Thursday, February 26, 2009

an empty gruppo pizza box on the floor on my sro, an image conveying this moment

The weather was in the fifties today – and I do this a lot, this talking about the weather as an introduction here, as a method of somehow setting the scene, telling you these physical things outside of myself and their conditions as some way of hopefully being brave enough to get at the interior conditions, the weather of my own mind and its shifting patterns, the cold front that descended from somewhere and has yet to lift – and it had me in nice spirits once I finally left my house around noon today, slightly stoned, on a trip to the gym and elsewhere, errands, this, that, and generally just strolling around this city on my day off, thinking about things and not thinking about others, and wondering what it was that I wanted, on what path it was that I was going down, and whether I should do something about that, how to.

After running for a while and lifting some weights, I went into the steam room, the carrot that often incents me to go the gym, knowing that I will be able to sit in the heat nearly naked with a bunch of other men slightly hidden by steam and have erotic fantasies about the men around me and fairly often get to enact in some form those fantasies, jerking off with these men on occasion. Today was such an occasion, though really a non-occasion, something that has become routine, this jerking off in the steam room with strangers having become such a part of my days.

Today, the man appeared to be in his forties and was quite attractive, at least in the mist of the steam room, the mist more than once fooling me and the awkward encounter outside the steam room with one of these men resulting in a slight shutter of regret seeing them in better lighting. The man today stroked my dick and kissed my chest, my neck, the touch turning me on so much. For a good amount of time, I was in this erotic reverie, nothing outside of that physical encounter and my racing heart, but I left once some dude sat next to us, the two of us covering ourselves in towels and acting like we had not just been jerking off. Orgasm frustrated and erotic reverie now fading into normal reality, I thought to myself about what it is I am doing, again the question of what course my life is taking figuring prominently, this time at the showers in the gym, some Latin dude in the shower stall next to me, the guy always there, and always peeking through, showing his dick, probably in these showers all day, and the questions, the questions, and this, some man and his dick, being either the temptation to delay answering these questions or perhaps the answer, either good or bad, to these questions.

I have stepped back from a large number of my friends and see them less often. I have started hanging out with other people lately, namely lots of co-workers. I live in Manhattan. I go to a bougie gay gym often. I find myself taking cabs often, something that used to be a maybe once every six months thing now becoming a few times a week thing. These are some of the changes I am thinking about. I wonder if I am on the wrong track, if I am becoming a type of person I don’t like. I rarely read and never write. I am going to Mexico on Sunday for nine days and I really do hope that I am able to use this opportunity of traveling alone to step back and think through some of these things, to wonder what it is I should be doing and how to go about that.

I don’t particularly like my living situation. It often depresses me. I live with older gay men who seem lonely and stay in their rooms all day. I worry that this is my future. I need to escape this house. Two nights ago, the owner was playing the keyboard in the living room, quite terribly, for a couple of hours, till some of the guys here starting shouting down the hallway to him about how they had to work in the morning. Last night, someone was hopefully drunk and crying and making weird animal noises at the top of their lungs and it was insanely depressing to listen to as I was trying to fall asleep, to hear some man in his forties or so such a mess and making childlike sob noises for the entire house to hear.

I still think about Gabriel often, despite my commands to my mind to quit thinking about the subject, that he is out of the country and to let it and him go. I think about him sometimes when in the company of newer friends, thinking how fun he was, how much I miss him and regret that our friendship has been such a failure. I don’t know why close friendships prove so difficult for me. But the list of close friends I have burned through is quite crazy – that there is some pattern to this in my life of having intense friendships with people and then not talking to them again for a period of time, if not forever, among them: Leslie, Nora, Ethan, Niki (several times), Diego, and Gabriel a couple of times also. I think about Niki sometimes these days also, missing her as well. I have been hanging out with Diego again and he is sometimes sad and sometimes lonely and so I have been enjoying talking to him a lot these days. But my emotions are in a scramble. I can’t read the weather patterns, have no clue what is going on with the Doppler radar screen, and so am just enjoying the ride, commenting on the weather, that it was in the fifties today and it felt really, really good to not have the wind sting me with cold in the face, to walk calmly from place to place, enjoying the walking, the strolling, the living here and seeing people, some known, more not so.

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