couldn’t stay erect. It might have been the steering wheel in the way and the awkward position, my disinterest, or the fact that I didn’t really know anything about her. I’d performed admirably with new girls before so I couldn’t believe that. There was my minimal sexual contact in the period before then. It was a betrayal by a girl, which I’d tried to get over by ignoring the fairer sex altogether for several years.
The most likely wall, I suspect, was that the girl in my car wasn’t who I wanted. I was too preoccupied with what might have been with someone else.
Preoccupations, obsessions. These are the things that cause a main to fail.
(I think it was Elia Kazan who talked about a person’s ability to cope with decisions. In his case, he’d heard about a friend of his who’d testified for HUAC and became completely impotent afterward. This concerned Kazan, naturally. The first thing he did was go out and have sex. This is how he knew he’d made the right decision. In spite of all the shit he’d gone through, he could still get it up.)
There were few words with that girl. On the phone, at dinner. She wasn’t very interesting. I was tempted to tell her to call herself by a different name when I had my hand on her head. I mostly groaned. Eventually, she took my dick in her hand and finished me off with my head in her mouth. She opened the door and spit into the gutter.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded and smiled. “Yes. Was it good?”
“Of course it was.”
I kissed her. I was certain we’d never speak again.
I haven’t had this sort of problem since.
Fuck, man. I’ve really got Shame on the brain since reading the script.
You seen this movie?
I don’t want to be one of those people, but I’ll tell you about the one scene. Brandon (Fassbender) and his lady friend Marianne (Beharie) are in a nice-looking hotel room. There are wide views of the harbor and East River or something. This is one of those scenes where they’re undressing and in mid-dishevelment, breathing heavily, with no music at all to ruin it. It’s a good scene. What you realize, though, is that there’s a bit of hesitance. An awkward laugh. Brandon’s got her on the bed and she’s beautiful, of course, so you figure he’s about to really fuck her like he’s fucked every other woman he’s been with since the start of the film. He’s struggling and reaching for his dick and eventually so’s she, but nothing happens. He finally gives up and walks away, leaving her to commence what would have been the post-coital replacement of bra and slinky top. She looks hesitant and unsure. It’s a moment that makes you want to hold her and tell her you’re sorry, it’s not her fault.
“You know, it’s cool,” she says. “It’s okay. Should I go?”
“Sure.”
A few scenes later Brandon is fucking a prostitute up against the window of the same hotel room.
This isn’t about why he couldn’t get it up for Marianne. You’ll have to watch the movie to put that all together. What’s on my mind is that minute when you’ve got her there, and she’s beautiful and breathing hard for you and reaching for you because you’re there, God, you’re there and so’s she and you shouldn’t be thinking at all. Instinct and experience ought to take over. Still, you can’t go through with it. Something fails to trigger in your brain.
You is me, of course. I don’t expect you to really know. The telling here is just an idea of what this is about.
It’s about this one time when I failed to get into the moment. It was a night with someone new who I didn’t feel anything toward. A date for the sake of a date, as is sometimes the case. She was going down on me and I couldn’t stay erect. It might have been the steering wheel in the way and the awkward position, my disinterest, or the fact that I didn’t really know anything about her. I’d performed admirably with new girls before so I couldn’t believe that. There was my minimal sexual contact in the period before then. It was a betrayal by a girl, which I’d tried to get over by ignoring the fairer sex altogether for several years.
The most likely wall, I suspect, was that the girl in my car wasn’t who I wanted. I was too preoccupied with what might have been with someone else.
Preoccupations, obsessions. These are the things that cause a main to fail.
(I think it was Elia Kazan who talked about a person’s ability to cope with decisions. In his case, he’d heard about a friend of his who’d testified for HUAC and became completely impotent afterward. This concerned Kazan, naturally. The first thing he did was go out and have sex. This is how he knew he’d made the right decision. In spite of all the shit he’d gone through, he could still get it up.)
There were few words with that girl. On the phone, at dinner. She wasn’t very interesting. I was tempted to tell her to call herself by a different name when I had my hand on her head. I mostly groaned. Eventually, she took my dick in her hand and finished me off with my head in her mouth. She opened the door and spit into the gutter.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded and smiled. “Yes. Was it good?”
“Of course it was.”
I kissed her. I was certain we’d never speak again.
I haven’t had this sort of problem since.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62nelnMXW3M
I was sitting on the toilet. Not thinking. I’d closed the door so I could be in the dark for a bit. The heater was blowing. I didn’t feel the blood dripping from my nose. When I turned on the light I could see the drops splattered on the tile. It’d run into my moustache. Warm and thick. I moved my tongue up to lick the blood as I looked into the mirror. Inside it.
Shame was something I heard about only a couple of times. Another new thing to know, alright. It made me think of Kelly and our first night out to see Drive. It made me think of the times I’d wanted to sit and watch a movie at home with Brianna. All of it, just a few months ago. A few seasons.
I turned on my phone last night while I toked on the balcony, standing among a nice layer of rotting leaves. One text message from my boss asking if I’d sent the videos and screenshots to the producer. One from my mother informing me that my grandfather had died. Ninety-some years old. My father had flown down for the funeral. I didn’t think much of his death. I worried more about my grandmother and father. The near fifteen siblings of his. This would hit them hard. Ninety-some years old. Dead. I ignored the voice messages and turned it off.
I watched the Shame trailer this morning. The way he glanced at thighs and asses. The way he looked at women. It was like, yes. Not what I’m sure the ending will be about, but before that. Just wanting to fuck someone. Wanting someone to be inside of. Pleasurable escape.
Catch a breath.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62nelnMXW3M
I was sitting on the toilet. Not thinking. I’d closed the door so I could be in the dark for a bit. The heater was blowing. I didn’t feel the blood dripping from my nose. When I turned on the light I could see the drops splattered on the tile. It’d run into my moustache. Warm and thick. I moved my tongue up to lick the blood as I looked into the mirror. Inside it.
Shame was something I heard about only a couple of times. Another new thing to know, alright. It made me think of Kelly and our first night out to see Drive. It made me think of the times I’d wanted to sit and watch a movie at home with Brianna. All of it, just a few months ago. A few seasons.
I turned on my phone last night while I toked on the balcony, standing among a nice layer of rotting leaves. One text message from my boss asking if I’d sent the videos and screenshots to the producer. One from my mother informing me that my grandfather had died. Ninety-some years old. My father had flown down for the funeral. I didn’t think much of his death. I worried more about my grandmother and father. The near fifteen siblings of his. This would hit them hard. Ninety-some years old. Dead. I ignored the voice messages and turned it off.
I watched the Shame trailer this morning. The way he glanced at thighs and asses. The way he looked at women. It was like, yes. Not what I’m sure the ending will be about, but before that. Just wanting to fuck someone. Wanting someone to be inside of. Pleasurable escape.
