| IV |
[Nov. 14th, 2005|02:13 pm] |
Sorry not keeping up with the updating. Just really nothing interesting to report in the past months. Although, today I find myself wanting to update.
I have been in good health and spirits recently. Which is odd for me because it's either one or the other that I am lacking. But I've been well. I have recently been obessesed with my fellow English-men, Orson Welles. I have watched Citizen Kane everynight for the last week. No, it's not an obsession in a homo-erotic way...he just reminds me of my dead granddad. The inflection and tone of his voice, the way he sits, the way he walks. My granddad died when I was just a tiny lad. I had just turned 6. My mum even says that I look like him and have his same mannerism, which I think I don't because I'm not a suave bloke like Mr. Orson Welles. Enough of that sentimental stuff.
This past weekend was filled with mildly debaucherous antics. I went to this cadaver themed party and was really the only one who stayed in their body bag the duration of the party. This girl who I've been on and off agasin with was theit as well. We ended up shagging in my body bag most of the evening. It's the first time I ever fucked in one of those things and it wasn't very comfortable and we were both really sweaty at the end. I ended up throwing the body bag out afterwards and walked home naked.
Yes, I live two blocks from the party house and I walked home naked at 4am. Well..I wasn't entirely naked, I was in my boxers...but still that's kinda naked. |
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| Drinking and fucking with the Americans. |
[Aug. 3rd, 2005|10:59 am] |
This morning I woke up with hugest hangover and hard-one. Two things I prefer not to have in the morning. Tylonel extra strength worked well for the hangover...the hard-on had to be doused and put out in a cold shower. I can blame the hangover on all the lager I had last night at Union Pool. I can just hear one of my primitive and very ignorant flatmates tell me that there's no bloody excuse for me to get hang-overs from over drinking because I'm British and that's what we do...drink a lot. Why yes, that fact is true, but stop being a stupid American (no offense to my American friends) and realize that not every Brit can drink like Teddy Kennedy...or at least me on an empty stomach.
The morning hard-on is a result of a sex dream I had last night. The setting was a taped off crime scene somewhere downtown set in the 1940s. Why the 1940s...I have no bloody idea. The other participant was a very curvey unidentified woman. Very femme fatale...just how I like'em! As a detective sent out there, I was gathering up last minute evidence and somehow this woman crossed paths with me. We basically ended up fucking ontop of the stainless steel gurney that was there at the scene. All I can remember was her smell...she smelt of luxerious east indian spices and honey. And the lights...the nearby squad car's siren was flickering its lights on and off. I don't remember her name, nor really what her faced looked like. She was curvey though and in all the right places. Her skin was soft. She had a, "I've been around the block" heir to her. It wasn't until that I was climaxing inside of her that I realized she was nearly just a supernatural spirit of some sort. And right when I was cumming and had my arms wrapped around her tigthly she was fading away, disenegrating practically...just at the point during sex when you wanna feel someone else's warm skin pressed against yours and hearing their heart beat and heavy breathing in your ear...she started to disappear. And then she was gone.
I wonder if this has any sort of parallel meaning to my actual reality? I'm still trying to figure that out. |
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| Insomnia. |
[Aug. 2nd, 2005|02:15 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  chipper | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Angelo Badalamenti | ] |
Last evening, whilst working on a paper for one of my psychology classes I had the pleasure of watching a documentary about the Black Dahlia. Not to sound morbid, becasue I know she is deceased, but I have always had a slight school boy crush on her. Not only was she a beautiful woman, but it's her mysterious life that led her to death that intrigues me. Over the decades there have been many specualations in regards to the kind of life she led. Some people recall her as a cheapened boozehound harlot, others proclaimed that she was just an honest hardworking young girl with dreams of being a Hollywood screen actress. I myself, never had the opportunity or pleasure to meet her so I cannot say what kind of person she is. I just go by second hand information like the rest of the world.
After the documentary was over and the paper finsihed. I layed in bed chainsmoking thinking about what were her last thoughts, or words that she omitted before being slained. How fast was her heart beating? Quite fast I imagine. Where her screams audible, or muffled? I also wondered what went through the person's mind who discovered her body off the road. Where were they en route to when they happened to stumble upon her corpse? And the detectives...I can only imagine their first inital reaction to her severed body.
I'm bringing all this up because next Monday I start my intership with the NYPD detective homocide unit. They deal with stuff like this all the time. All my wonderment of these feelings in discovering and dealing with victim's corpses will all be a reality very soon. I hoping I can handle it. It's one thing to read anout it and see pictures in a book...it's another to see it in reality, up close and personal. Over the years, I have mentally prepared myself to always expect the worse scenario at a crime scene.
I must go to back to studying...I have a test in a few hours.
Yours,
Gavin |
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