The piece that i wrote was inspired by a special person from my past; she was a great woman who screwed me over. I was watching a movie called First Love: The Litter on the Breeze. the movie is a satire of the early films of wong kar wai, they usually involve people in love or love sick or heartbroken. the stories are usually multilayer with a minimal-hyper link style. films by him i recommend are days of being wild, chungking express, fallen angels and in the mood for love, as well as as tears go by and happy together. and maybe ashes of time, which i love but isn't for everybody. any way first love deals with that, first loves.
i got to reminiscing about this woman i knew and decided to write the story of our brief relationship. she had a big impact on my life because she showed me how complicated love could be, as you'll read in the story, how complicated it was for me.
I tried to go for a semi-experimental thing: time warps, flashbacks, self commentary/reflection, story about writing the story, etc. hopefully it worked!
revision: well, whatever prof. dragan says i have to work on, i'll work on.
this type of writing was kind of easy for me. of all genres of non fiction i'm used to it has to be memoir; the first thing i wrote that got me recognized by my high school teacher was a memoir of my childhood. I have used personal stories before, but for prose fiction as sources of inspiration.
I don't really know what i learned from writing this other than i can reach down into myself, replay bad memories and actually be able to document them as a story, and come out of it alive!
I wrote the story by long hand, i feel more comfortable with a pen, i feel that my fingers typing can not compete with the speed of my thought process and i fear i won't get everything down. pen usually comes out very illegible so it takes some "translating."
excerpt from: "You're only a baby, and you know how to make love."
She was older than I was, may be somewhere around ten years my elder, an artist I met at a party through a friend. She took a liking to me quickly, impressed by my knowledge of art and political views; we spent the night refilling each others drinks, talking about communism and the avant garde, every now and then her hand would appear on my knee.
I sensed her interest in me, beyond my intellect and artistic aspirations and our conversation; I was too shy to indulge. I had been down roads like this before; thinking the woman in front of me was attracted to me and even understood me, only to be let down and heart broken. She didn't bother with the mind games the others played, leading you on and on to the point where you ask them out or for a number, they just laugh and walk away.
I walked her to the bus stop and we continued to talk, it was late and the winter was in full effect with gusts of icy wind that made you want to crawl into any hole for warmth. When the bus arrived some time, art movements, historical events and song lyrics later, she invited me to spend the night.
“Honey, it's too late. Just come to my place.”
People on the bus stared at how close we got to each other, I guess these bourgeois bastards weren't used to seeing a couple like us. Drunk and hugging and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears, she would tease me by telling me how long it had been since she was with a man and caressed my leg slowly til she reached my groin and smiled in to my face. Others turned around as she spoke and I shot them a dead man's stare as they turned right back around. I didn't care about them, they were nothing to us. We were too drunk to care and free to give a shit and buckle under the pressure of their “standards.” We were rejects of love and relationships. They were probably the ones who wouldn't give us their numbers or a date or even interest or the slightest attraction. Lost, we found ourselves in each others arms as their stares of ridicule and hatred, disapproval and misunderstanding, put two little drunks under a love spell.
We were all over each other by the time we got to her place. Drunk and lusting after each others bodies, we stripped each others clothes, passionately kissing, colliding with walls and the night table and lamps. I pushed her onto the bed and she stretched her limbs out like she didn’t have a care, and with her sparkling eyes she sent carnal telepathic instructions to me and I went to her like the lonely love-sick soul I was.
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