Archives for posts with tag: Montepulciano

Joe and I would go get dinner (usually steak) and very drunk in the Ear Bar on Spring Street.

Originally called the Bear bar..renamed when the B fell off.  One of the oldest existing taverns in the United States and one of the few existing examples of Federal architecture in New York.

I have wanted to get very drunk these past few nights.  I have wanted to blot out everything in my fucking pea brain with a huge amount of wine and beer.

Marc bought a bottle of Montepulciano to drink with the pheasant.  It smelt divine.

Woke up feeling so sad.

I am in Whitstable until Thursday then I have to get up and make a move.  Must go stately home hopping.   Must see the insides of huge and beautiful homes smelling of nutmeg and fir.  Must sit by roaring fires.  Must flay myself socially once again.

I am so disappointed.  So sad.  even though I know he isn’t sometimes I think I can hear him calling out to me in the night and I wake up and I think I can’t ignore him..he might need me.

Everything is just fine in Los Angeles CA.  Ashley called yesterday after her jaunt with Christina Aguilera’s husband in Miami.   I can’t wait to see her, speak with her properly about everything.

Up and down on this fucking roller coaster.  Up and down.

Reading over this entry I am reminded that perhaps a more pious life might suit me better that a life devoted to intensity.  Piety, we tend to use the word pejoratively,  saying more about our Godless world than the idea behind the action.

Today I crave piety, humility, silence..

Tres Triste urged me to go into one on one therapy.  I will have nothing to do with that.  I am bloated on my experience of one on one therapy.

I am, however, recommitted to the rooms of AA.  I know that they understand because I am just like them.  One on one therapy obviously suits many people but I don’t trust doctors, I don’t trust therapists who profit from the misery of others.  I resent paying them.  That I become their blank cheque.  In fact, I resent paying all doctors because I come from a country where visiting a doctor is free.

AA is free.  For fun and for free.

The simple fact is: I chose to abandon the principles of AA during the last few months.  Not taking a drink is just a small part of what we do in those rooms.  The rest of the time we help and guide each other toward sanity.  During the past months I deliberately abandoned my principles and let my alcoholic head run the show.

Many people ask why I moved to LA.  It really had nothing to do with film making.  I came to LA to be closer to the rooms of AA where I found comfort, solace and peace.  I made friends and found an extended family of people who understood me, who were always willing to forgive…no matter what.   I felt as if I needed, as if I NEED a great deal of forgiveness.

After a few years I became disgruntled and disillusioned with AA and went to fewer and fewer meetings.  As I did so my mind became more and more confused.  If I do not do the work to keep me sane I very quickly unravel.

I believe in the power of AA.  It is a church. It is my church.  For all to see during these past months I threw away my sanity because I wanted to use..so I did.  I used HIM.  He is not even real.  He is a bag of coke, a bump of crystal, my works, my baggy, my bottle, my paraphernalia.   He is not real.  Do I miss him?  I miss him like a glass of Montepulciano.  Full bodied red wine that I secretly want to drink when that day comes…and it very well might.  Never take your sobriety for granted.

You think that I have been cruel but I needed him out of my life and sometimes keeping your dealers number is the way back to active addiction.  If I had not jettisoned him that day I KNOW what would have happened.  We would have remained friends, we would have hooked up, my head just could not take it.

I napalmed the poppy fields.

This morning I chatted with Tim about the past.  A place one tends to reinvent as one gets older. It is invigorating having him there at the other end of the phone/skype.  He is in Worcester waiting for his triple bypass.  We are both waiting to have our skin cut open and our insides messed with by experts.

We talked about the power of prayer.  Our spiritual lives.  I needn’t tell you how important a loving God is in ones life but even though I know that prayer really works I am loathed to pray just in case is doesn’t.

That even God might let me down.

There is no doubt what so ever that for the past few months I used another man as my drug.  Intensity, fixation, obsession etc. etc.  Remember when you spent your last cent on drugs? When the getting and using was your main focus?  Remember the risks you took?  I am a crazy addict.  Yet, it is somehow easier for us to understand a man who cannot say no to drugs than a man who cannot say no to his addiction to people.  It is a far more complex and ultimately destructive addiction.

I think you have all been my witness to that.

I crave a healthy relationship with people who ever they might be, lover, family member, friend, shop assistant, telephone banker etc.    I am powerless and my life becomes unmanageable.  I am powerless over people, places and things.  This powerlessness causes me such misery. Powerlessness, vulnerability, weakness of any kind cannot be tolerated and as you have seen…I will bring you down if you challenge who I am, get to the heart of me.

I don’t think I am so different from most of you?

Yet, I most definitely am.  I do not think like normal people.

The idea that somehow, someday I will control and enjoy my thinking is the obsession of every abnormal thinker.

That was a quote from Bill Wilson with the word drink switched out for think.

Wether you believe it or not the rooms of AA are filled with men and women just like me.  When we sit together sharing our similarities and not our differences then I become aware of the presence of God.

I have struggled with SAA.

There is a big difference between being an alcoholic and a sex/love addict.  Alcoholics share the experience of abstinence.  Sex addicts do not.  The differences between sex addicts, when we share our stories, are all too apparent.  The similarities..scant.  Where there are few similarities I find myself divorced from God.

As I have reported in earlier posts, as the years pass and ones last drunk become a distant memory I am forced to deal with other more pressing, more destructive addictions.

The consequences of my actions are all too apparent.  I have rampaged like a spoiled child through another mans life.  Regardless of his part in it..I have only myself to blame.  As I have said before, it is none of my business assigning blame or becoming an interventionist for others.

We all learn by our mistakes, by the lies we tell, by the havoc we wreak.

So, today’s prayer:  God, relieve me from the bondage of self.  Help me be kind.  Let me be present.  Let me tell the truth.

Bind me so my arms do not flail,  gag me so I cannot speak, shackle me so I cannot walk, lay me down in some quiet place so I do not think.

1.

I am in Hollywood all week deconstructing my art collection.   There are piles of books on chairs, paintings stacked 5 deep.  Hooks on the walls.  Porcelain, silver and furniture all looking for a home and a price.  I am reduced to looking at all my beloved things for what they are worth and not the value they once had.   A dealer arrives from London to look and buys 8 pieces.   He buys the word works by Hamish Fulton found at auction some years ago.

He buys them immediately I tell him the price, so I’m sure I must have sold them far too cheaply.

Everybody seems very interested in a charming Richard Long mud work that I also bought at auction many years ago, that and a Gary Hume.

As homes are found for the artwork it is all at once hard and very, very liberating.  Now I just want everything to go.

Even if I kept it all, when I move back to Malibu, I’ll have nowhere to put any of it.  I’m desperate to travel light, just me and the little dog.

My instinct is not to own anything anymore, where as my previous desire was to own everything.   Somehow I traded people for things.

Which sadly brings me to my current heartbreak.

The truth is that when you choose to fall for someone who is already taken you only have yourself to blame.

I really wanted to sit here and blame him but as I let go of all my art and furniture and let it drift into the ether so I have to let him drift too.  There was a time when I did not know him.   There will be a time soon when I will no longer know him.

What brought on this sudden change of heart?

Well, yesterday I was with Jonathan my book dealer friend on Melrose Place and I meet a furniture designer, he has a huge jaw and a sunny disposition.  He is well dressed, intelligent, masculine (all the things my darling in NYC is) but Mr. Furniture is single.  He is not lying to his long-term beau about how much he loves them then telling me-and probably countless others-how much he loves me.  I met Mr. Furniture and I woke up.  I no longer wanted to be the mistress.  The other.

I suddenly owned up to one glorious fact:  I have self esteem!

Let me say that once more, in fact let me scream it from the top of the Chateau des Fleur!

I HAVE SELF ESTEEM!!!

2.

Oh LOVE, how seductive that word is, how my chest tightens, my loins gird when I hear that four letter word.

The first time I slept with Mr. Darling NYC, I was sure that he had spent the weekend with another-even though he assured me that he had not.  There was something bruised about his body, something already and recently taken.

How do mistresses do it?  How can they possibly justify being the ‘other’?  I have heard close, heterosexual male friends’ talk about how they maintain multiple lives, how they compartmentalize their wives and family from their mistresses/hookers/men.  Yet, there is a consequential theme-they are always surprised when the mistress falls in love, they are always surprised when the mistress falls in love.  When the mistress wants more, has feelings.  She cannot understand why the married man refuses to leave his wife for them.  Why?

Damn you Mr. Darling NYC for casting me in that role.  I want to live in the sunlight, I have no reason to live like a crack head in darkened rooms looking at pornography, gazing at the man I love jerking off when at any minute his girlfriend of several years might come bowling home.  Who would get the blame?  Not the innocent boyfriend, the younger guy who is powerless over the mean old gay sex addict.  I don’t want to be that bleating fool.  I have no reason to wait around for a man who cannot tell the truth to those he claims he loves.

Part cowardice, part conformity and a great deal of known comfort keep a man lying and cheating to those he says he loves.

Recently, every time I spoke to Mr. Darling NYC my heart felt heavier, I became agitated, my thoughts were dark and doomed.  It was so hopeless.  Such a waste.

I started thinking about the Big Dog and her crushed bleeding body on the street.  (I think about her like that everyday.)  Every day I am tortured by her dying in my arms and wish that I could have changed places with her.

Who would hold me in their arms and love me if I was crushed in the street?   Who would sit with me whilst I took my last breath?  Not Mr. Darling NYC because he would be making pasta for his true love.   His fiancé-minutes from meaningless vows.   Oh go to hell Mr. Darling NYC because you are a liar and a thief, you lie to her and you steal my heart.

Perhaps it is possible not to be afraid, perhaps its all one has.  I’ll tell him that..yes, he’ll know what I mean.   Mr. Furniture, the single guy who lives a mile or so away, the man I met yesterday, in the sun, on the street with no dark clouds on the horizon.  Unfettered, free and in love.

3.

There is a dream I occasionally have: I am necking a bottle of Montepulciano.  We are sitting beneath a leafy canopy in a wood outside Firenze; wild bore roasting in the open air.  If I started drinking again what would I be?  I have been thinking about that recently.  How long would it take to kill me if I started drinking?  I was a happy drunk-until I wasn’t.

When I first got sober there were so many people in my life who wanted me to start drinking again-including my lover at that time.  I am now a very long way away from those people who would say ‘call me if you ever start drinking’ because they were fascinated to see what I looked like fucked up.  Time has irrevocably separated us.  Now I am stranded with the idea of an unfinished party.

I am going to miss Mr. Darling NYC so much because he was my bad clandestine habit.  He was as much as I could get away with-until I couldn’t.

My mother stands before me in uncomprehending sorrow.

My dog is risen from her leafy grave.

Mr. Darling NYC tells the truth and liberates his soul.

My long dead father comes to me and tells me everything I ever wanted to know.