From my first day back in a coffee shop

I went in to Cafe Paradiso today for a cup of mocha and to sit in the window. I took two books with me, Gandhi’s “Autobiography: My Experiments with Truth” and the “Earth First! Reader”. But I only read one small chapter of Gandhi’s and the introduction of the Reader. For the most part I sat in the window and watched outside the window, drinking my coffee, and letting my mind awaken from the sudden change in hours and sleep patterns. I let my cares come and go across the landscape of my mind, impassively watching various images flicker across my internal silver screen as I also watched people go about their walks down the sidewalk. I like watching walkers. I like to try to envision them as people… real live people… with a plethora of hopes and dreams and concerns, a beating heart, an aching lonliness or an uplifting spirit instead of just a person walking down the street. It is a kind of meditation to simply sit in a cafe window in this fashion and to loosen the chains on the direction of mind.

Sitting in the window I eventually wrote a short bit in my paper journal. It has been a while since I’ve sat in the window of a coffee shop and wrote in it (mostly because I’ve not visited a coffee shop due to economics and partly because I continue to write in the online version… this journal… and the two are really two aspects of the same. I pull no punches in either, regardless of anonymity or secrecy. While many people may read this journal my paper one is likewise available on my desktop for introspection for anyone who may be curious. It is a consolance to my fears of baseness and blandness. For while I am quick to judge myself as unfullfilling for any remarkable woman to take interest in, I secretly hope that the journals that I keep would give some hint as to the existence of something of deeper meaning or worth within my sphere of reality than my two cats, small studio apartment, and diminished bank account would have many people pre-suppose about my person.) It felt good to set pen to paper once more and to see the crisp black lines flow across the cream colored paper. Outside my window is a tree with the tips of the crown beginning to turn a bit red along the leaves. Last night on my walk to work, on a crisp September night with the quarter moon accompanying me through the branches of the trees in the neighborhood (I am thankful that my 15 block walk to work moves through a neighborhood of houses on a scarcely used street) I was cognizant of many fallen leaves of a few maples. When I had awakened today at 2 PM my apartment was chill due to my windows being left open all night and the sky being grey and overcast. Currently, as I am about to begin to transcribe my paper entry into this electronic form the sky is brilliant blue.

On the way to the cafe today I came across Danielle taking a smoke break outside. She is still beautiful to behold and our brief conversation I am reminded how easy it is to be around her. But I no-longer ache for her. I had turned this corner a few weeks ago and today confirmed it. I am finally past the heartbreak of her though the memory of her will likely stay with me as I also carry with me the memory of a few other women who were near and dear to my heart.



Sept 27, 2001 Cafe Paradiso

I slept till 2 PM today. I was exhausted from the work of the night before (and the day as well). My knees and shins in particular were shot and aching. Today I awoke feeling as though I were drained by a vampire. I kept awakening all morning, a habit of working day shifts in construction. But I kept returning to sleep as I never felt refreshed in teh slightest.

I recall the image of Kersey in my mind prior to going to sleep. I also dreamed of her many instances during awakening, when one is in that realm of half-sleep and half-awake, where reality and dreams are intertwined and not easily seperated. The beauty of her is undoubted and my mind played upon many fantasies with her shapely form. However, strange as it may be to some, they retained some sort of dignity within them and carried with it some respect. Perhaps the furthest my fantasies would allow themselves to go would be various forms of embrace and a symphony of kisses and the meeting of lips to skin. But this is enough, for seduction does not need the full act of sex to have power and one can be happily burned with passion with but a stroke of a fingertip down the center of one’s chest and the brush of cheek upon the curve of the neck. There is a seductive quality to the feeling of the curve of one’s calves, the undersides of the forearms, the line down the thoracic spinal column, the insteps of the feet, the jugular vein area of the neck, beneath the navel, above the glutes in the small of the back. A woman is not breasts and ass and vagina… she is a multi-layered universe, each part of her an entry way into another mystery of her. The man who only seeks to feel her breast is missing an entire realm of possibility. A man who ignores the sexual heat of a woman but contends only with her mind is missing on that dark, moist, primal goddess nature that only a woman has. A man who sees a woman as something for “penetration” is missing the envolping nature of a woman to consume a man’s spirit in warmth and love. There is nothing so beautiful as a beautiful woman… and to this I leave the word “beautiful” as open ended. It is not dependant upon figure or size, color or dress, attitude or grace, heart or passion, mind or discipline. Beauty is, in fact in the mind of the beholder and one should seek to broaden their definition of beauty… to simplify its definition and yet to seek to understand its many complexities. Now, in the light of day beside a cafe window, I wonder at her spirit adn her heart. I can still see clearly in my mind, her lithe form as she bows her head ever so slightly, pouts her lips, rolls her shoulders back and arches her back… accentuating her breasts, and rotates her hips, exposing areas of her midrift and the creaminess of her stomach, obliques… and that seductive area of the small of her back before she walks away on another cocktail run, her shapely thighs giving the Drink Order Printer competition for my attention. But really there was no competition… for I dreamed not of drinks and orders to be done… only her beaming smile, her haunting eyes, and her sultry body.

But what of her heart? There is no doubt that she stirs within me a primal carnal lust. But what of her heart and mind? Where do they sit? Where do they go? What are her philosophies of human-nature? of God? of the Environment? of social constructs? Would my everday thoughts find solace within her’s? Would her’s be comfortable in mine?

Note to self… upon returning the Earth First Reader to the library, order a copy for my personal library.

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