A Lesson in Cazzology

We sit side by side on a double bed in an empty orient-deco B&B. The furniture hugs the beige stone floor and there are cherrywood masks peering from the walls with red beads. We are drinking green tea out of hand-painted clay cups and laughing. Laughing so hard that last night’s discothèque-heavy mascara is pouring down our cheeks. About what? Oh God, everything. The pack of cigarettes we smoke between us a day, the amount of carbohydrates we consume in the form of paste e pane, the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of our bed in a warm heap, and the desert beach town of Fregene where the waves can no longer be heard.

But as Jamesy said, and I concur, “I’m so happy. I’m happy to wake up in the morning.”

But as I sit laughing in Fregene with my sister, let me tell you about Spain.

If I could remember much I’d tell you more about the beauty of the north country or the history of Madrid. But I can’t. Most of you know the reason I went to Spain and I can now inform you it was a reason unfulfilled, painful in that un-fulfillment so instead I can tell you much more about what didn’t happen or what Spain wasn’t.

When we first arrived at the airport I was overwhelmed. Not to be in Europe again because I’ve already done it enough times for the novelty to be lost. I was nervous as hell and surprised I was able to fix my makeup in 3 minutes after two days of travel and layovers. It was a good encounter. We kissed just as he mentioned we should; almost on the lips but not quite—more on the edge of the mouth. A hint. And I was so damn relieved—we sat in the back seat together and I let the buildup of 10 months of phone conversations, over one year of holding on, collapse into an exhausted heap of letting go on his shoulder and I breathed out and kept breathing out and tried to be cool about it but hell you can’t be cool when you find yourself in a moment like that—you just can’t. At some point—I don’t remember how we got there because it’s all a blur – I turned around and he said Bienvenida a Espana and he kissed me and it felt so unreal, so hazy and so right and I swear I might’ve died right there. Happily. These may be strong words but this is how I function in this half-world with half-feelings and half-endings to half-assed relationships.

But there is where the happiness ends because over the next three days he kept drifting further away for reasons I couldn’t understand and couldn’t stop and by the end of the trip we were barely looking at each other. Switzerland, October 2005 repeats itsself. And I wish I could say why. I wish I could say oh well, I did this or he this and this happened and this is the reason but my life has never been that simple and why should this be. And when I’ve been blessed with so much fortune in my goings on why should I expect to have this too. It’s too much to ask to be complete. Am I too green to think I’m not there yet?

And so I’m not. So I left and told him I didn’t want to see him again and I swear I don’t remember much else from Spain besides that.

For the moment I’m quite alive, breathing in and out like a normal human being, and quite glad to be in Fregene—my sister is with me and she’s happy and we are enjoying ourselves and getting used to a life less-mindless where something as simple as doing laundry is a challenge. And we love it for the simplicity that entails and someday my love life will be as simple too. Until then I’m just thankful. I may never be satisfied but I can be thankful.

Spain was beautiful. To be in love is more beautiful and to lose is something of beauty in and of itself, in a retrospective way, and at the moment I’m searching for a mirror. If I get there, I’ll tell you. I can tell you right now that it may never happen.

And now that I’ve had my box of tissues and a chocolate bar I move on to the "little" I do remember, and I do treasure it.

I remember clouds spilling over blue hills like a soft and slow wave into a grain plain. I remember it whizzing by and the single grains blending into a low golden rain of sparks across the ground, electrifying the roadside with a warm glow.

I remember the clear pool after lunch, the way the moss hung suspended in the water along the concrete banks, the tiny fall colored leaves dotting the whirring surface, contrasting with flecks of green light bouncing off pebbles lining the shallow bottom, the day moving on, making a grand exit.

And dry, dry Madrid, the dusty thin air. Jamon which never did and never will constitute “carne”. History, history, wonderful history. History, what a tree with old roots feels like. Café con leche. That lovely spanish lissssp.

Maybe the whole damn thing was worth it, if only for what I remember.

My dears, it’s difficult to organize my thoughts concerning Spain at this point (which may explain the two week delay in my travelogue). Perhaps this wasn’t much of a travelogue. More like a public pity party and absolution.
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Fuck. I wrote most of that more freshly out of Spain. I'm in a better mood, having been happily distracted over the past few days in Roma. Sooooo.....

I'll stop being poetic now. It's taken me a few weeks to throw this post together --- but please by all means check out my SPAIN PICTURES http://albany.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2039773&l=733b8&id=16103479 (posted in facebook) and imagine how much fricking fun it was... and also check out my Spain video on My Space.
(www.myspace.com/kaebueno)

At the moment, I am blogging from a hostel in Rome, called "Yellow Hostel" and i'm feeling pretty good about Rome-- aside from the hecticness of apartment and job hunting. Jess is working at a bar and I don't think she loves it much.

But more on all that when I pull it together. Happier tales to tell-- so they won't be long in coming.

I miss New York. I'm not going back.

Write me, all of you!