This is basically what it is. “Hungry Eyes” was a major song for sure, though “I had the time of my life” was the one, for sure. I just posted a longer chunk from the book I’m developing just to get it out of my system. It’s been an ordeal, truly speaking, that I had to charge ahead — and just splatter the next section out there if only to make myself feel better, and it worked.
Go and read it because it’s crazy.
I have to work on the bodies in space, the players in motion, as I’m just trying to figure it out, big blocks, with the love songs. Where do they come on, does it start at the top? How many songs? It was the Sound of Music. So I have to watch tennis, absorb these amazing shots of dynamism, and figure out the interplay between the match and the story.
The thing is, honestly, a word you’re not supposed to use, coming from that story sucked ass, picture Will Ferrell saying it. “SUCKED ASS.” People going, ohhh, Maria is saying she was in a sex scandal…is she exaggerating? I had to just toss the ball, Penn, you know? Just please. But I think I’d like to do some sharp build between the narrative and the match, because this story was a match.
But the ingredients are — stellar, I think. What am I supposed to do? I even got flack for that too — why are you, hm? Excited about it? I mean, I don’t know, you gotta find something to love, don’t you? The love songs, the tennis, the focus, and the narrative are an effective ensemble. I mean, I’ll get there, once I have a better grasp on the whole. I don’t know if I’ll separate chapters by lyrics, so integrate them into the text.
I’ve been meaning to tell you, as ad whacks the ball from down low, I’ve got a feeling that won’t…subside. Top of set two. The ball boys crouched down at the net. A turn on the living room dance floor—Jose Leibowitz. He’s taking an old lady deep in… Bouncing on his feet, deuce demonstrates strict focus, he can turn in any which way he wants to — he steps back, and flings that racket, drives that ball right over the net, so close, you lose focus. Pure power.
I have to get to that part. Me sitting there, nine, right? Loving the game, even British about it. You know, just generally, British, quip.
Anyway, at least I pushed ahead, today, and I’ll keep figuring it out, it’s not like the book has to be the longest thing on planet earth. My question, if you would, is more, obviously, someone reading it isn’t going to know anything, at the start. However, most likely, they know what it’s about…
So they know it’s, oh, it’s about the girl who was in a sex scandal of some kind, and I can’t help, right now, but put in commetary, as, even in my mind, the people I spoke to about this still pop up and hold me back. I still have to battle people’s responses, turning around them, just trying to keep the focus, the drive, which could totally work, if I introduce it earlier on. I’ll figure out how to do it, but I don’t know what the tipping point, when you go, OH. Like the dance show we put on for my father…
IT’S THE DEMENTIA!!!!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH….
The sexual trauma specialist is just taking notes…
And the guru goes, a firm double grip on the handle, deuce’s face in agony as he powerhouses a backhand, “death is a really good psychological device,” in the midst of all this reckoning. You know? I had some weird characters and energy around me that year, I reopened all this. People who don’t even see themselves. I most certainly didn’t see where I was. But holy moly, he had such a terrible impact on me. But if you think about it, who even IS THIS PERSON? The sexual trauma SPECIALIST looked up from his NOTES on SKYPE.
I don’t know quite what I want to do yet, like, where this investigation goes, how I move through it, if I take this little underground psychologist… into adulthood, where you see other instances where this person reappears, meets her demons, ends up twirling in the ether… “you’re from another dimension, aren’t you?” My investigation expanded to include the Catholic Church, what people believe in, you know? “You’re a portal, channel, and antenna,” the tennis player misses the ball, disappointment, “traveling on multiple planes of existence…really..”
Ad bounces the ball.
It all sounded like the same shit.
Absolutism, left and right. The ball flies back and forth. OH? Is it REALLY true? Absolutely true? Sure, go on the stand, let Amal Clooney cross examine you. I feel it it in my fingers, I feel it in my bones? Love is all around, if not Christmas… and the snow begins to fall… people’s relationship to the truth was a dream sequence waiting to happen.
So I’ll figure out this part, because I don’t know where I’m going, but I got Obama’s reading list, actually, just in time, and there seemed to be some experimental choices there, I don’t know. I might just read around for a second, just because I don’t know quite how to do it, or where I’m going with it, but I’ll probably have to —
Make peace with the investigation, put it aside, something. Take the match out into the world, or just try to get to present time in some capacity. Maybe layer in the match of interacting with the world with a story like that, an obstacle, and I can let the tennis players roar. This isn’t the place for sentiment. You’re not in the right place.
But I’m going to try and just move the book along, because all I have to do is conceive of it. And then, write a chapter outline, and a sample.
Maybe I’ll start by putting a record on. She’s dancing in her room. Start the tennis game. This was stop one, hell, a video game.
I’m just riffing right now, but maybe in the end, I’ll start the scene at the club differently.
I am on the other side of the hellish experience I went through, so I can move through it that way…
But the movement in it, the lambada, the love songs, if I pick the right lyrics, less so relying on people knowing the song, though some will remember them, that should flow… I think it should flow, from the stereo, have that kind of feel.
IN MY LIFE
Whack.
THERE’S BEEN HEARTACHE AND PAIN.
Sneakers squeaking…
I watch the game, nine years old. No worries. Sex scandals. Why was there so much cruelty in it? There was so much cruelty in it. SMACK, WHACK, “I THINK,” my friend, wanting to slap this bitch in the FACE, “I’m CONFUSED?” Let me cousin Chris from New Jersey start the slow clap. Where’s Biden? Let him read these words. I mean, that GURU, wow, that was a major OUCH dude. It’s one thing if you’re that guy who fuck and chucks, not to say he did that, it’s just I couldn’t follow this guy’s logic AT ALL.
The degree to which this man got involved in my private affairs. You don’t do that.
Me? On either side of the line, I’m confused. On his side especially. Me, 39, on the other side, I do not understand his play. But I’m not going YOU CREATE YOUR OWN REALITY like a video game. It’s so devoid of any semblance of connection.
That was a confusing person. Role playing my father? Suggesting the theme of my life or something is nourishment? FEED YOU FEED YOU FEED YOU. I don’t get that part. Not okay. It doesn’t matter how one twists it, it’s not okay. And I have a RIGHT to say it. Truly! You’re the one who kept shoving that onto me…
What are you doing?
What is this obsession with FEEDING ME?
Is this love? I thought about that this morning. YIKES. Sorry, it’s not.
Anyway, I feel better now that I just kicked that next section over the edge… and I’ll keep figuring out my life from here.