I’m reading for references for Christmas in Naples is a Sport, and I can tell you now, do that ahead of time, okay? Don’t ask people who don’t know. You can read. It’s a wonderful choice available to you. I was reading about people who have like a book for each chapter. I just didn’t know how to approach writing a book. In the end, I wanted to make a movie, you know, so I’m doing all this out of order. That’s fine, I’m still figuring out the book, and Bukowski still remains my high-brow reference, not to say Tropper isn’t, but Bukowski is Bukowski, I don’t know. It’s the DRIVE he has through his sentences. I tried to picture Bukowski as my main ally as I went through Christmas in Naples, it made me laugh. I found this book to be so challenging, and Post Office is about his time at the post office. I don’t know what he did other than send this manuscript in…but I guess it’s a different world.
I’m on Ham on Rye, what a childhood, but I was thinking about him when his old man stops beating the shit out of him — why? He flipped it on his face. Aren’t you going to hit me some more? He was getting older too, but still. He broke out of that relationship in some way. Turned the tables on him.
But as a writer, I thought, Jesus, how would he handle some Neapolitan Christmas party where he has to navigate this? I felt warm and fuzzy around the plant-life, like “that’s nice.” I haven’t nailed it yet since I’m still figuring out the structure of it, but Bukowski is a good reference I think since it’s prose, dialogue, but then, I have to read contemporary examples of family books. And Tropper is great, so I digested this book slowly.
In the end, his mother is a lesbian, “we’re all four-year-olds,” his sister says, and his mother lied about the shiva, their father didn’t give a shit, so they would all come home. I thought about The Royal Tenenbaums obviously because it’s about a reunion, and the father lies about having an illness. So is there a reality in which Dr. J takes on some other ruthless con-artist persona. Sure, she lied about her father being a child molester, lol, to get rid of her. Sure. But she loves her, she does. She’s trying to correct her wrongs now? Again, the amount of stories I could make out of one sends my head spinning, but I’m just imagining the next step materializing and getting out of my way.
Meryl Streep, Julianne Moore, a variety of great actresses have helped me with Dr. J. There’s the dark version of her, for sure, except that’s for another time. Again, last night, in bed, chilling with this father character I have in mind, I don’t think I was naive or stupid in trying to approach my life as a gift, you just gotta figure out where to give it, you see, that’s not silly, light. I have a wealth of characters — Brazilian, Jewish, Mexican, Black, Brazilian Portuguese, and Indian, and the whitest woman on planet Earth. But the degree to which people wanted me to have PROBLEMS — it was crazy to me. Even the idea that my father wasn’t “a good man” or just coming up with someone who becomes one…all of that empowered me. I felt this father character going — this is good. We have somewhere to go. When I thought my father was the least interesting out of the lot.
That’s kinda the Oldest Storyteller wisdom, you see, since — I’m not sure how solid this all is, what you can’t shape, and personally, I just wanted to find the gift in it. It was easy, on the one hand, to just flip expectations in people’s faces, puzzling to find myself surrounded by people who could look in the goddamn mirror. Why am I here? Just — run, be scared, exactly. Go away. The freedom of not being attached to whatever these ideas were. Like I give a shit about your truth. I choose differently.
So, look, I’m back at square one here, I knew all this shit to begin with. Everyone lies. Just reading and watching all these films and reading. Some genius in the 5th grade said “no they don’t,” but guess what? They do. I can’t exactly do that though I’m stretching into it, in a sense, and I don’t know what to say about “the ole doctor,” my mother, but she was pathological. I get the Brazilian mother got that. “And even worse,” my father’s last defense, “she believed her own lies!” Right, and he lied to himself the deepest, that one, since he was diagnosed with an illness and didn’t say anything. “There’s nothing WRONG with me!” My whole life, at least, up until my junior year of college.
“There’s something wrong with her,” though I was FOUR in this situation.
Some people truly favor men. Shocking.
Death, just because I have that fiction in my mind, suddenly turns on a bus…I was waking up, remembering this a few years ago. I was on the phone with him my freshman year of college. He was going to ANOTHER doctor. Neurologist. Alzheimer’s. He said it. He went to three neurologists. I had been in this for…my whole life? I got another family by then. That was rough. His illness was terribly tumultuous to realize, though I said it. I had friends around me the day his doctor told me my junior year — the freshman year occurrences gone — that he diagnosed him TEN years in the past. Like, why am I taking on any reality, this word, yikes. Why am I — I never lied. Why would I lie about this?
I just don’t give a shit. I’ll just leave. There are some fights — you see — you fight for some things, but other fights aren’t worth it. Bye.
So, the Oldest Storyteller, Death, wondered about “your life flashing before your eyes,” what does that mean? Which one? Which life? My understanding of my life re-organized itself. I don’t know what to say, because I knew he was sick the whole time, but I guess I had to embody this? I came to realize quite a lot, like, would I choose this relationship consciously? No.
The Oldest Storyteller in the place of whoever it was.
No, I wouldn’t.
A very good question.
There were so many points, a few, where I got up and left instead.
Now, in the field of all that is possible, it’s a different story.
The Oldest Storyteller pinned me on the bus, on the phone, my freshman year, and I came to realize that my father was going to another doctor. A hard day. I rode the bus uptown in silence, took a walk in real life. This whole section of college reopened. “You knew.” I always knew something was wrong. (it’s pretty isn’t it? The Oldest Storyteller as a guide…) I had no capacity to respond. So, now, since, for whatever reason, Astor Place Starbucks became a true NODE, I kept finding myself back there because I started communicating around that time, this character took a seat in front of me and wondered “now what?” This character wondered what denied dementia was like.
But that didn’t come out until junior year. It’s just that…he was already a problem when I was four years old.
The sentiment around my father was weird. But then, this Brazilian mother — whoosh — I mean, those years were so nuts. Since I was at the lambada party last night, thinking about it, I went through a moment where I had to leave this party behind, because I was four, five, six. I suppose that took some time. I did that personally. I deserved more than this…now, I get to have fun and write stories from it, but evidently, I had problems with myself because of what transpired here.
Death taught me the power of “no.” “I do not know you,” and “I don’t have to HEAL you.” I left relationships before they even began, so I guess that’s the ending relationships section. I had a peaceful apocalypse dream once since I’ve had a few, and it’s your whole life, which was amazing as an idea, because that included some dreams in the What Dreams May Come direction though I had to read that one. We had enough time to leave. So we separated from the energies or relationships that no longer served us, we had time to say these goodbyes, and we got into cages of gilded gold…and I even saw an iteration of myself smiling at me…and we floated down indigo waters toward a new world.
I don’t really care what’s in this story or not, but I still touch base with that one sometimes because there’s a container called you life, and sometimes, just story wise, thinking of that conclusion way out there and how I want to feel reminds me that you can steer, life is long. It can be. I can’t explain the feeling that I thought it might not have been? Anyway, to some, it’s a character, it exists. It has wisdom to share. I don’t feel that silly about it.
Anyway, I ended up here this morning, and I have to watch movies.