But not for me

I’m usually in love with love, but not today. I hate it. I hate it because nobody’s in love with me. It fucking blows. I’m listening to jazz and writing and nobody loves me in the way that would make it where we wake up together tomorrow morning. I’m going to have a house full of my best male friends here tomorrow and my loneliness is echoing to me through this house. Today at the bar there was a couple making out and I wanted to break bottles over their heads. All I can think of is the song “”They’re singing songs of love, but not for me” and I’m fucking pissed. I don’t want to think about it, but there’s no Ginsy or Kerouac to document our ennui right now. And nobody expects a little black girl from the Southside of Chicago to be that mutha fucka, but here I am. Listening to Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Eric Satie and writing a little drunk and very pissed off. Why don’t I have a boyfriend? The standard answer is that I’m too fat, but I’m not. I’m the same size as Marilyn Monroe in “Some Like it Hot” and she’s (I’m) hot as well. The whole world has been taken over by this ideal that is dedicated to making women weak. And I’m not weak or lame and I don’t weigh 100 lbs. I’d break if I did and I’m a good midwestern girl who doesn’t believe that being skinny is the way to win the world. I’m also too smart to really rally around the idea that that’s what I’m supposed to look like. I prefer Titian to Raphael and more a Titian than a Botticelli. I love the way that I look. I’m healthy and I’m strong. There’s a layer of fat over a ton of muscle and that’s okay. There’s a man out there who thinks I’m the cat’s meow. But when I open my smart mouth it generally turns the whole situation sour. I love being smart almost as I love having big strong thighs. I love pontificating on Foucault and DeBord while showing how jazz music is the equivalent of neo realist philosophy as much as the next guy. I can’t write with music that has words, so I’m infinitely a jazz chick and I’ve added some classical to the mix. But it’s only Satie that moves me in the same way as Miles and Charlie. A little Sergio Mendes is playing now. It has words that I can’t understand, but I can feel them. The beats speak to my African. They got to hold on to the drums. They got to hold on to the movements and the passion of the music. The sensuality of it all. I can’t understand what the words mean and that makes it that much sexier. It’s and ecstasy that can’t b e explained unless you hear it and feel it. It’s shoulders moving. It’s a rolling of the body that Europeans can’t understand because it doesn’t live in their bones. In their spirits. (That’s such bullshit. Even I know that’s not true.)

Take Five is on now. It’s so sexy. It’s sexy because there are all of these random moments in it that sound like they’re just hanging but they’re so on purpose. The piano, the drums, the hanging of the horn. The perfection of it all. It’s short it’s sweet and it’s jazzy without being pretentious.

Now James Ingram is singing. Fuck. What the fuck is this? It’s my favorite song. I remember reading the lyrics in Rap Pages when I was about 8. It’s the song “Never Gonna Let You Go” and it’s ruined my whole life. When you’re sixteen and have “open relationships” with the first lover you’ve ever had, it’s bound to lead to a ton of emotional problems you’re going to pay for later.

I don’t know how to have a relationship. I’m emotionally retarded. I fall in love easily and get hurt almost as easily. I live in NYC and this world is not built for people with compositions as delicate as mine. I’m living in a constant state of fear and resentment and hate. I hate people with money. I hate people who’ve found love. I hate that I’m so fat. I hate a lot of things, but the most is love. There was a couple making out at the bar tonight and then they left in a way I remember and I wished they’d get run down by a car before they got to make it home and consummate the actions they’d begun at the bar. I wanted them to die. I wanted them to die because I didn’t have anyone to love me in the same way.