He was beautiful in his sleeveless shirt, nice arms, ones I wanted to touch me in some manner, for me to touch, exposed, and my eyes, hungry things they, could not get enough, and though I like him, his person and company, I feel a bit stunted in his presence, feel as I did a few years ago when I looked and never knew what to say, lacked what they and I sometimes call game. And though this was one person not interested, there were others who were so, but it was this person that held so much of my imagination a couple nights ago. Even after blowing a go-go boy in the basement, still his arms, the sight of them, made me, my confidence, crumble, pretty little things I wanted to touch, to be able to.

This weekend has been an almost unreasonably lovely and fun thing, so much so that it seems as if disaster, something to even the scales, must be around the corner. Until that moment arrives though, I am going to keep on living like these are end times, being in that sun, being on my bike, being here and there, being with friends. I lied on the Christopher Street Piers yesterday with friends, and to be surrounded by hot gay men, perhaps cheesy, but nice to look at still, is such a pleasant feeling, so is the wind that occasionally comes off of the Hudson and cools your skin, tickles the beads of sweat coming out of your body, resting there, as still and immobile as your own heat-drunk body, nearly passed out in the sun and feeling so great, talking about silly things, hands shielding your eyes from the sun, bright warm thing, and there was a water mister at the end of the pier to occasionally step in, cool moisture your skin drinks up so gratefully.

And drunk on whiskey, there was a field trip to the hustler bar, Townhouse, uptown, and it was funny and totally unsuccessful, but yet successful in so many other ways, in the absurdity of the thing and the fun had. A man on piano singing showtunes and people surrounding the piano, resting their drinks on the instrument, and singing, sometimes well, to these songs, doing so happy, seemingly, to me at least, because of the feeling gotten from being part of a chorus of voices, not alone in this world, sharing, by singing, a feeling that there are others, same things as you, singing the same things as you, a chorus of voices to temporarily alleviate, for the song at least, the feeling that you are alone in this large world. I talked to old men, geriatrics, nice though, who thought I was just into older men and were disappointed when the subject of me working came up. I did meet one man and am supposedly going out to dinner this week and having sex with him, and so perhaps not a total failed trip to this bar. The night neared its end, certain lights were turned on, people moved toward the front of the bar, and I watched Nathan and this man make out, made out with them briefly, but kept pulling away to stand there and watch this thing, two pairs of lips moving, doing something simple, pre-historic seeming, with these things on their face, obtaining pleasure by doing so, and you could see it in the closed eyelids, could know that behind those lids were eyes in pleasure.

And this heat wave makes me smell and I love it, and I am going to take this body that produces these odors, so familiar, so old, so part of this earth, and will go in this sun with a book I may or may not read, depending of course on how distracted my mind gets by this life, the sunshine, and of course the sight of people in little clothing.