I am bored, very bored, and hungover, or telling myself I am hungover to somehow excuse the being bored on my part, to make sense of it and I don’t know if I can, am not sure what it would be to ever make sense, because honestly I have never done such a thing, this making sense thing, and so it is November now, November 2nd, and some years ago on this day my father died. Yesterday was the Day of the Dead. Tomorrow is my sister’s birthday, the anniversary of the start of her life, and I have yet to get her a gift to commemorate this thing, am not sure what I should get. But were I sure about that, then that would be surprising, as these days I am sure about so incredibly little.
And is that true? Or is it just a pose, just a way of writing something and having it sound interesting, dramatic?
This day has been spent in a fog. I have masturbated, cleaned, masturbated, eaten, and masturbated some more – one of those days when my worst impulses take over, when there is the desire to do something but not the will to, namely writing, and so to distract myself from that short falling, I take my dick in my hand and think about my friends naked and recall certain things.
I called Diego earlier today during one of these masturbation sessions and asked him what he was doing later, asked him this because I wanted him to fuck me while wearing this pair of combat boots I saw him in the other day, told him this on the phone. And he has to work so it is not happening, but seemingly will soon, maybe even later this evening. And I have been on Manhunt and on the M4M section of Craigslist and my mind circles back again and again to sex as a distraction from thinking about writing, this day all to myself, no commitments, my roommate gone, and me having declared that today would be a productive writing day, and instead it has been anything but that. Here I am, trying to make up for lost time, writing instead about how I haven’t been writing.
I have been reading this Queer Zines book and it is really fantastic and has me inspired to make small things, first off this NY Travel Guide that I have been dreaming of for the past couple months, to make it even dirtier than originally conceived. And so I am going to drink more coffee, maybe jerk off some more, play some loud music until I completely lose my mind, write a couple travel guide entries, and then maybe get fucked by a hot guy wearing just a pair of combat boots. I have had this fantasy for a while, thought about it when I first starting seeing Diego, and it was only the other day, after we had had sex and his boots were lying on the floor, only now that we are no longer together, and now that I have confessed dirtier things to him, that I told him I wanted him to wear them and fuck me. They are from an Army Navy surplus store, cost him twenty dollars, and he believes, for reasons I am not sure and which I find doubtful, that they are the boots of a dead soldier.