Sex and Death

Beardsley, "Climax"

Sex and death seem to be team players in literature, in movies, and with dangerous people we all know.

Never quite made the connection until this past weekend. Had a major birthday on Friday the 23rd. Been railing against it for over a year, resenting any indication of being assigned to the crone heap of outdated thinking, and wondering if my options in life were inescapably narrowing.

My friends refused to let me forget my birthday. I made a breakthrough, past resistance, past resignation and arrived at rejoicing. Spent the weekend in Palm Springs with my husband, ate lightly, made love deeply --- part calisthenics, part practice made perfect. Add imagination, resourcefulness, humor, and finally that rare ingredient missing from my youth: recognition of death. Specifically, my own. For the first time, I let it play a part in my life, especially my love life.

Many older couples weekend in Palm Springs. I like looking at the affectionate ones, their veiny, blotched hands intertwined, wrinkled faces smiling at each other, still engaged with the personality of the other. I wonder if they see the wrinkles?

I never thought I’d live this long, certainly never thought I’d stay married this long. My adolescent self was sure death would prevail, and tragedy, dark and merciless, would snatch any joy right out of my grasp. Back then I focused not so much on real death, but on suffering since that’s where the drama is. It’s also part of my birthright; all the females in my family suffer.

Thought I’d cast that emo teen out of my life long ago, but she’s still there, lurking along the edges of what I’ve done in my life. She’s the sadness in Sandra, the underside of what I show the world. I’ve learned to treasure her pain, it flavors my writing, and it sometimes makes the world an exquisitely beautiful place to be. Recognition of death’s nearness made every moment of my birthday weekend special.

Sex and death, oh yeah, baby. Now, I wear my cronedom like I wear my halter-tops, with cleavage showing. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.

Dreams and My Life

My adult dreams are always an indication of my deepest concerns, the kinds of things that I shove aside in the day.  They are not matter-of-fact; symbolism is rife in them - people and places are not the same - but their meaning is still plain to me.

My adolescent dreams were vivid and full of music and art and love: they were my escape from an ugly world. I dreamt entire symphonies then, sparkling bubbles floating in the sky, and color-washed paisley landscapes populated with fantasy creatures.

I was not on drugs, maybe too much co2 from slumbering so much, and so deeply. My dreamworld was my life; I slept sixteen out of every twenty-four, more if I could get away with it. I missed school and dreamt. I missed meals and dreamt. I missed all family involvement and dreamt. When I awakened, my unfinished dreams would continue and prevent me from hearing or seeing. Even when I tried to focus, the dreams would cast a web over my consciousness, their siren call impossible to resist. 

On my few forays into public education, I'd come home and struggle with my algebra homework. I solved the equations in my sleep. That's when I discovered a measure of control over my dream life, which led to more control over my waking life.

That was a good and necessary feat . . . then.

Now, I seek release again into the chaos and delight of no control and imagination set free from worries and responsibility.  Dreams are an escape valve, a diary, canvas, sieve, an internet (internal networking) of all things past and possible.

Does age diminish the siren call of dreams? Does the sum total of one's past overpower the x factor in what is still possible? I'll try to solve for that tonight.

Vampires and Evil: the Romantic Antihero Reborn

Vampires have historically been considered evil, and were blamed for many little understood situations in the cultures that spawned them. But fictionally they are currently not considered 100% bad. Since they’re the living dead – creatures to be feared rather than desired – they deserve a closer look.

Body image and wealth are worshipped in our society, and if you add a bit of trendy perversity to the mix you might get an instant hero, or the 20th century equivalent – the antihero. This character is often dark in nature, and they have their own set of morals. They kill and frighten fragile humans, but they are no longer the monsters or villains of yore. Dress evil in smart clothes over a beautiful body and it doesn’t seem so unappealing anymore. Antiheroes are the ultimate outcasts, and if they are self-loathing, that’s even better: the romantic, but evil, protagonist is born . . . or reborn. Who better to personify those attributes than the modern fictional vampire?

Vampires are seen as evil when they lure nubile beauties into blood ritual. Their sensual side is not new. Dracula dawdled over Mina for days, during which time she appeared besotted, deceptive, and furtively aware of puncture wounds to her throat, an entrance into her body that she has allowed. He could have dispatched her as he did Lucy, but instead he lingered until she was begging him for it. It being his blood and her final transformation into another one of his vampire brides (he’d left three of them back at the castle). We didn’t want her to change; we wanted Dracula to be vanquished. This is the fundamental difference: if that story were written in the 21st century we'd want Drac and Mina together in everlasting bliss.

Vampires from an older period fed rampantly on the innocent, but in many books released today, they don’t randomly attack people and kill them. They offer many of their chosen the choice of transformation, and a “blood bond” is created instead of a “blood curse.” These vampires are depicted as torn by the pull of opposite urges, wanting to honor the remnants of their human side but still irresistibly drawn to seek blood. Their fictional human counterparts (buddies, lovers, misguided Renfields) witness their moral struggle, almost as if they were watching a human contend with a substance addiction. They stand by wanting to offer support, but usually make the process worse, their bodies a pulsating temptation. They are the enablers upon which the plot twists.

In fiction today we want the vampire to get the girl, or boy (Louis and Armand in the Rice Vampire Trilogy; Edward and Bella in Twilight; Bill and Sookie in Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse series).

Vampires have changed, but our notions of evil have changed as well. I’ll examine this aspect in my next installment.

Thorny Issues

My contemplation of vampires will continue soon with Vampires and Evil, A Vampire's Soul, and The Monogamous Vampire, which kind of ties in with the following:

Usually listen to NPR, but got wild the other morning on the way to the gym and landed on a station where a woman was being questioned by the DJ regarding her fiancé to whom she had been engaged for six years.

"Why so long? I mean why have you waited so long to get married?"

"Good question. I don't know . . . we just haven't gotten around to it."

"But he seems different lately?"

"Yeah," she answers in a forlorn voice.

"Is he coming home later? Taking showers before he gets in bed? Dressing differently?"

Yes to all of the above, with the co-DJ, a woman, breaking in with: "Taking a shower before bed is cool."

The DJ verifies that the caller wants to proceed.

“Yes,” she says, “do it.”

We hear a telephone ringing, and a man answers. A girlish voice, soft and not demanding, asks for the fiancé by name.

“That’s me,” he says, all happy-go-lucky.

She offers him a dozen free roses, and free delivery to the person of his choice. At first he tries to get off the phone suspecting a sales gimmick; he doesn’t sound so happy anymore, just bored.

“We’re not even going to ask for a credit card,” she tells him, “and you can send a personal note. Who would you like to send the roses to?”

BAMMO! No surprise he gives a name that is not even remotely close to his fiancée’s
name, but at least he’s back to sounding lucky again. He composes a hopeful note on the spot: Julie, the other night was great. I hope we get together again.

At this point the DJ breaks it to let him know he's busted, and he's like, "Wha . . . !!!"

His fiancée calls him a cheat, and he says, "Well, what about you and Javier?"

"That was a long time ago," she says, "you've been cheating on me NOW!"

"Same thing," he says, "you then, me now."

The DJ pipes in: "So you're saying that Julie is payback for Javier?"

Fiancée screams: "It's not the same!"

Fiancé yells: "I hope your parents are listening."


I arrived at my destination and didn’t get to hear the wrap-up of this radio drama. Because of my NPR news addiction, I was unaware that this program, Ryan's Roses on KISS FM, is a regular feature.

Should a vampire answer their own phone, he or she would never get sucked in by this ruse. If you get the call, do the smart thing and send the flowers to your Mom.