I am listening to Elton John, mildly stoned, but enough so to really enjoy this music in such an intense manner, an emotional one, got home from Phoneix, where I had a couple drinks while talking to Matt, and once here, this new, odd home that I already dream of moving out of into someplace by my \self, in this place, I scrounged around on my dresser for any remaining bits of weed, any crumbs, and gathered enough, my stash empty for a week or so now, to get stoned, stoned enough to listen to Elton John and enjoy it in such a fantastic way and to even feel whatever it is I need to feel to type on these keys, to write on my keyboard, to try to get at something, or at least to document it, attempt to, this little life of mine, short and hopefully sweet, and god oh man, god - I am alive, and there are sometimes when I feel that in a way that I don't that often these days and right now is one of those times and this music is certainly helping me feel that way, helping me feel alive!
But the truth is so much more layered and more contradictory, more gray than the bright blue optimism of the preceding declaration about my aliveness, implying some sort of whoo-hooness, which, you know, honestly at times, probably more so than most people, I do feel, but which to be honest is not a feeling that is constantly present in this little mind of mine, that often there are much sadder feelings, feelings of being pathetic, of not being alive, of being sad about this or that, often some person or other, and feeling quite depressed and wanting to do nothing more than sleep.
And can I contain both of those in a diary entry - joy and sadness - and have the thing make any sense? There is a natural division between tragedy and comedy (look back to the Greeks) and to try to contain both in a work, even a diary entry, often dilutes the emotional power of either, the ability of the reader, you in this case, to get carried away by the work. And what the hell am I talking about again?
I have seen some incredible things lately, among them "9 to 5," followed by Dolly Parton talking to the audience afterward, Justin Bond performing at Joe's Pub, House of Ladosha performing at two venues in Williamsburg, and amazing art shows by Yayoi Kusama and Sophie Calle that are up right now. I am incredibly lucky to be able to experience these things so often because of the place that I live and the circle that I happen to inhabit within these geographic coordinates. Work is going quite well and I imagine I soon might be announcing a promotion here. I interviewed for it last week and am pretty certain I will get it and perhaps if there weren't all sorts of concerns about co-workers or employers stumbling across these things, I might detail these office politics things in more detail, as they are really quite fascinating and full of really rich human dramas, but considering these things and also my luck at having such a well-paying job in what is often described as a bleak economic environment, I will just keep my mouth shut about that and continue on with other topics.
I am maybe friends again with Gabriel. He arrived back in town a week or so ago and I ran into him at a bar and we were friendly and have mostly been since then. We agreed to be friends when first seeing each other, me really missing him a lot, and never really talked about the underlying issues that caused the months of not talking to each other, and maybe that's best, maybe that to try to discuss those things, to discuss hurt feelings, would just lead to further hurt ones and not a friendship. But really who knows because also I am still sort of convinced he hates me, particularly after this redhead and I tried to get him to have a threesome with us. I often think about whether we are meant to be friends, about if we could be, about how really we have to be, should be, and yet it seems so difficult.
This week has also seen some attempt at reconnection with Diego. I hung out with him at his house for a bit last week, me talking to him about my life in a way I haven't been able to in a long while, and me starting to get emotional, honest, me really happy that I had these ears, absent in my life these days really, that I could open myself up to and be really honest with about my insecurities, and then of course he would get a call from his boyfriend, fine except for that his boyfriend got a little crazy pscyho when he heard I was there and started yelling at Diego about what I was doing there, about what I could be there for, all these accusatory questions to Diego, clearly indicating his hatred for me, and all of which I overheard clearly as the two of them were arguing. I got my stuff, headed out the door, and walked home incredibly sad that this person in my life, that these two actually, that I used to be so close to in really special ways that allowed for an emotional honesty I otherwise don't have an outlet for, that the two of them still seem far off, that I need to really work on developing some new friendships of a deep level, but finding it quite difficult to bridge something, to step beyond some polite line.
And Diego and his boyfriend will be at Short Mountain in a week, as will I, and that has me vaguely worried for potential drama that might arise in what I had been looking forward to for months as some sort of spiritual retreat, some time to clear my head, or dirty it, and be something that I am not now, something better.
I don't really know where I am going with this. I am terribly behind on that writing project I mentioned some weeks ago, have (to be totally honest) made no progress on it since those last words written for it, and the goal of finishing it by the end of this month now seems increasingly delusional. If only I didn't love the social life so much, the not being home life so much, that not being alone with my thoughts (or forced to confront my lack thereof) life, I might be able to actually get going on these continually stated goals for my life. Rather I am going to this bar, to that party of a friend, to that show, to this gallery, to here, there, and back again with these limited few hours, continually seeking out the company of a friend, constantly, this neediness I have for friends and companionship and a person always there, someone to kill time with. Thinking a lot lately about what is important in life and less and less sure; sometimes I am convinced to pursue something other than a life hanging out with friends and being constantly stoned is cracked, that everything else is some perverse ambitiousness.
But to be truthful, I am less and less sure of what I writing here tonight, increasingly saying ideas or phrases because I like the way they sound or the force that the argument has in my mind, the ability to stir something, and so for this reason, for a couple, chief among them tiredness, I am going to end these ramblings and head off toward my bed with my headphones where I may play a certain Elton John song on repeat as I drift off to sleep.
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