Last night I watched a film called 'All About My Mother'. I am now back at my family home, having cleared out the last bit of my apartment. The evening felt surreal. There was a familiarity to the newness of my old room. The new TV which is massive now sits opposite my bed on the dressing table; my cosmetics are stowed away. The twilight that filled my room for that short time I welcomed, reopening my curtains, to sit in, shared with the sexy electric glow of the new television. I bought the film last week. I have no idea what it was that came over me, but I was thinking about someone and felt the over whelming urge to cry right in the middle of HMV. I always look at the world cinema section, as other films seem to really bore me lately, and I noticed two films that he bought, by a young director called Xavier Dolan, called Heartbeats and I Killed My Mother, neither were available. I want to buy them both some day, when I feel ready to watch them. It's bad that even the film that Dolan took the cinematic slow-motion-sombre-classical music effect from (In the Mood for Love) now reminds me of him and then, and the memories, that still hurt, I cannot even watch without being consumed with that horrid feeling of dread. And there are films, and songs, that I love, but are now off limits, and it's just a matter of time in which I wait to have safe access to them again, when I can enjoy them again, and they no longer remind me of him.
But last night I decided to watch All About My Mother. It is a Spanish film, which I've heard a lot about, and I chose it because I thought that he would probably like it, and it is Spanish. Yesterday was his birthday, and I know it sounds corny, but I thought in my own way, out of dedication, I would watch this film alone, for him.
This got me thinking about the influence the men have in my life after they leave my life intimately, or in some cases, completely. I noticed it's never when they are about. It's when they're gone. I think it's good that I want to learn about the things that made that person who they are. But what does it mean? Am I trying to live on with something from them?
After Matthew, I literally wanted to be him. I copied his dress, hung off every word. After John, who is Scottish, I became obsessed with Scottish culture and history and folklore, and to the point declared to all my friends I would never consider another English man again. David moved to Norway and I wanted to go, and embrace Scandinavian culture. I didn't nesesarily want to get into football like he did, but the drive to travel, and blog, write, and learn about computers (something I have never understood but been surrounded by for my whole life) took over for a while. My drive to go away ultimately inspired him to move. Away. Forever. To Norway. I have only seen him twice since he left.
And as for the one who recently got away... I felt for a while I wanted to learn Spanish, to learn to drive, to do all the things that were to me, significant to him. There are other things too, that rubbed off after. Other things I started to notice, and appreciate, that make the whole moving on process a whole lot harder.
Anyway, I watched the film last night and thoroughly enjoyed it. I cried at bits, which I felt were genuinely tragic, but the setting of the film is so kitsch and colourful, and well.... Spanish, I felt sort of weird feeling this emotion in a setting that denoted such cheeriness, like serious fucked up life issues set in soap opera triviality. It is definitely worth watching, it's melodrama wonders whether you should actually laugh or cry. I cried. It's a deep film. And I was surprised at how much a young Penelope Cruz reminded me of the young Audrey Tatou in Amelie. Those eyes and teeth... a beautiful woman, and an amazing actress.
The film forced me not to exactly assess my relationship with my own mother, but reminded me guiltily of the charitable and thankless tasks that mothers, especially my own mother, do on a daily basis, and for reasons no more humble than to make sure we are okay. And there are times where I treat her like a maid, I expect her to read my mind, I get annoyed that she brings my breakfast up on a tray when in 1 extra minute i'd be down stairs ready to eat it at the table. I cry because I feel cruel and seeing as I am aiming to be on par with karma, I need to know that it's important not to just feel these feelings of guilt and shame, but to act on them, and to show that my mother, who works so hard, and loves me so much, that I will always be her son that loves her no matter what, till the day either of us might have to die.
The theme of the film shares a similar, but loose, theme of I Killed My Mother, where the protagonist I think is meant to be the one who craves the sympathy that naturally comes with the film. But I felt emotion for the mother in that film. Mother characters just make me break. The end scene of Heavenly Creatures, when Pauline Parker murders her mother, is a film scene that has scarred and will haunt me for the whole of my life. And the end plot of lazily labelled 'romantic comedy' Muriel's Wedding where Bill Heslop leaves the mother Betty that results in her suicide is heart breaking. All About My Mother deals with the whole spectrum of mothers, metaphoric, and literal. And that is why I think he would like to watch this film. Unless he reads this, he won't know about it, I can't recommend it, I can't speak and won't. But hopefully one day he will see it. I suppose it's one of those things I will miss that we never really did, discussing and sharing our interest in foreign and independent film.
Today, the limited edition retro products we ordered arrived at my shop. I ordered 6 pots of Deep Sleep shower jelly. I'm glad they are actually listening to the forumites in regards to bringing out old school shower jellies on special, as they took away nearly all of them. Deep Sleep for me isnt just a nice smell, it's a memory. This is the Lush geek coming out now I warn you, and luckily it lies dormant most of the time, but my memory of Deep Sleep and Party On stem back to the days where I was going out with Matthew and he used to work in Lush in his home town of Southend. I remember finding these small bits of jelly in the shower when I went to visit, and trying to use them, curious, intrigued. It was very new to me. It was one of those things that added to the huge appeal of my 'perfect boyfriend' at the time. Deep Sleep was around the time when you still had to cut the jellies and weigh them like we do with the soaps. I used to love it because late night showers, that went on forever, in Manchester, are a memory of mine I love. The simple freedom of being able to do what you want without being told off, without anyone knowing, without anyone caring. The lavender smell and the bring orange colour... it's so corny to say but it's the one thing apart from Black Pearl I would ever wish for them to bring back for retro – and they did!
Deep Sleep, the perfect sensory shower experience before bed...
I am planning gay pride tomorrow. I am not a huge fan of pride in terms of what it's supposed to stand for. Without being a traitor to my sexuality or anything, I've always maintained pride (or mardi gras as its known in Manchester) is the only time except for new years eve that you can get absolutely fucked out of your mind and no one can say anything about it at all. I will probably do GLAS and Chic, like last year, and meet up with Laurence and his bf, and the guys from London, and Manni and Mark and Sophie and Kay and my little brother and his gf.... it might get a bit crowded. It's always the best way.
Juke Box Dave, Manni, me and Greg at the beginning of that night of shame
London's drug addicted party whores (not including me)
Which leads me onto a new development – Greg is back from Venezuela. In all grand Greg style, the decision was quick and followed through like a bitch slap to my face. And I can confirm that yes, the bitch is definitely back and causing havoc and spreading his visually merchandised rep across Birmingham. He wants me to come on holiday with him and his family to Spain in a month or so, and because I think this is a huge sign, I think it might be good for me. The holiday features his alcoholic swinging parents, cheap booze, a nude beach and touchingly, in Greg's own words 'the perfect opportunity for me and you to catch up and have fun together'. I'm the only person he says that he can be himself around. I believe this to be very true. No one in his superficial, bizarre world has ever given him the chance or taken him that seriously like I have. I'm glad I mean something to someone, even when one of their services of friendship includes 'I can speak Spanish now! So I can get you any guy you want on da nude beach!!!!' I'm going to look into it.
Greg was always there to lend a hand, when mine stopped working
Manchester Mardi Gras ended in a park, with a can of coke and a pair of massive tits
The weekend is going to be dull for me. I am staying well and truly hidden, and well and truly hydrated and detoxed. I can see the disease and the toxins bubbling under my skin from the weeks of abuse and hell. I have my cousin's First Holy Communion to attend Sunday (to non Catholics, it's a 'weird' Catholic milestone event where all the little girls wear mini wedding dresses and the boys read a red velvet sash, and accept their first communion, which is basically the little circle of bread we eat at mass that represents Christ's body. Seriously).
I am reading tarot cards for a guy I have become acquainted with recently next week. He expressed interest in tarot when I told him about it, and he seems into his starsigns, so he isn't cynical like ___ was. But I think I am developing a crush on him despite not having anything in common with him, and even when I was with him that night out a while back, staying close to his side, feeling awkward because the conversation was just NOT flowing. But he reminds me of Heathcliffe from Wuthering Heights, dark, and rugged, nice arms and big hands.
He wants to go for drinks with me after I read his cards. Am I reading too much into this? Is he just a booze hound like me? I don't think I could take someone who, only slightly older than me, approaches dating still like a teenager and complains still why he can't find a bf. He only wants me to do his cards because he's single and bored, and I am going to take the opportunity to share my wisdom and tell him the harsh but fair truth of how it really is. It's difficult to do a reading like that for someone that not only you kind of fancy, but you might think also fancies you. But there's nothing more awkward than someone asking for a reading because they fancy you. It puts a lot of pressure on the reader, but I intend to maintain my composure and my mystique for him.
And finally, I still haven't got round to finding Steve. I fear he is dead, and me and Manni want to find him urgently. I will speak to my brother this Sunday. He might suggest a few things. Then at least I can relax when I find out he's okay/immigrated/actually is dead. Which I hope not. He's a dear friend of mine and we are all very worried. Please come home, Steve. Wherever that is?
Steve, in the middle. He's quite small
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