I can do orgasms all by myself…

I think it’s supposed to be “I Can Do Bad All By Myself” but I’m not Tyler Perry and that’s not a suitable headline for this blog. I can do orgasms all by myself on the other hand is. The thing is though: shared pleasure is double (or triple) pleasure. That’s why this dizzy blonde is on a mission to open up, surrender and love freely and openly. To give of myself as much as I can, but also dare to trust that there are those that give to me and be OK with that. It’s hard to allow someone else to give you orgasms when you can do it all by yourself…it may be double pleasure, but you are then counting on someone else. And I guess I was never too good at that. Trusting. Believing others actually loved me enough to freely give of themselves to me. I am learning though. One baby step at a time.

More than anything I guess I was scared of others because I didn’t trust myself. I feared their opinion of me as it could bring me great joy, or great sorrow. I didn’t have self-love, so I was 100% relying on others love. If they told me I was great I felt great. If they told me I was bad, I felt bad.  Often, if I liked someone enough, I would just give and give and give, trying to please sooooo much, just to try to get them to tell me I was alright. It made me feel very, very vulnerable and I was often closed up like a clam.

Now, I have learnt to do orgasms all by myself. I don’t need to rely on my ability to give others orgasms, or their ability to give them to me for my own internal happiness. Even if others tell me I’m not enough, or I find that they aren’t pleasing me, things don’t have to go tits up because my bottom is still rock steady. I do believe though that being a rock, being an island, as the song goes, is only one part of happiness. The other comes from sharing that happiness with others.

The journey of being open and vulnerable on this blog has been fabulous – it was easy for me because I wasn’t sharing my feelings with this one person, who was in the room (desperately trying to please them at the same time), I wrote it for myself, it was about giving myself an orgasm, but the feedback in the last year and a half has been truly astounding – it seems I gave a few other people orgasms too (metaphorically speaking). To hear that my words in any way reach out to people and touch them makes me giddy with happiness every time. If I manage to make someone smile, laugh, see their own beauty, or find their own strength, that is simply beyond amazing. It’s totally worth having my heart and soul online for that purpose (and getting the odd punch for it) and it’s helping me because I’m learning to do the same in my own life: being open and loving, not to please but because that’s who I am.

Yet, blogging is also interesting because a lot of people know exactly what you are pondering and you have no clue of what they think of you. Everyone else can play hard to get, but my words are always there, accessible 24/7. “Hi Darling, I am very busy, I can’t take your call right now…but you won’t have a chance to miss me, because I’m all over my blog instead of all over you. You’re a mystery, I’m an open book. Literally.” Sometimes it feels very unfair indeed…maybe he will just have to give me his secret diaries?

And now I have a favor to ask…I would love your secret thoughts too… Basically, I’m submitting this blog to publishers and editors. I have gathered some of my favorite pieces that I am rewriting for that purpose. And to make it extra nice I thought it would be fabulous if you love this blog and you would be willing to write down why you love it…any random words from your heart about it…because then I can include those words in my proposal. Like my words in return for yours.

So yeah, I am asking for your orgasms peeps…well to describe them, if this blog ever gave you any…metaphorically speaking, as you know by now…please do not send me descriptions of actual orgasms. I know I talk sex a lot, but there are things even I can’t handle.

See I am doing it – I am asking for shared orgasms, even if I can do a book proposal all by myself…and a part of me is screaming it’s stupid because no one will write to me and it will prove…nothing. I am still getting an orgasm from my writing…and on that note peeps: enjoy your day – make it orgasmic!

Maybe that night we make love till morning…

Sometimes we feel small and insignificant. Much like a tiny girl, walking up a massive mountain. We aren’t quite sure of where we are, or where we will end up. We have an idea of where we want to go – to the top – but the path is winding and we can’t always see the top – there is fog, trees and sometimes fires blocking the sight.

There are nights, when we are curled up by the fire watching a starry sky, and we feel calm and serene, and the path we are walking feels like the loveliest thing ever. Our muscles are tired after a day’s worth of climbing, in fact we are feeling tired through and through, but a good tired – we lived. We lived to the full and we are still buzzing, still filled with life and life force. We are almost giddy with excitement of all the wonders we have seen and are yet to see. Our eyes are still glazed with the beauty of butterflies catching the morning breeze underneath their wings, or the glorious sight of rainbows and waterfalls. Maybe a sudden thunderstorm filled us with power, with lust and then a gentle drizzle calmed our spirits shortly after, only to be followed by sunshine that made us laugh.

We may be sharing our camp fire with some exhilarating stranger we have met whose faces tell tales of faraway countries and adventures more fearful, more wild than we could ever imagine…or maybe adventures so sweet and lustful we can only dream of….and maybe, maybe one day achieve. Or maybe we are sharing the fire with gorgeous loved ones who are accompanying us on our journey and feel as familiar as our favorite spice.

Maybe the night is filled with laughter and excited whispers and tender words. Maybe children are playing and grown-ups smiling. And maybe, long after the kids have gone to bed, everyone is sharing tales that make our heart sing. Maybe we have found a boy whose eyes are sparkling in the moonlight and seemingly reflecting not just the moon, but our own soul, making us feel understood. Maybe for that moment it all makes sense – the search, the climb, the path that we are now on. Maybe that night we make love till  the morning.

At other times we are utterly lost – it’s raining, our knees are aching, we can’t see the top of the mountain – we are walking upwards, but we have no idea if we will ever reach the top, or at least find enough treasure to buy a fire that is always burning, a bottle that is always full, a bed that is always protected and love that is always tender. We are fearful, tired and soaked to our bones. We seek the light in our soul, the inner warmth, the love we know is hidden there, but the fear is overwhelming and the panic seemingly real as the night closes in on us and we shiver.

We  think about friends we have lost, lovers that crossed our path. We think about the chances we never took and those we should never have taken. We think about our own death and wonder where we will be then? Will we have reached the top? Or will we still be fearful and lonely?

We try to fight it, to be strong, but we only get angrier and angrier with ourselves when we do – because we are meant to be strong, right? We are meant to conquer the rain and walk with joy in our heart. We are meant to have learnt enough to find our way by the stars. We aren’t supposed to be lost, or lonely, or tired, or hungry. We are supposed to know better, be better.

Then, we give up. We remember what being truly tiny meant – what it was like being a child. When the world felt large and scary and we jumped up into our parents, or siblings laps and cried, or were just held tight. We were stil told that we were beautiful, that we were loved. No one gave up on us because we slipped and fell. They just hugged us better. We remember that it was OK then. OK to be lost and frightened and sooner, or later we found our way – whether by ourselves, or with the help of others. We felt tiny back then too. We felt scared back then too. But we weren’t angry with ourselves. We just were. We just allowed ourselves to be and somehow, somewhere, we always found the love we needed to find, the light to lit up the deepest night.

Then we take a moment to rest. We sink down, our back towards a cold fir-tree. The cold, suddenly intense against our back, awakens us. We look around. We see a tiny hare, followed by another tiny hare, looking out at us from underneath the bushes. We slowly reach out our hand. We are in desolate parts where man rarely walks and the hares have not yet learnt to fear us. We slowly look at them, as they are looking at us. In their eyes we see our own fear and trepidation reflected. We see curiosity and hope. We see warmth and love.

One of the hares slowly, slowly moves over, seeing whether to trust us. And then, with a final jump it is by our hand, sniffing it. Its nose feels warm against our cold skin. It keeps sniffing around, then suddenly jumps up, into our lap, and looks at us with big eyes. The other hare now follows, carefully, but bravely, seeing the success of its fellow friend. And then, you have them both in your lap, sharing their warmth, their lives with you.

Everywhere the rain is drizzling, turning the wood into a hazy, almost surreal place. The raindrops glisten in the final hour of dusk and the sun is making one last effort to shine through, turning everything golden. You feel a little warmth from it against your skin and the hares’ body heat radiating through your clothes, into your stiff, frozen bones. For a moment you are sharing your life with two other creatures, like yourself, trying to stay warm, find food, love and happiness. You are helping each other, understanding one another. Suddenly life has conquered and you once again feel calm – inside a new dawn has awoken.

You feel fresh. Every part of you has been shaken – you have been lost and you are still lost, but inside you have found the light. You know that as night comes rolling in you will eat some food that strengthen your body and find peace in your dreams. You will then awaken with the sun and move towards new horizons. Maybe with some furry friends by your side.

It is impossible to know if we will ever reach the top of any mountain. Life is an adventure and as such, we know that there will be struggle, there will be loss, but what will always save us is our own life force, our own love of that which surrounds us, that which we do and those whom we love, including ourselves.

We will continue to get lost and we will continue to get found. Storms will shake us and events move us. We will lose what we have found and move on to find love in unexpected places.

The best we can do is find our own heart, our own peace. We can never know what storm is coming next, or how far we will get the next day. We can only continue to move with a purpose in our heart, which gives meaning to our journey. We can continue to build love in our heart, which will strengthen us and keep us calm in the eye of the storm. We can surround ourselves by love, by doing what we love and taking time to build friendships with those we love, or those we think we will come to love. We can give of what we have, as well as our gifts, our talents, and share our lives with others.

We can love and with love always comes a treasure.

A sexy masquerade…or shall we say striptease???…

It’s nice with masquerades, isn’t it? On the one hand they give us a chance to display some hidden part of our character, on the other a chance to hide underneath….well, a mask. We can do anything because it’s not really us – it’s the mask.

There are different types of masks you can buy in the streets of Venice. There are the ugly ones, the fancy ones, the crazy ones, the sexy ones, the colorful ones, the scary ones, the discrete ones, the extreme ones, the beautiful ones…you can pick and choose whatever/whomever you want to show up as, much like you can pick and choose your “mask” for the day. You pick your dress code and your attitude and wear it like a mask, unless it is a complete representation of whom you truly are in your heart.

In theatre we often do a lot of work with masks; either because we are portraying a different character, or because we are doing neutral mask work. With neutral mask work I mean we put on a plain mask and explore what life feels like when we “wake up” with this mask. It’s kind of like a baby waking up with fresh eyes and behind that mask you are in a sense free to be whomever you want. You don’t have to be what your past shaped you into being anymore. At the same time you feel you can truly be who you are – innocent, open, vulnerable…because underneath the mask you are safe.

I often think of this blog as a mask – although there are times when I share directly what comes from my heart and soul, I often hide the message underneath some sexy cover. Yes, the sexy cover is to make it fun, spice it up, add some magic…but at the same time it’s a very nice mask. Sexy to me has always been a mask to hide that I have a heart. A hear that feels. A heart that bleeds. A heart that heals. A heart that loves. It’s just easier to show my stilettos rather than my bare feet.

Of course I also chose this mask because some part of me was longing to be really sexy and I was always shy so I never lived it out to the full. Blogging about it opened me up more, just like the person who dreamed of being a singer all their life, whilst wearing a mask representing Elvis or Michael Jackson, may dare to live out that side of their personality, because it’s not real so long as they are wearing the mask. They are just acting someone else.

So in a way this blog is my way to practice being as free with being sexy as I like, on the other hand the sexiness is a cover for the fact that I’m actually pouring my heart out here. I guess because I thought sexy was cool, but pouring your heart out wasn’t. People think I’m “out there” when I talk about sex so openly, but to me that means nothing. Making love is what counts. I was more nervous posting my little love story because that story has lived in my heart for as long as I can remember. I felt more open and vulnerable writing that, because it matters to me. It matters a lot to me and I’m still trying to come to terms with being a romantic fool with a big heart and a love of all things magical. It’s that much easier to act a sharp business woman.

So we put on masks because we have a side of us we want to hide, or another side we want to open up without having to be ourselves. Meaning really we put on masks as we fear people will not like us as we are; raw, uncovered. To open our hearts without a mask to cover it, I believe we need to learn to trust. First ourselves, then others.

I believe if we live with an open heart, not a naive heart, but an open one, we should be able to sense other people’s intentions. However, it may still be worth taking baby steps before you enter into business or a relationship of any kind with someone.

Again, it reminds me of theatre exercises; exercises where you build trust: you allow someone else to walk you around a room blindfolded, learn to fall back into their arms knowing they will catch you, learn to work together by mirroring each others moves – relaxing and following their lead, then them following yours. Step by step you learn to trust the people who will deliver their lines so you can deliver yours and the play will be delivered to the audience as a master piece. In life we don’t always take that time to build trust and if we aren’t lucky, we get hurt. We basically don’t test the waters – we just sail straight away…and maybe that’s why we feel the need for masks?

Masks can be very sexy…there’s something mystical and alluring about them, but I do believe that what comes straight from the heart will always be sexier. Someone who can be sexy straight from the heart, someone who can be naked and feel sexy next to the one they love will be more sexy than the person who can pull a striptease routine on a stage, wearing the mask of a stripper. Because after all, underneath that mask; they are a human too.

A passionate dance…

I just watched a number by the dancer I fell for when I was fourteen. I remember those first steps of passion. Of a calling. Of finding something I truly cared about. I remember dancing.

Having secured a job you think that the first thing I’d do is to go celebrate and have some drinks. The first thing I’ll do is use the now free spare time to actually work on my own business, instead of job hunting. The second thing I’ll do is to pay for dance classes.

Life is very simple in a sense. You have passions. You figure out a way to live them out. I’m not a professional dancer. I get dizzy from pirouettes (go figure), but I do love to dance. And so if I can only do amateur movies and amateur plays with dance in them…I can do it. Maybe they are not that amateur like – I studied for five years to become a professional Actor/Director and one year to become a Film/TV Producer. I didn’t start dancing to become a professional though. I started dancing because I fell in love with a dancer…but I ended up falling in love with dancing and that led me to acting and finally directing and producing. That dancer really did change my life…one day I should thank him.

I don’t do business, act, direct, dance, or produce because I have to. Nor do I paint, cook, write, or do photography because I have to. Or because it pays my bills. I do it because I love it. Because it fulfills me. I need to remember this as I dance through life. I need to remember that I am dancing. I’m not just doing things, I’m dancing with them. I am twirling through life graciously. I am the dance. I am that love.

In the same way I need to remember that no guy or company will ever be more than my music. It will be the music I dance to. The music which inspires me. It won’t pay me, or give me an award. It’s just something I can dance to. Something I can make love to in my own special way.

Be the love you want to see in this world…and do make love to the music…

Me dancing…

Another love story to tantalize your taste buds…

As you may know I wrote a love story last year. In my mind the story continued and there were chapters I wanted to add, stories I wanted to write. Yet, the time never seemed right. I never managed to just…write. Until today. Today the “pen” once again got hold of the “paper” and the words flowed. You see, I never feel like I write until I edit. Sometimes it can be challenging, but if I feel like I have to force the words out, the words are not the right ones. I’m not in the right mindset to write. Today the words came. So here’s the story…a part of the story…enjoy! (P.S. If you didn’t read the first part, this won’t make much sense…go here to read it…)

The Journey

Chapter Two

The night sky melted away to leave room for dawn – the first streaks of husky peach appeared, then golden lines glowing in the still dusky gray morning. It was as if a little kid was licking a pot of chocolate, she thought, showing more and more of the shining red pot underneath the chocolate, but then she was bound to think about food… One streak at a time the colors underneath revealed themselves in a beautiful symphony. She thought about the jester. It was his colors, the dawn…this inexplicable symphony of life. So easy, yet so hard to comprehend. She sighed.

She was standing in her kitchen in the shop, getting it ready for the day ahead. The kitchen, in fact, was partly open so that customers could see what she was doing. Only the wood fired oven and the sink with a wall behind it were blocking the view in the far corner. It was a place she felt so comfortable in. It was who she was. She had designed every inch of it, from the stone oven to the cupboards. It looked as homemade as, well, as it was. Even the wood had been cut directly from tree trunks, leaving the shelves that were surrounding her with uneven edges – smoothly they followed the shape that the tree once had. The shelves still had the warm scent of wood, which blended nicely with the smell of the fire and the spices.

It was a magical kitchen filled with light and warmth, not to mention hundreds of herbs and spices that added color and a certain sense of mysticism…although of course there was nothing mystical about them. They were nature’s extended hand. It always surprised her that not more people cared to learn about them. Almost every plant, if used correctly, could bring something amazing to the human body and mind. To her getting to know each plant and its properties was always a unique experience. She felt thankful that this planet was providing her with everything she would ever need and for each herb she picked she said her thanks. After all she picked a life out of the ground to eat it. A life, which had taken time to grow, a life so beautifully provided for her.

Behind her was also a drapery, covering the door frame leading to the stairs that would take you up to her apartment above. The drapery was made of different fabrics and shone in some of the most amazing colors. Her mother always used to say she dressed and decorated like a gypsy.

If she climbed those stairs now they would lead her to the jester. He was probably getting dressed, getting ready for the day ahead. He too enjoyed the first moments of the day. He had told her that when everyone else was asleep he had peace to think about himself and his own life. He could also  focus better and therefore practice a really advanced magical trick, or juggling. It was the very same reason she got up before dawn. She smiled. It did indeed seem like they spoke the same language. As if they operated according to the same manual, yet with widely different lives.

He was sleeping in her house and because of it there was a different smell in the house, a different energy radiating everywhere, yet she felt the last couple of days as if she had arrived home. She laughed. She had been at home for a lifetime. She had always known in her heart what she wanted to do; what her gifts were. When others had asked what she would do if she could do anything her answer had, for as long as she could remember, been the same: I’m already doing it. In her heart she knew she was aligned with who she was. And this little town was her home. Of course she had traveled to see, to learn and to find answers, but always to return…home. The feeling of home she felt inside now though was different.

Her mind floated away as she took out her cakes from the cold cupboard where they had rested over night, put them in the oven and started grinding spices to sprinkle on top. Different blends for different people. Soft vanilla and cinnamon for those in need of warmth. Sweet chili and mandarin for those in need of spice. Soothing cardamom and lavender for those in need of calm. The combinations were endless.

There were other men she had shared good times with, hard times with and glorious moments with. Yet, even though she had met hundreds and hundreds of people passing through her little bakery and felt unique connections with so many of them, sympathy for others and a heartfelt love for some, she had never before felt at home with them. They were exciting. They all had gifts to share, stories she would could learn from. Things that made her laugh for hours, or cry, or just feel happy, or excited…yet none of them had understood her. Bits of her, but not all of her. And for the first time in her life she felt that her whole heart was open to someone. As if…as if she could truly be together with someone, not just next to someone. As if they could share a moment to which they were both present and both understood. As if she wasn’t alone.

It was liberating being able to play with someone who understands the game you are playing. Not just the rules, but the intentions behind it and the emotions going through you whilst playing it. It was a special feeling.

She put down a jar of herbs on the work bench and picked out a bunch of dried leaves. This specific herb reminded her of a specific man…

Once upon a blue moon there had been a man she had fallen madly in love with. In fact, whereas the jester had entered her life at dawn, this man had entered her life during a full moon, around midnight. Like the jester he was a traveler, a sailor. So different from her… She was small and slender, he was tall and rough. His weather worn face told tales one could not easily forget. His blue eyes, always squinting in the sunlight, glittered like waves in the ocean.,,,dark and mesmerizing. His hands were calloused, his skin tanned and scarred in places. His whole being exuded strength and power, but also warmth. He had been a man of nature; of seeing things for what they were in the natural world. He could navigate by the stars and survive storms out at sea. This, to her, was very attractive. Yet, he had only seen the obvious. He could only see that which was material, real. For her the world consisted both of the physical matter you could see and feel and the matter which you could only sense. She had always known what others were thinking. He could not phantom this. Although she knew that her mind could travel too much and be too unstable, his robustness, if refreshing and lovely as a counteractive force, crushed her at times. They were, in a sense, mysteries to one another. They understood each other on one level, but they did not see things in the same light.

It had been a nice experience. He had grounded her. Moved her with his somewhat brutal force. It had been plus meeting minus and the whole affair had been explosive. As most explosions it had also been memorable. Something which moves you that greatly is often hard to forget.

The jester was not like the sailor, even though they had traits in common. The jester, although he was different from her in so many ways, in the core center of his heart, seemed the same. As if they had been made of the same piece of clay. Of course everyone is…if you think about it. Yet, with the sailor it has been as if he was made of the clay from the north pole and she of the clay from the south pole. An instant attraction. Like fire meeting dynamite – something happens. Something significant at that. However, explosions are…explosive. With the jester on the other hand it was as if they both had a plus and a minus within them, but they were made from clay from the same region of the world. They fit. They blended together. There were still sparks, but no fire.

She loved him, in a way, because she could feel him within her heart. She didn’t know him yet. She didn’t know the things that would move her, drive her insane with lust or make her want to close the door and be left to her own devices…if so only for a moment. It was a bizarre feeling, but she knew she could share life with him. That’s why she felt at home. And his scent…that of musky spices with some exotic twang has a deliriously calming effect on her spirits. She didn’t know how it could make her delirious and calm at the same time, but it did.

The sky was now a fiery orange. The day was breaking and the birds had started chirping away. Soon there would be footsteps on the pavement and old Mme. Legrand would pop by for her morning tea. Sweet, but not too sweet. Mme. Legrand didn’t know it, but she would need something light to take away the heaviness that often hung within her. Young Monsieur Marseille would then casually walk in and demand his espresso and croissant. What he didn’t know was that behind his slick exterior he needed comfort and joy to feel more confident in his ways. Her flower scented water would do just the thing. She smiled to herself – she had a whole town to look after.

The jester would probably soon be practicing his tricks in the alleyways and attract random children and curios passersby as his audience. His green blue eyes would be glittering with joy as he would bring his audience smiles, laughter and some poignant truths. His light brown hair would be tousled as he’d run his hand through it too many times. Yes, she did love that man in some way…maybe because of what he brought to others and his understanding of them. He was an entertainer, an entertainer of the heart.

…To Be Cont…

Memories…

La France...

Footsteps paved a path. A path up the mountain. The sun was lingering in the sky – it was late afternoon and it was making its decent. As always the orange trees added luster to the picture; the orange dots matching the color of the sun. It was magic. This landscape so alive, yet so dry at times. The rounded mountains rolling in the horizon, adding softness, adding charm. It was the perfect picture of the French countryside: dark browns and greens mingled up with color. To her it was beauty.

Her heart was there. In that image. Somewhere. She could recall almost everything. The stage. The people. The moonlight. She hadn’t known that summer would change her life forever, but it did. How young she had been. It was an interesting picture. Her, back then. She was essentially the same, yet not at all.

She hadn’t thought of it for so long that the memories came to her almost as a shock. The fact that she could remember so much. It was a path she hadn’t walked for a very long time, but as often is the case: once you start walking you recognize the path, you know where the turns are and one thing reminds you of another.

Looking back she smiled. It was a beautiful story after all. Maybe the ending hadn’t been great, but then the new beginning had been marvelous. Where one journey ends another starts. And she was happy now. For real. And the journey continued to make funny twists and turns…never seizing to fascinate the people on it.

She smiled once more. Life…

Me, unedited…

Words flowing freely in the night, yet it is now daylight. Pen against paper, mind wandering in endless streams of curiosity. What pleases me? What pleases you? Does like attract like, or do opposites attract? What in the world are we here for? How to live true to your passion, rescue your soul and still thrive? Can I be free? Can I be me? Am I insane, or have I lost my gain? Is this truly worth it? Lies color dark night sky darker. Truth, so sweet, so cruel, so liberating and free, like spring showers in the nude. Like the streams running down the mountains in April. Free. Liberated. Oh how I wish I was. Always. That spirit. That teenage rebellion with a pen in my hand and a smile on my face. Paris, my dear beloved. I remember, I remember in sweet November, how you stroked my hair and made me listen, or maybe I was just listening to myself? My own fears and dreams…far, far away, yet, so close I lived to them back then. Passion. Always passion. Then I forgot. I went astray. London’s ruthless cold weather was not my thing. Not in me. Not resonating. But now, now I’m back. Oh, sweet freedom, make me stay. In this place, where I once again see clearly. Yet, make me survive this way. Please.

I used to live for that artist’s dream. I used to fly, up in the sky. Then I broke my own heart. Now I feel like once again I am me. The real me. The true me. yet, I cannot help but wonder if the world will feel the same? When I ditch the skirt for a bikini and dance through the sun drenched beaches. Am I just crazy? Is all this just a dream? Have I lost my mind to insanity, or have I been brought back to life? Does it really matter? Can’t it just be fun, worth the ride? Like chocolate and ice cream dipped days by the sea. Like strawberry swirls in summer. Like midnight adventures into the cold, frost-bitten nights of December? Like laughter, ringing like church bells, only clearer and louder in the blue summer heavens. Haven. This place. If you believe. If you love. If you live as you please and not to please. Am I strong enough to do that? Or will I once again, just go chase the American Dream? Can I stretch my wings and fly, will it work this time? Am I strong enough now? Am I ready? Or will I forever get caught in the competitive world of fame and fortune?

Who knows? Who cares? Let’s go dance in the moonlight!

(This is how I ramble in my diary, when I write without editing, without trying to analyze – dissect. When I speak my mind in a silly poetic fashion. When I’m being free.)

Sex on the beach, or sex in bed???

Listen, every Prince, or Princess had obstacles to overcome. That was the adventure right? The juice, the sauce, the yummy ingredient that made us glued to our grandmas’ laps, or the TV screen as kids, enthralled by the stories.

In our own lives though, it can feel so different – when we don’t get that job, when we are gathering furniture from the street, when we are dating guy or gal number 101…it doesn’t always seem like the great adventure it did when sitting on gran’s lap, does it?

Few people get the ingredients in their life sorted out day one. That’s the ride, that’s the adventure. Now, many people have the same adventures, but how they write them is different and therefore how they feel is different. Are you a knight in shining armor fighting bandits, or are you a Don Quixote waving at windmills? How do you see yourself? What is the story you are telling yourself? Is it filled with misery and excuses, or are you a hero, constantly learning and moving forwards and upwards? Are you living for kicks, for hopes, or are you enjoying what’s on your plate? Are you creating every day magic, by say, having sex on the beach, or are you always doing it in bed? Are you waiting for something in particular to happen before you start living life, or are you living right now?

You’re a hero if you choose to be, always remember that. Now, if you want to, go re-write the story of your life to turn it into a blockbuster, fairy tale or sci-fi adventure. I’m sure you fought a dragon (angry bitch) at some point and had to deal with an evil sorcerer at another (your pick between in-laws an exes). It may also be a good idea to add a note on what you want for the future (like tonight)….the happily ever after sex on the beach….

My love life…raw, naked…

There was nothing I could do. The sky was a naked, empty canvas. A nothingness. Images were flashing through my mind. Images filled with laughter. Images filled with comfort through the tears. Images of holding hands. Such a simple thing. Holding a hand. Simple yet powerful. A support during long nights, through pain, through laughter.

You don’t need much in this life, not really. Healthy food on the table, a roof over your head and a certain level of comfort, being surrounded by a nice environment is enough. The secret, or not so secret needs, of the heart though, are much different. They are the ones that will whisper quietly, yet with strength; they are the ones that will keep you up at night. They are the ones that rule you, if you let them. Maybe you are in charge, maybe they are. I don’t know, but you heart will ache with those desires…ache…

I’m not sure if we were born with them, or if we were brought up to believe in them; if fate by chance, or purpose placed them in our lives. If it’s a cruel joke, or a divine plan. If it’s a choice, or a prison. I really don’t know. All I know is that since I was a kid I’ve had a restlessness in my heart. Maybe restless is the wrong word, maybe passion, or desire the right one. From time to time it has been a man who got hold of my heart and made me twist and turn in my sleep, wondering how it was humanly possible to long for something, or someone so much? Did I choose it? Why? Why him, why then? Why still now? Why long for the impossible? An illusion, or a reality? It keeps changing, whom the heart belongs to. Most oftenly though, it has been other things that have made my heart flutter with excitement, or ache with pain. A longing. Always a longing. To do. To do that which I love the most. I always wanted a nice lifestyle, I cannot deny that. I wanted to play with some toys. What propelled me though wasn’t only the cash, or the glory. It was a longing to do. My greatest gift wouldn’t have been a million to buy a house for, my greatest gift would have been a million to play with. Make movies and create companies. Tell stories. Help people. Creating positive change. Play. Play with the desire. Set my spirit free within it. Live. Live as I desire.

I’m happy today. I’m happy most days these days. I don’t think I’ve ever before felt so fulfilled, so calm somehow. I’m no longer dancing to other people’s tunes so much. The need for fame and glory has subsided drastically too. I still want to impress at times, prove my worth, but it’s getting less and less. Not only have I realized that I cannot make people love me that way, I also see the futility of it all. One man down, one man up. There’s really no point. There’s a point to excel, to drive humanity forwards. To help. There is no point to be glorified more than as an inspiration for others and that really doesn’t have anything to do with the glory. They should not seek to do what you did for glory, for fame, or fortune. They should seek to do so because you made a positive difference. Because they know they can live their fullest potential also. For inner satisfaction and outer change. No one is a hero. Everyone is a hero. There are so many successful people who know nothing of success and so many failures that are successes. Happiness. Fulfilled desires. Call it what you may.

The happiest I’ve ever been is jumping through waves. Free. No worries. No stress. No ego. Surrounded by fun people and an environment I love. Simplicity. Like sitting fishing in summer, or scrubbing potatoes on the beach, preparing a fire for dinner. I’ve experienced it in different places around the world and the common elements were nature, the beach, people, love, a willingness to let go and simplicity. The voice in my heart never quiets down though. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I do. Propelling me forward. It screams of a need to create. Constantly. Maybe it is about living to my full potential? But surely you must be able to do that in every moment already? Even if you can’t execute all your ideas in one go? I don’t know, but it always drove me nuts. It only quiets when I’m in the middle of something. Something that I can actually do. Not a company that will be launched in a year, but a play that is being put on right now, or a painting that will be done in a minute. Yet, the company that will be launched in a year is what I truly want to do.

I always wondered what the people without it felt? Or if anyone is truly without it? That urge, that pain, that itch that propels you forward towards your dreams. Sometimes it tires me – I never see an end to it. When one idea has been executed, another arrives. It’s never silent. At the same time it invigorates me, makes me fly, makes my heart beat faster, makes me grounded, makes me feel on fire, makes me happy, satisfies me. When I get to do it. It’s a choice though to do it. It just doesn’t always pay the bills. Not until you get the hang of it. I have already written about that – all the twists and turns of my life. All the little cross roads, the wrong turns, the hard years…now it feels better. I guess, like any drug addict, I’ve learnt to control it. Learnt that you can only do what you love if you also pay the bills. You have to be realistic, yet you have to be unrealistic and keep pursuing. You have to find a plan, because sure as hell the end product is not where you begin, yet you have to let your dreams lose. Free to fly as they wish.

At the same times it has also been a long road of setting myself free. Of not just living within my field, within my work. Learning to allow myself to be me, to be passionate without regrets, to live as I choose without judging in real life. Work was always my outlet. Where I allowed myself to do exactly what I wanted to do. Where I felt free and confident. Where I was happy.

When it all crashed I learnt that I had to live everywhere in my life. Not just within one thing. I didn’t only want to live through work. I didn’t want it to be my only outlet. I wanted to be me all over. It’s a liberating thing that. Being yourself and being confident. Confident that you can handle whatever life throws at you, full well knowing life can throw anything at you. I love my life. I can honestly say that now. After all these years.

The morning after…

Right. I never claimed sanity, although I think I’m more sane than most, yet more crazy too… The funny thing is, when I write, or for that matter, when I live, I can only show up as whatever I choose, not knowing what others will think of it. If it is right, or wrong, who knows? I guess as an artist though, it’s even more visible to you, as you literally get feedback thrown at you. If people don’t like your work – you get booed at. And having said that I’m about to post a short film script that’s not the best I’ve ever written. I do think it could be funny to make it, as then I could play with the actors and get what I want for each scene. As a plain script though…well, it’s plain. It was originally part of Quickies. Plain, or not plain, thoughts are welcome!

(It hasn’t been formatted properly.)

The Morning After

INT morning.

Two people in a bed are awakening. The woman awakens first. Realizes she doesn’t know where she is. Orientating. Slight panic. Trying to peek at the man who has his face the other way. The man starts moving and she slips back to where she was and closes her eyes. Man stretches. Realizes there’s a woman in his bed. Still with his face away from her panics, then prepares, turns around and peeks at her, searching his memory for who she is, clearly confused. She opens her eyes again.

Man: Morning.

Woman: Morning.

Man: Slept well?

Woman: Yes. You?

Man: Mhm.

Awkward pause

Woman: Mind if I use the bathroom?

Man: No, no, go for it.

Woman starts to sit up.

Woman: Uhm, where is it?

Man: The bathroom? Just out there. In the hallway.

Woman sits up properly. Realizes she’s naked and panics – pulls the cover over her. Scans the room for her clothes, but can’t see them anywhere.

Woman: I think I’ve lost my clothes…uhm, do you know where they are?

Man: (looks around) No. Let me have a look.

He is getting out of bed naked, realizing it half-way and grabs one of the sheets off the bed.

Woman waits in bed, having a look around – scanning for clues of who this guy is.

Man comes back.

Man: Here, I found them in, uhh, the kitchen.

Woman: Ahh.

Man: On the stove.

Woman: Ahh.

Woman awkwardly starts dressing underneath the covers.

Man: I’m gonna go make some tea. Do you want some? Or coffee?

Woman: Tea would be great.

Man goes out. Woman sits up and puts on her bra. Man sticks his head in again.

Man: Oh, I’m sorry. (Pops his head out of the room again) I’m just wondering what kind of tea? Mint, green tea, rooibos, camomille…

Woman: Mint would be nice, thanks.

Man: Sure thing. There’re towels in the left cupboard in the bathroom, I mean if you want to shower.

Woman: Thanks, that would be nice.

Woman gets dressed and looks around. Sees a picture of the man with a young kid.

Woman: Son? Brother? Cousin?

Int. Later – day.

Man in the kitchen. Making a phone call.

Man: Hey Rob, waz up?

Rob: Just chillin man, got home late last night, the party and all. You?

Man: Well…do you know who I brought with me home last night?

Rob: No, tell me bro.

Man: I don’t know, that’s the problem – thought you might.

Rob: You forgot to get her number before she left?

Man: No, she’s still here. She’s in the shower, I just can’t remember her name. I can’t even remember what we did last night. I have no memory of ever having met her.

Rob: Haha. That’s a good one man.

Man: It’s a fucking disaster. Oh, she’s finished showering. Talk soon bro.

Woman comes into kitchen. Dressed in a party gown. The back of the dress is tucked into her knickers. Man doesn’t notice as he sees her from front.

Man: Here’s your tea. Have a seat.

Woman: Thanks.

Man: I would offer you something to eat, but I need to do some shopping. Busy week you know.

Woman: That’s alright.

Man: Mind if I just go for a quick shower?

Woman: No, not at all.

Man leaves the room.

Woman looks around.

Woman: Shit, my handbag.

She goes into his bedroom, then the living room. His suit is spread all over. There’s an open condom package.

Woman: Shit, shit, SHIT.

Finds her handbag next to the couch. Calls a friend and walks back into the kitchen.

Woman: Hey, Julie, it’s me.

Julie: Hi girlfriend, what’s up?

Woman: Fuck knows. I woke up in this stranger’s apartment. Apparently we had sex.

Julie: And?

Woman: (And) I can’t remember it.

Julie: So he told you you had sex?

Woman: No. I don’t think he can remember either. I found evidence though.

Julie: Evidence?

Woman: Condom.

Julie: Oh, shit!

Woman: You don’t happen to remember who I left with last night, his name I mean.

Julie: No. I left early, as I have to leave today for our vacation. You weren’t really getting it on with anyone before I left. There were quite a few nice single guys, you know.

Woman: Yeah, it’s just I can’t even remember seeing this one.

Julie: Is he good looking? Nice?

Woman: Mhm, stinking hot…

Julie: Well then what’s the problem?

Woman: That I can remember fuck all!!! Oh crap, he’s finished showering. Talk to you later.

Man enters kitchen.

Man: Tea any good?

Woman: Oh, I don’t know yet, it was too hot to drink straight away.

They sit in silence with their cups.

Man: I might have asked you this last night, but to be honest I can’t remember: how do you know the hosts?

Woman: Well, I can’t remember if you did either. (both laugh) Must have been pretty drunk ehh?

Man: Uhhm, yeah. I don’t think I have been that drunk in years. My head…ouch!

Woman: Me neither. I don’t really drink that much normally, but they had really good cocktails…

Man: It was pretty wild.

Woman: So anyway, I’ve known Lucy since college. We both majored in film at USC. You?

Man: I know Brad from work.

Woman: Oh, you work for CNN?

Man: Mhm. Lawyer. Do acting and screenwriting in my spare time. Won a few awards for shorts – nothing major, but hoping to move into that field.

Woman: Nice!

Man: Yeah, I enjoy it. Got a new project coming up now actually. What do you do?

Woman: Actress…and actually a journalist too. Write for the LA Times. A weekly entertainment column.

Man: I guess we have something in common then…

Woman: Yeah, well, it’s LA after all – I moved all the way from Scandinavia to be part of this madness.

Man: Hollywood, eh?

Woman: Yeah. What kind of shorts do you make? Any particular genre?

Man: I like comedy you know. I have written this feature script that we already have some funding for so we are filming this summer, holding auditions this week and next. You? I mean what parts do you like?

Woman: I take the parts I get, so long as the script’s decent, but I love doing comedy actually. I’ve done a lot of shorts, a few indie features, some TV…

Man: Cool.

Woman finishes tea.

Woman: I guess I should be going. I need to get to a casting in about 2 hours and my clothes…well, I gotta change!

Man: Of course.

Woman (picks up phone): I’ll call a cab. What’s your address?

Man: 224 4th Street. The crossroad is Santa Monica.

Woman: No kidding, I live around the corner. Well, I guess I can just walk home. I must have been pretty drunk last night not to remember this…

Man: So we are neighbors, ha?

Woman: Yeah…

Man: Coincidence. Anyway, if you wanna grab a coffee some time…

Woman: Sure, here’s my card.

Man: Cool. I’ll show you out.

He leads the way. Opens the door.

Woman: Bye, thanks for the tea.

Man: Sure, sorry about not having anything else. Bye.

As the woman walks out the man sees her dress tucked into her knickers. Is about to say something, but doesn’t know how to tell her. Closes the door.

EXT. Day Later, Street.

Woman walks down street. Men are stopping and staring.

Int. Day – later, woman’s hallway.

Woman opens door. Sees skirt in the mirror.

Woman: As if it could get any worse…

INT. Day – later, woman’s kitchen.

Woman is standing by her macbook, Facebook. Ready to leave, just putting down the last things in her handbag. Sees a video someone’s just posted. “Last Night At Lucy and Brad’s…a must see LOL” Clicks on it. The video shows the woman and the man playing various games.

Woman (sits down): OMG. OMG. I haven’t been that drunk since I was sixteen…

Woman talks to camera (something really indecent and embarrassing). Her friends are cheering on.

Woman: Oh no! No, no, no.

INT. Day – later. Casting.

Woman is waiting in a room. Reading her lines.

Casting Assistant: Michelle Holm

Michelle: Yes.

Walks towards the room. Freezes in doorway.

INT. Day – later. Casting.

The audition panel consists of three men. One of them the guy Michelle woke up with this morning.

Guy 1: Hey, come on in and let’s do the profile and hands first please.

Michelle: S..sure.

Guy 2: So in this scene you are really drunk and really in love with that guy. Ted here will do the lines with you.

Ted: Hi again.

Michelle: Hi.

Guy 2: You know each other?

Ted: Yeah.

Michelle: Yeah.

Pause. Everyone’s waiting for an explanation.

Guy 1: OK, let’s roll. Michelle, you start. Remember you are really drunk in scene. And Action.

INT. Bar. Night.

Michelle: So I totally like abs you know. Like abs are just my thing. (Realizes how stupid it sounds)

Ted: Ah.

Michelle: I mean, you know…people that look after themselves.

Ted: Yeah.

Michelle: So you are a lawyer…what kind of law do you work with?

Ted: The American one.

Michelle: I just meant, entertainment, biz, that kind of thing…

Ted: Entertainment. It’s LA you know.

Michelle: Yeah, it would be entertainment, or divorces in this town eh? Hollywood and all that. So anyway, I’m an actress.

Ted: Go figure.

Michelle: Yeah, I have this part coming up in this series. I mean it’s on soon…I can’t tell you what happens though because of contracts, then I would break the law. You’d have to sue me. (laughs)

Ted: If you just excuse me, I have to go to the men’s room…

Guy 2: Cut. That was great guys!

Guy 1: Yes, only Ted in this scene you still need to be drooling over her hot looks…remember when you meet her a few weeks later and she is sober you actually end up liking her. Start off sitting a bit closer to her. (they move) Exactly, that’s it.

Guy 2: One more take then let’s wrap up for the day.

INT. Bar. Night. Later.

Still sitting as in scene that was just filmed. Things are being packed away around them.

Ted: I think we nailed this one.

Michelle: It was pretty good.

Ted: You…wanna grab a drink to celebrate?

Michelle: I’m not sure.

Ted looks awkward.

Michelle: I mean, how about a coffee? With our history, coffee might just be a safer bet.

Ted: Scared to get drunk?

Michelle: I never get drunk…just that one time.

Ted: Just that one time, eh?!

A collage of what happens during that night:

They are looking serious drinking coffee.

They are smiling drinking drinks.

They are laughing, dancing.

They are trying to get out of a cab.

They are lying in bed.

Black out.

Michelle: You know, I have a feeling I might not remember this tomorrow.

The End

Potentially this could be the start to a feature.