"face the future and forget about the past"

Fleetwood Mac - "Dreams"

Sadness has really hit me hard the last couple of days. Ever since Jacob and I agreed that it was not a good idea to continue living together when we move out of this apartment, I have again been hit with the reality of my situation and how much it sucks. I do still love Jacob and it breaks my heart that he doesn't love me anymore. I keep thinking to various moments in our relationship where it had been strained before and they were all resolved with such beauty and in ways that just made me love this person even more.

When he was spending every night at my studio apartment off the Morgan Avenue stop and we couldn't get enough of each other, we had our first tense argument. I don't remember what it was about. I do remember though that he wanted to write the fight down on a slip of paper and lock it away in a jar underneath my sink, to put the issue away, and to never fight again. I have no clue where this idea came from, if this was something he did with his family or something he did with an ex-lover, but it really melted any hardness I had been feeling about whatever the argument was and made me really realize how precious this person was.

My job plays lots of depressing lovesick songs and all day long today, prompted by these songs, flashes of these memories would come forward. I kept remembering how much this person loved me at one point and wondering what had happened. I remember another time in this same studio apartment, I was angry at him for something, and he was drunk and sad that I seemed angry at him, insanely drunk, and swallowed a huge handful of Advils. I forced him to throw up in my toilet, was scared he was going to overdose on Advil.

And I remember crying in the bathroom of our roadside motel in Memphis together while Bob was in the other room, crying about how much we loved each other after Jacob had injured his leg as we tried to escape this junkie who had followed us home from CVS.

And I also remembered some more recent tension we had been having. Again, I can't remember what any of these fights were about - but I do remember that I was mad and being cold and he stripped naked and looked incredibly sad and forced me to look at him as a human, wanted me to see him as the vulnerable thing he was.

And then there is the current moment that we occupy and I can't reconcile these past moments with this present one, still don't know how we got from there to here. This house that we found together, painted together, decorated together, and made a really beautiful little nest out of will be deconstructed in a little over a month's time. I won't come home anymore to Jacob on the couch, won't be able to lie across from him on the couch we hauled back here from Chelsea, and won't be able to share stories about our days. He spends pretty much every night now at this boy's house that I guess he's seeing.

And it is what it is, but that doesn't meant it doesn't suck. And it would be easier for me perhaps if there had been some huge epic fight that led to this, some horrible betrayal or deceit, but instead the person I thought was in my life forever simply told me he didn't want to be involved with me romantically anymore after nearly three years time. When someone tells you that and you are still pretty much best friends with them afterwards, it really does provoke all sorts of questions about what went wrong, what might be wrong with you, and how this could have happened. I ask myself these questions often. I don't really have any answers for them. They just make me really sad.

This sadness is only compounded by again being spit out into the world all on your own, having to struggle to think about shelter, about where you are going to live, about who might want to live with you, about whether you can afford a studio apartment by yourself, about whether you even want to keep living in New York. And honestly, I have no fucking clue. Jacob was far and away the best part of my life, the one constant thing that brought me so much happiness. And so it's really scary to again contemplate life without him. This is hitting me strongly again these past couple days (so apologies if you've heard this sob story before) because prior to a couple days ago, the plan was to still live together in a two bedroom, and I still at least had that (perhaps false, perhaps not false) comfort of knowing that this person would still be in my life regularly, that I could still come home and have a drink with him and shoot the shit.

I have been looking at Craigslist listings that are horribly depressing - ugly apartments in faraway neighborhoods that seem to announce they are domiciles for sad and lonely people.

And so I am seriously considering moving out to LA. The timing of it could work out very well since one of my closest friends from New York, Erica, is living out there now for a couple months subletting a room until November and may stay there if she gets an awesome job or would move back to her apartment in New York if not. If she does decide to stay there, I would get an apartment with her, which sounds so fucking nice right now. I have been wanting to live somewhere else for a while. New York is great but I have been here nearly a decade and feel slightly in a rut career-wise and creatively, and so I think it would be good to shake up all the pieces and try something new.

This afternoon, I have also been thinking about seeing how long I could stretch out my savings in Mexico City. There are so many options. Life is a huge, huge thing, full of innumerable choices, only limited by the constraints we put on ourselves, leases we sign and people we fall intensely in love with. Come November I will no longer be tied down by either of those things. I will be a free man, or as free as I allow myself to be. I want to do great things and fall in love and eat good food and drink beer and be in the sunshine and be alive and happy.

And scene.

I am drinking whiskey and feeling confused and really liberated. I am drinking Old Overholt. Let me tell this story first about why this whiskey suddenly has so much appeal for me. So a couple months ago, one of my co-workers and friends committed suicide. The next day, our place of employment had a nice little impromptu memorial for her in which they had us all seated at the rooftop bar, telling fond memories of her while listening to Beyonce (whom she was obsessed with). They served champagne and also had out a bottle of whiskey. I had never heard of this brand before, nor tasted it, but I immediately fell in love with it. I was really emotional when I did a shot of this with a lot of my co-workers as we remembered this person's life and thought about what life means in broader strokes, what it is that we are doing here on this planet, these brief flashes of existence that constitute our lives.

That story out of the way, on to the one I meant to tell: Jacob and I have decided not to live together. I know both of us have been feeling this way for a while. I had been looking at studio apartments in secret. He had been talking to some friends from Ohio considering moving here about getting an apartment with them. It was when he told me this today, that I asked if we were going to live together or not. He said he did not know yet. He was waiting to hear what their plans were. Basically, I was his backup plan. This upset me a great deal. I have exercised so little control in this situation over the past few months, have had my fate and future entirely decided by his choices. I told him let's just not live together, let's just decide to do that now. It felt really good to somehow take control of my future, despite the fact that this decision may have been made shortly by him anyways.

I feel liberated in a way I have not in months. I am really excited. I might move to LA.

m4m

Sometimes you just need to get fucked. Then, you will feel better.

I wasn't expecting it to happen. I had gone over to this guy's house in Greenwich Village to get a massage. I had been trolling Craigslist and Grindr this morning, seeking out some erotic delight. Grindr, as usual, was providing little of it. I responded to one Craigslist ad though, someone offering free massages, and within ten minutes, I have an address and a phone number and am on my way. So I was just expecting the promised massage, which was really all I wanted.

The guy opened the door to his apartment and I was doubly wowed. The apartment behind him was insanely gorgeous and huge, a dream really, art scattered everywhere, beautiful wallpaper, fancy furniture. That wowed me. Also the person standing in the doorway, welcoming me, was unbelievably sexy. He was a man, a broad-shouldered, beautiful and butch dude, young and with a mustache, something I would see on the side of a bus advertising jeans or cologne. I could not believe my luck. This was a guy that if I saw out at a bar, I would probably be far too intimidated to approach, believe was way out of my league, but because our desires intersected on Craigslist, his to give a massage to someone and mine to receive this massage that required nothing on my end, I found myself naked on his bed, him leaning over me massaging me.

It was actually an incredible massage. The guy knew what he was doing and worked the tension out of every part of my neck and shoulders, out of my arms, out of my legs, out of my feet, out of my wound up body. It felt so amazing. After quite a while of this, he then started to focus on my ass and thighs, touching my penis lightly as he moved his hands around my thighs. He could tell I was really into him. He took off his underwear and started massaging my ass again, now rubbing his hard dick against my ass crack, against my back. He laid on top of me and I am sure I moaned. He then started to rub his cock against my asshole, sticking it slightly in. I wanted it so bad, was feeling so relaxed from the massage that it felt natural. Normally, I have such a hard time getting fucked, can't allow myself to relax enough, can't quit constantly thinking about how I am probably getting shit on the person's dick, this or that, my mind continually preventing me from being in that moment physically. But today was a different story. The man was incredibly sexy. He had just massaged me for an hour. I was lying on my stomach on fancy sheets looking at a nice rug on the floor and wondering where it was that this scene was taking place and how I ended up in it. He put on a condom and started to fuck me.

He asked me if I wanted poppers. I said yes.

It felt amazing. I haven't been seriously fucked in years. Yes, there was that moment a couple weeks ago when I was briefly fucked my by co-worker's boyfriend, but that lasted maybe a minute before my mind clenched up my asshole and made me too nervous. There was that time in the backroom in Barcelona when I was fucked by that Argentine and that felt good, but that was also something I was not totally present in and in which I was also nervous about shitting. Today, I was present and not concerned about these fears, just had a really fun time getting fucked. I let myself be present. I looked up at this beautiful man and that made it all the more amazing, some erotic dream come to life.

I came and he pulled out. I apologized that it might be messy and the condom was a bit messy but he said it wasn't and he really seemed not to care. I wiped the cum off my stomach and the santorum out of my asshole with toilet paper and flushed that down the toilet. He was seated on his bed in white gym shorts and he asked me where I was from and every time I spoke to him I was nervous that I would be too gay, too femme, for this person. There are some guys that try to appear butcher than they are and it comes off as false, but this guy was just so naturally butch, and it made me nervous, that I normally don't interact with dudes. There was something so beautiful about this man. I didn't want to scare him; I kept my answers brief, kept the swish in check. He told me he has a studio near my apartment and suggested that we might meet up again next week. I said that'd be cool.

And yesterday I was stressed about a great many things as you may know if you read the previous entry, but today, now, in this moment, I am stressed about nothing and feeling so fucking good.

"whatever else remained the same, the light had changed, and you cannot find the pearly dawn at noonday."

I was supposed to be on Fire Island today, getting drunk and lying in the sun. Instead, I have been alternately lying on my bed and on my couch, reading from Middlemarch, looking at apartment ads on Craigslist, and looking at Grindr. There is no sun today. I am in the throes of a weird cold that came upon me yesterday afternoon that has my throat feeling sore, my head feeling foggy, and my body feeling tired despite the numerous cups of tea and coffee I have drank today.

I just ate some bacon and am drinking some Old Overholt and I am feeling quite better, in which case it would probably be wise of me to turn off the Beth Orton before she takes me back down.

10,000 Maniacs it is.

I am quite confused about my life. I don't know what I should be doing with really any aspect of it. I have plans to move into a two bedroom with Jacob in November but am really beginning to wonder if I shouldn't suck it up, move far out to a not-ideal location, pay more in rent, be constantly broke, and live by myself. There are pluses and minuses to both and I can't do the math; it never was my strong subject in school.

There are thoughts about how little money I am making, which is nothing new, but which has been really brought forward as a concern as I contemplate moving, as I look at the price of apartments and see that a good many of them are way out of my price range. And this leads, without many conclusive answers, to thoughts about what it is I should be doing, what job I could be doing that would pay me more money, what jobs I might enjoy, and which of those might hire me. Again, these thoughts have circled round and round with no actual answers to these questions.

I go out to bars a lot and smoke a lot of cigarettes. This serves as a nice distraction.

Summer is over this weekend. With the help of George Eliot, I have been contemplating this summer today. I have been contemplating the trajectory of my life, of what it means, of what I would like it to mean, and how I would like this story to end, where I want to take it now. There is so much incredible wisdom about life on every single page of this novel. And, yes, I have been reading this same book all summer long and am nowhere near completion. I haven't really been in a reading mood this summer, this year, these past few years, and I have put this book down again and again, only to pick it up again every month or so and work my way through another chunk of it, today one of those occasions.

And how is this for wisdom:

That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact of frequency, has not yet wrought itself into the coarse emotion of mankind; and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it is, the quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity. (194)

Or this heartbreaking insight into life told in a throwaway sentence:

But Dorthea remembered it to the last with the vividness with which we all remember epochs in our experience when some dear expectation dies, or some new motive is born. (211)

I will admit that the above sentence hit me like a punch in the gut and I recalled moments from my own life that fit that description, when some dear expectation had died. I thought of when Gabriel and I had a talk on the rooftop of 248 McKibbin that was basically the end of our friendship, how I quit showing up for a job at the time after that, and lied in bed and cried for a couple days that the person I loved more than anyone I had ever met was no longer going to be close to me, that I had fucked it all up. I thought of that day, only a couple of months ago, when Jacob broke up with me on the beach at Fire Island, how all of my expectations of a life together quickly started to fall apart, how up until that moment there were expectations that have now been thoroughly demolished.

As I was walking down Grand Street today to pick up eggs, bacon, and whiskey (Old Overholt for extremely sentimental reasons), I got really heartsick, wondering when, if ever, I would get to that point with someone when love would last, whether this would happen. Grand Street has been the sight of so many of these heartsick walks during my time in New York. That street is where they all started in this town, as I used to walk from Matt's apartment on Grand and Manhattan down to mine on Grand and Keap, this many years ago now at this point, but those memories, along with layers of innumerable other ones of drunken walks home from Metropolitan feeling sad or heartsick or hopeful, all popping up today, apparitions on this gray day, reminders of how many times I have felt this way, how I thought I was done with feeling this way, how fucking comfortable I was, and how those expectations responsible for that comfort have died.

On the walk home from the store, plastic bags swung from my hands against my legs - eggs, bacon, and whiskey inside them. There was a lotto ticket in my wallet that I would soon scratch off when I got home, a lotto ticket that would produce no winnings, and there were other things being carried around on that walk home, things being tossed off as well, and there were thoughts of winnings greater than those promised by the lotto ticket.

RNC

It was a few nights ago, Monday, but it bears mentioning because it was the first date I have been on in probably at least three years. Even when I was single, I didn't really go out on dates. I met people at bars or on Grindr and we went to someone's house and had sex, skipping that awkward event where you talk to each other about who you are, introduce yourself, try to think of things to say, and wonder when, if ever, you may kiss this person at some point in the night.

He is a nice guy I met some years ago but had never hung out with until Monday. We had drinks at a couple of bars and then ate some Mexican food together. I was really missing not so much Jacob during this date, but the comfort level we had reached. I felt very awkward most of the night, was often unsure of what to say, and so just laughed probably too much and danced around in my chair to whatever songs were playing in the bar or what songs that I wished had been playing there. I smoked a lot of cigarettes. We kissed goodnight on a street corner in East Williamsburg. We made out a little. I wanted it to last longer. I wanted to invite him home with me, but knew I couldn't do that because I still share a bed with Jacob. I wanted him to invite me over. He did not do this. It was a very chaste date or maybe hangout session; I never how these things work. He did say that we would hang out in a couple days.

I opened my windows when I got home this afternoon. The mosquitos have somehow found their way through the gaps in the screens. I have been swatting them away as I watch on my television a very large group of Americans, enough to fill an arena, cheering on the idiocies voiced by various Republican men. This is happening in the city I was born, Tampa. I am drinking white wine with ice cubes in it as I take in this spectacle. The mosquitos choose not to take notice and are focused solely on blood.

clementine peels thrown from the windows of rental cars

We stopped at a liquor store on New Lots Avenue. Darnell pulled over to the curb and I went to go buy the vodka while he waited in the car. I got back in the car and we took off blasting Madonna's "Vogue" through East New York. Both of us were aware of the absurdity of the scene. We were soon on the Belt Parkway, Jamaica Bay off to the left, Riis beach so close.

We met up with Nick and Nik on the beach, drank some of the cheap vodka we had bought, mixed it with Arizona's versions of Arnold Palmers, a dollar a bottle from the bodega by my house.

The waves were vicious yesterday, big and relentless, one after the next, knocking me down over and over again, the current quickly dragging me down the shore. Normally the beaches of New York City are fairly calm affairs with mild waves that would hardly knock you off balance. This was a dizzying experience to be tossed around by these waters. I couldn't get enough of the waves. I dove under the ones that seemed truly frightening, rode a few, jumped over some - had an absolutely exhausting and amazing time dancing with the Atlantic Ocean yesterday. Maybe this is because of Isaac so far south churning up the ocean - I really have no idea what was causing this, but it was exhilarating.

When I dove under the waves, I would listen to the sound around me, wait to hear that crashing sound break right above me. It was such a beautiful noise and I kept diving under and under again wanting to keep hearing the power of this water, of nature's force.

On the sand, I smoked a lot of cigarettes and talked about Florida and about boys and about tattoos. We picked out our favorite boys on the beach, the ones we would like to have sex with. I watched with Nik as one of the guys behind us clearly got a blowjob underneath a towel.

The sun got lower, the beach got emptier. We left.

elegant slumming

I am listening to M People's "Moving On Up." I am getting ready to go out, trying on various outfits, variations on the same thing I wear anytime I go out, a dark tank top, tight jeans, gold chain. I don't know why I spend so much time trying on all these various variations. Fifty shades of gray. All the same. I am drinking the Trader Joe's brand of beer, cheap, about four dollars for a six pack. I can't wait to dance.

Let's smoke cigarettes even though we know we shouldn't and stand outside and talk about what we hope for.

an office party, an open bar, a hangover

We rode in a taxi together to his apartment. He talked about wanting to buy property next year with his boyfriend. He asked the taxi driver if we could smoke in the cab. The taxi driver said no. The hallways of his building looked like they either had just been or were about to be painted. I was very drunk, had just been at a work party with an open bar that lasted several hours. I had gone out for drinks beforehand with some co-workers.

I sang an amazing version of Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know" with Dwayne. There was karaoke happening. I had never been so into the song. Every little bit of confusion and heartbreak and glee and joy of my recent life all were poured into that performance. I got a lot of compliments. At some point in the night, I snuck down the backstairs of the bar to escape this one co-worker who had become very drunk and forward, basically telling me we were going home together. Out in front of the bar, I smoked a cigarette, nervously looking to see if this one kid was going to come out to find me, and I talked with all the other smokers. We all decided to XES, which was only a couple blocks away, to keep partying. 

In the backyard there, this one co-worker, very cute, asked me if I wanted to come back to his house and have a threesome with him and his boyfriend. He told me his boyfriend had a big dick, was really hot, and could fuck the both of us. 

Again, I snuck out of a bar that evening, trying to escape the notice of all my other co-workers still there. We rode in that taxi in which we could not smoke. We went to his house. His boyfriend was indeed very sexy. I stripped down to my underwear and starting making out with the boyfriend in their bed. Soon his dick, which was accurately described as big earlier, was in my mouth. He fucked my co-worker. He fucked me. He came on both of our faces. The co-worker fed me his boyfriend's come on his fingers. It was all incredibly sexy and fun. It also was a blur. We sniffed a lot of poppers. I had had countless drinks beforehand. The boyfriend went to clean up and the co-worker and I continued to fuck around with each other. At some point, the boyfriend made it clear he wanted the two of us to end our antics. I got dressed. I left.

3907

I am waiting for a burrito to arrive from Haab and cursing at imaginary people that are not with me in the kitchen. I have poured myself some Ricard and am sipping it with water like a classy gentleman. I am cursing: You are too old to be wearing graphic tees from Urban Outfitters. I mean, everybody is too old to be doing so, but you especially.

I am just a bit angrier than I perhaps should be right now. I am a bit jealous and also not, also grossed out.

I was just getting off the subway and walking toward my house when I walked past Jacob and the new boy he is seeing/fucking/whoknows, a boy that I casually know, friend of a friend, and it's really fucking weird to see them together. I know that Jacob has been going over to his house and that he only lives a couple blocks away from us, but I have luckily never seen them together. That is, until now. It just annoys me because he is another skinny, lanky, awkward gay with brown hair and he is a little too close to my own body type. I want to see Jacob with someone younger, blonder, and shorter - something so far different from myself physically that I can explain things that way, take some form of comfort in that. It would also be nice to see him with someone that I don't know either. Jacob's hello was too eager, the other's boys what's up too gruff.

I gave Jacob my last cigarette earlier and I am regretting it.

I saw a man earlier tonight - this was where I was coming home from earlier tonight when I passed them. He was a middle-aged business guy staying on the 39th floor of a midtown hotel. I gave him a massage and blew him. I thought he was actually really sexy. His cock was big and really beautiful. I kept looking at our reflection in his uncurtained glass windows and, beyond that, the glittering lights of the city, dark windows and lit windows, upright rectangular shapes glowing in odd spots, blocking off big blocks and little blocks of the night sky.

___________________________________________

UPDATE: So the above was written in a fit of rage. My burrito came. Jacob came home at the same time. I ate the burrito and drank a lot of Ricard and now don't feel this way. But it is what it is. I am trying to be honest and I am not being entirely so. It's how I felt in the moment I wrote it, shortly after passing them on the street. You would be getting a lot more of the above if Jacob hadn't told me he read my diary and I didn't exercise the modicum of self-restraint I have been attempting to. I need to stop telling people about my diary, but it's hard not to if it is someone that I like and I want them to know more about me. But then the problem comes about when you want to write about them but fear what they may think, that they may read it, how their feelings may be hurt, how what you are writing, diarying, can actually alter future events, the trajectory of your relationship in ways that usually are not positive. 

To more honesty. You really have to embrace the rage and the hatred and the bitterness and the pettiness. To not do so is to be false. I am trying to be honest. It takes work to overcome the fears we have about how we might be perceived, about hurting the feelings of others. I want to document this time in my life, all of the moments in my life. I want to let out these things in verbal form, put them somewhere outside of my mind. I want to grow and learn and understand. So please be a little patient, or preferably don't read this.