The Eroticism of Placelessness

The Eroticism of Placelessness

Cody Delistraty

On the way loneliness, freedom, and romance are intertwined.

For the past few weeks, I’ve woken up unsure exactly where I am. My bed, a modest full size, looks out onto a cobblestone courtyard framed by green linden trees and an intricately decorated castle. I’m in a pocket-sized one-bedroom apartment and although it is behind the Place des Vosges in Paris, by the looks of it I could be in Normandy or Toulouse, even Vermont. For that matter, there is no real way for me to know the year is 2014: save for the circle-pronged electrical outlet tucked behind my dresser, I could be waking up in the eighteenth century. In the haze of the early morning, these things tend to meld together.

The feeling of placelessness is a bit like a dream: the heightened romance, the intense brooding, the inherently transitory nature of the whole affair. Placelessness happens…

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Writing for the sake of writing

alienI am writing this without a specific theme. Just thought I should exercise my fingers. Don’t we all have days when we feel restless, full of energy, but can’t concentrate on a specific subject or project? This is one of those days.

Most of my other posts, although without depth, have some specific topic in mind. Today, I just thought I’ll let my fingers do the writing. My outer life has been quite secure, without the extreme mood changes that befall some of my friends. However, my inner life is full of emotions. Contradictions? Maybe.

On one hand, I am the perfect postal boy for what is perfect in this world. On the other hand, I feel a revolution trying to push itself out of my body. What was the name of that movie? Oh, yes, Alien. Unlike Alien, it is not some disgusting creature trying to come out of the bowels of my body. It is me.

I know that not many people in cyberspace read this blog, and I don’t expect that. It is after all, the writings of someone without a direction. Successful blogs center around a specific topic or show creative nuances with the written word. I doubt mine has any of that. What I have been using this blog for is to expose my brain to anyone who cares to read them. A kind of the diaries of Christopher Isherwood. Unlike him, I am a total lightweight.

On that note, better take a shower and face a new day…and something from a far, away time:

Nicky and her Latin boytoy

Ricky_Martin_-_Enrique_Martin_Morales_Puerto_Rican_pop_singer_(Pop,_pop-rock,_Latin_pop,_dance-pop,_world-reggae,_contemporary_R_and_B)One of the highlights of the modern Internet age is that you never die so long as there is a record about you in a corner of Cyberspace. So, here I come again, writing about a dead person I knew a long time ago. If I Google her name, her 10 years old obituary shows up. I may as well write my short recollections of her here.

Nicky (not her real name) was an ash blond attorney in her early 40s when I first met her. She was a single mom whose son was almost leaving the nest. So, Nicky was fully devoted to her career, being an attorney. She was a sole practitioner who concentrated her practice on poor immigrants. As such, her income fluctuated with their finances. But no matter what, she radiated energy, always active, always with a zeal for the next case or project.

Her private life was no different. During the short time that I knew her, she had a Latin lover by the name of Juan (or Roberto, my memories fades). Let’s stick with Juan. Juan was a charming 20-something man of Mexican origin. As hot as a chili pepper, and with a passion to match. If you could dream of a Latino lover, Juan was it. I could see why Nicky was so passionate with him. She was basically the outline for the sitcom Cougar Town. Unlike the character in Cougar Town, Nicky’s relationship with Juan was also highly strung. In between the high intensities of love, there were also fights that only people involved with Latin lovers would know. There was also alcohol…and I think it was that substance that destroyed Nicky. I believe she became more and more dependent on that drug to calm her high spirits. I don’t really know what happened between her and Juan. The obituary did not mention him at all.

Y para mi querido, como ya llego a mi Otoño, hay veces que pienso que soy un viejito verde. Pero siempre serás el Latinito de mi corazon.

Esperando, como siempre

longingNo se porque continuo esperando tus llamadas. Estaba revisando todo los archivos de nuestra relación. Y siempre es lo mismo; como la lluvia en el desierto, se viene de repente y rápidamente se seca.

Y espero a otra vez.

No se porque continuo viendo tus fotos. Estaba revisando todo los sinapsis de mi mente. Y siempre es lo mismo; como el sol del medio día, se quema de repente y rápidamente se desaparece.

Y espero a otra vez.

No se porque continuo todo de lo que hago. Estaba revisando todas las entradas de mi diario. Y siempre es lo mismo; con la tinta de mi lapicero, la paginas se llena de repente.

Y espero a otra vez.

No se porque te espero. Pero te espero…como siempre.

Y algo para tus noches: