Watching Rocky Horror Picture Show, we stopped midway through, about the part where Susan Sarandon is being seduced by Tim Curry -
Jacob and I started to have sex and I had been horny and trying to get him to have sex with me even before the movie started, didn't know how to approach it, our life so domestic these days,slightly sexless, going to bed by ten stoned, me having to wake up everyday at six for work - feeling more and more like a fifties married office drone, wondering where my life went, where it's going, how I can derail this runaway train -
The sex was amazing and passionate, the type of sex we had when we were first seeing each other - dirty and done on whatever piece of furniture we happened to be near.
Afterwards, after showering off shit and lube and semen, he asked me I wanted to rewind it to where we missed. I said no, that I liked never seeing the whole thing.
It's a movie that will always appear at some point in your life -
glimpses enough, that at one point all the pieces you've collected will add up to a whole.
VH1, Mary Miller, Jacob, and Netflix - so many times to walk in one part and gain another piece.
Star Wars, etc. - movies like that.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
shark sightings
Some time last evening, I arrived back in New York at the Fung Wah curbside stop in Chinatown. Not quick enough later, I walked through my apartment door with Jacob, both of us happy to be home again. I had spent the previous week in Provincetown with him, getting brown, getting drunk, getting high, getting laid.
Unfortunately, our trip coincided with Family Week, the town overrun by gay parents with their rainbow children. Nothing against gay families or children, but it was definitely a different atmosphere than the circus-like oversexed atmosphere of the town I encountered last year. I am guessing most other people realized what week it was and avoided the town. There was still plenty of fun to be had at night though, the streets mainly stroller free and homos out and about cruising, Dick Dock still full of men copulating in the dark underneath a boardwalk.
Our days were spent on the beach or poolside at the Boatslip, taking in the sun and dunking ourselves in the water whenever we got too hot. I was reading Tennessee Williams’ Memoirs, it seeming an appropriate read for the location given Williams’ time spent in the town. I still have yet to finish it, which is not an explicit statement about the goodness of the book, more so about how it is hard to read when you are sitting in the sun surrounded by naked or half-naked men, one of them your boyfriend, that the mind already a little groggy from sun and alcohol is apt to wander.
I ate a lot of seafood, particularly oysters, the appeal of which has really grown with me over the last two years, something I had never eaten more than once or twice before a couple years ago, something I never enjoyed, to something which I now find one of the most enjoyable sensory and culinary experiences one can have. The mixture of lemon, brine, and a bit of grit really sets me back, makes me quite happy.
One of the afternoons, we spent whale watching, seeing numerous humpback whales come up for air several times, sometimes near our boat, before extending their large tail up in their air and descending down into ocean depths again. There was a brief glimpse of a humpback jumping entirely out of the water, and it was a second long, if even, the part I glimpsed, and yet that one second is one of the highlights of my trip, an image I cannot forget, don’t want to, taken totally aback, made breathless, by the majesty of such a large animal in the sea.
We ran into a few people we knew from New York there and one night hung out with L and A, hanging out on their back patio, smoking weed, watching the sunset, and eating cheese. There was touching of legs of people seated next to each other and I think every one wanted it to happen but I am not sure how it actually did, what the first steps were that brought it about, but soon the four of us when in their bed, naked and having sex. I remember eating out A’s ass for a long time, something that I don’t normally enjoy, unless I am in a dirty situation and it is with someone that I really, really desire in a unique way. The components were there and I all I wanted to do was eat his ass, took so much pleasure in it. Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” was playing and it was already repeating for the second or third time. I read too much into it, at first had been thinking about The Wizard of Oz but soon started to think of my father, this his favorite band, many, many childhood memories of him blaring to the point where I had to cover my ears to protect them the music of Pink Floyd. Jacob got fucked by L and I lay next to them watching. After they got off, we went out on to the patio again. I mentioned the repeating music and A changed it to something else, a female pop singer I am pretty sure, but I cannot remember who and may not even be correct about that detail. A and I started going at it again on the patio, him sucking my dick. L told us that the two of us should go inside, that we shouldn’t do that on the patio where people on the street could see.
We went inside and with different music, I felt a lot better, and I fucked Andrew and he came again and I came for the first time. We rinsed off and went out to the patio where Jacob and L were fucking again, despite L warning us about people being able to see.
Other nights were spent dancing or lying in bed, tired from being in the sun all day and looking at Grindr and Facebook on our iPhones.
My back is warm, skin burnt from the sun, body temperature higher than usual. I am back in New York and I watched a story on the news today about shark sightings off the Jersey Shore and off Rockaway Beach. These reports made me want to go to the beach again, to be in water, to be high on drugs and running or swimming really fast and made delirious by sun and sights and tastes and bodies, human, whale, shark, or otherwise.
Unfortunately, our trip coincided with Family Week, the town overrun by gay parents with their rainbow children. Nothing against gay families or children, but it was definitely a different atmosphere than the circus-like oversexed atmosphere of the town I encountered last year. I am guessing most other people realized what week it was and avoided the town. There was still plenty of fun to be had at night though, the streets mainly stroller free and homos out and about cruising, Dick Dock still full of men copulating in the dark underneath a boardwalk.
Our days were spent on the beach or poolside at the Boatslip, taking in the sun and dunking ourselves in the water whenever we got too hot. I was reading Tennessee Williams’ Memoirs, it seeming an appropriate read for the location given Williams’ time spent in the town. I still have yet to finish it, which is not an explicit statement about the goodness of the book, more so about how it is hard to read when you are sitting in the sun surrounded by naked or half-naked men, one of them your boyfriend, that the mind already a little groggy from sun and alcohol is apt to wander.
I ate a lot of seafood, particularly oysters, the appeal of which has really grown with me over the last two years, something I had never eaten more than once or twice before a couple years ago, something I never enjoyed, to something which I now find one of the most enjoyable sensory and culinary experiences one can have. The mixture of lemon, brine, and a bit of grit really sets me back, makes me quite happy.
One of the afternoons, we spent whale watching, seeing numerous humpback whales come up for air several times, sometimes near our boat, before extending their large tail up in their air and descending down into ocean depths again. There was a brief glimpse of a humpback jumping entirely out of the water, and it was a second long, if even, the part I glimpsed, and yet that one second is one of the highlights of my trip, an image I cannot forget, don’t want to, taken totally aback, made breathless, by the majesty of such a large animal in the sea.
We ran into a few people we knew from New York there and one night hung out with L and A, hanging out on their back patio, smoking weed, watching the sunset, and eating cheese. There was touching of legs of people seated next to each other and I think every one wanted it to happen but I am not sure how it actually did, what the first steps were that brought it about, but soon the four of us when in their bed, naked and having sex. I remember eating out A’s ass for a long time, something that I don’t normally enjoy, unless I am in a dirty situation and it is with someone that I really, really desire in a unique way. The components were there and I all I wanted to do was eat his ass, took so much pleasure in it. Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” was playing and it was already repeating for the second or third time. I read too much into it, at first had been thinking about The Wizard of Oz but soon started to think of my father, this his favorite band, many, many childhood memories of him blaring to the point where I had to cover my ears to protect them the music of Pink Floyd. Jacob got fucked by L and I lay next to them watching. After they got off, we went out on to the patio again. I mentioned the repeating music and A changed it to something else, a female pop singer I am pretty sure, but I cannot remember who and may not even be correct about that detail. A and I started going at it again on the patio, him sucking my dick. L told us that the two of us should go inside, that we shouldn’t do that on the patio where people on the street could see.
We went inside and with different music, I felt a lot better, and I fucked Andrew and he came again and I came for the first time. We rinsed off and went out to the patio where Jacob and L were fucking again, despite L warning us about people being able to see.
Other nights were spent dancing or lying in bed, tired from being in the sun all day and looking at Grindr and Facebook on our iPhones.
My back is warm, skin burnt from the sun, body temperature higher than usual. I am back in New York and I watched a story on the news today about shark sightings off the Jersey Shore and off Rockaway Beach. These reports made me want to go to the beach again, to be in water, to be high on drugs and running or swimming really fast and made delirious by sun and sights and tastes and bodies, human, whale, shark, or otherwise.
Friday, July 30, 2010
American Shores
Do you like this photo? I took it.
You did not.
Yeah, i took this photo of this photo.
The Williamsburg Waterfront, a parody of Jersey Shore, discussed stoned and while sitting on our red couch. Going to bed soon, a vacation starting soon for us, our first together and alone. Catching Fung Wah north at seven, somewhere near East Broadway, bus leaving at 7, ferry from Boston we are trying to catch leaving at 1.
The two of us venturing to Provincetown tomorrow, spoken of by others, fathers. And we are headed there to a room named The Tempest. Have vague fears about that, the potential symbolism in a name - if it might be foreshadowing something, or if instead I read too much into things, hope for more drama than there is
Bless me, he said, after he just sneezed.
He is typing across from me on his computer and i don't know what he is actually doing, maybe even looking at manroulette or some live cam feed of sex happening and him telling them the guy somewhere in Georgia to fist himself, fingers typing away and me imagining him IM'ng his sister in Ohio, talking about tattoos and how they should get them together when he comes home
And I live in one with him,180 Meserole Street, and I think that 180 in my address has some symbolism, that there is some intended beauty there from whoever wrote this story, that living with a boyfriend for the first time, having something mutual with regard to affection and sexual desire, that that was new, the embrace of it a 180
Meserole Street between Humbolt and Graham.
And I am going to Provincetown tomorrow with him.
You did not.
Yeah, i took this photo of this photo.
The Williamsburg Waterfront, a parody of Jersey Shore, discussed stoned and while sitting on our red couch. Going to bed soon, a vacation starting soon for us, our first together and alone. Catching Fung Wah north at seven, somewhere near East Broadway, bus leaving at 7, ferry from Boston we are trying to catch leaving at 1.
The two of us venturing to Provincetown tomorrow, spoken of by others, fathers. And we are headed there to a room named The Tempest. Have vague fears about that, the potential symbolism in a name - if it might be foreshadowing something, or if instead I read too much into things, hope for more drama than there is
Bless me, he said, after he just sneezed.
He is typing across from me on his computer and i don't know what he is actually doing, maybe even looking at manroulette or some live cam feed of sex happening and him telling them the guy somewhere in Georgia to fist himself, fingers typing away and me imagining him IM'ng his sister in Ohio, talking about tattoos and how they should get them together when he comes home
And I live in one with him,180 Meserole Street, and I think that 180 in my address has some symbolism, that there is some intended beauty there from whoever wrote this story, that living with a boyfriend for the first time, having something mutual with regard to affection and sexual desire, that that was new, the embrace of it a 180
Meserole Street between Humbolt and Graham.
And I am going to Provincetown tomorrow with him.
Monday, July 19, 2010
summer
It is some day in mid- to late-July and I am sitting on my couch, a red couch, having just watched Godard's Contempt with Jacob, who is now asleep next to me looking as cute as can be and I have Aimee Mann playing so as not to wake him up, to continue the noise that was filled earlier with the Criterion commentary regarding the film which I became bored with because I wanted to write here in my diary and tell you about my day, my life, how things are going, wanted to perhaps tell myself how these things were going, to try to somehow verbalize these things for my own benefit, to get at something, to let myself know something it doesn't know but wants to.
In the middle of the movie, there was a lightening storm outside of our window. Jacob said he wanted to go up to the roof to watch it. We put the film on pause and headed up with full glasses of white wine and my pack of Parliaments to watch the occasional bolt of lightening streak across the sky, afterburn on the clouds surrounding it, white illuminated fog, brief enough to hint at other things.
We sat on lawn chairs that were up there and talked about all the places in this world that we would like to go.
Brigette Bardot is gorgeous, as if you didn't know, as if you haven't heard other people say that already, but she really captivated me in this film, her beauty. Why do beautiful people hold such power and what does that mean? What is this thing that we call beauty and why do we give it so much power - a hoping that there is a God and that these things are proof of divinity, nice lines, big lips, and a pretty face? I'm not sure what the elements are that compose such a concept but I think they are present in the person asleep next to me on the couch, this beautiful boy, Jacob, who I am more in love with each day.
We saw Inception last night and could not stay awake for the thing. Today, after work, after running into an old friend that I no longer talk to, already a weird encounter, this SUV pulled up next to me and called me over to it, me thinking it was for directions to something or other, Holland Tunnel or something. He asked me what he could do that was fun in the next few hours. He was a middle-aged Orthodox-looking Jew. I was very confused why he chose me to approach, or maybe not considering I was wearing a mesh tank top and cutoff shorts, but I am pretty sure he was thought I was selling myself walking up 8th Avenue, which in many ways I was and am, but was not in this particular way or was not trying to. He told me he was visiting from Israel and couldn't have fun there (what he meant by fun, I didn't ask), that he lived with his parents, and only had a few hours by himself, and that he wanted to find a place to get a massage. I told him I didn't know of any places, that I was just heading to the gym. He asked if my gym gave massages. I told him that they did not. I ran a lot once at the gym, able again to run know after a good month or so where my IT band had been too tight to run, or even really to walk without a limp. It felt great. I am so happy that I work with someone studying to be a personal trainer, who told me what was wrong with my knee and the stretches I needed to do to ease the pain. I did that and then I sat in the steamroom and jerked off with some man before taking a really long cold shower, afterwards staring at the brief and sometimes not brief sightings of naked bodies in the gym.
I was going to quit smoking when New York raised the price of cigarettes, but I did not do so. I am trying to get Jacob a job at my workplace. I am really in love with cold white wine on these hot summer nights.
In the middle of the movie, there was a lightening storm outside of our window. Jacob said he wanted to go up to the roof to watch it. We put the film on pause and headed up with full glasses of white wine and my pack of Parliaments to watch the occasional bolt of lightening streak across the sky, afterburn on the clouds surrounding it, white illuminated fog, brief enough to hint at other things.
We sat on lawn chairs that were up there and talked about all the places in this world that we would like to go.
Brigette Bardot is gorgeous, as if you didn't know, as if you haven't heard other people say that already, but she really captivated me in this film, her beauty. Why do beautiful people hold such power and what does that mean? What is this thing that we call beauty and why do we give it so much power - a hoping that there is a God and that these things are proof of divinity, nice lines, big lips, and a pretty face? I'm not sure what the elements are that compose such a concept but I think they are present in the person asleep next to me on the couch, this beautiful boy, Jacob, who I am more in love with each day.
We saw Inception last night and could not stay awake for the thing. Today, after work, after running into an old friend that I no longer talk to, already a weird encounter, this SUV pulled up next to me and called me over to it, me thinking it was for directions to something or other, Holland Tunnel or something. He asked me what he could do that was fun in the next few hours. He was a middle-aged Orthodox-looking Jew. I was very confused why he chose me to approach, or maybe not considering I was wearing a mesh tank top and cutoff shorts, but I am pretty sure he was thought I was selling myself walking up 8th Avenue, which in many ways I was and am, but was not in this particular way or was not trying to. He told me he was visiting from Israel and couldn't have fun there (what he meant by fun, I didn't ask), that he lived with his parents, and only had a few hours by himself, and that he wanted to find a place to get a massage. I told him I didn't know of any places, that I was just heading to the gym. He asked if my gym gave massages. I told him that they did not. I ran a lot once at the gym, able again to run know after a good month or so where my IT band had been too tight to run, or even really to walk without a limp. It felt great. I am so happy that I work with someone studying to be a personal trainer, who told me what was wrong with my knee and the stretches I needed to do to ease the pain. I did that and then I sat in the steamroom and jerked off with some man before taking a really long cold shower, afterwards staring at the brief and sometimes not brief sightings of naked bodies in the gym.
I was going to quit smoking when New York raised the price of cigarettes, but I did not do so. I am trying to get Jacob a job at my workplace. I am really in love with cold white wine on these hot summer nights.
Monday, July 12, 2010
"As my father said to me when he died in my arms, 'I don't understand any of it. I never did.'"
This weekend was spent in Charlotte, North Carolina for my cousin's wedding. I saw many family members I hadn't seen in years and for a moment when I first arrived around 10pm on Friday night felt totally overwhelmed when I encountered my extended family all drunk already in the hotel bar and having to talk with aunts and uncles that remarked to me how handsome I was and asking me if I remembered them, that the last time they saw me I was "this tall," them holding their hand a foot or two down from my current height, potentially true, but also very likely exaggerated claims of nostalgic and drunk family members. Once I had a couple drinks in me I felt much more at ease talking to my family and joined all the nostalgic games as well, really happy to see some of my aunts who I had not seen in years and who really were such a major part of my childhood. My aunt C and my grandma at one point asked me who I was living with now and I told them that I was living with my boyfriend and that felt really liberating to say. My gayness is a bit of an open secret that I assume most of my family knows about but which they never really ask me about, and so it was really nice to have some reason to talk about it, to feel really secure in doing so, being a bit drunk and also really quite happy with my romantic situation these days and it being something I want to share with people.
The wedding was the next day and it was stiff and overly formal, but nice nonetheless in a way that weddings often are, the public declaring of love and devotion of people that you know in front of other people that you know. I really do love my family a lot and it was quite fun to hang out with aunts and uncles that I've known my entire life as an adult now, to drink with them and smoke with them and talk about work and love. The reception wasn't starting for about an hour after the wedding and because the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, my family all wanted to grab some drinks beforehand and so we wandered around downtown Charlotte trying to find a bar that was open and found one. So much closeness is enabled with alcohol and I really felt so close with my family on this day, talking to cousins and aunts and uncles about life in a really nice way, sharing a lot about myself and listening to them share a lot about themselves. At the reception itself, I got quite wasted, as did most of my relatives. I encountered a gay aunt that I didn't really know and talked to her for a long time and am apparently going to hang out with her this weekend when she visits New York. I met this crazy flamboyant gay man on the groom's side of the family and both of these people made me feel much more comfortable at this wedding. I had a felt a bit ill at ease being a fag at this big Catholic wedding but felt so much better once I discovered I wasn't alone, that there were these awesome older queers at this wedding. There was a weird conversation with an uncle who was a priest about why I don't go to church anymore. There was awesome talk with my aunt S about everything.
After the reception a bunch of us headed to some pub nearby and continued partying. I snuck my 20 year old cousin T into the bar with me. I talked to S about my open relationship with Jacob. My cousin T told me about his romantic life a bit before telling me how awesome he thought I was for being so open with my sexuality in our family, that people talk about me in our family but how he thinks I'm really awesome. He then started to tell me how he's not sure if he's gay, how he's never done anything with a guy, but how he would like to. The things that alcohol will reveal. At some point, I went outside to use the ATM and then decided to go back to the hotel which was a block away and change out of my suit and into something less hot. I put on a tanktop and shorts and went back to the bar. They told me there was now a cover and that I needed to wear sleeves to get in. I was belligerent and hasty and used this opportunity to go to the gay bar in town, hopped in a cab, and went there.
I talked to a couple of people there who asked me where I was from, saying they could tell I wasn't from there because of how I was dressed. Despite the hot Southern weather, everyone was wearing pants and sleeves, and I told them I was from New York. I bought cigarettes for six dollars from a vending machine, finished my drink, and really missed the conversations I had been having with my family. I could have silly conversations with gay strangers any night of the week, but these were family members I only saw every couple of years and so I went back into town, changed into sleeves, and went back to this pub to hang out with my family. We shut the place down and I stumbled back to our hotel with my cousins T and J. J told me how he hoped my wedding would be the next one because it would be really funny to see our family at a gay wedding. I thought it would be too and throughout the weekend actually thought a lot about marriage and these ceremonies and family and how it's really nice these occasions where people have reason to all come together.
I watched The Boys in the Band tonight and it made me really sad at points because I thought about gay friends and thought about ones I have lost, missed them a bit, and then tried to squash the feeling, thought about moving on and what's good for a person and friendship and when they end and how mean people can be to one another. I am also thinking about a job I want and which I thought I wasn't going to get since I haven't heard anything for two weeks now after submitting my resume, but last night in a wine store was approached by someone who is friends with the person I submitted my resume to and who said he heard I was interviewing with him. I keep on playing that sentence over in my mind, trying to figure out what it may have meant, whether he was confused and heard I applied, or whether I am going to get called in for an interview. All day long today, I continued to check my email, hoping from word from this person, but nothing. And I am thinking I would have heard something by now but then keep parsing out the words of this guy in the wine store, hoping that I still may hear something from this job that I really, really want.
I am drinking wine now and it is quite hot out and I am sad and happy and I am alive.
The wedding was the next day and it was stiff and overly formal, but nice nonetheless in a way that weddings often are, the public declaring of love and devotion of people that you know in front of other people that you know. I really do love my family a lot and it was quite fun to hang out with aunts and uncles that I've known my entire life as an adult now, to drink with them and smoke with them and talk about work and love. The reception wasn't starting for about an hour after the wedding and because the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, my family all wanted to grab some drinks beforehand and so we wandered around downtown Charlotte trying to find a bar that was open and found one. So much closeness is enabled with alcohol and I really felt so close with my family on this day, talking to cousins and aunts and uncles about life in a really nice way, sharing a lot about myself and listening to them share a lot about themselves. At the reception itself, I got quite wasted, as did most of my relatives. I encountered a gay aunt that I didn't really know and talked to her for a long time and am apparently going to hang out with her this weekend when she visits New York. I met this crazy flamboyant gay man on the groom's side of the family and both of these people made me feel much more comfortable at this wedding. I had a felt a bit ill at ease being a fag at this big Catholic wedding but felt so much better once I discovered I wasn't alone, that there were these awesome older queers at this wedding. There was a weird conversation with an uncle who was a priest about why I don't go to church anymore. There was awesome talk with my aunt S about everything.
After the reception a bunch of us headed to some pub nearby and continued partying. I snuck my 20 year old cousin T into the bar with me. I talked to S about my open relationship with Jacob. My cousin T told me about his romantic life a bit before telling me how awesome he thought I was for being so open with my sexuality in our family, that people talk about me in our family but how he thinks I'm really awesome. He then started to tell me how he's not sure if he's gay, how he's never done anything with a guy, but how he would like to. The things that alcohol will reveal. At some point, I went outside to use the ATM and then decided to go back to the hotel which was a block away and change out of my suit and into something less hot. I put on a tanktop and shorts and went back to the bar. They told me there was now a cover and that I needed to wear sleeves to get in. I was belligerent and hasty and used this opportunity to go to the gay bar in town, hopped in a cab, and went there.
I talked to a couple of people there who asked me where I was from, saying they could tell I wasn't from there because of how I was dressed. Despite the hot Southern weather, everyone was wearing pants and sleeves, and I told them I was from New York. I bought cigarettes for six dollars from a vending machine, finished my drink, and really missed the conversations I had been having with my family. I could have silly conversations with gay strangers any night of the week, but these were family members I only saw every couple of years and so I went back into town, changed into sleeves, and went back to this pub to hang out with my family. We shut the place down and I stumbled back to our hotel with my cousins T and J. J told me how he hoped my wedding would be the next one because it would be really funny to see our family at a gay wedding. I thought it would be too and throughout the weekend actually thought a lot about marriage and these ceremonies and family and how it's really nice these occasions where people have reason to all come together.
I watched The Boys in the Band tonight and it made me really sad at points because I thought about gay friends and thought about ones I have lost, missed them a bit, and then tried to squash the feeling, thought about moving on and what's good for a person and friendship and when they end and how mean people can be to one another. I am also thinking about a job I want and which I thought I wasn't going to get since I haven't heard anything for two weeks now after submitting my resume, but last night in a wine store was approached by someone who is friends with the person I submitted my resume to and who said he heard I was interviewing with him. I keep on playing that sentence over in my mind, trying to figure out what it may have meant, whether he was confused and heard I applied, or whether I am going to get called in for an interview. All day long today, I continued to check my email, hoping from word from this person, but nothing. And I am thinking I would have heard something by now but then keep parsing out the words of this guy in the wine store, hoping that I still may hear something from this job that I really, really want.
I am drinking wine now and it is quite hot out and I am sad and happy and I am alive.
Friday, July 2, 2010
july
It's July, the second day of it, soon in less than half an hour the third day of it, and soon the fourth, and on and on, the days roll. I just wrote a cover letter for a job that I really want and sent it out via email and I think it may be a bit crazy but I have this new theory that it might only be by showing a little craziness, a little personality, that my cover letters might stick out of the sea of them and maybe get me if not a new job, at the least an interview.
I have the house to myself for the second night a row and am doing not much with it, watched a really terrible documentary, wrote a cover letter, and have a PBR at my side while I listen to the classical station. Jacob is out of town for the week. David, who was our houseguest for several days, is also gone now. This past weekend was a debaucherous and fun one that I doubt I will clearly remember in the future, especially since I have difficulty remembering some sober evenings. I read a story about Milwaukee at the BML series that I thought read much better than I was fearing, it written the day before and me a bit unhappy and insecure with it until I actually read it in front of other people. From there, Thursday night, it was one drink after the next until sometime Monday morning. I stumbled from there to Mattachine. Friday I went to Bana and splashed around in the pool and hot tub and had sex with Jacob and a couple other people. Saturday had me dancing a bit and smoking a lot at Sugarland. Sunday was a very drunk brunch, followed by the parade, followed by a bar, followed by a house party where I got naked and sucked some dick and got mine sucked, followed by more bars, followed by Vandam where I danced and got further wasted, and danced in the basement at one point to Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out" and for the span of that song was the happiest gay there may have been on the planet, that song being the culmination of a lovely weekend of festivities and made me for a moment remember that it was all about being a fag and being proud of that, embracing this person that I am, that you, that we are.
And then there was work for a couple days, then a trip to Riis Beach and Coney Island, then the departure of these two people and more work, some gym time, and today I bought the first suit I have ever bought. I bought it to go my cousin's wedding next weekend so that I can look all adult and not totally scummy and maybe even cute. We'll see how that goes. Now back to thinking about this job I want and maybe getting stoned and reading the new John Waters book, but will probably really be looking at Grindr and Facebook obsessively on my phone in my bed because apparently that is what I love to do when I get stoned these days.
I have the house to myself for the second night a row and am doing not much with it, watched a really terrible documentary, wrote a cover letter, and have a PBR at my side while I listen to the classical station. Jacob is out of town for the week. David, who was our houseguest for several days, is also gone now. This past weekend was a debaucherous and fun one that I doubt I will clearly remember in the future, especially since I have difficulty remembering some sober evenings. I read a story about Milwaukee at the BML series that I thought read much better than I was fearing, it written the day before and me a bit unhappy and insecure with it until I actually read it in front of other people. From there, Thursday night, it was one drink after the next until sometime Monday morning. I stumbled from there to Mattachine. Friday I went to Bana and splashed around in the pool and hot tub and had sex with Jacob and a couple other people. Saturday had me dancing a bit and smoking a lot at Sugarland. Sunday was a very drunk brunch, followed by the parade, followed by a bar, followed by a house party where I got naked and sucked some dick and got mine sucked, followed by more bars, followed by Vandam where I danced and got further wasted, and danced in the basement at one point to Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out" and for the span of that song was the happiest gay there may have been on the planet, that song being the culmination of a lovely weekend of festivities and made me for a moment remember that it was all about being a fag and being proud of that, embracing this person that I am, that you, that we are.
And then there was work for a couple days, then a trip to Riis Beach and Coney Island, then the departure of these two people and more work, some gym time, and today I bought the first suit I have ever bought. I bought it to go my cousin's wedding next weekend so that I can look all adult and not totally scummy and maybe even cute. We'll see how that goes. Now back to thinking about this job I want and maybe getting stoned and reading the new John Waters book, but will probably really be looking at Grindr and Facebook obsessively on my phone in my bed because apparently that is what I love to do when I get stoned these days.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
tomorrow night
I will be reading at this event at Envoy Enterprises at 131 Chrystie Street in New York.
Monday, June 21, 2010
sandy hook
The ferry that we were on took us underneath the bridges of the East River connecting Brooklyn and Manhattan, first Williamsburg, then the Manhattan, then the Brooklyn Bridge. We were on the roof of the boat for this lovely view. The clouds were dark, the trip to the beach seemed like potentially not the best idea and drops of rain hit us every so often. By the time we arrived at Sandy Hook, the sun had broken free of the clouds and the weather was quite hot. I brought a book to read, a magazine too, neither one of which were touched. It's hard enough for me to try to get reading done at clothed beach, too distracted by the human bodies around me, even more difficult for me to do so at a nude beach. We swam in the ocean every half hour or so to cool off, drank vodka that was warm and gross, and looked at the bodies around us. I kissed this beautiful boy in the water. We tried to have sex but neither of our assholes was loose enough in the cold water. I dove under and sucked Jacob's dick for a second. I came in the water, spurts of semen drifting toward the surface and away with the tide like little toots of steam from a locomative in a cartoon. And this world is a cartoon we live in. The sky is beautiful and we walk around in this universe on two feet and there are machines that take us here or there and we do what we will or can and sometimes don't or can't and are brought down by either how we are not free or how we choose not to utilize our freedom.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
29 and counting
I woke up early this morning, another 7am shift, and my body has gotten used to them, but there are costs, mainly that by the time midnight rolls around I am usually passed out and the life I used to take part in before, that of nightlife, is now something I am less and less taking part in, something that in and of itself is not bad, and maybe even a good thing, maybe this is what happens as one ages and becomes more and more of an adult, whatever you want to take the word to mean. Maybe it’s not a good thing though and there are certain things that happen late at night that I am missing out, interesting conversations, one’s own mind turning over restlessly and exploring thoughts, going off down trails it doesn’t generally go down in daylight hours. I am missing out on dancing. I am missing out on spending too much money on alcoholic beverages and am missing out on terrible hangovers. I am still drinking, still sometimes going out, and definitely not getting enough sleep.
I am not sure what life is going to bring for me, not sure what I want it to. I am still going through the emotional hoops that birthdays bring with them, wondering about aging, about where I am in my life, where I thought I would be at this age, and where I would like to be, whether I am measuring up to various yardsticks, and which yardstick exactly I should be measuring myself with.
There are some things that are constant though and that aging has not changed. I still feel trapped on sunny days when I have to be at work and imagine being at the beach, think about ways to escape, look at weather forecasts to figure out whether my days off will be beach days. Tomorrow is supposed to be 91 degrees and sunny and I just could not imagine having to be sitting in a fluorescent-lit office tomorrow morning during such lovely weather. I started planning my sick call today, thinking of how I could possibly call in sick given that I have long ago already used all my sick and personal days and also given that my employer is starting to get a bit annoyed with me calling in sick so frequently.
And so tomorrow I am going to go to Sandy Hook with Jacob and swim in the Atlantic Ocean and lie around in the sun naked drinking vodka. I cannot wait. I should be writing tonight but am having difficulty doing so, cannot focus on myself, on my thoughts, on writing. I am realizing that I am out of touch with myself. Reading is hard. Writing is harder. I need to reconnect. I am working on it and I have a short time to get back in the groove. I am reading at the “Brother, My Lover” series this Thursday night at Envoy Gallery and so need to prepare something excellent to read. I am very grateful to Robert for asking me to read there again, am still grateful he asked to read there the first time around. It’s a bit of a problem that my inspiration to write often comes from deadlines like these. I need to construct for myself more deadlines, more reasons to write things. The performative nature of reading a piece makes me more aware of how I need to make something good, something that an audience might hopefully enjoy, something that doesn’t suck.
I have been having lots of thoughts about exhibitionism lately. Yes, I am going to the nude beach tomorrow. Yes, I do like having sex in public, at bars, in steamrooms, in front of other people. Cam4 and ManRoulette eat up far too much of my time. There is something in that. These things are the cousin to this diary, to me reading, to me writing – all forms of exhibitionism, some desire to be seen, getting off on this knowledge that you may see my body or read about it. I don’t know. I want to explore these thoughts at length but don’t have the drive to chase it tonight. I’d rather work on this bottle of wine and continue to listen to Bob Dylan and maybe read some more of this book I am reading.
I need to spend less time on Facebook. I need to get back into doing yoga, especially since apparently my knees do not also share the pleasure I take from running. I want to read some Greeks and Saint Teresa and the Bhagavad Gita and 19th century novelists and everything really. I need to eat more vegetables. So many things to do, to start doing. I am not so old that I can’t work on some improvements, don’t think I’ll ever be that old, hope so.
I am not sure what life is going to bring for me, not sure what I want it to. I am still going through the emotional hoops that birthdays bring with them, wondering about aging, about where I am in my life, where I thought I would be at this age, and where I would like to be, whether I am measuring up to various yardsticks, and which yardstick exactly I should be measuring myself with.
There are some things that are constant though and that aging has not changed. I still feel trapped on sunny days when I have to be at work and imagine being at the beach, think about ways to escape, look at weather forecasts to figure out whether my days off will be beach days. Tomorrow is supposed to be 91 degrees and sunny and I just could not imagine having to be sitting in a fluorescent-lit office tomorrow morning during such lovely weather. I started planning my sick call today, thinking of how I could possibly call in sick given that I have long ago already used all my sick and personal days and also given that my employer is starting to get a bit annoyed with me calling in sick so frequently.
And so tomorrow I am going to go to Sandy Hook with Jacob and swim in the Atlantic Ocean and lie around in the sun naked drinking vodka. I cannot wait. I should be writing tonight but am having difficulty doing so, cannot focus on myself, on my thoughts, on writing. I am realizing that I am out of touch with myself. Reading is hard. Writing is harder. I need to reconnect. I am working on it and I have a short time to get back in the groove. I am reading at the “Brother, My Lover” series this Thursday night at Envoy Gallery and so need to prepare something excellent to read. I am very grateful to Robert for asking me to read there again, am still grateful he asked to read there the first time around. It’s a bit of a problem that my inspiration to write often comes from deadlines like these. I need to construct for myself more deadlines, more reasons to write things. The performative nature of reading a piece makes me more aware of how I need to make something good, something that an audience might hopefully enjoy, something that doesn’t suck.
I have been having lots of thoughts about exhibitionism lately. Yes, I am going to the nude beach tomorrow. Yes, I do like having sex in public, at bars, in steamrooms, in front of other people. Cam4 and ManRoulette eat up far too much of my time. There is something in that. These things are the cousin to this diary, to me reading, to me writing – all forms of exhibitionism, some desire to be seen, getting off on this knowledge that you may see my body or read about it. I don’t know. I want to explore these thoughts at length but don’t have the drive to chase it tonight. I’d rather work on this bottle of wine and continue to listen to Bob Dylan and maybe read some more of this book I am reading.
I need to spend less time on Facebook. I need to get back into doing yoga, especially since apparently my knees do not also share the pleasure I take from running. I want to read some Greeks and Saint Teresa and the Bhagavad Gita and 19th century novelists and everything really. I need to eat more vegetables. So many things to do, to start doing. I am not so old that I can’t work on some improvements, don’t think I’ll ever be that old, hope so.
Monday, June 14, 2010
french bulldogs and canes
A month or so ago, Jacob and I decided that we really, really wanted a French bulldog. Soon after, I saw them every place I went, one after the next, this breed I had never even really noticed until recently. I now saw one on every corner, a cute, adorable French bulldog. I don't understand things like that, how the collective general public will all decide that a certain breed is really adorable and suddenly they are everywhere. I don't understand how those trends start, wonder who it is that influences me and all these other people out there, how this ball got started rolling. Did they recently feature in some cute romantic comedy that I never saw?
A week or so ago, I ran really hard on my knee even though it was kind of hurting as I was jogging. I ignored the pain and continued to run because it is what gives me so much pleasure. That was a mistake as my knee hurt much worse afterward and now still hurts a bit and feels weird to put too much weight on, has me doing a slight limp when I am coming down stairs or particularly feeling it. Yesterday and today, I noticed so many people with limps, me thinking about this one and now noticing all these other ones - that or there actually being a much larger number of people limping and using canes today as some sign from this universe. I want a French bulldog and see them everywhere. I injure my knee, limp a bit, and now see limping people in every direction I turn. The mind is interesting, the eyes too. They work in tandem in ways I often don't think about - that these things are always there and your eyes for whatever reasons don't see them even though they are walking down the street right ahead of you, that until it becomes a subject in your mind you won't recognize it as such outside your mind, that your mind doesn't know of the word yet and so has nothing attached to it - there is an ideology and these things are outside of it. What other things are there that my eyes are not seeing because my brain has not focussed on them yet, obsessed over yet? Our vision is so limited by our feeble human brains.
I live in a new apartment. It is the cutest apartment I have ever lived in. I am really in love with it right now and am crushing hard on it. It felt lived in on my birthday this past weekend. Up until that time, it felt unfinished. Every day for the last two weeks involved something with the house - painting, or going to Ikea, or assembling all that Ikea furniture, painting some more, moving furniture so the super could replace some walls, picking up a couch, calling the super, seeing the super, calling the landlord, seeing the landlord, getting this or that fixed, or picking up this or that item. It was a great deal of work that went into making this feel like my home and I think I have succeeded in a way I have never done with a house. Mikki told me it looked like an adult apartment, that someone in their thirties would live in. I did not take this as an insult.
I turned 29 and I am pretty comfortable with that, really comfortable actually, but do have an acute fear of a year from now, of turning 30 and still being in the same position, that I need to be somewhere closer to the goalpost at thirty, need to be moving in that direction, doing things I would like be doing. I need to write, write, write this year and run once my knee heals and go to the beach and have lots of sex and get out of town. There is a lot to do and I am not bored and I am feeling pretty alive and really happy with how things are going right now with Jacob and feeling secure in someone else's company, that there is a boy that wants to sleep next to me every night and that will get stoned with me and be stupid. It's pretty awesome. But I'm also cursing this injured knee, wanting to run so bad. Today, I went to the gym and rode on the fucking bicycles, which is some sort of cardio and which was the only type I could do without hurting my knee, but the act of running and being in the air for brief moments and of really sweating and using your entire body - that that is going unsatisfied.
And I started reading this book last night, Eat, Pray, Love,, surely way after the point when everyone and their mom has but I just started it because, embarrassingly, I saw the preview for the movie the other day, which did not look amazing, but which did make me really want to read the story, that it might offer me something right now at this moment in my life, this story of a woman not too far away from my age, unhappy with her life, and who travelled off in search of meaning, of happiness. Because I am turning 30 in a year and because I know I need to change and do more things and get off my ass and that I am going to die one day.
A week or so ago, I ran really hard on my knee even though it was kind of hurting as I was jogging. I ignored the pain and continued to run because it is what gives me so much pleasure. That was a mistake as my knee hurt much worse afterward and now still hurts a bit and feels weird to put too much weight on, has me doing a slight limp when I am coming down stairs or particularly feeling it. Yesterday and today, I noticed so many people with limps, me thinking about this one and now noticing all these other ones - that or there actually being a much larger number of people limping and using canes today as some sign from this universe. I want a French bulldog and see them everywhere. I injure my knee, limp a bit, and now see limping people in every direction I turn. The mind is interesting, the eyes too. They work in tandem in ways I often don't think about - that these things are always there and your eyes for whatever reasons don't see them even though they are walking down the street right ahead of you, that until it becomes a subject in your mind you won't recognize it as such outside your mind, that your mind doesn't know of the word yet and so has nothing attached to it - there is an ideology and these things are outside of it. What other things are there that my eyes are not seeing because my brain has not focussed on them yet, obsessed over yet? Our vision is so limited by our feeble human brains.
I live in a new apartment. It is the cutest apartment I have ever lived in. I am really in love with it right now and am crushing hard on it. It felt lived in on my birthday this past weekend. Up until that time, it felt unfinished. Every day for the last two weeks involved something with the house - painting, or going to Ikea, or assembling all that Ikea furniture, painting some more, moving furniture so the super could replace some walls, picking up a couch, calling the super, seeing the super, calling the landlord, seeing the landlord, getting this or that fixed, or picking up this or that item. It was a great deal of work that went into making this feel like my home and I think I have succeeded in a way I have never done with a house. Mikki told me it looked like an adult apartment, that someone in their thirties would live in. I did not take this as an insult.
I turned 29 and I am pretty comfortable with that, really comfortable actually, but do have an acute fear of a year from now, of turning 30 and still being in the same position, that I need to be somewhere closer to the goalpost at thirty, need to be moving in that direction, doing things I would like be doing. I need to write, write, write this year and run once my knee heals and go to the beach and have lots of sex and get out of town. There is a lot to do and I am not bored and I am feeling pretty alive and really happy with how things are going right now with Jacob and feeling secure in someone else's company, that there is a boy that wants to sleep next to me every night and that will get stoned with me and be stupid. It's pretty awesome. But I'm also cursing this injured knee, wanting to run so bad. Today, I went to the gym and rode on the fucking bicycles, which is some sort of cardio and which was the only type I could do without hurting my knee, but the act of running and being in the air for brief moments and of really sweating and using your entire body - that that is going unsatisfied.
And I started reading this book last night, Eat, Pray, Love,, surely way after the point when everyone and their mom has but I just started it because, embarrassingly, I saw the preview for the movie the other day, which did not look amazing, but which did make me really want to read the story, that it might offer me something right now at this moment in my life, this story of a woman not too far away from my age, unhappy with her life, and who travelled off in search of meaning, of happiness. Because I am turning 30 in a year and because I know I need to change and do more things and get off my ass and that I am going to die one day.
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