Burn and Berlin...

Burn will tell you there was something wrong with me and maybe that's true. I don't know what to say about that, am in no mood to attempt a defense. I didn't want to talk about it, couldn't much talk about it with Burn, what is going on because even I don't know or can't describe it. Things will always hurt and I'm just trying to get through it and respect it fucking respect it but keep moving.

We were out on the town and there was one glaring problem with all of the beauties we ran across. Germans are fucking schooled in language, meaning that they know mine too well and last night, I didn't want them to. There's a body sleeping in my bed. I don't even know where I am right now. There's a computer in the room that I'm using that I must have ordered at some point last night when I got home. I'm still drunk so I feel okay and she's naked so I must've fucked her quite a bit because I feel like that's the mood I must've been in last night. No, I remember...

She didn't speak a lick of English. When me and Burn parted ways, I was approaching girls on the street, as long as they were pretty enough and I was asking them if they didn't know English. They all did, all so fucking educated make me feel like such a goddam peasant. But sometime around four, I found a girl. She didn't understand a fucking word I was saying so I took her hand and dragged her back here...checking the note pad on my desk - the Hilton in Mitte, and we fucked and fucked and fucked. I don't know what I said to her and I'm not sure if I care to know, but I can tell you that it was a lot, likely, because I had some stuff I needed to get out. I'm sure I fucked her for hours, talking the entire time, my lips and mouth and words moving out of me...about my life, about my hurt, about my fallen girl. I wonder what she was thinking as I was fucking her - my never shutting up, maybe crying a little bit - whatever it was she handled it because she's still here, her bare ass staring at me from on top of the covers.

I think I should order her breakfast - at least feed her before she leaves, which she has to do almost immediately. I have much to do but mostly just compose myself before I see my friend again, because we have business, much business.

Every now and again, I see them laying there and motionless and I get scared, fucking scared. Is she dead? Did I kill this woman? Intentionally or unintentionally? I usually then do what I am about to do now, like take this pen off the desk...and throw it at her. Missed. I take this bag of nuts...and throw it and hit her in her bare ass.

She stirs.

She is alive.

Now I can move on.

Burn is coming to town...

He's been talking shit about it for a long time now -- and now I've got to go to Berlin to see him. I haven't been there in a while. Actually, I don't remember anything about my times in Berlin. Maybe it's time to start something new. Absolutely, it's time to start something new. Burn is coming to town.

He wrote me at some point and told me he gave our book to the guy who wrote that book that that cunt Oprah bastardized. I shouldn't call her a cunt. I don't know Oprah. I don't want to fucking know Oprah. Frey, that's the guy's name and I never read his book but I certainly heard about it. I remember hearing from people that I should read the book when it came out, when it became an obsession - from people who thought it would help me get over my "problems." My "problems." Fucking wow. A Million Little Pieces. I read the wiki article on it and on him because I think in the end, me and Burn are going to have to meet him - because I feel like we are going to need him - a bright shining star to help us shine because I feel like that's how it works. That has to be how it works.

Or not, I don't fucking know. Burn keeps sending me these shorts that he says he wants to go shoot and make and bring me to life. I don't know what to say about that. He says he wants to being Jenny to life - to make her real - as if she wasn't real enough already, as if everything that happened between her and me wasn't real enough already. I don't know what to tell him. I think so much of everything is so fucked up. Burn is coming to Berlin and I am going to meet him. It's strange to think about. It makes me nauseous. Fucking nauseous because of the promises we made - because of the world we have to live up to. And now every time I see him, I have to become all and everything I am capable of and I think he feels the same way. We would be crazy if we told you that this was light...any of it...any of the time.

He said we might need a new chapter. Might. I guess it depends on how this turns out. I'm worried. Because at times I have no control, and I'm afraid about bringing him in on that...pretty Burn, safe Burn, collected Burn.

We have no choice but to rip this apart - any part of the world that dare host us. Berlin. Hello. Here we come.

After A Long Hiatus...

Burn just sent me an e-mail. He didn't say much about our book. To be true, I don't really care at this moment of my life. I know all the fucking wheels have to turn, a thousand fucking wheels to make anything concrete happen right now - and I suppose we have to sit back and wait for it to an extent. He had some good things to say, some encouraging things but honestly, I drift between wanting our words to get published and wanting them to be ours only, to keep them away from the shit world that would pretend to understand them so that they would in some way, give definition to aimless lives...something to talk about, something to live vicariously through. It's all shit, all of it, and I'm only doing it for the power of it all, to say I am something that I always wanted to be...a writer that people read, so that I can drift myself further above and remain there forever. The shit I've seen...the shit I've been through. Would stagger the soul of the world.

There's at least one person who knows this. His name is Burn. And this e-mail he sent was something new, like I said. He said he had to keep moving forward with something, to keep working on something because he was starting to go insane...was starting to feel normalized again and rested and stable. The last thing I knew, he was working on some script that he was calling mindless - because it was some big comedy, still vicious but supposedly funny - and I don't know what happened...if the wheels came off or what, but he wrote me this morning and said something exactly like, fuck I'm too obsessed with you. Then he said that there was something he had to see - the idea of me on screen, Clive Owen playing my bastard father. He told me he was writing the story of my fucked up existence (personally, I don't see it that way and it kind of hurt to see Burn describe it that way), from before the two of us met under the Eiffel...a story constructed from the stories I'd told him over our drunken times in the cities we shared. He said he already started writing it and that he didn't want to change my name and that he didn't want to make it fictional because he didn't really have to. I am simply that riveting.

I've never met Clive Owen, only seen him in Soho bars or in Harrods buying some sort of fucking scarf and perfume. Burn says he sees him all the time. I think Burn can pull off anything he wants in this world. He'll tell you this too. A lot of people will tell you things like that and never come close. Burn isn't like that. He wont be like that. Clive Owen will play my father. I'm more interested in who will play me.