I was recently swapping stains with this English bird who was caravanning across my country - or at least my country of choice for the moment - Argentina. And before her, there were dozens - in the span of like a financial quarter. I mean, like every other night, sometimes two in a single. That's what I love about Argentine women, they just don't give a fuck so they just fuck. And we're talking the beautiful and the distinguished. They have this look and this superiority about them -- but it's all appearance and no attitude so they're highly fulfilling. It's not like I'm paying for the women or picking them up off a corner -- I'm charming them. I'm laying my wit and style on the line to see what's what, and it was my new and fully fulfilling hobby, like I was amassing this great collection...or so I thought.
Cindi -- the English bird - was part of the game, no doubt. First night I saw her, we're talking 40's Hollywood, spotting a dame from across the bar and that need, that fucking need. I haven't had it in a long time - a long time. That's why when we woke up together the next morning and I was still there - actually, we were at my place - my place of residence, I knew I was walking into something uncharted. I'm not saying that this was building or that there was room for growth or that we didn't fuck that first night because we did, but there was something different about it. Something sweeter.
Jesus, I'm starting to sound like Burn.
We hung for a couple weeks, and we actually did shit. Like shit, like renting a car and driving places...actually going out to dinner and -- I don't know -- the point is -- I don't know what the point is. This is sifting.
I don't know why I bought the video cameras. I don't know why I needed to put her on tape - kind of against her will. I'm not sure why I did this but am pretty sure why. This is fucked up, but maybe because...
I've been trying to call her for a couple weeks now, ever since she left to go back to London. She picks up the phone and just sits there. Then when we finally do start talking, she just fucking yells and hollers and tells me I'm a fucking pig and that she never wants to see me or talk to me again and all I want to do is calm her down but she's yelling and I'm trying to reason with her -- trying to convince her that me filming her was my pedestal, that me filming her was my honoring her. It's not like I was going to show my friends (I only have one and he lives in the Angel City) or post it - it was for me - for my personal collection. Although it may sound like I've done this a lot, I fucking haven't. I've never done it. I was honoring her, and I'm not thick enough to think that she is going to ever understand that or even let it slide a little bit, but that's exactly what I was fucking doing. The shitty thing...
Is that I think she does, I think she understands it, exactly and all too well. Because, man, she can't lie to herself and she fucking knows me better than to think I would waste a single breath with a lie. I know, again - same guy who kinda duped a girl into making a fuck film, but I've got principles. I've got fucking principles.
Shit. I'm messy. So I'm in London, because everything about this has been eating me and I thought it was the only thing I could do. I thought maybe I could come here, clean up and maybe run into her on the street or something. London's alright - and it's too hard to score any drugs so at least I know things can stay clean for a while. I could use clean for a while. Right now, I feel poisoned and I don't feel right and there's this fucking sickness in me and I could grab a quarter key no prob and chase all this shit away...but I don't want to chase it away. I want it. I feel like I deserve it or maybe need to feel it and keep it around. I don't know what it is, exactly, and further investigation may and could do me well, maybe could set me -- not straight but something. It could set me something. And I'm wandering in another country again and nothing feels like home and maybe this was all I needed.
