This past week has contained a fair amount of things. Spring seems to actually be here today, despite the brief occurrence of snow yesterday and the still often brisk temperatures. I am sitting in the New York Public Library's Rose Reading Room, one of the most beautiful spots in this city to sit at a computer and to think, only complicated by one's own short attention span and the seemingly smallness of my bladder. I came here, it being my day off, and me really trying to get on track with things that I tell myself I would like to do with my life, namely being a writer, but finding it increasingly difficult to write things other than diary entries (thus my presence here today on Livejournal as some way of distracting myself from the project I have actually set out for myself). I have this vision in my mind of a New York travel guide of my erotic imagination and I am having quite some difficulty in getting started with the project, despite it having been in the back of my mind for quite some months. I have a deadline set for myself of the end of April to be done with the major work for the project. The dream is a short little zine with an intro and then descriptions of a bunch of locations tied to my erotic memories. It is quite beautifully conceived in my mind; it is just writing the thing that seems to be quite difficult, the environment, the mood never seeming right for my purposes, me having trouble getting into the groove of stoking the fires of memories, bringing these things back to the surface, perhaps the better time is some gray day early in the morning, or late at night a bit drunk. Right now, however, it is a gorgeous spring day and reflection is the last thing my body, my mind, wants to do. I want to (and I intend to) wander this city, looking at the buds on trees, looking at people, and perhaps going to the thrift store to look at clothes. The project can wait until later today, until the sun goes down, and my mood approaches something close to the mood I should be in for this endeavor.
This past week though, to get at the project of documenting my life, something that has fallen by the wayside and which I need to pick up again as some daily form at least of rendering life and thoughts into words, of getting back in this habit of writing which I have woefully fallen out of, I finally finished 2666. It's massive and messy and beautiful and sometimes boring and frustrating, but entirely worth the effort. There are some sections of the book, particularly early on, that are utterly fantastic. I still believe that Bolano's shorter works, especially stories, are much better than these massive works, but this book is pretty astonishing. I didn't agree with all the hype about The Savage Detectives, not enjoying that book that much, but this one has rightly earned all the praise being thrown at it. That occupied a fair amount of my imagination in past weeks, reading and thinking about the book.
I saw the Koh and Koons exhibition last week, but enjoyed its afterparty at the Eagle far more than the works in the gallery. A couple nights ago, I went to the New Museum opening for "Younger Than Jesus," its afterparty, and then the Metropolitan for karaoke. That night was one of the more fun I have had in a long time, it reminding me a lot of a New York I used to know better before working full time, going from party to party, meeting art fags, drinking free booze, and dancing and singing out of tune. That night was the night in which I resolved to myself that I would from now on spend my days off at the NYPL attempting to write, attempting to make something of myself and this life, not wanting to go to any more openings full of artists who make work, not wanting to be some hanger on to a community of creatives, but rather to be part of this community, to contribute things. And yet, here I am, saying that it's too pretty outside to work, that I want to go outside and play. Always the grasshopper, never the ant.
I am done with hosting that party at Happy Ending, which I am quite relieved about. It was somewhat fun, but it did take up too much of my already limited free time and stressed me out a fair amount trying to get my friends to come out to a bar that I wasn't even that excited about, my memories of Happy Ending not being the best ones, and because one of the other people throwing the party was an obnoxious asshole who I couldn't stand. And so I am free of that, free to wander around from bar to bar if I so choose. The problem with that was a bit like my problem with this library; it was that I felt trapped, that being somewhere from 10pm-4am felt too much like work to me, that I wanted to be there for the fun and not the other stuff, wanted to get drunk and leave with a boy if I could.
And boys. Things have not been going so well with them lately and my confidence has taken a bit of a bruising lately. There is a 19 year old who likes for me to fuck him and that is the extent of our relationship. We will sometimes text when horny, meet up, fuck, and then part ways, no real emotions involved, and probably for the best, because as is it is solely a sexually charged relationship it would probably wither if either of us showed how vulnerable we really are.
I met this boy last week, this beautiful boy, Eli, and he came home with me, spent the night, and the next morning we ate bagels together. It was a really beautiful night, one of the nicest ones I have had in a really long time. We had nice conversation and made plans to hang out again that night, me being kind of insanely into this person I had just met. He didn't end up meeting me that night at Happy Ending and a couple days later, I texted him, saying we should grab drinks soon. Several hours later he responded: "Hey, I'm being good though, little alcohol and no strangers!" An exclamation mark following that no strangers bit. That was a big punch in the gut, making me feel pretty pathetic about having such nice feelings toward this person that thought of me as a stranger.
I have had a huge crush on this guy that works in Room Service, B., and a while ago we had made plans to go out for a drink. It never happened and I gave up on trying, knowing that this person knew I liked them and that if he were interested, he would pursue it. B. has a crush on one of my other co-workers and I got to witness him hitting on this person, K., at Happy Ending. Later, K. told me B. asked him on a date but he wasn't going to go.
At that New Museum afterparty, there was this boy that I really liked, a Luke. Our mutual friend, Bobby, knew I liked him and introduced me to him, him seeming to not take much notice. He was also introduced to my friend Michael, who also knew I really liked this boy and who didn't see why, and of course Luke's eyes lit up when meeting him. Later in the night, the two of them starting making out. Afterwards, Michael said to me, "Why do you think he is attractive? I don't at all." My confidence and heart have been taking a lot of punches lately.
Leaving that party and Michael, who I was annoyed with, I went to Metropolitan, sang "You Can't Hurry Love," talked about Woody Allen with John K., smoked a fair amount of cigarettes, and then left for my house with Richard, it nice to sleep with someone, a friend, and to get off.
The blue sky is calling my name through these large windows and I have to answer.