5.23.2006

Fiction Writer+Court Stenographer=Milkshake

It has been brought to my attention [by Mindy] that when writing a novel, your best girlfriend will probably get pissed if you create a character based on her combined with a girl you both hate. Okay--I'M SORRY--but when it's all done, and you read it and it subsequently makes you cry with it's subtle blend of poignancy and sarcasm, you'll know that it was worth it. I'm telling you, THE CAKE [title] ESSAY IS AMAZING. Already. And it's not even done. By amazing I mean that I am in love with it, and am reminded of the hard-fast-yet-still-on-going-and-only-slightly-waning love affair that I have had with The Curse of Great Beauty. Tits.
On a side note--note how easily I can say I'm in love with an essay. And actually mean it.

I wanted to take this time to remind everyone what inspired Cake: A birthday wish list, a fragment of one of Davey's posts, and my subsequent response. I can't believe it's been so long--but this story finally found it's own ending. Finally, fuckers. Finally, finally.

10.28.05--
Also, my birthday is tomorrow. Here is my wishlist, as commented on RCU's blog.

Wish list:
1. Hold Samantha in my arms. For reals, not while asleep.
2. Anderson will never come back from Hawaii to make fun of my relationship with my wife.
3. That saturday wil herald a new era of wellbeing for all, but especially me. Like in SK's 2010.
4. Cake.
--M


10.31.05
Wish list recap:

1. Hold Samantha in my arms. For reals, not while asleep.
I woke up on the morning of the 30th, hungover and dissalusioned. I bought a plane ticket. I leave tomarrow. I will be holding Samantha in my arms by 6pm on Tuesday the first.
2. Anderson will never come back from Hawaii to make fun of my relationship with my wife.
Well, I definitely get at least another week away from him, as I'll be in Seattle, and I doubt he'll ever try me again on that front. He's way to scared.
3. That saturday will herald a new era of wellbeing for all, but especially me. Like in SK's 2010.
I will be well very soon, as I am very, very sick. So, when I get better, it will technically be a new era of wellbeing. Specifically for me.
4. Cake.
Found a box in a cab yesterday containing exactly three slices of cake. It also happened to be the cab drivers birthday. We ate the cake (YES!).


11.21.05--[David Joseph Hodson]
As one want, or cause for longing is filled, the next one emerges, until we come to the bottom. the bottom is the trickiest, as it, at least in my messy world, is truly a longing to reconnect with yourself, or the God within you (which is almost heritic to talk about now days, but I'm being literal with the phrase "we are children of God" and "we are made in God's image". Add it up. as children, we carry it with us, as truly we are not apart), and once that occurs, there is nothing left to long for. the rest is just details, the small stuff. at least that's the theory i'm rocking. And really, this whole explanation is so not necessary. I'm just getting tired of people throwing rocks at my glass house when they don't even glimpse the true floorplan, let alone walk through it. that and i think people see my poetry as a lot more surface than it is. Yeah, i'm superficial at times, but hell... there is always another level.

Wu Tang is for the children.


and finally...

11.22.05
miranda moure said...
You are consistent, once more, (don't give me the repetative lecture...) in reading my mind. I was just posting about this [Good On Paper]--this idea of longing, what should be valid about which are the things that at the end of days are requited or no.

It's our glass houses, our floorplans, our gods, our cake. It's our real cake, our metaphorical cake, it's the vanilla and chocolate and yellow cakes that we have or have not or eat them or discard them. And what the fuck? where is all this goddamned cake and what the fuck does it look like? And why am I constantly longing after the preservative-filled-pre-packaged-twinkie-type cakes offn this world, and why am I satisfied with eating only this one crappy variety?

I want Tiramiseau. I want German Chocolate. I may not even have to eat it, but one day goddamnit I'll at least recognize it.

May cake help us all.
--M


from Cake:
Rule #12: When Karma kicks your ass you must make amends, so I called Jonathan later that night.

“Was I really terrible? I mean to you and John. Was I really bad?”
“Oh, Miranda, are we still on this? Look, I miss you and I’d like to catch up, you know? We don’t have to talk about this anymore.” He had tried to assure me before I left that everything was cool. John was cool with it. Friendly. Casual.
I am crying now and I am desperately trying to explain the rules. The consequences. That everything must come back around. That I hoped better for him. Hoped I had been worth it, that the Cake was that good.
“What’s going on?” I have never told Jonathan much about San Francisco, and now he’s confused.
“I miss you. I’m having a really hard day. It’s like Cake, you know? Our rules, our floor plans. Apparently our glass houses. Our Cake.”
It is loud on his end of the line, there are people in the background, someone laughing, someone else talking. The buzz of the crowd is making the connection sound fuzzy, but I can still barely make out that someone in the background is asking him who he is on the line with. He replies to them that it is Miranda. That is me, and I am crying because I have lost my Cake. All of it.
“What are you fucking talking about? Cake? Are you sure you shouldn’t be talking to Sam about this? This seems like a Sam issue.”
He is right. This is a Samantha issue, but I can’t call Sam, because I need to keep looking for my Cake and she will tell me that I don’t deserve it. She would be right.


--M

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