spank

There was this boy with a beard last night. There were a lot of boys with beards last night, a fair number with mustaches as well. I had chatted with him on Grindr a while ago, tried to chat with him. It didn't really go anywhere. I saw him a couple times last night as I flitted around the warehouse space where Spank was hosting a dance party. I never said hi, never wanted to, couldn't imagine those necessary steps. I just wanted to be naked in a bed with him. Not even though. A dark hallway, a bathroom stall - anything would have done. It was a fantasy I played out in my mind each time I walked past him.

I was a bit drunk. I had had a couple beers, a purple Four Loko (cause it matched my outfit), an ill-advised shot of vodka, and then quite a few whiskies on the rocks. At some point in the night, I started repeatedly huffing from a bottle of poppers that someone had very wisely thought to bring with them. I danced for a while but found it hard to really lose myself in the music. It either wasn't loud enough, I couldn't reach a point of fucked-upness to get into "dance" music, or my love of more easily identifiable hooks along with the presence of a human voice singing lyrics was too much of a hurdle on this particular night. I was also distracted by boys. There were so many of them, so many cute ones all over the place. Nick at one point said it was like Brooklyn Grindr come to life, that all of these cute faces were now in one space together. And while that may have been true, the pathetic thing is that it might have actually been easier for me to talk to these people on Grindr. I have fallen out of practice with talking to new people, hitting on boys. There were moments, many last night, when I wondered how this is done.

I took the subway home at some point. I stopped at the 24 Hour Dunkin Donuts by my house at four something and bought a doughnut and a breakfast sandwich. I woke up this morning on my couch, the sunlight pouring through my kitchen windows at some early hour, and a mental note was made to buy curtains later in the day.

a purple wall, a sky close to it

I have only a few days left of my gym membership. I put in my cancellation notice there a month or so ago, an acknowledgement to what my new economic realities would be, to rent that cost me about twice as much as before, that I would no longer be able to indulge in luxuries such as memberships to fancy and heavily-gay gyms.

However, with its imminent end in sight, I am considering actually renewing it, figuring out a way to scrape by, that going to this gym really keeps me feeling sane, happy, and healthy. Sometimes you do have to be willing to pay for your happiness I have realized over the years, that certain things may cost money, maybe a lot of money, but sometimes these things are more than worth it for the joy they give you.

I jerked off in the steamroom across from this burly bear of a man. He had a beautiful upturned penis. I was really into our encounter, into sitting across from each other, admiring each other's bodies, admiring our own bodies via the other person's admiration of ours, and stroking our dicks. Some other guy came in, some creeper of a guy who always sits near me in the steamroom and jerks off. I got up and went into the showers. I came in the stall. I changed. I bought some red wine and some dental floss. I took the subway home.

From the train, I walked through Maria Hernandez Park. I noticed that the leaves were changing colors on some of the trees, that it seemed like they had been for a while now. I have been failing to pay attention to my surroundings, to the world around me. I am beginning to again. It was a beautiful walk home. I walked between kids racing across the center of the park on their skateboards, these lines quickly forming, striking past me, running out of steam, other lines cutting different paths, all through the center, kids attempting to catch air, some succeeding, some not but always trying again and again. I had my own path that I followed carried by feet at a steady pace. These people had some attachment to the center that I briefly pondered as I cut through it and caught the view, the setting sun over buildings on Knickerbocker giving a large portion of the sky a fantastic pink hue, the trees with their leaves beginning to yellow, beginning to orange, all the people here and taking pleasure in their presence on this planet.

Dekalb Avenue

I woke up today for the first time in my new apartment on Dekalb Avenue. Yesterday, I finally packed up all my stuff into boxes and bags when I ran out of boxes and said my goodbyes to my last apartment, the home I had created with Jacob on Meserole Street. It was a sad goodbye. I am still angry, more so than at first actually. All of the reasons he had told me he wanted to break up were lies - independence, being single, making more art, more time alone, etc. The day after - literally the day after - he broke up with me he started hanging out with M, who he is now dating. The fact that I have just been traded out for another boyfriend, another sort of domesticity, is quite depressing. If he were slutting it up across town, I would take more comfort from that, feel less hurt. As is, I am quite upset with him and don't think I need to be hanging out with him anymore. But that's an insanely depressing prospect to think of, that the boy who has been my constant companion and source of comfort for the last three years will no longer be in my life. I think it is probably for the best though.

I am not good at goodbyes.

Brendan and I packed up a UHaul van full of my stuff and I told Brendan that I would run upstairs and grab the last bag and say goodbye to Jacob. I took a look at the apartment, half empty, looking ransacked, and a flood of memories from the last two and a half years all came pouring over me. I suddenly found myself incapable of even speaking. I wanted to say a nice cordial goodbye to Jacob, but I couldn't even talk. My eyes swelled with water and my throat was blubbering, wanting to ball that this period of my life was now officially over and done, that there would be no going back any longer. I gave Jacob a hug as I held back tears and then I left, a sad, sad walk out of this building that from this moment on would no longer be my home.

Brendan and I drove away toward my new apartment, van full of my belongings. I turned on the radio. Al Green's "So Tired of Being Alone" came on. I immediately changed it to a Spanish station, my Spanish not good enough to understand what probably were some equally lovesick lyrics. At some point, one of the songs had an English chorus about love. There was not even respite here on the Spanish station. I turned the radio to a pop station as we got closer to my new apartment. As we circled looking for a parking spot, Taylor Swift's "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" started playing, which was a little easier to swallow, its anthemic vocals proudly, not sadly, declaring the end of a relationship.

We unloaded all of the cargo into my new apartment. My neighbor across the hall, Spanish grandmother, came out into the hallway, nosy to see what was going on, and before introducing herself told us that if we were going to smoke weed in our apartment, then we needed to burn incense, that she has a 15 year old grandson she is trying to protect. It might be added that we were not smoking weed, or about to, but just moving boxes up a flight of stairs.

Once we had moved everything out of the van, we got back in the van to return it, and Pink's "Blow Me (One Last Kiss)" was playing on the radio. So insanely appropriate. I cranked it up loud and we cruised down Knickerbocker Avenue in the UHaul van.

Susan Miller has told me that for the last three years Saturn has occupied the fifth house of true love and romance. She has pointed out that on October 15th, a new moon, today, I would see a release of the last three years. When I read her monthly horoscope a couple days ago, my mind was blown with the specificity with which she talks about the events in my life over the last three years.

I am alive, folks! That means everything. I made it out of my last apartment. I have suffered a brutal and swift end to what was an ideal love for me and there were many days when the news seemed unbearable, something I would never recover from. But there are silly pop songs that have helped me raise my head higher. There are people who told me to get out of my apartment, who told me to, yes, sign this lease even if it seems expensive, just do it. There are people who helped me pick up furniture from Queens, from South Brooklyn, from my old apartment, and I am so appreciative of it. And life goes on. Yes, it does. It's a new moon today. I am starting over and not looking back anymore.

goodbye 180 Meserole Street

Yesterday, I said my goodbyes to my home for the last two and a half years - 180 Meserole Street. It was a much more painful goodbye than I had anticipated. There were photographs of the two of us and cute souvenirs from our travels attached to the fridge. There were cute notes from him left for me in happier days that I had stored in the bottom of my underwear drawer. There was a piggy bank he gave me on this past Christmas with a picture of a beach in Costa Rica in the background, an enticement for the two of us to save money to go there together. The trip never happened. I left the piggy bank behind, did not need that memento staring at me everyday.

Madonna - "Nothing Really Matters"

I pick up the keys to my new apartment tomorrow at five. I need to get a mattress, other things.

I went out to some East Village gay bars last night with Diego after seeing Cyrano on Broadway. Phoenix smelled of hot dogs. There was a beautiful man there that I watched for a couple drinks before introducing myself. His name was Drew. He was much nicer than I had imagined, chatty.

He later met up with me at Eastern Bloc. I was less into him there. I escaped at some point in the night, his insecurity turning me off, destroying this image I had constructed of him as I sipped drinks at Phoenix and watched him, created a narrative about him that that was then called into question by actually talking to him. The fantasy brutally collided with reality and I slunk out of the bar. I picked up two slices of pizza at Muzarella and waited for the train to take me back home to this apartment off Montrose that I inhabit for a short while longer.

Hungover today, I have played "Nothing Really Matters" again and again as a pick-me-up. I played it a couple days ago while doing some yoga and exercise and have not been able to stop listening to it since.

Countless times today, Madonna has told me: "Nothing takes the past away like the future."

home

Yesterday afternoon, once I got off work, I took the subway out to Bushwick. I had an appointment to sign a lease for an apartment at 4:30. Since I was a good half hour early for my apartment, I wandered around what is soon to be new neighborhood for a while, walking past memories of when this used to my neighborhood five or so years ago. I sat on a park bench in Maria Hernandez Park across from my old apartment. I looked up at the apartment's window and wondered if Niki still lived there, wondered if I was going to run into her now that I lived a couple of blocks away.

A circle seemed like it was being made. I wasn't sure what this meant, whether this was a good or a bag thing.

I signed the lease on the stoop of what is to be my new building on DeKalb Avenue. I am really excited about living in this neighborhood again. That stretch of Knickerbocker is full of so much life and really calls to mind images of what I imagined New York to be when I was a kid. Fruit and vegetables piled on sidewalks for sale. Taco shops, pizza shops, 99 cent stores, booming sound systems, kids cruising by on their BMX bikes, a crush of life.

There is the neighborhood. And then there is the apartment. It is a tiny 1 bedroom and it all mine. I can't wait to hit restart, to be on my own, to not see Jacob anymore, to be out of this place that used to be our home, to forget. The bathroom has a sink. There is a non-working fireplace. There is an empty apartment that I will fill with stuff and position just so and make into a cozy place to call home.

forever

"When I think about forever I get upset. Like the Land of Lakes butter has that Indian girl, sitting holding a box, and it has a picture of her on it, holding a box, with a picture of her on it, holding a box. Have you ever noticed that?"
-Sally Draper

Here's the link to this beautiful dream since embedding doesn't seem to be working.

nothing but time

Two days ago, I went to the zoo. Walking from the subway to the zoo, I passed a recently taped off crime scene. Pools of blood on the sidewak in front of a TD Bank, blood soaked clothing left behid on the sidewalk, police everywhere. It was a very disturbing sight that shook me up quite a bit.

At the zoo, I watched a pack of baboons terrorize a heard of gazelle-like animals with a name I had never heard of. That also was a bit frightening to watch.

Yesterday, I talked to this father as he awaited word on his daughter, got him a cup of coffee. I was very worried about what the outcome would be. I heard him cry out the most awful cry of loss when he was told his daughter was dead. The sound he made is maybe the saddest sound I have ever heard and I am not sure I will ever forget it. I kept on hearing it last night when I was trying to sleep.
It has been an intense last couple of days. This morning, on my way to work, I listened to Cat Power's "Nothing But Time," and it seemed like a lie, the song's lyrics, but a comforting lie that we sometimes need to hear. She told me that time's got nothing on me, but I know it has everything on me. She told me I've got nothing but time, but as I have been reminded the past couple days, no, no, I do not.

Talking Heads - "This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)

It was about nine or ten years ago. I know it was shortly after moving to New York sometime in 2003. I had been hanging out with Megan and some other people at Blue and Gold on East 7th Street. Over the jukebox came a song I had never heard before. The singer was talking about Home, a place he wanted to be. The song was full of nostalgia and hope and sadness. I was feeling rootless at the time, wanted that feeling of home, of belonging to a place, to something. I was madly in love with New York at the time, was going about the process of making it my home, wanted it to be. This song really helped me realize that it was my home, that it was where I was present, and that I needed to acknowledge it as my home.

"Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there."

I ran to the jukebox to see what the song was, matched up the numbers with what album and what track were playing. I saw that it was the Talking Heads, "This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)." I went home and downloaded the song soon after and listened to it again and again.

I found myself at Blue and Gold again yesterday. I have been thinking about the idea of home a lot lately, the one I had created nearing its expiration date, maybe already having passed it. I had created a home with Jacob, a safe space that I felt I belonged in, a place imbued with all those notions of comfort, safety, and love that constitute the somewhat porous concept of home. We are parting ways by the end of October and will pack up all these things sometime soon, split up the shared positions, and be on our way to something else, something that I can hopefully soon make a home. I'm not sure if that place will be in New York, whether it will be with a roommate, whether it will be by myself, what neighborhood it will be in, anything really. Where my home will be is one big looming question hanging over my life right now. That's okay. Questions without answers are fine, maybe even a good thing. Something to work towards answering.

I was with some friends from work. We ended up there because we wanted cheap drinks and someone had suggested the bar. Once there, once a bit drunk of their shot specials, Dan wanted to play stuff on the jukebox. I went over to look at the choices within him and became overwhelmed by the memory of that day nearly a decade ago when I first head that Talking Heads song on this jukebox. I wanted to see if they still had it. Magically, it was still on the jukebox. We played it and I occupied a moment in the same point on a circle I had some many years ago, unsure of where I was in the world, but made just a little less unsure by the comforting wisdom of David Byrne.

"I am just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two"