tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64090309031364895202024-03-12T21:50:48.753-07:00songs we used to singcharlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.comBlogger2140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-46013507873741139202017-05-30T08:17:00.000-07:002017-05-30T08:17:07.884-07:00S.I was outside Arena, smoking a cigarette. My friends I was travelling with were nearby talking to some Spanish boys. One of them introduced himself to me, S., and I have been dreaming about him even since.<br /><br />There are some men that are just magic, that just have a presence, a confidence in their own skin, a smile and eyes that show that, declare it to the world, to anyone that encounters the , that they are sexy as fuck. This was one of those men. <br /><br />My friends wandered off. His friends wandered off. It was just the two of us and a massive crowd of people at Arena on Saturday night. I had no idea where my friends were, didn’t care. He seemed to have the same lack of concern about the whereabouts of his friends. We talked, we smiled a lot each other, we had a lot of sex with our eyes on the dance floor. This person is one of the most beautiful people I have ever met, that I have ever had the lucky, lucky pleasure to spend a night with. I haven’t documented things in this diary in quite a while but this I wanted to document, needing to memorialize these details because my memory gets worse and worse as I get older and older, and this is something I want to hold on. <br /><br />I left Barcelona early yesterday morning and am now back in NYC, dreaming of this night, of this person, wishing I lived in the same city as him so I could see his face again. Not even to sleep with. That’d be great, but just to look on this person’s face does something else to me. I have been looking at his Instagram non-stop. I found a Youtube channel of his where he posts beautiful covers he sings of pop songs. I am, to put it simply, obsessed.<br /><br />This is a person with so much swagger and who deploys it so beautifully, so effortlessly. We danced to reggaeton, Maluma I believe, him taking the lead. We talked about Latin music, pop music, New York, drag queens, and I am not sure what else. He said he wanted to see the drag queens in New York. I told him to come, to stay with me, for however long he wanted, a month even, that it’d be fine, that I’d love to show this beautiful man around New York.<br /><br />My friend had his phone stolen in the club and various friends came up to me to tell me he needed help. I waved them off, not wanting to lose these moments with this beautiful, gorgeous man. Eventually my friend found me on the dancefloor as I was grinding against this man to various Latin beats. My friend told me we needed to go, wanted the address of our AirBNB. I knew he had no way of finding it, so I went outside with him, S. coming with us outside. <br /><br />I told S. that my friend and I had to head home. He said he hoped I was also taking him with me. Of course, I said, or something like that, trying to act more suave than I actually was, while inside I was doing cartwheels that the most beautiful man I had ever seen wanted to come home with me.<br /><br />We took a taxi back to Poble-Sec, the sun starting to rise through the front window of the taxi down the horizon of a beautiful Barcelona street. I kept remarking on how beautiful it was. S. told me to take a picture of it. I did. He got it. He understood the beauty. Not in a patronizing or drunk way that most would, but in a way where we were both vibing on its gorgeousness together.<br /><br />We went up to our 5th floor apartment. My friend went in his room to sleep and my night continued with S. He said he wanted to take a shower because he smelled and wanted me to brush my teeth because they smelled like cigarettes. <br /><br />And this - this right here - is the one moment that I want to be burned in my memory forever: It was a tight, tiny bathroom. I stood at the sink right across the shower, brushing my teeth as he stood naked in the shower, shower door open, and staring at me with his intense eyes. His dick was perfect, his body tight, and he knew this. He knew what power he held over me, how much I enjoyed what I was looking at. This was the slightest bit of a cocky smile in the corner of his lips as we started each other down, him knowing what beautiful a sight I was experiencing. He told me to join him. I did.<br /><br />From the shower, we went to my bed. I sucked his dick, complementing it, telling him how nice it was. He said something along the line of: Good, ‘cause you’re going to suck it in the morning as soon as you wake up. I encouraged him to spit on me, to slap me, to make noise. It was so, so insanely hot. I sucked on his beautiful feet and toes for a quite a while, this person literally perfect from head to toes.<br /><br />We came. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, cuddling. I told him he had to come stay with me in New York. He told me I was drunk, that I didn’t mean that, that I wouldn’t say that in the morning, that he would seriously come but he knew I wasn’t serious. I told him I was serious and would tell him so again sober in the morning. <br /><br />We woke up late, around 11:30. And two things happened that we said would. I was forced to suck his dick as soon he woke up. It was beautiful. He sucked mine. He came all over my face, me catching some to eat, wanting some part of this man in me, some of his magic to take with me. And then after we came again, the other thing promised occurred. I told him to come stay with me, that I was 1000% serious.<br /><br /><br />And maybe he will. Maybe he won’t. Maybe I’ll never see this man again. But right now, I have these memories. I am trying my best to hold on to them, writing them down to preserve them against time’s fading qualities on memory. Each hour, the details become less sharp, but this is an attempt here to hold the line against time, to keep these memories preserved, this beauty, forever.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-13798647955966528382017-03-09T09:56:00.002-08:002017-03-09T09:56:42.458-08:00the weatherToday, it is sixty degrees or so. Tomorrow, it is supposed to snow. There is a lot of this going on. Temperatures rising and falling, an instability in the weather, the result of global warming most people would say, unless of course you’re the person charged with protecting our environment, head of the EPA, Scott Pruitt. But that, my friends, is another story.<br /><br />The story I am concerned about, and you, dear reader, by extension, is my life in 2017 and trying to reconnect with this thing, this practice, this diary, this way of thinking about life, about what it means, what I am doing, what I am not doing, and the usual stray thoughts about boys, dick, money, happiness, and music.<br /><br />The ups and downs in temperatures serve as a nice analogy for my own life. I am still working in advertising, some days happy doing so, other days not. I want more money, but so does everyone. I am broke way too often in a way that I shouldn’t be in my mid-thirties and as a result too much of my mental energy goes into thinking about ways to get money or about how I am going to make it through to next paycheck with the X amount of dollars I have in cash on me since my bank account is overdrawn.<br /><br />It’s all a very familiar story, one I have been living out for decades now, and one, which, truth be told, I am getting a bit tired of. So a new story needs to be written and I am in the process, the lifelong process, of figuring out how to go about that. I have been asking for a raise for months, talking to recruiters seeing if that might lead somewhere, and thinking about other avenues entirely, about moving to this or that city, about a band I keep talking about making happen but which like many projects I get excited about brainstorming I have failed to follow through on.<br /><br />So that’s that. Boring, right?<br /><br />There’s a guy I like, who I have liked for a decade or so. I went out on date with him a week ago. We kissed on the street after eating pizza and drinking wine. I was literally a manic, deliriously happy, glowing, crazy person the next day. The night we hung out was similar to today - unseasonably warm weather. I had spring fever. I have spring fever.<br /><br />This weather makes me want everything. Every guy. Every kiss. Every drink. Every drug. Every bar. I want to be in a blur of happiness, riding through the night, laughing, happiness never stopping. It’s really all I want from life, to always feel like that, and I know, because I am not totally insane, that that is not possible. But I want to get as close to that as possible, to be as filled with joy and those feelings as much of the time as I can. I am going to make this happen. Somehow.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-24383517912508883792016-10-25T20:04:00.003-07:002016-10-25T20:04:32.784-07:00King CobraSo the other night, I watched <i>King Cobra</i>, the true-crime movie following the story of Brent Corrigan, who I used to be more than a little obsessed with, whose videos I used to jerk off nonstop, whose story I was insanely drawn to.<br /><br />Watching it sent me spiraling, twirling back through time. The movie, a phone booth in a Circle K parking lot, taking me to places I had forgotten about, to times long past. It was all brought up again, that time in my life when I used to be really fascinated by this man who was this sex object, about what that meant, and to a time when there were internal desires, tuggings at wanting to be a sex object as well, tuggings that led me to try go-go dancing, to working in a massage parlor, to doing other lines of work, and finding fun and adventure in these explorations, a thrill unparalleled. Seeking out men, desiring their attention. There is a certain hunger and a certain power dynamic at play there that only works well when one is in their early twenties, which I most certainly am not any longer.<div>
<br />Yesterday, I got contacted by this guy I hadn’t heard from in years and I replayed those moments. The timing, days after viewing this film and while all those feelings and remembrances were still fresh, seemed fortuitous. To him, I was still this sex object. I got to play a role. I got to have someone physically desire me in a unique and explicit way that is so rare outside of this particular dynamic. <br /><br />The hotel carpet that I was kneeling in, giving this man a blowjob, was giving me rugburn. I did not care. I did not care one bit. I loved the feeling actually, the debasement, the Times Square hotel room, the view of the city outside, this man I did not know, his desire for me. I came on that same rug that was burning my knees, payback for the rugburn. He did also. He was polite, wiped the up cum from the carpet, and told me I looked good for my age.</div>
charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-11413742508528272002016-08-22T09:07:00.001-07:002016-08-22T09:07:05.518-07:00Frank Ocean - NightsSorry, I just don’t know how to relate to other human beings.<br /><br />This is what I, a human being, said to another human being, as he got dressed. This is what I said as some means of apology, of explanation, after having hooked up with him and then asking him to leave.<br /><br />It was 4 something in the morning. We had just had sex. He was this cute nice guy that I have known for a couple years, hooked up with once or twice before. It was friendly. He had mentioned he wanted to cuddle. I was drunk and stoned. I wasn’t in the mood to cuddle or to be around other human beings. <br /><br />I am less and less good at this aspect of being human, of the intimate one-on-one moments. It’s almost like I have forgotten how to do them. And yet I look at men on the subway, on the beach, on the streets, and I tell myself that I want something with them, imagine them as future boyfriends, though what that would mean for someone that has trouble sharing a night in bed with someone these days, I have no clue.<br /><br />He left a bracelet at my house in his hurry to get dressed at that late hour, at that early hour. I texted him about it. He’s going to come over again soon. <br /><br />Once I finally woke up yesterday, I plopped down on the Christopher Street Pier under cloudy skies and listened to the amazing new Frank Ocean album, playing “Nights” in particular on repeat over and over again:<br /><br /><i>Did you call me from a seance?<br />You are from a past life.<br />Hope you’re doing well bruh.<br />I been out here head first.<br />Always like the head first.<br />Signal coming in and out.</i>charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-29401737431421860702016-08-08T10:52:00.003-07:002016-08-08T10:52:28.421-07:00A Day at the BeachThe water was warm. There was none of the tip-toeing baby steps into the ocean, slowly getting in inch by inch until your skin, your body, is comfortable enough to proceed further. Instead, yesterday it was embrace, a friend you hadn’t seen in months, a lover you were excited about hopping into bed with. I walked into the water with the same amount of hesitancy that I have walking into air - that is, none whatsoever. It just was. It was the elements that I exist in.<br /><br />I swam around in the waves, the sunlight lighting up glowing patterns on the crests of the waves, falling, rising, shifting, these white sketched neon lines - an old-school computer screensaver playing out across the Atlantic Ocean in front of me. I started talking to this attractive Indian man. Soon we were making out, jerking each other off under the water, bobbing around together in these shifting lines, interrupting them with our embrace.<br /><br />As I sucked his dick underneath the water, my mouth kept filling up with saltwater. Again, I was in the elements, in my element. It was a perfect moment in a beautiful day in a wonderful life.<br /><br />On the shore, I drank rose, smoked cigarettes, and let my eyes take in the sight, the beautiful sight, of all of the sexy men around me, and my brain and other parts of my body did various things with that visual stimuli, imagined romantic and sexual scenarios playing out with all of these people around me.<br /><br />If I were to use two words to describe my condition yesterday, they would be: boy crazy.<br /><br />On the bus ride home, I ended up sitting next to this stranger, this really cute Australian. I flirted with him the whole way home and exchanged numbers before he got off the bus.<br /><br />I ate burritos in my backyard with the friends I went to the beach with and then after having stared at the feet of one of these guys the whole time I was eating the burrito, imagining them on my face, in my mouth, we took a shower together before tumbling into my bed. And those feet I had fantasized about just moments earlier were all over my face. His cock was in my mouth, mine in his. We came. He left. And I fell asleep in my bed, curving my body around the still wet cum stains on my sheets.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-40062433160004554862016-07-05T09:51:00.002-07:002016-07-05T09:51:57.073-07:004th of JulyThere was a moment yesterday at Riis Beach when I saw myself, saw the scene I existed in, and was so happy to have such a gay life. I was wearing an American flag thong, drinking a vodka/soda, and losing my mind dancing to a Deborah Cox remix. Life truly does not get better. Or gayer.<br /><br />It has been such an insane weekend - basically a mid-thirties gay version of some Girls Gone Wild Spring Break adventure.<br /><br />Saturday on the beach, there is the guy that I think is one of the cutest people on the planet, long-running crush that I used to work with. He was wearing some vintage running shorts with nothing underneath, the outline of his dick so clear. It was so beautiful. The image is burned in my memory. As soon as I got back from the beach on Saturday, I showered and jerked off, recalling the memory, replaying it again and again, while it was still crisp, before it started to fade.<br /><br />I have been recalling that dick, the brief glimpse I got of it while talking to him, recalling it over and over all weekend, waking up the image all I think about for my first ten minutes away.<br /><br />I tried to convince him to come Sunday, but probably for the best he did not, probably for the best because I would have been a thirsty, drooling mess around him. But I found other people to occupy my attention, other boys to crush on. On the bus ride home, I sat next to this boy, cute, and we made out most of the way home to Williamsburg. <br /><br />Today, I am in a world of pain, of hurt, my body upset with me for raging so hard for four days straight, raging so hard for four days gay.<br /><br />God Bless America.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-83017934386558570812016-06-27T08:59:00.003-07:002016-06-27T08:59:27.883-07:00Pride and HangoverHungover, it’s the day after Pride. I am sitting at my desk at work drinking a Tropical flavored Red Bull, listening to house music, and wishing that I was still partying in the streets, in the sunshine, shirtless, losing my mind, with gays surrounding me, filling the streets, everywhere, us.<br /><br />The weather was beautiful. I was with great friends. I drank a lot of nutcrackers on the street and had so, so much fun. After the parade, I ended up at the Standard and watched the fireworks over the Hudson River from the rooftop at Le Bain, before going to the Grindr party at Boom Boom Room. The doorman told me I wasn’t dressed appropriately since they don’t allow tank tops up there. And after joking about how it’s a slutty Grindr party, he said I just need to not wear the tank top. So I danced around shirtless in the posh Boom Boom Room all night, overlooking the city, most of the surrounding skyscrapers all done up in rainbow lighting. I made out with several people there, danced, at had a fucking ball. <br /><br />At some point, the drinking nonstop for two days straight caught up with me and it was time to call it a night. I grabbed some pizza, stuffed my drunken face with it, hopped on the L train home, and then cruised Grindr from the comfort of my bed, but was too drunk, tired to do anything. Left a party sponsored by Grindr to go home and cruise on Grindr. That sentence. So gay. This weekend. So gay. I fucking love Pride so much!charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-21900184360050517502016-06-21T13:19:00.001-07:002016-06-21T20:34:02.518-07:00Rio in photos<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWR4Qp4ba_q3Rnf3MpjzFHp3TvxTWN4RMj5troSXaHwp9BSeDNuVfHBQGScguLlIqrcy8JYgDkZw9QCDOqUAuGLAnaDbJt0xBk5rUZWcxsmJAbfxrI3jDbmSO0XFAudBctycEDcp78YTRS/s640/blogger-image--909428675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWR4Qp4ba_q3Rnf3MpjzFHp3TvxTWN4RMj5troSXaHwp9BSeDNuVfHBQGScguLlIqrcy8JYgDkZw9QCDOqUAuGLAnaDbJt0xBk5rUZWcxsmJAbfxrI3jDbmSO0XFAudBctycEDcp78YTRS/s640/blogger-image--909428675.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BSlN0_3eHjj3it4ehVPNwUIizE0qISb0HxeOL6D0GETv3ahC2zcqih8p-SCeZ3tXRGlOitnkoZgpWFbRW8cBw5ROSxlkJ4Ug4zLtnrkpyauObcM0uWK8_kiDEN81Y3RpkQ_T8kmWl-z9/s640/blogger-image-383303209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BSlN0_3eHjj3it4ehVPNwUIizE0qISb0HxeOL6D0GETv3ahC2zcqih8p-SCeZ3tXRGlOitnkoZgpWFbRW8cBw5ROSxlkJ4Ug4zLtnrkpyauObcM0uWK8_kiDEN81Y3RpkQ_T8kmWl-z9/s640/blogger-image-383303209.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRA40aSXWhLjkEfdmaXfJ8mZMy7avn3FdgO6nvXrRpM3SpBcd_Uo_IR6yhoJtIskiggDy4Z7Rl6VRNT6cO-Ff7BSO9pTqIGIi7eVWFBOnf1R9F2z6chZV0rqfpshgNmNZy-4eg-aJmiM1/s640/blogger-image-1233722585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRA40aSXWhLjkEfdmaXfJ8mZMy7avn3FdgO6nvXrRpM3SpBcd_Uo_IR6yhoJtIskiggDy4Z7Rl6VRNT6cO-Ff7BSO9pTqIGIi7eVWFBOnf1R9F2z6chZV0rqfpshgNmNZy-4eg-aJmiM1/s640/blogger-image-1233722585.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BVlXccbDbkyYpO3j31bM7PgEEhyphenhyphenRdJrDE4Ecmda6Z68iP6Yi3KnKPdmZzpFucdIfjl8yhOnJO2nnZg9mhTkQZ32Ah0saHPqVBCYfFpkNHdTUhctgEx-vOAyUiBl4UDOdf8PFdKx78JgD/s640/blogger-image--965296458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BVlXccbDbkyYpO3j31bM7PgEEhyphenhyphenRdJrDE4Ecmda6Z68iP6Yi3KnKPdmZzpFucdIfjl8yhOnJO2nnZg9mhTkQZ32Ah0saHPqVBCYfFpkNHdTUhctgEx-vOAyUiBl4UDOdf8PFdKx78JgD/s640/blogger-image--965296458.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOyDjmwCi4k8BNBloQ-YGdc6Xu1ZNA0LjLtWrBN3d6yaou2PIeNMU_hBN-Gt7_bwaDzo77omIUB0Vx7l3DCLI360h6cdq-X4AJAeHApaLcWnPRvl18WU1suJ9teX9bvXuLGjcXqDU0NVsD/s640/blogger-image--200770694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOyDjmwCi4k8BNBloQ-YGdc6Xu1ZNA0LjLtWrBN3d6yaou2PIeNMU_hBN-Gt7_bwaDzo77omIUB0Vx7l3DCLI360h6cdq-X4AJAeHApaLcWnPRvl18WU1suJ9teX9bvXuLGjcXqDU0NVsD/s640/blogger-image--200770694.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRpI65QWj8246rG5j5aeC9SQXNBPPx_NsrjUJcJuCczdG1xlZvE0k0Gyr-5xfaPYM81HMJE9uSKjVaqRogYsJA_NHTltY8hpAg2P_8E-kATpl8x97yPIsZhvL6wWaFEUapUnUqOpYjKCD/s640/blogger-image--1596814040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRpI65QWj8246rG5j5aeC9SQXNBPPx_NsrjUJcJuCczdG1xlZvE0k0Gyr-5xfaPYM81HMJE9uSKjVaqRogYsJA_NHTltY8hpAg2P_8E-kATpl8x97yPIsZhvL6wWaFEUapUnUqOpYjKCD/s640/blogger-image--1596814040.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFnZPJcjcSyZga6bHI7jymWxt-oCj5p6BmY-D6KtH00vV4_jqie4jraKBpF0migGsGA43mD2eXUqPYnqDOiQsYeABaW1I2HQ_qdl8v_179NAELKL9ClTQuHvAVXtG0JFiUuZc-GYpRnHUj/s640/blogger-image-1156955411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFnZPJcjcSyZga6bHI7jymWxt-oCj5p6BmY-D6KtH00vV4_jqie4jraKBpF0migGsGA43mD2eXUqPYnqDOiQsYeABaW1I2HQ_qdl8v_179NAELKL9ClTQuHvAVXtG0JFiUuZc-GYpRnHUj/s640/blogger-image-1156955411.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FOqF1maPl3PXC7cyNLJb6zoEka88bn5hu03aYas5v_YTiHLSDdN7bjzA1MvwD95-eYLIz0-kbUwjIMTUrNnfs_UCi89AO2_C9EUKe4KR_A54M2yPXfz45NwZUP8K5JWfQMNpNke3pSUu/s640/blogger-image-2069237886.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FOqF1maPl3PXC7cyNLJb6zoEka88bn5hu03aYas5v_YTiHLSDdN7bjzA1MvwD95-eYLIz0-kbUwjIMTUrNnfs_UCi89AO2_C9EUKe4KR_A54M2yPXfz45NwZUP8K5JWfQMNpNke3pSUu/s640/blogger-image-2069237886.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0LGdBvVRdVynhkEAggCFRpaIWsruxj16piTr9Kae-pMu1mMMvqWejFkn5cvh9rxUpPBQ9fXzVMcKs9hCEaBeSh98Z7CHlIjEwSmBUB227a6gIIhqhDg0T7dPj4UXZ7BwqYYzTBTWy7V58/s640/blogger-image--96112514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0LGdBvVRdVynhkEAggCFRpaIWsruxj16piTr9Kae-pMu1mMMvqWejFkn5cvh9rxUpPBQ9fXzVMcKs9hCEaBeSh98Z7CHlIjEwSmBUB227a6gIIhqhDg0T7dPj4UXZ7BwqYYzTBTWy7V58/s640/blogger-image--96112514.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdGQu7JlVZCPEPkPf1teheeB9nZZDM8vn31B-c7jhciwtfoc7Tt25uwZ4nMOcMgjNGUlrXG8VzEL7bo3QXN6uapXITJua-cvcTmO0ZiuBhVJnv_kpalTLREBhiFy_aTki5HBdviDkoLAnO/s640/blogger-image-1254262600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdGQu7JlVZCPEPkPf1teheeB9nZZDM8vn31B-c7jhciwtfoc7Tt25uwZ4nMOcMgjNGUlrXG8VzEL7bo3QXN6uapXITJua-cvcTmO0ZiuBhVJnv_kpalTLREBhiFy_aTki5HBdviDkoLAnO/s640/blogger-image-1254262600.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMITLD2jSI_2AG5bXUZcDCA39e7prSuHZSzBOEMKN78FrlziFlf5Mbp-YSu6enf-LjJavio8g4IdQMNcRHMLKuDPiNwwp63vDt-49BqYO5S6v95ddEEGRXFDaZqzu8D_cf-iHZyxfB1yCh/s640/blogger-image--1468481376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMITLD2jSI_2AG5bXUZcDCA39e7prSuHZSzBOEMKN78FrlziFlf5Mbp-YSu6enf-LjJavio8g4IdQMNcRHMLKuDPiNwwp63vDt-49BqYO5S6v95ddEEGRXFDaZqzu8D_cf-iHZyxfB1yCh/s640/blogger-image--1468481376.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72pCy2m4KzuDdUexTJtRLkq-_s_bM50H8pqXtShTxoAj58Ev-cqW71tyzL_spSOolXwv-NQ-YMGltmtQ0E-s31ZGi91DhbtxPvnzIYPVTPT8cF4J3SkP3dWFfYrwt5voUDkcq6QTQu3eB/s640/blogger-image-1097309354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72pCy2m4KzuDdUexTJtRLkq-_s_bM50H8pqXtShTxoAj58Ev-cqW71tyzL_spSOolXwv-NQ-YMGltmtQ0E-s31ZGi91DhbtxPvnzIYPVTPT8cF4J3SkP3dWFfYrwt5voUDkcq6QTQu3eB/s640/blogger-image-1097309354.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhez7FMh0r6qByvXjLqSAOybkIIHErD-zenFSsZrew_DzM_-DY3V2IAuY2BjyPEIzbPZAiygEl5eS4BvwhR4yt-i_3A1X-7828iZorEa1xEZb4N4KUX14eCFXyeB6bwbCMhy_rOUzczzYFo/s640/blogger-image-1684252873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhez7FMh0r6qByvXjLqSAOybkIIHErD-zenFSsZrew_DzM_-DY3V2IAuY2BjyPEIzbPZAiygEl5eS4BvwhR4yt-i_3A1X-7828iZorEa1xEZb4N4KUX14eCFXyeB6bwbCMhy_rOUzczzYFo/s640/blogger-image-1684252873.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLACIy7oNyX5BuHd_cLr8e8b6DS_7L2SJM7O0_2Xx7gMJnftifFieMoGdaKo1lUdf0XCXlqOZEcVHYbgbkm7ZV1oxLWEOVjQ5QleRPeB3ya8509qvZv1V4sXXRA4U9Y2BJ5lnc6dymdvu/s640/blogger-image-1414897920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLACIy7oNyX5BuHd_cLr8e8b6DS_7L2SJM7O0_2Xx7gMJnftifFieMoGdaKo1lUdf0XCXlqOZEcVHYbgbkm7ZV1oxLWEOVjQ5QleRPeB3ya8509qvZv1V4sXXRA4U9Y2BJ5lnc6dymdvu/s640/blogger-image-1414897920.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVvBroQoY9ChdZ-krP4w6BmXQ_X-P4g-m0RDYX4NEupZYo3819UUJtR5uVqFFjGfAPdFomMAnZvsq8y1EsaBp5M6aIlV8yTO1BHt0u-PU5em-wxrur2FZ-B1vpcl8WIPFZgB-Xnwg6Ze3/s640/blogger-image--1849192291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVvBroQoY9ChdZ-krP4w6BmXQ_X-P4g-m0RDYX4NEupZYo3819UUJtR5uVqFFjGfAPdFomMAnZvsq8y1EsaBp5M6aIlV8yTO1BHt0u-PU5em-wxrur2FZ-B1vpcl8WIPFZgB-Xnwg6Ze3/s640/blogger-image--1849192291.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeheRaABWZxUtwmFsVhMzqm08PajgsZTQfDW7FDdXu0fmqdUWtP2jzUmm7yLyHvki9IFCpRlJnQVfWz2by9YQadL1a9TvGPEQB3_6oesPWtUsqpmNpsz7jHRZae6X2L-7t_iqkGpau9YR/s640/blogger-image--505036557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeheRaABWZxUtwmFsVhMzqm08PajgsZTQfDW7FDdXu0fmqdUWtP2jzUmm7yLyHvki9IFCpRlJnQVfWz2by9YQadL1a9TvGPEQB3_6oesPWtUsqpmNpsz7jHRZae6X2L-7t_iqkGpau9YR/s640/blogger-image--505036557.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8k1hSlS_CcGtB380J2FMKBe8L9A0Ys9Wdodw5tqyNMPFatkw1RaY7Qj3Ts-T0eZ1Qk4kC973midvgZE6vvmj_DDksoLG5M0y2ynKXHnVKDeHR_jbZZuojncU7ZV3KzqmlCGuoZoifv25V/s640/blogger-image--605001223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8k1hSlS_CcGtB380J2FMKBe8L9A0Ys9Wdodw5tqyNMPFatkw1RaY7Qj3Ts-T0eZ1Qk4kC973midvgZE6vvmj_DDksoLG5M0y2ynKXHnVKDeHR_jbZZuojncU7ZV3KzqmlCGuoZoifv25V/s640/blogger-image--605001223.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAy_MGO3BSuxDXSFlcBHTkaqsCI58tkVZEzCyRVgu-YRsnckv0q_9195ubmEEM2BokUEcFm8Phh9pZ-eWPTQhW_QNzQwk0DJPTD4fDi8OCtoLVmEIE-QeHe6gQKaXKpTHOOfh_qydQzFk_/s640/blogger-image-2013015961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAy_MGO3BSuxDXSFlcBHTkaqsCI58tkVZEzCyRVgu-YRsnckv0q_9195ubmEEM2BokUEcFm8Phh9pZ-eWPTQhW_QNzQwk0DJPTD4fDi8OCtoLVmEIE-QeHe6gQKaXKpTHOOfh_qydQzFk_/s640/blogger-image-2013015961.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-54295140073946648992016-06-21T13:10:00.001-07:002016-06-21T13:10:09.479-07:00RioThese diary entries have become less and less frequent. The energy I used to expend on writing about my life, trying to make sense of it, and trying to frame it (and by extension life itself) into some beautiful poetic order, has taken a backseat to other things - those other things being work, my Burrito Fever project, and just that general laziness that afflicts all of us as we spend hours at night mindlessly scrolling through Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat with the time that we used to use for reflection, reading, watching intelligent films, and having sex.<br /><br />I did just return from Rio de Janeiro a couple days ago and feel like the experience should be added to this diary project I have been working on for years now regardless of how little I currently write in here, that at some future date I will wish that I had written down some memories.<br /><br />We flew out on Friday night, an overnight flight, landed in Rio early Saturday morning, too early to check in to the apartment where we were staying. We dropped off our bags and made our way to have brunch at Parque Lage. Holy fuck. Immediately in those first few cab rides around town I was blown away by the city, by the mountains surrounding it, by how magical it all was. I had been dreaming about coming to this city since I was a kid, was one of those places I had always seen pictures of and wanted to see in person. It was just as incredible in person as those pictures led me to believe, more so. <br /><br />Parque Lage is one of the most beautiful places not just in Rio, but in the world. I couldn’t believe that that was our first stop in Rio. Unreal. This old colonial building that has a courtyard serving food from which you can see an absolutely insane view of the Christ the Redeemer statue above you.<br /><br />After brunch, we hiked up to that statue, all the way to the top of that insane mountain. It was a workout that had all of us gasping for breath, wondering why we had all thought it a good idea to do this hike. But once we made it to the top, again, holy fuck! The views from there are insane. I thought up there that I should live here, what it would be to constantly experience such an insane level of natural beauty. <br /><br />And from there the week turned into a blur. Lots of drinking, lots of time at the beach, very little sleep, very little food. I turned 35 that first night. We went out to various bars around town. Nick and I ended up heading back to Ipanema (where we were staying in a gorgeous apartment) and partied at Galeria Cafe, a small divey club until 4 in the morning.<br /><br />I spent a day wandering around downtown with Mark, went to things that were closed, but it was still beautiful to see the city, to walk among its street and the daytime office workers. Another day was spent going to Santa Teresa and to Lapa, checking out the sights there.<br /><br />Days were spent on the beach at Ipanema, nursing hangovers, drinking capirinhas, buying swimsuits, looking at all the beautiful men of Rio.<br /><br />The men! I could write books about them. There is so much to say, but there were literally the most beautiful men I have ever seen in my life every which way I looked. I want to go back there again and again, and there are a lot of reasons for that, but chief among them is I want to again see and be near such insane male beauty. Bodies shaped by constant physical activity and whatever genetics they were blessed with.<br /><br />Luckily, we went with Levi, who is Brazilian and so got to experience some magical stuff we wouldn’t have otherwise. His cousin brought us into Santa Marta favela where she is taking lessons at the samba school and we got to watch this massive samba school rehearse and drink at some divey storefront. It was such an amazing experience, one that I will always remember.<br /><br />Another day, we drove to this amazing beach, Praia do Abrico, with one of his friends, this really cool guy, Jorge. It was a nude beach isolated from everything and just surrounded by insane natural beauty, a cartoon of what a beautiful beach is supposed to look like but entirely real.<br /><br />And then our last night there, the memory that actually may stick with me the most from the trip is that we went to this divey gay bar in Lapa, Buraco da Lacraia, for a drag show. I didn’t understand anything being said of course, it all being in Portuguese, which is actually a lot harder of a language than I had imagined, and spoken nothing like Spanish. However, it was still a joy to watch and the basic plot points of the show came across. I loved looking at the packed room full of people, enthralled by and laughing at this show so much. At the end of their show, they did a Portuguese version of “We Are The World,” following by a reading of the 49 names of people killed in the Orlando attacks. All throughout the audience, people were sobbing as they read through the names, knowing that an attack on a gay bar halfway around the world was still an attack on them. It was an attack on all of us, that we are one big gay family. It was the most emotional, beautiful gay moment that I have ever had and really put the world into perspective for me. <br /><br />I got back to the US Sunday morning and spent the last two days recovering from having partied straight for the previous eight days. I can’t wait to go back.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-90381933057941060652016-04-22T08:04:00.002-07:002016-04-22T08:04:26.448-07:00PrinceThere is the news you’re never ready for, the news that when someone tells you, you think, surely, they must be joking, that this is a terrible joke, that this can’t be real. That was the case yesterday when a coworker casually mentioned that Prince had just died. <br /><br />No. Not Prince. Impossible. A bad Internet hoax. A rumor.<br /><br />Sadly, though, yes. Yes, Prince. Possible. Not a hoax. Not a rumor.<br /><br />I am still unable to fully fathom that I currently live on this planet and that Prince does not. He has been with me nearly my whole life, through so many phases of my life, always teaching me new things. As a kid, I remember watching his videos, hearing his songs, and loving them. As an early teen, through BMG Music Club or one of those similar subscription services that I was always delinquent in paying for, I received the 3-disc set “Hits and B-Sides.” To say I played the shit out of those CDs is an understatement. I learned every single word to every single one of those songs, playing them again and again, making mixtapes with those songs featuring prominently on them.<br /><br />He was my first lover. He was everyone’s first lover. Which is why his death hurts so fucking much. Before I ever kissed anyone, before I ever made any awkward gropings in the dark with someone, before I ever had sex, or felt the power of touch, I felt it through his music, through his erotic charge that came through so much of those early songs of his. He made some of the sexiest music ever made and it taught me what it was to be human, what it was to be a sexual being, how those feelings were worthy of celebration, were worthy of song. <br /><br />So there is that, which is no small thing.<br /><br />As importantly, he allowed me to be queer. He created a space in popular culture for femme, flamboyant males. He lit an alternative path, something other than the normal constricts of masculinity. As an awkward teen, unsure about my sexuality, trying my best to deny it, to not be that word faggot that other kids in high school called me, he presented a confidence and an assuredness in his self-presentation, as gay as gay could be, and yet not even gay. For me, that meant so much, and in retrospect I can see how much an influence he had on me, how his liberated self allowed me to strive toward my own self-liberation. <br /><br />He liberated me in so many senses. His dancing. His fucking dancing. I don’t dance with the same enthusiasm anymore, but when I first went to college, at all those parties, when all those Prince songs came on, and they seemed to come on all the time at those New College parties, I danced free, in love with movement and with what my body was capable of, of putting on a show, of feeling the music. That was learned from watching Prince videos, from him showing what was possible, those splits (which obviously I was never capable of), and that careening, sailing around the stage. Every time I danced to a Prince song, I was Prince, was trying to be, was trying to have the same grace, sexiness, and charisma while dancing. <br /><br />I can’t believe this man is gone.<br /><br />In later years, once I was living in New York, I downloaded his whole discography and went through album by album, amazed at this man’s talent. So all of the above, the space he created with his persona, that’s one thing, but then there is just his insane level of talent on vivid display throughout his insanely huge catalog of music, music that he made almost entirely by himself (session musicians aside). That he played every instrument on his first album (released at the age of 20!) just boggles the mind. A level of talent with songwriting, singing, guitar playing, piano playing, dancing - perfect at every single one of them. It almost seems unfair that one single human could be so talented, have so much skill, but he was hungry and had a work ethic that none of mere mortals could ever hope to approach. But still I hold him and his work ethic up as my lodestar - something to aspire to - to try to approach art and making stuff with the same level of intensity and passion. <br /><br />I saw him perform twice in concert and both times were religious experiences. The amount that this man means to me had me sitting on the edge of my seat, just blown away, experiencing floods of overwhelming emotions, knowing how lucky I was to see him live, that it would be something I would always hold tight for the rest of my life, those memories. <br /><br />The music slices right through me like nothing else. Rhythm is fucking life and this man’s sense of rhythm and melody just prove what a life-force this man was. He was just on another plane and had an understanding of things and translating those things to art in a way that is nothing short of breathtaking.<br /><i><br />“If I could I would give you the world, but all I can do is offer you my love.”</i><br /><br />But Prince, you did. You gave me the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you for everything.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-10472961187452554202016-04-01T11:58:00.000-07:002016-04-01T11:58:10.593-07:00"Let Me Know" - Roisin MurphyTwo nights ago, I found out that I didn’t get this job I really wanted. I cried in my bed as I went to sleep, having wanted this job so, so bad, and feeling myself so close to it after two rounds of interviews. In a way, it felt like a romantic rejection - it was the same sort of hurt, the same type of insecurity, and the same fear about what my future would be. But it was also something more than that and a new experience for me - there was also a layer of artistic judgement in it, that I had failed to impress, that something in my work came up short.<br /><br />It was for a copywriter role at a really hip, trendy agency. The people that worked there seemed great and the work they make is awesome. I showed them my work, but more than my ad work, they were really into my burrito project, which I had talked to one of the creative directors about in passing, mentioning that it was probably NSFW. He was super into it and shared it with the other creative directors there, which is what got me the second interview there. It was a feeling of validation that they got it, saw what I was trying to do, and really liked it. <br /><br />And so believing myself so close to this job after a really good second interview and already dreaming about what I was going to say in my resignation letter to my current place of employment, it was immensely painful when I saw the email come up on my phone and I could read the first line even more opening it, spotted that tell-tale “Unfortunately.” Anything that starts with that word is never good news, and I knew even before opening it that I didn’t get the job.<br /><br />So the job search continues. The crying session was helpful in that it showed me that I am doing the right thing, that I have never cried about jobs in the past because I never really saw them as reflective of me or my skills, but rather as some form of income. The crying let me know officially that I am an adult and I cry about jobs now, not boys. It let me know that I am doing what I want to be doing and that’s why not being able to do it where I wanted to stung so bad.<div>
<br />I didn’t get it and it sucks and yeah I felt totally bummed and depressed and really didn’t want to go into work the next day. But I did and I am doing shit. There are other opportunities out there and I just need to chase them harder. I wrote a recruiter yesterday and she’s putting me forward for another job. I am working on my burrito project. I am teaching myself new skills. I am getting fit. I am alive. There is so much happening. It’s fucking Spring and let’s take over the world, let’s carve out a space for us to live happily, confidently, where we can do shit that we want to do, shit that we’re proud of.</div>
charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-38123737903863477792016-02-18T09:02:00.003-08:002016-02-18T09:02:56.515-08:00Big AngLast night, Big Ang died. I read the news on Facebook, as bad news often seems to be encountered these days. I don’t know what to say about it but I do feel that something needs to be said, that I need to commemorate in some small ways what this woman meant to me. She was an inspiration to me in her brashness, in her love of life, and in her bigness. Yes, she was a reality tv star, but something human shone through all that and from the first time I saw her on screen, I was captivated by this woman and for a while something close to obsessed with her.<br /><br />She was so expressive in all of her facial reactions and in her body language. She was so alive and engaged with the world in such a beautiful way. I wanted to be her, to have that same liberated sense of fun she seemed capable of. She was all about the good life and, yes, it’s living that good life too much that caused her to die at an early age. But she was so alive, more alive than most people ever will be, during her time here.<br /><br />I met her once at her Brass Monkey bar when she had an outpost of it in Dumbo. I went to it opening night, knowing that she would be there. She was and for an hour or so, I watched her and her friends drunkenly party all over the bar, waiting for some moment when I could approach her and tell her how much I loved her. I told her and she was blasted but excited to chat with me briefly, appreciating the love. I took a photo with. She squeezed my cheeks, and that night I was the happiest person on the planet, having finally encountered in person this larger-than-life figure who meant so much to me.<br /><br />And so last night, her death, while making me insanely sad also reminded me of what it is to be alive, what a short thing this is, our time here on Earth, and how there are innumerable approaches to what to do with that time, but certainly one of the best ways of using that time would be to follow Big Ang’s example and to fucking live loudly. <br /><br />That’s what I have been trying to do lately - to have fun, to not have shame, to follow my passions where they may lead me unconcerned about what some people may think, to live, and to try to make the most of this time here on Earth.<br /><br />Last week, I went on a date with this incredibly sexy guy, my first time going on a date with a guy in...honestly, I can’t even remember the last one... a year maybe? It was nice, but when he first got to the bar where I was meeting with him, I got nervous, clammed up, and felt crazy insecure, thought this person was too good for me, too attractive for me, that something about this equation wasn’t right. So despite this person looking at me in a way I could definitely tell meant he was attracted to me, that deep-rooted insecurity of me grew branches and started sprouting all over the place. I did a mental aboutface though. I realized that this person was here because he wanted to be, that he was looking at me because he was attracted to me, and that I needed to get ahold of myself very quickly if I didn’t want this date to go off the rails.<br /><br />There is a self-sabotaging part of myself that comes out often in my interactions with people that I am attracted to, that for whatever reasons I don’t believe that I am deserving or worthy of affection and so do my best to make that the case. And this was one of those instances, but then I hit the brakes and engaged. I became present. I became alive. It’s so fucking easy to start doing laps in your brain, running through various things and thinking why things won’t work or why this person shouldn’t like you. But I muted that annoying talk show happening and became present in the scene. And from that point, the date went great. We had a lovely dinner, snacked on pig’s tails, and then went back to his place and had amazing sex. He lives behind my favorite burrito place in the world, which I take to be a sign, a very important sign.<br /><br />I met with a recruiter yesterday about getting a new job. I am serious about living my best life and having the most fun while doing so. Big Ang, I fucking love you!charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-36009582698883076272016-02-03T10:04:00.001-08:002016-02-03T10:04:41.638-08:00riding in white Broncos through the fog of nostalgic memoriesJohn Travolta as Robert Shapiro is otherworldly. I watched The People vs. O.J. Simpson last night and have been thinking about his performance in it all morning long. It was one of those incandescent performances that glows long after the show’s over. I’m not sure what that thing is about a particular performance that stirs something inside of us, why I am so moved, astounded, wowed, and still thinking about his portrayal, about the magic that human beings are capable of. <br /><br />Probably because I am trying to find my own magic, to get better and more committed about harnessing it, about summoning it, putting whatever talents it is I do have to use.<br /><br />It’s a constant process but I am getting better at it. <br /><br />And so watching that performance last night, I saw it, saw other people harnessing their magic. This is why things like this inspire us, stir us, because it’s a reminder to keep on chasing the dream, that we are capable of thrilling things, that amazing art is possible.<br /><br />And what that means in my case is that I am getting more and more serious about this Burrito Fever project I am pursuing, thinking of visual approaches and what it means to document oneself, what it means to document food, what the culture of selfies, and sexy Instagram accounts mean, what they represent - all of the numerous things to unpack. And I love this process of process, of working through these things by doing, of finding things, of finding one’s self. <br /><br />There is a certain level of fearlessness and moxy that I am embracing lately and which I love. The more I embrace it, the happier I feel with the stuff I am making. <br /><br />Work drains me, which is nothing new. I am on the job hunt, which also is nothing new. A seeming constant in my life. I want to be doing bigger things than my current job allows. I want to be changing the fucking world and not just writing funny tweets.<br /><br />I am a blonde. I bleached my hair last weekend and it feels great to look in the mirror. I see myself. I see a different self, the self I hadn’t seen in awhile. Changing my appearance allowed me to become more aware of my appearance, to see this thing that I had been unable to see because I had become too accustomed to it, too used to it. I saw this person, myself, and I liked what I saw. I like what I see.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-50713224104182337992015-12-30T20:16:00.000-08:002015-12-30T20:16:39.955-08:00My Struggle With "My Struggle"Moments ago, I finished a novel I started in May. May. Seven months ago.<br />
<br />
It's something that I am not so proud about concerning this past year. I read far fewer books than I have at any point in my life since probably I learned to read. A lot of non-book stuff was read - status updates, quick takes on whatever the latest scandal is, articles linked to and unlinked to. And that stuff is beneficial. I am not devaluing social media or the unique forms of knowledge and entertainment it provides. What I am saying is that my heavy engagement with social media this past year, especially since starting to work in it, has eaten up whatever moments I otherwise would have spent curled up in bed with a book. Now, I curl up in bed with my iPhone next to me, scrolling through Facebook, reading articles and watching videos friends and friends of friends have posted.<br />
<br />
The book was Karl Ove Knausgard's <i>My Struggle</i>. I started it on a flight to Iceland and London this spring, thinking I would read it on the trip. I didn't. The book rather was a stowaway and got a free trip to Europe from me is all. On that same trip, I met up with my ex, Jacob, who was reluctant to meet up with me, which was depressing. He looked just as beautiful as he did when we broke up a few years ago. A month after eating lunch with him in a London park he would be married. That event, which I saw pictures of on social media (instead of reading <i>My Struggle</i>), was perhaps the finality I needed, to realize that it was never going to happen, whatever slight hopes I still harbored of someday reuniting with this guy.<br />
<br />
Stay with me here. I am not sure where I am going with any of this, but we'll figure that out as we go along and try to recap what 2015 was and what it wasn't and what it is we as human beings, and me a specific human being, hope to get out of life.<br />
<br />
Let's stick with this theme of romance and longing for just a bit longer though, tie these strings up, so we can move on to the bigger things (and, yes, in 2015, I finally after 34 years on this planet, realized that there are bigger things). At the end of the summer, Nik moved away to Atlanta. Another heartbreak. Another unsuccessful romance. He was my best friend this past summer and I was in love with him and it's a position I have been in too many times in my life.<br />
<br />
There were guys that I maybe hooked up with once, maybe twice. These guys I can count on one hand from this past year and still have a finger left to flick off the world.<br />
<br />
But, really, where am I going with any of this? This has gone so far off the rails from what I initially meant to say, which is this: 2015 was a fucking fantastic year. Yes, there are the above paragraphs that might give the impression it wasn't, but yes, folks, yes it was.<br />
<br />
I finally got a paid job in advertising at a cool agency, finally in my mid-thirties started to feel like I knew what I was doing with my life, finally started to feel like an adult in the career-sense of the word, which is a big part of that word. This is a big deal and contributed to my happiness in ways I never even imagined it would. I was deeply unhappy and dissatisfied working in hospitality, aware that I could be doing better, that I wasn't living up to my potential, and that I wasn't utilizing the skills that I wanted to utilize in my life, namely writing. To get paid for writing, even if it's writing social media for various brands, feels so fucking good. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer as my job. Yes, this is not the type of writing I imagined I would be doing then, but it's still fucking writing and I am getting fucking paid for it, and that feels so damn good, it's indescribable.<br />
<br />
So that gave me a bit of a confidence boost when I finally no longer was an intern but a paid employee, and allowed me to shake off some of the insecurity I had otherwise been dragging around. Pair that with a renewed physical confidence from actually having to get dressed up each day to go to work and going to the gym regularly and just finally getting over whatever sense of shame and inhibition I had for so long allow me to hold me back publicly in some ways.<br />
<br />
I am really in love with my body, and not necessarily in a narcissistic way, though maybe, and also I am not necessarily sure that'd be a negative thing given the prevailing sentiments in our culture toward one's body - self-harm, self-loathing, or some combination of the two. I feel really connected to my body, present in it in a way I hadn't in the past few years. I don't drink as much as I used to. I rarely smoke now. I am trying to take better care of myself because I have more respect for this body, and an awareness that I am this body.<br />
<br />
There were trips to Fire Island, to Vegas, to Miami, to New Orleans, to Colorado, and those already mentioned trips to Iceland and London. A lot of fun was had. I have really embraced my love of burritos in a way that I am continuing to explore and mine with <a href="http://burritofever.com/">burritofever.com</a>.<br />
<br />
There is so much fucking beauty on this planet. I am happy with the friends I have, with my living situation, and for the most part with my career situation.<br />
<br />
This upcoming year though I do want to working on becoming a better person. There's always something to improve, work to be done, things to learn, and so my resolutions for 2016 are:<br />
<br />
-I want a better job - hopefully more money and hopefully doing stuff not just in social media<br />
-I want to become more fit<br />
-I want to read a lot more fiction<br />
-I want to write better and write more<br />
-I want to finally learn Spanish<br />
<br />
And literally every single one of those resolutions has been a resolution of mine for probably the last decade or so, and you know what? Who the fuck cares? Just keep on putting those intentions out there and trying. It's all you can fucking do. Live your life.<br />
<br />charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-27036624212047171022015-12-08T08:58:00.001-08:002015-12-08T08:58:53.819-08:00MiamiFriday, I landed at Miami Airport. It was cloudy, grey. Despite this, it was incredibly beautiful. Outside the huge glass windows overlooking the runway, I saw that familiar sight - the flat landscape of Florida that allows for its epic skies. I felt at home, felt the sting of recognition, a loved one I hadn’t seen in years. The sky of Florida gives me a feeling that few things in this world are capable of. <br /><br />I met up with my friends where they were staying and went to check out Art Basel. I had a couple glasses of wine while checking out the art there and then things never slowed down from there. The rest of the weekend was spent at various parties, checking out art, figuring out how to get into parties, tipping go-go boys. I fucking love Miami. I had such an amazing time there and began to consider what life might be like there, if I would actually enjoy living there. At some point, I might find my way down there. <br /><br />Florida is a magical place, something in my blood, place of my birth. Miami is full of beautiful Latin men, gorgeous beaches, nice weather, breathtaking skies. It does make me wonder sometimes why I live in New York, what it has to offer me. Riding the subway home from JFK Sunday night, these questions became even more pronounced, the subway stations looking more disgusting than usual.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-16826927006005708252015-11-16T11:37:00.002-08:002015-11-16T11:37:29.941-08:00MIXI spent yesterday hungover and sleeping. In the few periods of time in which I was awake, I inhabited the night earlier, tried to find my way back to that time, to that space, recalling various moments of sexiness as I jerked off to the recollections, trying to inhabit that space again. <br /><br />Saturday night, I had gone to the MIX festival and I quickly turned into the sex-crazed person I often do in situations in which public sex is happening. After hanging out with friends for a bit, dancing and drinking, I soon found myself buried in a pile of people in one of the backrooms. I remember jerking off with numerous sexy people. There is the memory of at some point worshipping some dude’s feet as I jerked off. A lot of exchanging of blowjobs. I did and I did not want to cum. A part of me realized I should probably go say hello to my friends who at numerous points walked through the room and saw me engaged in sex. Another part of me wanted to keep this moment going forever, to never climax. <br /><br />I climaxed though, inspired by this sexy man next to me. We had a shared rhythm, both getting to that point, breaths faster and deeper. We came together. I found my pants, put them on, and went to hang out with friends again. That lasted a very brief time. I wanted more. Wanted to see more. Wanted to jerk off more. There was so much sexiness there. So many hot scenes of fucking all around me. All these beautiful naked men. <br /><br />I ended up in another room, another pile of bodies. I sucked dicks of some fucking gorgeous men. Had my dick sucked by many gorgeous men. This lasted until sunrise. At some point, I heard someone say they were closing in ten minutes. And so I came again, hurrying, wanting to cum before this cleared out, this moment. <br /><br />I left the space, a mess, shirtless because I couldn’t find my jacket or shirt. The taxi driver looked at me like I was crazy, which you know I can’t really blame him for. When I got home, I jerked off again, thinking back on those scenes, repeating them in my mind, replaying the sight of this gorgeous man’s body, him standing over me, smiling cockily as I air kissed in the direction of his dick, motioning that I wanted it in my mouth. He stepped toward me, put his beautiful dick in my mouth. <br /><br />I sit here now at work, again recalling these moments of sexual freedom, of sexual fantasies literally come to life, a dreamscape of bodies everywhere, everyone having fun, enjoying each other and enjoying what it means to be human, to have these human bodies.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-65932863147390653022015-11-04T09:35:00.003-08:002015-11-04T09:35:49.386-08:00Cruise ControlOver the weekend, on Halloween night, dressed as some slutty gay version of a tiger, I met this man, Ben, while waiting in line at the bathroom at Spectrum. I felt a connection, or more likely I wanted there to be one. This was a new face, a person I had not already tried and failed with, a person who I haven’t already seen and looked past numerous times over the past twelve years of living in New York. He was new, which more and more becomes a problem in New York for me.<br /><br />The odds of romance seemingly become slimmer and slimmer with each passing year in this city. More and more of the faces have become familiar, have become friends, or have long ago passed that point at which anything would have happened. The faces that don’t fit this are usually new faces to the city, usually people quite young, which now in my mid-thirties, is a demographic that I have less and less interest in.<br /><br />After peeing together in the bathroom, Ben and I continued to talk in the hall. A friend of his came up and started talking to him, and I went to go dance. I walked home at some point from Spectrum, too overwhelmed with it, too many familiar faces preventing me from losing myself, from being a stranger. I have been unable to find this person on Facebook. The friend talking to him could have very well been his boyfriend. Maybe I actually would have no interest in him with the masks down, with this dress-up of Halloween not allowing us to present ourselves as something other than we are, or perhaps the costumes allowing us to present ourselves as we really are, shedding the costumes that make up the other 364 days of the year.<br /><br />I looked at guys on Grindr. I looked at guys on Scruff. I went to bed alone.<br /><br />I feel really good about my life these days. Work is going well for me. It’s allowing me to feel creatively fulfilled in a way that I rarely have in my past work experiences. The weather outside is beautiful. The stillness and crispness of the fall air always does something to me. <br /><br />There are so many beautiful men in this world and in this city, and yet I don’t know how to have a relationship with one of them. There are guys I dream about every night, a rotating cast of two or three. I look at their Instagrams and Facebooks and wonder why it didn’t work out, wonder if it still could. Occasionally, I will message them or like a photo, the digital equivalent of pebbles against a window, a suitor outside in the bushes wanting so so badly the thing on the other side of that starred photograph, on the other side of that balcony. charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-42336917032242858872015-10-12T19:24:00.000-07:002015-10-12T19:24:01.151-07:00Knock KnockI spent the weekend in bed for two reasons. One, I was suffering, starting to suffer, from a cold. I took a lot of cold medicine and so wasn't good for much else other than lounging in my bed, watching Netflix. Two, though, probably of equal importance, cause had I money I probably still would have gone out even though sick, probably wouldn't have even felt sick - two being that I was broke.<br />
<br />
Sunday, yesterday, I roused myself after being in bed for way too many hours straight and watching too many eighties movies, <i>Rambo</i> and <i>Top Gun</i> among them. I went to the gym. I worked out for a while but spent an even longer while in the steamroom, trying to sweat out of my body whatever cold virus I had or imagined myself to have. I was determined to bring it to a boil, cook it to death in this steamroom. Only of one us would walk out alive, and since I don't think viruses can actually walk, it was going to be me.<br />
<br />
In the steamroom, as happens in steamrooms, a guy next to me starting to jerk off. I joined him. He stood over me naked, apparently unworried that anyone would walk in, or perhaps thrilled, turned on, by that worry, needing that risk to get himself off, me perhaps needing it also. He shot his load all over my chest. I rubbed it all over my chest as he walked out of the steamroom, really happy in a way I hadn't been in what felt like too long.<br />
<br />
Later that evening, I would go this guy, a mess of a guy, always too high, always too neurotic, always too awkward. We smoked weed and drank wine. We fucked in his bed. I asked him to open his blinds, said I wanted to give his neighbors a show. After both of us came, I saw the mess all over his bed, lube everywhere, cum stains, a sticky dildo, a bottle of poppers. And there was an exchange of dialogue so perfect, so bleak, so noirish, that I couldn't wait til I was out of his apartment and in the hallway so that I could write it down in my phone before forgetting it. I want to write a story with these lines in it. A gay Raymond Carver story, bleak and miserable, two people together and yet also totally alone, all the more alone in fact while they are in each other's company. The lines exchanged that I wrote in my phone once I finally left his apartment and stood in the hallway were these:<br />
<br />
Me: We made a mess of your bed.<br />
<br />
Him: It's okay...we made a mess of our lives.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-15607409961476483832015-10-01T20:49:00.000-07:002015-10-01T20:55:36.331-07:00MattMatt. Mardi Gras 1981. A black and white poster, very gay, very eighties. I purchased it from a used gay bookstore in New Orleans a month or so ago. Today, I finally got a frame for it. Hung it on my bedroom wall. Sat on my bed, lay on my bed, got stoned, thought about boys, about aging, wondered if I would ever, at this point in my life, still have an intense romance with another person that could be sustained for a lifetime, or something close to it.<br />
<br />
Every now and then, I'd step out of these thoughts, take a little smoke break from that depressing bar, look up to my wall to contemplate this image of Matt, shirtless hunk, muscle guy, staring back at me, another ungraspable, another person unable or unwilling to return my affection. There seemed to be some metaphor in that. I wasn't sure that was the metaphor I wanted to look at every night, stoned in bed, thinking about boys.<br />
<br />
Nick. New York 2015. It would be more appropriate though for this poster guy's name to be Nick. A couple nights ago, hanging out with some friends, telling them about the latest heartache from one of the Nicks of New York, they pointed out all the Nicks there have been that I have liked. So many. Three strikes for sure by this point.<br />
<br />
And looking at this image, this attractive man, just inspired too many thoughts about attractive men, about men in general, set me too full of desire, made me want too much for affection, for love, for a boyfriend, for certain notions of happiness, made those particular notions of happiness take priority, exert dominance, over all other possible conceptions of happy, maybe just as valid, maybe even more so. Who knows though cause there's Matt and Nick and Jacob and Tanner and that Nick and that Nik and all the rest of them embodied up there in this recently framed print? It's everything ungraspable.<br />
<br />
This, this is not what I should be looking as I drift off to sleep. This is not what dreams are made of. No, this is what nightmares are made of. This is what pathetic cuddling sessions with your pillow as you tell yourself you'll one day find someone are made of.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I moved the picture, decided I'd switch it out for the Smokey the Bear print from the bathroom, and bring Smokey into my bedroom. In all caps, the Smokey picture says, "ONLY YOU." Other notions of happiness. Just as valid. Perhaps more so.<br />
<br />
<br />charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-19227069464409460952015-09-14T12:54:00.002-07:002015-10-01T20:52:25.886-07:00HimI went into Rosemary’s yesterday and had beers with friends I hadn’t seen in awhile. I was hungover from the night before and feeling overly emotional, excessively moody, depressed with the knowledge that a guy I really like seemingly did not like me, having blown me off the night before. It felt good to drink, to be with these people, to listen to their laughs.<br />
<br />
Rosemary’s, however, made me feel further unmoored, further disconnected. They no longer have their 32 ounce styrofoam cups. I guess they got phased out with NYC’s styrofoam ban, but this was something I hadn’t realized or thought of when I heard about the ban, only thought about takeout Chinese containers. Ordering a pint of beer has probably never in my life been more depressing than it was yesterday when the bartender told me they no longer had the “big cups.” It seemed like another disappearance, another friend leaving New York. All the things I knew, loved, all gone, dispersed, disappeared. I was being a little dramatic, yes, but the bar was one of my favorite in New York for just this reason, a bar I have shared drinks in so many times with so many friends, chugging these massive giant beers, getting the styrofoam cup refilled when I was done. <br />
<br />
Things are changing. The weather, too. After drinking in the bar, we wandered down to the Williamsburg waterfront. The chill of Fall was there, breezing against my legs, me still clad in shorts, against my arms. I wanted more clothes to bundle up in. The air felt nice but also was notice served, an eviction notice. Summer’s gone. New tenant moving in. <br />
<br />
And for all of these reasons, plus others, mainly plus the fact that I’m a human being and scared of dying, I spent last night on my couch (still bedless), feeling sad and wanting so much the company of a significant other, a romance. I’ve been spending a lot of time somehow around cool, awesome gay couples, and I love them but they also make me vaguely envious. I want so badly to have a cute romance. I haven’t had one in quite a while. <br />
<br />
A guy, a guy with a boyfriend, messaged me yesterday a picture of his ass, told me he wanted to fuck. He’s really sexy but I don’t really want sex right now, or at least not that kind of sex. I want to have sex with someone I like, someone that likes me, someone that I can cuddle with after, and get stoned and watch Netflix with. I want to be the boyfriend that guy with the ass comes home to after fucking his trick. I don’t want to be the trick. <br />
<br />
I looked at the Instagram pictures of this cute guy I like, the guy that blew me off this weekend, and wondered where things went wrong, wondered where it is they always do, wondered what it was I continue to do wrong that the people I like lose interest in me, that, or that they never had it in the first place.<br />
<br />
The chilly air blew up against me as I walked around the city today, saying, “You are alone. You are mortal. You will die. Don’t you wish you had the comfort of another to distract you from this? Or, at the least, a light jacket?”charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-3226028959478517902015-09-10T11:24:00.002-07:002015-09-10T11:24:37.644-07:00Drake - "Hotline Bling"Summer is gone, over. I wore dress shoes yesterday for what felt like the first time in months. The metaphoric end of summer, Labor Day, passing, wasn’t the only reason for the shoes. The real reason is I felt like shit, incredibly hungover from a four day bender spent getting wasted in New Orleans during Southern Decadence. I am a firm believer in the saying “Look good, feel good.” I wanted to look good so I could feel good, wanted to feel way better than I actually felt.<br /><br />New Orleans beat me up and left me limping through JFK airport on my arrival home. I didn’t have sunglasses to hide behind. Or, I did, but it wasn’t until I tried to shield my eyes from the brightness of New York that I realized that they had been all chewed up by one of the dogs at the house I crashed at. <br /><br />I had planned on staying with my friend Erica, but ended up spending every night at the house that Nik was staying at, a house occupied by these really cute and fun queers. One of them had a canoe. We went canoeing. Prince was played at some point in the canoe and I drank numerous vodka drinks. That was the highlight of my trip, which isn’t to say the rest wasn’t all amazing as well, but to ride in a canoe was something I haven’t done probably since I was a kid, and it was so perfect and so cute and so fun. There was a lot of wandering around, clearly a lot of drinking, and a lot of talking to cute boys. <br /><br />When I got home finally, I slept on the mattress from the pull-out couch, so tired, so desperate to sleep on a bed, and sadly still so bedless. It felt great until I woke up yesterday and realized that I had pulled some muscle in my back sleeping on that horrible old springy thing. Let me tell you, the dress shoes did nothing to relieve this pain, did nothing to make me feel good. At least, I looked good though. <br /><br />I am counting down the days until the 15th, only five away, when I again will be paid, and God willing (please God, please) purchase a bed and finally start living more like an adult, at least a little bit so. Hopefully, I’ll be able to convince this boy to come over, hang out with me, and inaugurate it. Hopefully, a lot of other things as well. A lot of dreaming happening today, a lot of work happening toward making those dreams come true.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-65922520698215537632015-08-28T11:55:00.001-07:002015-08-28T11:55:15.196-07:00Justin Bieber - "What Do You Mean?"I haven’t had a bed in weeks. I am beginning to wonder if this is why I feel so unstable as of late, so unmoored in some ways. <br /><br />There was a bedbug problem. Welcome to New York. The bed got thrown out, the exterminator came a few times. I have been sleeping on the couch since, which is fine and not that big a deal, but I have felt slightly crazier than usual these past few weeks and perhaps it actually has to do with a bed, that not having my little nest to return to each night has me frantically flapping my wings, a lost bird, wondering where my nest has gone to.<br /><br />The wings are flapping though. All of a sudden, I have reached an absolutely restless moment at my job, something I predicted would happen at the end of the summer. Prediction proved correct. I am plotting steps on how to either get involved in a different job within this same agency that I like a lot, or, failing that, going elsewhere. The hunt begins. It never ended. To live in New York is to be engaged in a constant predatory hunt for that next thing, that next step, something else, something better. Even once you get your name in lights, you’re looking for how can you get a bigger sign, a brighter sign, an LED sign.<br /><br />There is that. There is also that guy, that beautiful, beautiful guy. He makes me feel nervous, awkward, and wildly insecure. I like him so much and I am scared of how likely it is to end in disaster, because of how gorgeous he is, how smart he is, and probably most of all how he is my co-worker. I make the best life choices, in case you didn’t know that about me already.<br /><br />We hung out a few nights ago at a bar by my house. When we parted ways afterwards, we made out on the street corner. Kissing him is the greatest high for me lately. I get positively ecstatic. It’s the joy of getting something you wanted so, so bad, of finally getting to taste the thing you had been so hungry for. I told him that I wished I had a bed to invite him back to. He told me he wished the same.<br /><br />So, yes, I’m getting a bed immediately. Or actually probably not, because I am insanely broke and this next paycheck is going toward rent and my trip to New Orleans. So I might be sleeping on a couch until mid-September. But I need to figure out a way to not make that happen because this fling might not extend until then and I want so bad to roll around with this person in my bed which I have yet to acquire. <br /><br />There are other things going on, so many other things, a best friend leaving, generalized stress and panic among friends, work drama, parties, so many parties, and life, this glorious, messy project of being alive and finding your way in the world, of trying to at least.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-61957115435081887792015-08-24T10:08:00.002-07:002015-08-24T10:08:37.628-07:00Carly Rae Jepsen - "Run Away With Me"<br />There are few better feelings than finally getting to kiss a crush, that guy that you’ve been flirting with for weeks awkwardly, and who you’ve finally ended up on a dancefloor with together and you guys are close and staring at each other, and you can feel it about to happen, there’s that leaning in that happens, that moment of indecision where things could go either way, and you can feel it so close, about to happen, and then, magically, iit does. I honestly can’t think of a better feeling in this world. Children of the world, I have this message for you: dreams do come true!<br /><br />He’s a co-worker of mine. I met him a few weeks ago when we were both here late at night working on the same project. We took a break to go grab a drink nearby and chatted. Ever since, I have been so smitten with this guy, have been so excited about working on this project particularly because it meant I would get to interact with him more. <br /><br />I had a house party this past weekend and invited him over to it. We hung out for a bit there and then I couldn’t wait to leave my own party, to go out with him. Luckily, my roommate let me abandon our house and all the people still in it so I could go out with this guy to Spectrum. Shirts came off as they often to do in the muggy sauna that is the Spectrum in the summer and we danced around. And then that kiss happened! That kiss! I had been wanting that for weeks. I wasn’t sure it would ever come, thought that this would be another unrealized crush, a beautiful guy that I would lust over for a time, nothing coming of it. But things turned out differently this time around. This time around, the story took a happier ending. The kiss turned into more and more. We made out all over Spectrum. <br /><br />We left together at some point, five something in the morning, both intending to go to our respective homes. But walking away together, we made out more. He invited me back to his house. We took a car there. He scaled his fire escape because he had forgotten his keys and tried to wake up his roommate. It was all too cute. I couldn’t believe my luck, that this was all happening. In his bed, we made out and cuddled and fell asleep. I left early in the morning, he still passed out, me hungry and too awake to stay in bed, too happy with life. charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-80789298059403855042015-08-03T09:03:00.004-07:002015-08-03T09:03:42.941-07:00Riis BeachThe sun had just set, a beautiful sunset, dark orange globe seen over Jamaica Bay as we approached the bridge taking us home from the beach. I was riding in the back of a bus with many of my friends, having spent a lovely day at the beach, drinking, swimming, listening to music, flirting. There was a point in the day where I was bobbing in the ocean, skinny dipping near these other two guys. The three of us starting making it, rubbing our dicks against each other under cover of the ocean, our skin sliding against each other, saltwater between us. It was a really sexy moment. I recalled this. I was also getting texts from a different cute guy I met at the beach on this bus ride home. I recalled meeting him. I recalled sitting next to this still other guy with beautiful feet and an even more beautiful smile. I thought of all these things and they made me want something else.<br /><br />I was surrounded by cute gay couples sleeping on each other’s shoulders. The seat ahead of me. The seat to the left of me. The seat diagonally across from me. It made me happy to see my friends so happy, to have that comfort with another person, to have a person to share their exhaustion with, someone that they would go home with. <br /><br />I have been having more sex in the past month that I have probably had in the last year. The snowball effect is in full effect. Sex and the confidence I have from it is attracting more and more sex, attracting more and more cute boys. And yet, as much as I enjoy these moments with other guys, what I am seeking out in all of those moments is not sex but is something that might lead to this, that might lead to me having some cute boyfriend that I could sleep against on a bus ride home as dusk settles over Brooklyn streets, that might lead to something shared, that might lead to love.charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6409030903136489520.post-52510672827428778752015-07-28T10:05:00.000-07:002015-07-28T10:05:12.954-07:00summer foreverAnother weekend of partying too hard, of enjoying what it is to be alive and in warm weather. Another summer weekend. It all blurred together, one big party that stretched from Friday evening to Sunday evening, paused only briefly each night for a few hours of sleep. Friday night involved one of the sexiest moments in recent memory, a threesome with a friend and this real-life Tarzan. That night blurred well into Saturday. I woke up, did some work, drank some wine to ease the hangover, and soon it was time for more partying, more fun. Fell asleep around 7, got two hours of sleep, then went to meet a good friend from college to head to the beach. At Riis Beach, there was drinking, swimming, talking, and looking at boys. It was a beautiful day, a beautiful weekend.<br /><br />I flirted with this boy sitting with us and we exchanged looks on the bus ride home, exchanged info. Summer forever! I shouted this at least once on the beach. Probably a few times. There is no time like this in New York, no time where there is more fun to be had, more beauty to interact with, more life to live. May it last forever!charlie qhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04658750847367273171noreply@blogger.com0