Showing posts with label Lita Grey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lita Grey. Show all posts

Monday, December 29, 2014

December 29, 2014



December 29, 2014

I can’t imagine a world without women.  That would be just my definition of hell on earth.  Throughout my life, I have been drawn to a woman that is both creative, seductive, smart, and is aware of the “role” of a woman in a very corrupt horrible culture that we live in now.  I have consistently been embarrassed by my gender, with respect how the world has treated women.  In no fashion or style can I claim to be not a sexist, because I was born in a sexist world - therefore I must be a sexist.  Sadly the same goes for racism.  Without a doubt we live in a racist world, so how can we not be racist?   It’s a social disease that must be cured, but the first step is to realize that we exist in such a horrifying and horrible world.



The beauty of a woman is extremely important to me.  It’s a dangerous concept, because beauty can be only skin-deep, or it can be an entrance to a complex world where if one added aesthetic feelings as well as sexual attraction, which in most cases are very hard to define.  One time in my life it could be just clothing and nothing else.  If a woman wore a certain color, or fabric, it would immediately turn me on.  I could never figure out how that worked exactly.  The second thing that turned me on is situations where a female has a role in a highly controlled situation.   The maid, the nurse, wife, or a woman from a particular culture and country.   It’s very mysterious how that works out to a man’s sexuality.



For me, it would have to be the taste of the exotic, which in reality it does not have anything to with anything.  It’s a visual thought, or a distant feeling that somehow is important to one’s sensual history.   In most of my life, I have worked in a bookstore, and I have always been attracted to women who work in such stores.  A woman who carries a book around is a picture of pornography for me.   I remember one time I was on a bus, and I saw this young woman reading a vintage paperback movie tie-in edition of Alberto Moravia’s “Contempt.” My first thought was where did she get this edition of this book?  Then I noticed that she was quite beautiful, and I couldn’t separate her from the book she was holding.  Is there anything more exquisite than a pretty girl holding and reading a book with Brigitte Bardot on the cover?



I wanted to approach her, but I couldn’t think of anything to say to her.   I saw her again on the bus, maybe a month or two later, and again, she was reading a favorite book of mine by Andrew Loog Oldham - and I couldn’t fathom why this young woman is caught on the bus reading two of my favorite books.  Especially, to remind you, two very obscure editions of a book.  The Oldham book could only be purchased as an import, and it is not an easy book to find either on the Internet or in a bookstore.   For that reason alone I had a sexual fixation on her, but I just didn’t know how to approach her, or even make a comment to her.  The series of moments were too perfect, and therefore I didn’t want to destroy the spell of the moment, by saying something idiotic or stupid.



Women are objects of desire.  The question I have is why do I feel that way?   It is only when I spend a great deal of time with a woman that I realize that they are just as complexly as a male, and at times I even forget that there is a gender difference between us.  But the initial impression is like a lighted match on a long fuse, and it burns slowly.  Logic is scattered out of the window, and I’m left amazed that I’m in a world that I can’t fully explain, but surely I have strong feelings for.


Tuesday, April 15, 2014

April 15, 2014



April 15, 2014

Basically it has been all downhill since Abraham Lincoln died. Some declare that it was the John F. Kennedy assassination, but for me, it’s Lincoln’s death that has caused me a great deal of depression and regret.  Which is strange, because surely I wasn’t even alive when Lincoln died, but still, sentiment is sentiment and it’s hard to lose that feeling of disappointment.  Friends (the few I have) have commented that I’m such a sad boy, but in actuality I do find enjoyment in the little things in life, for instance I think back to my first real love, Lita.



We were briefly married, but it didn’t last long.  Mostly due that we didn’t share any interests, besides the sex.  When I married her, I was 35, and she was 16.  It caused a scandal at the time within our social world, but in my point of view, love is love, and it is really no one else’s business besides ours.  But alas, in our world, we don’t maintain on love alone.  When I first met her she was employed in the May Company make-up counter, and at the time, I was very much into the new romantic look, so I would shop for my make-up there.  The look I was going for was the Charlie Chaplin’s ‘Tramp’ look.  I didn’t have the mustache, but I did purchase this old suit and I carried a walking stick with me at all times.  When I walked around the make-up section, I felt like Alex from “A Clockwork Orange, ” with my cane resting on my shoulders as I peacefully paced around the area.



Lita showed me eye make-up, and when she got around the counter to my side of the world, I felt a charge when she applied the eye liner around my eyes.   I grabbed her hand and then asked her if she would go on a date with me.  She said yes, and I swear to God, I didn’t know her age at the time.  Her ability to wear make-up totally made her look older than her actual age, but still, my history shows that this is not the case.

I have not previously been comfortable with women within my age bracket.  I’m not sure why?  I think it may have to do with the way young people look at the world.  Some are sad, and most naively so. But for me the depression at my age is quite crippling, and this is one of the reasons why I was attracted to the presence of men wearing make-up.  I wanted to disguise my aging, or at the very least, have the ability to laugh at the cruelty of the aging process.  In my twenties, I never even thought about it, but once I reached thirty, it became a huge concern of mine.  Younger girls always were attracted to me, and it may be due to my interest in their culture.   But who knows?  I never seriously considered ‘why’ they would be interested in me.  I was only grateful that I got the attention that I desperately needed.



When we got married in Mexico I was concerned what her parents would think, but it seemed at the time that my new bride could care less what they thought, and that made me happy at that specific time.  Nevertheless, time caught up with us, and we realize that perhaps the marriage was a mistake.   I remember taking her to the Egptian theater to see Chaplin’s “Gold Rush, ” which by the way, has always been a favorite of mine. Since childhood, when I saw this film on a morning TV show, I developed a crush on his leading lady at the time.  It never left me that feeling, and it was after the screening that I told Lita that it is perhaps best for us to obtain a divorce.

As I sit down trying to work on a book about Lincoln, I am thinking back about our marriage, which surprises me that I don’t even have a photograph of Lita or any of the possessions that we or I owned at the time.  I gave her everything, and once the papers were signed I never saw her again.   As with the make-up, I still add a little rouge here and there, and in the night, once in bed, I do think of my health, or lack of it, as time marches on.