Catherine the Great

Recent Entries from Nicole Daedone's blog:

I got information

“If you love me fuck me like you hate me” Anonymous Because I’ve lived a greater portion of my life off the rails, I use Facebook as a barometer of normalcy as in, “Oh yes, this is how normal people see the world.” Like an archeologist discovering a great treasure, I am delighted to uncover this little gem from a Facebook friend: I’ve encountered my share of “off” OKC messages. But this… is the best yet! His profile opens: “I use to deal drugs but it finally got boring.” (There are pictures of him with expensive cars). His invite to me: Dinner at French Laundry or Sierra Mar. His treat. He’ll pick me up. Yeah… like I’m going to get in a car with a *stranger* and go all the way to NAPA or BIG SUR. I don’t think so!! I don’t care if it is the finest of fine...

Posted on 24 March 2014 | 11:08 am

As Above, So (Very Different) Below: On the Masculine and Feminine

Recently I was reading an article about male-female dynamics that said the number one complaint women have about men is that all guys want is sex. The number two complaint is that he doesn’t even know what he’s doing once he gets there. The man’s number one complaint, for his part, was that women make everything so difficult. I loved this. Not because I am a fan of the war of the sexes (if there is such a thing) but becauseit points toward something so much bigger. If we pull back the lens, these very day-to-day complaints start looking like clues in the mysterious game that I like to call “Masculine/Feminine.” Part of me cringes to use those terms. They have been co-opted by a whole lot of people who use them a whole lot differently than I do. So let me be clear. Masculine/Feminine is not a synonym for...

Posted on 2 February 2014 | 3:05 am


We’re both not sure how to explain, Mike and me, why I love him. I couldn’t tell him that when I think of him I think of his chest in that blue Tshirt. I’ve never had a chest like that before. So many small ass chests, caved in chests, armored chests. And yeah maybe sometimes it’s puffed up like a rooster but at the end of the day from Harlem to LA, alone in that very alone way, pillow beneath my head, it’s that chest. And yeah, maybe I’m too much. Even with his Ducati and his tools, his ju jitsu and that charm. His bulldog. He’s from Indiana. And were I to tell him the things, the unspeakables, we still both don’t know if he’d stay. I’m that kind of girl. Not the sweet one in the shorts that can afford to wear them that short because the innocence...

Posted on 27 January 2014 | 10:21 pm

Rope Light

I’m not so sure about you. I’m not so sure that were I tonight, to have a cab driver in my bed or a cup of tea with a former monk that I would be here beneath linen sheets and hanging rope lights thinking about you. But then again, I am the one with her demands and her measuring sticks demanding space, more space, unstructured time from which brews and flashes can flow.. Until they don’t and records get stuck and thoughts get stuck and a face, yes your face keeps butting in like a television announcer to comment on the space no one inhabits, on the empty like a badge. And for some it is not a question. Invisible hands tugging at any possibility to fill. Emptiness. But I like the quan yins of the world and the voids out of which a thought can spring. My friend, the...

Posted on 26 January 2014 | 10:45 pm