Letter 46 – Small, Unplanned Set Backs, Passion, Surrender, Sex, and Missing You, Henry Miller
I’m writing this letter on 6-5-2012 at 1:13 p.m
“Why not accept the challenge of the Spirit and yield? Why not surrender, and thus enter into a new life?” –Henry Miller, The Time of the Assassins
“Good luck! Keep writing and painting – the only salvation in this cheesy world.” –Henry Miller, Letter to Irving Stettner, Stroker Magazine, Thurs. 4/5/1978, From your Capricorn Friend
I have missed writing to you so much! I haven’t been able to write due to working night and day, around the clock, to meet a couple of previous art deadlines. My art show in Maple Grove, Minnesota was a success. For the past several weeks, I’ve been continuing to experience severe headaches, resulting from three bulging discs in my neck, as well as severe TMJ, and advance stage arthritis in my jaws, which occurred from two severe car accidents when I was younger. I have also been on bed rest over four weeks due to the ugly, awful, deadly demon, whooping cough. There has been a severe outbreak in Minnesota and several other states such as California and Wisconsin. Due to my kidney disease and compromised immune system, sometimes I am susceptible to picking up highly contagious illnesses. This sucks. But it could be worse, I could be dead. I haven’t written because my body has felt weak and my head has been cloudy. I also haven’t written because I really don’t like to talk about my faults, flaws, and illness. However, to give you an accurate view about the obstacles in my life, I feel the need to disclose all of me, the good, the bad and the ugly. I am just now feeling the energy and clear headedness to attempt to write this letter to you.
Roger Jones asked HM this question in 1977, Conversations with Henry Miller – “It must have taken great courage to write the way you have.
HM’s answer: “Oh yes, that I must have had, everybody concedes that. I don’t take credit for it. It was just natural with me. Oh wait a minute, no I’ll modify that. I had to be absolutely desperate before I could write like that. I had been put right down, to the very bottom, ignored, and spat upon, and humiliated. Everything wrong happened to me. And my attitude was, I’ll get back at you, you bastards, fuck you. I’ll show you who I am.” –Conversations with Henry Miller, edited by Frank L. Kersnowski and Alice Hughes. This excerpt was printed in the Queens Quarterly, 84 (1987), 351-65 Henry Miller at Eighty–Four, Roger Jones / 1977
Another reason I haven’t been as inclined to write to you is because my previous computer was broken and barely remaining together. It was several years old. Due to the extensive use of my computer, to write letters to you, to promote my burlesque show, to communicate with performers and book new acts, and for whatever other way I use my laptop computer, it was falling apart. I’m sure that transporting my laptop from my suburban home to my city loft quite frequently didn’t help either. My laptop screen was barely connected to my keyboard. The only thing holding it together was several pieces of thick, silver duct tape, reminding me of a black and white photo of a ballerina in her ragged, ballet slippers which are tattered and torn from so much passionate use. I really wanted to finish writing my fifty letters to you with my old computer. But, it didn’t last. I now have a new Dell computer, which is shiny and new! I’m having difficulty becoming comfortable with a new keyboard. It feels awkward. My fingers do not fly upon the keyboards like a concert pianist, like they did upon my old computer. I’m sure that after many weeks of use, I will be as comfortable with the keyboard on this new computer, as I was with my old one.
For a few weeks, I have been contained to my suburban home unable to do nothing, which is driving me crazy! I’ve been very sick and in much physical pain, that I haven’t even had the opportunity to have sex as often as I like, or even masturbate. I would like to have my busy, active life back. Yet, I know that I need to rest in order to make a full recovery. I have lost over 25 lbs in just a few months. As I attempt to regain my appetite, I am indulging in lots of vanilla and chocolate ice cream. It helps relieve the pain in my jaws and eases my headaches a bit. Unfortunately, Henry, I am unable to go to Dublin, Ireland in August, to play the infamous role of Cynthia Plaster Caster, in the play, Voodoo Chile and the Jupiter of Music, written by Gilbert Kelly. I have had to cancel due to my physical condition. My spirits are low. All that I can do is surrender to the moment, and concentrate on getting well again. I have the mental energy to overcome this part of my life, hurdling over this obstacle. I know that I will use the time that I would be rehearsing for the play and performing in Dublin, to finish my first book of letters to you. I am almost finished. I’m excited to put my passion for writing, back into my life again. I must admit, it feels wonderful to connect with your spirit again! Damn Henry! I have missed you!
“In Yesterdays issue of People Magazine there was an interview of an interview with yours truly. Lousy, I thought, by comparison with the answers I gave viva voce. The only good thing in it is the little photo of me kissing my friend Brenda Venus. It is not true that she comes several times a week to paint with me. It just happened that day that when interview ended she and I did a water color together. (Turned out damn well, in a Dada way, if you know what I mean.)” –Henry Miller, Letter to Irv (and his Stoker!) April 16, 1978
We had a big burlesque show this past Friday night, June 1, at GZ. It was a good show, but a bit of a cluster fuck. Unfortunately, I was off my game. I have to expect that things like this will occur sometimes. It’s the only way I learn what works and what doesn’t – by experimenting and trying. Unfortunately, I had booked too many performers who had large props to set up before their acts, and tear down, after they performed. Sometimes I cannot avoid the mistakes which will occur. All I can do is learn from my errors and move forward. Because my energy levels were low and my pain levels were high, I felt so exhausted the day after the show. During the show, I felt like I was going non – stop, dealing with issues, drama, drunks, as well as whatever else came up, during the night that needed tending to. It was difficult for me to feel the high which I generally feel the day after producing a show. I hate when that happens! I have eight weeks until our next show, I will be using this short hiatus to revise and revamp our burlesque show. I want to come back stronger and better in August. I am determined to create a better show.
“All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage and great things will happen. I promise.” –Benjamin Mee, Quote from Movie, We Bought A Zoo
The positive thing about having to rest and not work, is that I have been able to watch many television shows and movies. I generally won’t waste my time doing so, because of my busy schedule. However, I have found inspiration and strength by the creative story telling of others via film and television media. I recently watched the movie, We Bought a Zoo, and loved it so much, that I watched it a second time, the next day! Mr. Benjamin Mee, his family and friends never gave up on his dream to re-open the once dilapidated, Rosemoor Animal Park. Together they hurdled over so many financial and emotional obstacles to get there. I want to visit that zoo someday. Brad Pitt, who plays the infamous Billy Bean, in the movie, MoneyBall, also never gave up on his dream of managing a winning baseball team with a small budget, hurdling over so many obstacles and difficulties. Bethany Hamilton, a Hawaiian surfing champ, also never gave up on her dream to surf again in competitions, after losing her arm by a shark attack, in the movie, Soul Surfer. All the movies I just mentioned are based on a true story. It’s the story of these survivors which recharge me to continue on despite my obstacles, illness, injuries, etc… I may not arrive to success as fast as I would like. My adventure might go slower than I anticipated. However, I know that if I don’t give up and keep moving forward with hope, faith, trust, and belief in myself, I will become financially successful in all that I do. I might be in a bit of a fragile state right now, but I know that I will find my strength again to move forward. I refuse to give up!
“I don’t need easy. I just need possible.” –Bethany Hamilton, movie, Soul Surfer
“If you’re doing something for all the right reasons, nothing can stop you.” –Duncan Mee, movie, We Bought a Zoo
Somehow, I mustered up enough energy to get to my loft this past Sunday evening (June 3) and visit with Mr. B. My knees went weak with desire, moments after I opened the door and Mr. B entered. His warm hand reached out and firmly gripped my chin. His virile fingers tipped my face up to meet his smoky grey eyes which stared into mine for several long seconds. The salacious heat between us ricocheted fast like a ping pong ball between us. Instantly, my mind fell under his carnal spell. My cunt dripped with warm moisture as if morning dew on a hot, Mississippi morning. I desperately needed to feel his adept, strong, virile fingers, his plunging, flicking tongue and his diamond hard dick, deep within me.
Mr. B prolonged my needy, greedy, lusty desire, by slowly and tenderly feeding me dinner, Chinese food from the Tea House, like a parent would an infant, making me feel vulnerable, yet safe and well taken care of. I must admit that it was a bit humiliating, yet very comforting. I surrendered my will to the moment, experiencing the scorch of desire flaming high between my thighs, burning like a mad, lusty fever. I sucked in a deep breath of air when his stern hand gripped the back of my hair and his tongue pushed deep into my mouth, exploring every crevice. Soon after, I followed him like an obedient puppy to the bedroom, permitting him to strip me bare.
“She gently gyrated her hips on top of him. The simple movement almost blew the top of his head off. Her nightgown was still fastened, but the swell of her breasts the wanton heat rose up from the neckline in two flushed mounds. Her cheeks were pink. And she was still panting from the orgasm he’d given her.” — Sharon Page, Blood Wicked
“Get upon the bed and spread your legs,” Mr. B demanded, “wide, very wide!” I succumbed to his will in utter silence, staring continuously into his fervent, focused, stern eyes. My thin, weak body trembled with a twinge of fear and a deluge of anticipation. I deeply inhaled the dimly lit air when his hand slapped hard between my trembling thighs, my mouth exhaling a long string of erotic moans when I finally felt his fingers plunge, wiggle and thrust deep within my convulsing, wet walls of pink flesh. The pounding in my skull from my headache finally dissipated. I felt a warm flush of relief and gratitude. Orgasmic flashes of white stars burst before my eyes like monochrome firecrackers on the Fourth of July, as his fingers plowed deeper into me, pressing and rubbing upward upon my G-spot. I had forgotten how good sex feels, and was now high from the zipping endorphins swimming inside my kinky, racing bloodstream. I finally felt like myself again…no pain, just sublime ecstasy.
“Stroke my cock,” Mr. B demanded, coating his long, stiff shaft with a slippery coat of water based lubricant.
As if caught deep inside an erotic spell, I complied, stroking his dick with a firm grip of my hand, remaining in rhythm with his fingers, which were plunged deeply inside of me, strumming upon my G – spot like a musician upon a string instrument. My salacious moans expelled from my open mouth. A chorus of erotic sound waves danced upon atoms of twilight air, when I felt two more fingers thrust deeply into me. My back arched high off my bed, my erotogenic moans sang with joy and extreme gratitude. The thickness of his virile fingers felt so blissful! I surrendered every ounce of me, my body, my heart, and my mind, as my eyelids bordered with thick, black lashes, flickered upwards inside my head, until only the whites of my eyes glowed in my dimly lit bed room.
I whimpered in fear and trembled with arousal when Mr. B positioned his head high between my thighs, tightly holding my swollen lips, spreading my slippery pink flesh so far apart, with his gripping fingers. I thought that I would rip open! I gasped with surprise when his mouth engulfed my aching clitoris. My body twitched, jerked and jolted, as his tongue and teeth tortured my swollen clitoris. His mouth gripped tightly onto it, his teeth piercing my flesh with moderation – enough to cause a sensation of pain, yet, gentle enough to not overwhelm me with the sensation of utter agony, which created a very pleasurable, thrilling, sadistic sensation. I was lulled by the sublime sensation of surrender, relishing in each and every succulent sensation. Euphoria held me captive – a willing hostage to divine ecstasy.
“He grasped her bottom and jerked her abruptly to him, burying his mouth into those springy curls, burying his face in her sweet-scented, eager little quim. She tasted so very, very good. He gave her one lick with his tongue before he hands gripped his head and she pushed his mouth hard against her. She screamed in ecstasy, jerked and jolted helplessly, and ground her juicy quim into his face.” –Sharon Page, Blood Wicked
“This feels so good! Oh My God! This feels so fucking good!” I chanted in a long, breathy string of wonton whispers. I needed this sexual stimulation like potent medicine for my soul. My heart pounded deep below my perky breasts and my stiff as stone nipples. When Mr. B quickly withdrew his hand, I panted like a wild animal, staring at him with bewilderment, pondering his next move, as if we were playing a complex game of chess. I deeply sucked in air again, when I felt his strong, agile fingers pinch and pull upon my right nipple, my right hand intensifying my grip upon his throbbing hard cock. The strong sensations of pleasure and pain zipping fast from my nipple and zooming straight towards my glossy, stiff clit. I thought of nothing else, but the euphoric sensation of sex. I didn’t think about the show, or the staff, the acts, performers, or the negative drama. I didn’t think about my previous never ending headache and my illness. I didn’t think about not being able to go to Dublin. All that I allowed my mind to process was the amazing sensation of pleasure and pain. I lived my life second by second, sensation by sensation, lost in a deep, tranquil blue ocean of ecstasy.
I am feeling tired Henry. I am going to end this letter for now. I will try and write again as soon as I can. XoXo
I’m resuming this letter on 6/8/12 at 10:44 a.m.
Good morning Henry! I had to take a few days to rest. The recent headaches which I have endured make it difficult to write to you with clear, thought provoking words. I’m taking the time to write to you early in the day, before the pain becomes too intense. I was inspired to write again, when I read an email, from a good friend of mine, Miss Sexy. She is writing an erotic book, and has permitted me to read it as she writes it, sending me titillating paragraphs via email. I think that she is an amazing writer and story teller. I am so proud that she is putting her talent to use. Her words are so eloquent and enlightening.
“The good reader like the good author, knows that everything stems from the same source. He knows that he could not participate in the author’s private experience were he not composed of the same substance through and through.” –Henry Miller, The Books in My life
“I want you to make yourself cum,” Mr. B commands, placing my brand new Hitatchi Wand in my hands.
I pressed the large, intense vibrator hard up against my slippery wet clitoris. The powerful vibration felt so satisfying and wonderful. A surge of white heat and wanton energy sizzled inside my racing bloodstream, raising the level of my vaginal heat, and increasing the veracity of my dancing atoms, my jolting cells and my flying high spirit. My orgasmic energy intensified my electrifying nerve cells, zipping my soul upwards, towards a thunder and lightning stricken nightline, like a determined seagull surviving a treacherous flight, soaring higher and higher. I had to stop and rest a few times, to catch my breath, due to fatigue, but eventually I made myself cum and it felt so fucking good!
“Vivienne had no idea how a demon would make love. But she suddenly found herself lifted in the air and deposited on her back. Her soft bed jiggled beneath her. It was like being made love to – fucked – upon a cloud.” –- Sharon Page, Blood Wicked
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” I begged Mr. B, whispering repetitively, over and over again, until I felt Mr. B’s cock penetrate my soaking wet and swollen slit.
“This feels so fucking good. Oh my God! Oh yes! Harder! Please fuck me harder!” my words floating upon a long string of erotic moans. I felt insatiable. I couldn’t get enough!
White heat, passion and white light burst into an explosion when we both climaxed. However, I wanted more and Mr. B knew it as he quickly recovered from his orgasm, opening my bed night stand drawer, with his hand, retrieving a very large dildo and fucked me with it, deep and hard, until I was begging him to stop and my body felt limp and empty like a rag doll without stuffing. I knew, without a doubt, that I would sleep well that night, with a relieved smile upon my face. There is nothing like a good fucking! There is nothing better than an explosive orgasm!
I must say goodbye for now, Henry. I will write soon. XoXo
I’m resuming this letter on 6/10/2012 at 2:30 a.m.
“Whoever the Creator may be, one feels that He in is not concerned with success or failure, sorrow or joy, but with drama itself. It is up to each of us to discover the rules of the game. The problems that arise in the course of one’s life are never really solved; they were not meant to be. The murderer had a different role to play than the saint; all that is asked is that one play his part the best he can. For the author of the play is really one’s own self. ( “I and the Father are one.”) And so it is not the happy ending or the bad ending that matters, but the endless transmutation of which we are witness and prime mover at one and the same time.” –Henry Miller, Paint As You Like and Die Happy
Yesterday evening I met with Mr. B again at my loft. We had another amazing night of great sex! For most of the day, my air conditioner had not been working. My artist loft is on the 6th floor in the city. The heat can be intense! I wasn’t sure if I would be capable of cooling down my loft enough, before I met with Mr. B, so that we wouldn’t have heart attacks from fucking in the extensive heat. Hours before he arrived, I opened some windows and turned on a fan. Eventually, the temperature did become manageable by the time Mr. B arrived.
Unfortunately, building maintenance at my loft, will be working on my air conditioner most of this upcoming week. So, I will be at my suburban home trying to get caught up with writing a few letters to you, and getting some art work done. I need to do a magazine cover for an up and coming burlesque magazine. I’m thinking that the theme of it will be of my favorite, classic pin-up and burlesque star, Bettie Page. I’m excited to start on this project. Last week, I managed to finish a new pin-up portrait, done with Sharpie pens and markers, as I watched television and movies, in between naps. It’s amazing what you can accomplish, even when you work on things in small, tiny, spurts. Nothing is impossible.
It’s getting late Henry. I must end this letter. I will write again as soon as possible.
“We create nothing truly. We borrow and recreate. We uncover and discover. All has been given, as the mystics say. We have only to open our eyes and hearts, to become one with that which is.” –Henry Miller, The Smile at the Foot of the Ladder