Leaving on a Jet Plane

(For an air ticket cheaper than the associated taxes and

airport fees added to it, one can shuttle about Europe on

carriers with names such as EasyJet, Ryan Air,

German Wings, and my personal favorite Wizz Air)

What is it about an airport that compels me to write? Maybe it’s the seemingly endless amount of material to observe, analyze and emotionally process. Here are two such musings captured at the Frankfurt Airport waiting to fly to Warsaw, Poland……

At the Airport
7.1.05

Inside the terminal, bright lights reflect off shinny, waxed floors illuminating the scene
The eyes of the hurried multitudes furtively moving about racing, searching, keeping pace with their feet
Lives full of anxiety and fear are exposed here amongst the ever-present confusion and agitation of travel
What we’re taught to repress is allowed here, released
Normal, free to be in transition, change, uncertainty

Here I’m at my calmest, my solitude glowing about me, angelic, omnipotent
Within the movement of eyes a meeting can occur, a blink, humanity connects for an instant and is then gone
In this way thousands of worlds diverge that would never have met otherwise, outward trappings observed, anonymity removed
We are all untied in this struggle to see, to understand, to know

I move about effortlessly as possible, I do not want to disturb this chaotic perfection

I offer an elderly couple my seat so they can sit next to each other and wait
Wait for the next unexpected surprise, significant life change, heartbreak or ecstasy
We are all crammed close in that waiting area, so close together, we have no other choice

Rain outside cools the summer heat, the big plate glass is sweating and steamy
Inside it is always warm, charged
Anxiety, boredom, curiosity, indifference, so plainly displayed for all to see in this bright, noisy caldron
Always in motion, the eyes
We must seek
We are contained, trapped, there is nothing else to do

The flight’s boarding is announced
We all rise up purposefully
The one act of perfect orderly synchronicity here
And push towards the gate

Take Off
7.1.05

Click, clack, overhead bins opening then closing welcoming the new arrivals
Waiting to receive their cherished worldly belongings deemed too precious to be stored below

The path is narrow but straight and we are all forced to walk upon it until compulsion, fate, random choice or predermined ticketing dictate that we turn suddenly headed for our soft cushioned destiny
Window or aisle? These are our only real choices for no one wants to sit in the middle unless they must join a loved one
Close, protective, intimate in this open cabin of strangers
Take my hand, my love, we will leave this earth soon

The attendants scurry about herding us like livestock, making sure we conform and don’t stray
Their dog like persistence, gentle, light barks, pushing us unwittingly to where we know we must go
Jackets, bags, water bottles, magazines juggled about with carnival mastery, thrown into the air and then landing exactly where we need them

An infant produces a piercing cry
Short bursts, and just repetitive enough that no one is able to relax
We all repeat that sound inside, over and over, all our lives
As irritating as it might be is it the affirmation of our humanity

A stranger moves past me as I sit in the aisle seat, dark suit brushing up against my leg as he squeezes by to sit in the middle
I curse, my comfort zone removed
His fate is sealed

We are complete and the heavy metallic doors close
During the few long minutes on the tarmac we think a variety of thoughts as countless as the number of places we all have or will go to in our lives
The pilot, our new God, gives his final blessing, “flight crew take your seats for departure”
Engines roar, we are pushed forward and gravity escapes to somewhere more relevant
We are off the ground

A Modern Florence Love Story- Part I

(Ah, Italia...amore! Here, every 8.2 seconds a new love is formed second only to the time (every 4.5 seconds) that a tourist is overcharged.)


Give me all the clichés and banalities of love, he thought. Let them ring true despite all our wishes for something more.

She muttered, “I love you.” but in a language different than his own. “What did you say?” he asked in the same breathless tone even though he was quite sure what she said based on the context. He wanted to hear it again. We all want to hear it again. For the first time over and over. In any language.

She repeated, “I love you” but this time in his language, thick with accent. She wanted him to know. We all want the other one to really know. And thus the story begins. Always with those three excitable words and all the associated clichés and banalities to follow.

Shall we look at some of them? First, “one person will always love more than the other.” What does this mean? Lying in that impossibly small bed in a tiny bedroom, in the heat of a Florence summer, sweating and pressed together, moist from love making, tears. Could it be possible to determine who will be the one who will love more at that very moment?

The corollary to this cliché is that "the one who loves more will be the one to get hurt". In that split second where the first “I love you” is exchanged it hardly seems possible. Yet, from that point the divide has already begun and one person or both recognizes it. This is where the fear begins. This is where the guilt begins.

After she repeated, “I love you” in his language he was silent giving the proper respectful pause for what the moment required and repeated, “I love you” then adding “too”. At this moment he felt his first fear. At this moment she felt her first guilt. The divide had begun. The cliché had come to pass.

No other words were spoken for a while. They made love again. Soaking wet, salty, cooled by an intermittent breeze, so close together. They pushed into each other as deep as they could. Trying to impress the sentiment of those words as if they could physically stamp them onto the skin of the other. Release, then stillness.

So let’s go back to the significance of the statement “one person will always love more than the other”. Why is this so important? Because it gives power perhaps? Isn’t that human nature, subjugation? Even in love? Prior to the utterance of that infamous phase extolling love it doesn’t really matter who has the upper hand does it? Without feelings or love, emotional power loses its value. Only a few of us aspire to rule the world, most of us only want to be secure in the control of a few. Our entitlement. Our partner. Our love. The possessive pronoun of ownership, “My”.

They did not meet under the most normal of circumstances. This is not unusual as there are many fateful stories of love that liked to be retold as if they were a fairy tale, making that story somehow more special than the rest. What is Cinderella and her glass slipper but a clumsy girl if the Prince never comes to reclaim her?

These two lovers fairy tale began in an exotic city that most tourists flock to once in their lives to few the amazing gilded art, architecture and history that was the birthplace of the Western European Renaissance. These two were here for a different reason. They were fleeing. She, a ten-year relationship gone sour. She had been the “one who loved too much” and she was running from the fear and pain.

He had lost his father to suicide and left a distrustful, indifferent 2-year relationship that gave him no other choice in the end. He too had been the “one who loved too much”. He was running from fear and pain.

In this way they were untied in this fairy tale in the Birthplace of the Renaissance. The fearful Prince had found the cowering Cinderella and placed her fragile glass slipper back on her delicate foot so she could again walk forward. They were reborn, crying, struggling from the womb, eyes blurred in this new world. Free to try and love and start the cycle all over again.

Even fairy tales become logical when you really think about them.

To be continued.........

(In the always crystal clear rear view mirror of hindsight, the shinny, smiley images always have a bit of tarnish around the edges.)

My Life In Florence Series (Episode: The Departure. Expecatations Run High)

(Unbeknownst to me as I was departing the States I was headed towards this 10x10 room with a tiny loft for sleeping which would become my 15th Century jail cell in paradise for the first few months. The Amaretto was the only thng that kept me warm inside.)
The Departure. (Originally written May 21st, 2002)

Six months in Florence, Italy. The epitome of the dream of every stressed out, hate their mundane suburban life, wish that life’s decisions were different American. Call it the anti-American dream. No wife, no 2.3 kids and no white picket fence. Just two duffel bags crammed to the top with worldly possessions and a briefcase and laptop.

Oh, yeah and a thirty-three year old male scared as hell. You see everybody whose path I crossed was very quick with the envy and encouragement as if I was walking off into the sunset of a Hollywood movie to live happily ever after, but the reality is different. This is damn scary. Quitting a job, leaving a relationship and packing all of one’s possessions that was worked so hard for into a 10x12 concrete storage room.

In fact, after consideration I realize how difficult a decision like this must be otherwise everyone in America would be living in Florence or Nice or Barcelona. No this adventure may be fun but it is no holiday. There is a point to prove here. Behind all the Mediterranean trappings there is a cause. It is the universal cause that one’s life belongs to that individual and not to Blow Me, Inc or a bank or spouses that won’t even talk to you anymore.

Life can seem awfully short but it is even shorter when you add up all the time you actually have for yourself. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not some hemp smoking, stinky Bohemian. I don’t eschew personal possessions or wealth or even stability but the challenge becomes to earn these things on our own terms and not just because it is expected or that’s what our degree was in or what our father’s business was.

So here I sit, four bloody hours early in an airport terminal on my third drink waiting for all to begin. Or maybe it has already. I’m not sure. Maybe it began six months ago when the decision was made and this is just the beginning of part two. It really isn’t important anyway. I got here so early because I had not flown since the September 11th massacre and was told that the airports were absolute chaos with the increased security measures.

When I arrived it was eerily quiet. The neighborhood Wal-Mart had more people milling about than this but maybe that’s not a good comparison. I walked right up to the ticket counter and put my ridiculously heavy duffel bags on the side luggage counter and was only slowed when the agent asked me “What do you have in those bags?” This was more her expression of disbelief of the weight than a genuine security question. I had passed those with flying colors moments before. I responded to her in my best deadpan, “Six months of my life and that can often be heavy.” and moved towards the security gate.

Again, I was expecting a giant hassle since between my laptop, digital camera, video camera, disc-man and associated batteries I had enough electronic components to build a missile. Again, no problems as I cruised through the lane while they proceed to give an enthusiastic “pat-down” to a white women in her late forties wearing the most atrocious Hawaiian shirt. There is eternal justice.

( Outside my room on my street was a bit nicer and I wandered back and forth so often that I eventually knew all the panhandling gypsies on sight. )

Russian Brides, Aisle 7 next to the Lo Mein Noodles...

(Hello Gentlemen! Olga (19) from Odessa, Ukraine would like to meet you if you are honest, reliable, like children and puppy dogs, holding hands on the beach, are under 47 years old and you come from a country whose lowest denomination of paper money doesn’t end in more than four zeros.)


Forget oil! I'm beginning to think the most precious untapped natural resource of Russia (and all those other former Soviet countries we just conveniently lump together with Russia because we don’t know any better) may be the seemingly endless supply of beautiful women waiting to pour from the earth ready to make themselves available for export.

Obviously, economics is a factor but there has to be more to this surreal phenomenon than meets the eye. It’s difficult for anyone raised in the United States or other industrialized nation to understand how someone could seriously consider leaving everything they’ve ever known (most of these girls have never even peeked from beyond the former Iron Curtain) to marry a virtual stranger and begin a new life in a land that is completely different in almost every way. Ok, an expected monthly earning potential of an average office worker of $250 is a strong incentive but is it enough? I wanted to explore this deeper.

Results of my painstaking field research contained below:

1. My first interview occurred serendipitously in the States several years ago when I just happened to have a Russian stripper sitting on my lap who for some unknown reason was kind enough to entertain me for several hours. During our engaging conversations about global weather trends and their environmental effects, the economic impact of the EU expansion and whether latex was a good material for thongs, I managed to slip in a few questions I really wanted answered.

“So, what’s this deal about Russian Mail Order Brides? Are they just in it to escape home and then split or are there some who are really serious about staying married?”

Here was her response (for what it’s worth):
There are many who are serious. Though in her case she did it for the Green Card and the opportunity to strip for some REAL money in the US and told the guy right up front her intentions. He thought he could convince her to love him and she rewarded his efforts by divorcing him 2 years later.

She added that one of the reasons why Russians look outward besides the obvious economics is that there are a significantly larger number of women in Russia than men and that it’s a plain numbers game. Also, she stated that Russian men are notoriously cocky (and not the “cool” cocky plus funny we discussed in an earlier post), sometimes cruel and a majority are alcoholics. Women apparently are taught by society to take good care of themselves, dress well and be attentive towards men in order to get one of the few “good ones” out there.

I myself have personally witnessed this phenomenon in other Eastern countries like Latvia, Lithuania and Poland where you see these stunning women dressed immaculately with short, fat guys wearing dirty T-shirts and cheap slip on loafers. (I’m petitioning that Poland’s name should officially be changed to “The Land of Go Figure.”) Bottom line, if you’re a Russian man who has a clue, it’s a buyer’s market.

2. After several intriguing experiences with Russian women while I lived in Italy which would have made a Fellini movie seem like a boring episode of Dr. Phil, I decided to explore in more depth once I arrived in Germany. So, when one wants unbiased, always reliable information without any hidden agendas where does one go? Bingo, the Internet.

One of the better sites had this to say about why Russian women are doing this.
(For the full explanation of the myths vs. realities click here: http://www.kamous.com/translator/s.asp?l=926)

“Russian men just can't make good husbands. Russian men are nice but Russian traditions of family life are not. The objective reasons why Russians can't make good husbands are alcohol abuse, and their poor health conditions.

All have their roots in the society life. Women of 18 years old have no problems with finding appropriate partners of their age, and most of them do. The problems start later. The society and life conditions push men towards alcohol addiction, which cause in its turn problems with health. There are, of course, men who are healthy and take good care of their families, but they usually get married early and stay married.

There is also such a reason as demographic disproportion between men and women. Women outnumber men, and though this difference is not really huge (3-7% according to different issues), it gives a big absolute number of lonely women, who have zero chances to find a life partner. The demographic disproportion also does not take place in the age group 18-25 years old, and starts from the age of 30 and up.

The majority of single women don't consider finding a husband abroad as an option. Even if they can't find a partner in their homeland, they would never leave Russia. Many women who signed up with agencies, do not perform an intensive search and have this way only as one of options. It's particularly true towards young women under 25 years old.”

Well I’ll be smoked herring covered with caviar, the stripper was right!

3. All these “academic” pursuits for the answer to this question of global geo-political importance was all well and good, but what I really needed was to roll my sleeves up and dive head first into the proverbial Clampett cement pond and snatch Jethro's car keys from the bottom. I decided to enroll in a few of these sites and try my luck.

As with everything there is a learning curve. Keep language SIMPLE, even with the "fluent" speakers their English is book learned and they don’t get our crazy American slang (or is it just our poor language usage?). Many other tips to include but that’s beyond the scope of this post.

One of my earliest experiences was with a Romanian who spoke Italian better than English so after a few emails we began speaking on the phone. Within 2 conversations she wanted to talk relationship issues and I asked her innocently, “Don’t you think it would help if we actually met in person first?” My skeptic radar spiked and I broke contact. Within the next month I received a “ha-ha on you” email from her proundly announcing that she was shacking up and moving to Italy with some Italian sucker. Another “crazy” bullet dodged. Bravo, Jason!

Most other correspondence was uninteresting, superficial etc. (just like a normal dating site) until I met Lena from Minsk, Belarus (see nice looking blond in Alfa Romeo from post dated Aug 7th). Ok, I didn’t meet her on a “Marriage” site but rather through Match.com but the idea must be the same. We’ve now met four different times in various “neutral” countries and she has explained to me in excruciating detail how oppressive and depressing life in her country is and that scores of friends her age (26 yrs) are fleeing the country through any means necessary. Her whole story will be unfolded on another post in the future, I’m sure, but suffice to say she’s real, very real and in my opinion a real keeper! Her goal is to leave but on her own terms which she has managed to do through her own ability by receiving a full scholarship for a Master’s program in England.

To complete this abridged version of my own experience I will introduce you finally to Lida (29, see photo below) from Left Pig Intestine (translated from the Russian), Belarus. We are currently in correspondence and here are some excerpts from her last email:

“I am very serious about finding a partner.Someone that I can love and spend the rest of my life with. I feel that love is the greatest gift that a man and a woman can share.”

“It is very difficult to find a good friend in our country especially in little town because the most of our men drink a lot of vodka and I am tired from it and decided to turn to Internet.”

So, dear readers the verdict is still out on all this. More research is required! I’ll keep you posted.

До новых встреч (Until we meet again)

(Hello Lida, welcome to Glamour Shots. You get a free set of wallet size with every five 8x10s you order today.)

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Something happened to me a few days ago that was disturbing in the sense that it threatens to shatter a dearly held set of beliefs about women and relationships. It was so disturbing (because it just might be true) I thought I’d put it out to the Cyber Universe (or at least that small Cyber Martian colony that might read me) to elicit their reaction. I’m particularly interested in comments from the fairer sex since I apparently understand little about them.

It all began harmlessly enough with one of those “fun” online quizzes on “How successful are you with dating women?” As I began to read the questions and answer I thought, “Wow, this a piece of cake. How easy!” When I received my results I scored a 56 out of 100 and the narrative basically said that I was doomed to a life of seducing blow up dolls and the only way I would ever meet a good looking woman is if the Ben Franklin twins went up and did my approach work for me.

Of course, I know this is not the case. I have plenty of dates and some of them are even quite attractive. What disturbed me to no end is when I actually started thinking (and realizing) that while I do have many dates and relationships, in the end the ones I really, really like end up indifferent towards me. They don’t hate me, get mad at me or even really break up with me most of the time they just stop being engaged, interested, reciprocating. Sure there was passion at the beginning but then when I finally quit playing around and decide ok, I’ll get focused this might be “the one”. Poof, another Ghost! (By contrast, the ones which I never focus on and truthfully are not that concerned with are eternally interested and continue to follow me around like some Pied Piper of Hamlin playing his flute of futility.)

Yes, I didn’t just fall of the watermelon wagon. I’ve heard the tired lament, “The one’s you like never like you and vice versa.” Yes, but why? Doesn’t every single woman you ever talk to (guys back me up here) always say, “I wish I could find a nice guy who will communicate and share and treat me well.” I’m beginning to think that there is as much truth to this statement as the stockpiles of WMDs in Iraq just waiting to be discovered. Be honest with me ladies, is that what you REALLY want?

I asked my shrink about this since I seem to always fall for the emotionally unavailable women after they fall for me first, and he gave me two plausible responses.

#1- When a person with a fear of abandonment picks a person with a fear of engulfment (read: emotional commitment) and the “engulfed” starts to pull away, the other fearing the impending departure tries harder. This, in turn, begins the vicious cycle all over again with the former finally driving away the latter for good. Sure the woman liked all the attention at the beginning but when the proverbial kitchen (or is the outhouse?) got too hot to handle (read: “hey, this guy might actually like me and I just might have to surrender a small part of myself in return”)then… “oh wow, hey, look at the time. Gots to go!”

#2- His second comment ties into my point about this Internet Quiz which is why I’m becoming somewhat concerned that I’ve been going about this all wrong and just might be a 56 out of 100 after all. He said every relationship between two people (especially intimate ones) contains a struggle for power. It’s often very subtle but that element is always there. Now I want to share the comments from this website that have further increased my panic and may be the final call to lead me over to the Dark Side. (A full explanation of this guys theory, and the crap e-book he’s hawking can all be found at http://www.doubleyourdating.com . Guys, I encourage you to take the test at http://www.doubleyourdating.com/m/10581/meet_women_test/index.asp and let me know your thoughts/results as well.)

Excerpt from the “Power/Bad Boy” theory website:

(WHY THE COCKY AND FUNNY ATTITUDE IS ATTRACTIVE TO WOMEN... AND HOW TO USE IT

I get a lot of email from guys who don't quite get the Cocky + Funny attitude. It just doesn't make sense to some guys that teasing women, busting their balls, being slightly arrogant, not kissing up to them, etc. could or should make them feel attraction. I can understand this, because I was exactly the same way the first few times I heard it and saw it. I kept thinking to myself, "If I do this cocky and funny thing, I'm only going to come across as arrogant... and that can't make women like me more."

Well, was I ever wrong. You must always remember that ATTRACTION isn't logical. It doesn't follow the rules that it"should" follow. ATTRACTION is a very powerful emotion that has reasons and triggers that don't make any sense at first glance... I'm sure you've seen many attractive women with guys who mistreated them, abused them, and were exactly the opposite of what you'd expect a woman to accept. Why? ATTRACTION.

In the beginning she felt attraction, and as bad as it may sound, almost no amount of being "bad", abusive, or jerk-ish canconvince a woman feeling a strong attraction to leave. So let me take the opportunity to talk a bit about the Cocky + Funny attitude, why it works, and how to use it to attract women (without having to be an abusive jerk). First of all, you have to remember that the formula is Cocky PLUS Funny. Always both. If you act too cocky, you'll come off as arrogant and insecure only. If you're just funny, always telling jokes, and making people laugh, you will probably come acrossas "too goofy." But if you use BOTH together, you will createmagic. Cocky + Funny is like sparring... it's sport... it's fun... it's challenging... it's interesting when used with skill.

So let's get clear about what "Cocky + Funny" is. Here's a cocky statement: "Her dress makes her look fat." Here's a Cocky + Funny statement: "If she doesn't find a dress that fits better, the fashion police are going to send in the SWAT team for her ass." Get it? Start with arrogance, then add humor. So why does it work to attract women? Well, the short answer is: COCKY AND FUNNY ATTRACTS WOMEN BECAUSE IT QUICKLY AND DIRECTLY SAYS ALL THE RIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOU.

Women are attracted to "alpha male" types - We all know that. Women are attracted to a sense of humor. We all know that one too. Women AREN'T attracted to men who give away their power, kiss up to them, smother them with attention, act like whipped puppies, and get nervous just being in the same room with them. If you meet an attractive woman, and IMMEDIATELY start giving her a hard time about something, busting on her, and have fun, it basically says: "You are interesting enough to talk to, but you're going to have to do a lot more than just look good to impress me. Your beauty doesn't make me nervous in the slightest, I'm perfectly calm, and in fact, I'm so comfortable that I just noticed something about you that I'm going to make fun of..." There is no faster way on earth to communicateall the right attitudes, beliefs, self-image, comfort, confidence, and power than to be Cocky +Funny.)

OK, my initial thought was that this might be purely a sales gimmick, which it most certainly is. But, what if there’s more to this? Does it mean that nice guys really do finish last? Women really don’t want to have the glass slipper put on their foot by Prince Charming?. Will I always have to play this game of being “disinterested” and a bit cruel to the ones I’m truly interested in just so they’ll maintain their interest? Can I not say plainly my deepest emotions without coming across as weak and a wuss when the moment is appropriate? Sure, I can do the "funny" part but the "cocky" part seems so well, annoying.

It would not be all that disturbing if I weren’t going through this exact situation at the very moment I’m typing (and just went through it in my last two year relationship where I was told, “Jason, you're a nice guy and probably too good for me.”) But, that’s for another time…….


(Will this be the next girl to say, “Gee Jason, thanks for sharing. You’re such a great guy! How fast again did you say this thing will do 0-60 in? I think I'm late for a hair appointment in Minsk. Sure, I’ll call you.”)

My Life In Florence Series (Episode: Plans change)

(View from my flat of Brunelleschi's famous Duomo Cupola. They said he was crazy for trying to build it. I say people are crazy for waiting in the long queue trying to get in. For more fascinating info see http://www.mega.it/eng/egui/monu/bdd.htm)


(Orginally written Nov. 19, 2002, the planned end of my six month sabbatical in Florence, Italy. So much for plans. From here on out it got real intresting)

A plane took off today from London’s Gatwick Airport with an empty seat sandwiched in the middle of Coach where no pretzels or half cooked chicken or beef will be served. As for the missing passenger, one can find him still reposing in his Florentine paradise amongst the statues, museums and overfed pigeons and tourists content to remain and see what surprises follow each successive morning.

The air has turned colder and wetter and the summer crowds of Americans and French, outdoor concerts and mosquitoes have given way to Japanese, smoky trattorias and Christmas decorations. The expectant expatriate continues to transition along with the city of Renaissance turning from one season to the next. The obvious comparison of “rebirth” although somewhat trite still manages to fit the situation.

He is certainly not the same person as when he arrived, now a few scant days short of six months. Through many experiences he has further defined his strengths and weaknesses and learned that while major life transitions are never as easy or painless as the quintessential escapist dream may portray they can nonetheless be weathered though generous amounts of patience, flexibility and cheap but drinkable Chianti.

Love, too provides its solace and he has drank heartily from that grail during the past months. As the scheduled day’s activities wither away and the bad Italian television becomes unfortunately easier to comprehend at least from a linguistic standpoint, his thoughts now turn to the future and the myriad of choices inevitable on the rolling Tuscan horizon. The ugly specter of wage-earning and the other mundane tasks of modern day survival await where inconvenience is really the only predator waiting outside the cave of uncertainty to devour all those blessed enough to be in the middle class.

French lessons, Italian lessons, frequent trips to the Internet Café, and time spent in the various venerated Florence Piazze watching Italian daily life passionately unfold before him all occupy his time as he waits for replies from the numerous employment inquiries that will lead him to his next Italian city and adventure. His love, absent for two months, has returned from the neutrality of her Swiss abode committed to sharing her own dreams of a renaissance life with him.

Strength in numbers, a common vision and a true acceptance of each other’s own individuality bring a renewed enthusiasm and resolve to the pair. Nonetheless, he still reflects back over his past lives that are fast approaching in number the nine reserved expressly for those of the feline species. They all have had their significance and the impressions left by family and friends continue to positively influence and provide the security that no matter where he may be there will always be a home across the waters.

He cannot say for certain when he will return to that faraway home, as he has given up on prognostication as a fruitless exercise reserved for those who believe that they still can control their destiny but knows that when he does return it will a warm reunion as if he never had departed.

Each day is new and uncharted, he has learned, as he rides the sometimes turbulent waves in search of a more profitable and direct route to the paradise we all seek. Like Columbus he may not in the end discover that shorter route to profits of the heart and soul but he will most certainly find a New World, open for his exploration and discovery. Vediamo, vediamo (we will see, we will see)…………….

A "Ghost" Tale ( Dec 2001)

("Ghost" Erin Beth Strange circa 2001)

I think all relationships should last just three hours like a great epic movie. By the time the credits roll the cinematic magic is over.

I have three important and frequently used folders in my MSN Mailbox: Friends, Flames and Ghosts. I have learned this is a very inefficient way of filing correspondence from women as the movement between these three is often furious and unpredictable which results in the same person’s mail finally ending up spread out amongst all three.

Some begin as Friends and then swell into a Flame, some Flame early and then for various reasons usually self-inflicted end up in the Friend box. Some migrate between the two as backsliding and other human weakness set in. In the end, almost all become Ghosts.

In rare occasions a Ghost will resurrect back into something else but that only happens during a full moon when the rising House of Venus is in alignment with the Cusp of Sagittarius’ schwanz. My Ghost folder continues to haunt my consciousness. Here is a brief exorcism of one such spirit:

I met Erin Beth on a business trip to Kansas in some small town so insignificant I have long since forgotten its name. She was a 23 year old waitress who was working at the local Rudy’s Rib Emporium all-you-can eat steakhouse. I was 32 and getting ready to end another 2 year plus dismal relationship which lasted about 18 months too long where I had completely surrendered all power and ignored important boundaries.

I was with a few colleagues and asked her innocently enough where the bathroom was and we continued the conversation after I returned. Boom…instant connection which sometimes occurs where the actual topics of conversation become secondary. I invited her after her shift to follow our group and we ended up talking, drinking and dancing until late. She clumsily kissed me on the dance floor in one of those rare occasions where a woman takes the initiative. Around 2AM, I gave my car keys to one of my colleagues and went back to her apartment.

We talked, played a bit but didn’t have sex as I usually fall in love way to quickly to rush into such matters I deem as common. At 6 AM, she dropped me off at my hotel and that was the end. Before I left she told me what had initially attracted her to me. She said it was the way I held my cocktail glass in my hand, three fingers wrapped loosely around the side with my pinky sticking out, detached, almost completely straight. She found it expressive, refined, and sensual.

A flurry of emails, phone calls, Hallmark cards followed with affectionate expressions, promises and plans to see each other again. But, she found out she was pregnant from an ex she was still backsliding from and I ended my current relationship and moved to Italy. I never heard from her again. I know what one-night stands feel like but this SEEMED so real. I wrote this poem for her:

Strangers
12/22/01
In an instant a stranger becomes known.
The light sensation of your breath against my neck assures me this is real.
How long have I known you? All my life or never?
I can’t recall.

As I take your hand the warm touch fills my soul, nothing else is important at this moment.
As I taste your lips I am reminded of passions’ past but yet it is not the same.
I feel secure in your arms as I rest my head against your breast. Nothing can harm me even though I am exposed to all the pain of the world.

We share only one night but it lasts an eternity. The dawn breaks and I am old, on my deathbed and not yet ready to surrender to the reality of the return to my routine afterlife.
If I could have just one more moment what would I say? How would I touch you? How would I make you understand?

As I watch you walk away departing into my past I know I may never see you again.
At this moment I also realize I will never know you better.