carrie bradshaw and i

Mark texted me last night, asked if I had dirtied my new sheets yet. I told him that I had not, asked him if he wanted to help me do so. He called me a dirty boy, though it was surely what he wanted to hear with that line of questioning, and then invited me over to his apartment, him having it to himself last night. I met up with him outside his building and saw him walking toward me about a block away. I became nervous and excited, could not believe that this person, someone that I find so cool, so attractive, should like me.

We joked about being awkward last night because we were yet again. We took off our pants to be comfortable and that helped moved things forward. We had sex, and man oh man, I am so attracted to this person, he is sad and funny in a way that I love. I need to really get it down in words, that that is what being a writer is, describing difficult to describe things, and one day when I am not so rushed, one day soon while the crush is still here, like tomorrow (except it's going to be so beautiful outside), I will try to describe the magical qualities that this boy seems to possess in both character and appearance.

Afterwards, after orgasm, as we were falling asleep, I pulled my arm away from him after it felt awkward to spoon him, that I know this boy is weird about touching and sex and I didn't want him to be uncomfortable, didn't want myself to be wondering if he was. He grabbed my arm and wrapped it tighter around him. That was so nice. I relaxed and slept the night pressed against him.

I woke up giddy, kissed him goodbye, and later in the day saw Sex and the City, which was totally amazing in that particular way, and provoked much thinking about boys on my part and friendships here in New York - the movie really being about strong friendships - [redacted]. Anyways, Manohla Dargis (sp?) can stick her thumb up her ass because the movie made me so happy.

And I am go-go dancing at 40C in a couple hours and I am not sure why, but I love dancing and drinking and boys and there I guess is the why.

Mark, the boy I really like, the boy who is close friends with the boy who wants to be my boyfriend, Robert, and who Robert knows I like and the knowledge of which makes him jealous and sad, this boy, this cute, cute boy, Mark, just left my house hurriedly saying, "This feels like a teen movie."

I had invited him to come see Hamlet with me tonight. He couldn't because he had to work. After getting home from the play, around 12:30, I got a text from him asking how it was, and we chatted, or texted as it were, for a bit before I invited him over and he asked which train stop my house was off of. And it was soon after that that he was at my house, but not before, not before, me, your narrator here, protagonist in a teen movie as it were, cleaned my house, trying to make it look nice, changed my shirt, tried to make myself look more attractive, more cool as it were.

He arrived and it was super awkward and he admitted right away, guilty feeling, that he didn't know what he was doing here, that he had been hanging out with Robert at a bar just earlier and had lied to say that he was going home. And I told him that he shouldn't feel bad. We got stoned, probably the mistake that made Mark get weirded out about the mess of the situation. We slightly would touch on the couch with our knees and we both knew what should happen, why he had come over, but both were nervous about breaking some sort of line of acceptability in friendships. I stopped caring about it, the awkwardness being too much, wanting it to end, and I kissed him. And it was so perfect, so nice, and we kissed some more, and I couldn't believe what was happening, that I was kissing this beautiful boy. He makes me so nervous in that type of way that hasn't been felt in a while; the questioning of this person's judgment, this person so otherwise perfect seeming, because they should think you worth their time, that it must just be luck, such great luck. And this boy makes me crazy and giddy and so absurdly shy. He then said that we shouldn't be doing this. We kissed some more. He then again said that we shouldn't be doing this. We kissed more. And then he started to talk about Robert's feeling and how he had to go. I told him that I didn't like Robert and did like him. He again talked about Robert's feelings. I tried to convince him to stay, but he apologized for coming over as he got his bag together, said that joke about this being a teen movie, and left, left me feeling totally heartsick and crazy watching him walk away down my building's staircase, out of the frame.

Dinner and drinks with Adele, Ethan, and Niki last night, a sort of 424 Grand Street reunion. It was really nice. Afterwards, some bar in the East Village - lame. Metropolitan and karaoke. Robert was there. Mark showed up also. Talked to Robert for a bit, nice. Talked to Mark for a bit, also nice. Talked with Robert and a bit weird, talk about what both of us wanted and how they didn't really align. Robert left with some man I presume. I stayed and talked to Mark, eventually convincing him to come sleep over at my house. We got stoned and slept next to each other, him not wanting to do anything. It was really nice and also really frustrating. I like this boy so much and yet he is friends with this other boy. But I am supposed to go on a bike ride soon with him and he makes me really giddy and awkward.

talisman

I am sitting on my roof under a beach umbrella on a pool chair, a cold glass of water by my side, and despite the umbrella shading me and the cool water by my side beads of sweat are making their way down my forehead, every so often enough of them pooling together that I need to wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. The heat of summer seems to be slowly inching upon New York and I dream of certain things in this type of weather.

I just returned yesterday from a weekend in Fire Island. I had gone with Robert and ten or so of his friends, the only one of whom I knew was Mark. It was Robert’s birthday and to celebrate, we rode in a stretch Hummer to the ferry station, blowing through several bottles of champagne and booze on the way. It was a ridiculous start to what would be a ridiculous weekend. The house we were staying in was a park ranger house on Barrett Beach, a mile or so from the Pines, and in an isolated part of the island with no other houses and numerous foxes abound.

One day while I was on the beach, I started chatting with this older gentleman who knew a great deal about the history of Fire Island. He told me that the place we were staying, Barrett Beach, was originally a community called Talisman, and that it had been built in the 1950s to attract the jetsetters. The community never took off though and there were lots of empty houses. The Park Service bought the land and auctioned off the houses. The houses were sold for basically $1 and were floated down the bay to other communities, including the Pines and Cherry Grove. The only house left was made into the park ranger house, and throughout the island, in other communities, the exact same models of homes could be found, all of which originally came from Barrett Beach, the place we were staying. Or so this man said. How much was true I am not sure, but the story has had a hold on me since, that we spent our weekend in the last remaining part of a now dead community, a ghost house of sorts to some fifties ideal of escapism. The setting seemed particularly magical given this information.

From the roof of the house, there were gorgeous views of Fire Island, the bay, and the ocean. It was such a beautiful land and so amazing to think how close it actually is to this city that doesn’t in the slightest resemble that land. In this setting, I had a nice weekend romance with Robert, fooling around with him in various places, touching him a lot, and kissing him. It was really pleasant and sparked some thoughts that I am now thinking about in this weather and on this roof, thoughts about boys and what role I want them to play in my life, about exactly what it is I want from another person, and how to go about that. He is just getting out of a relationship and so I feel a bit weird sometimes about his motivations and unsure exactly about what he is seeking.

There was lots of hiking this weekend, it being a bit of a trek between our house and various populated parts of the island. I drank quite a bit and was stoned quite a bit, danced some, saw some amazing dancing, i.e. Mark’s unhinged flailing about at Cherry’s, and watched friends sing karaoke quite beautifully at that same bar. We ended up at that bar after being kicked out of the Ice Palace, Renee and Robert having pushed each other into the pool you weren’t supposed to go into. We also went to the Sip N’ Twirl later in the evening and there I ran into the client who things turned romantic with, and that was incredibly awkward, even more so because I was incredibly stoned, and he asked me why I had never called, and I said because it would have been weird, too weird for me to deal with.

I ran into him again the next day on the beach and he was quite cold when I tried to be friendly with him. And there were so many other men on the beach, so many beautiful men, and Fire Island is such a weird place.

That same man who told me this history of Barrett Beach also told Renee and I about some party with free booze. We found ourselves there, obviously. There was also free food. We consumed both, getting fairly wasted, and there met some man with a hot tub, something I had been seeking all weekend, and we followed him up to his absurdly fancy house on the bay, sat in his hot tub, drank more, got stoned, and then fled when his attempts at putting the moves on me became a little too intense.

And now I am back from that. And what does it mean to be in the same type of weather in a different setting, away from sand? How is a certain type of mood, that of being at the beach, induced mainly in one particular setting, and how I can translate that to this city, to New York? I have been thinking about this question, though asked in different forms, ever since coming back from Short Mountain – the question of how I can sustain a certain type of mood, a certain relaxation, in this city where there are so many demands on my time seemingly, this or that thing that I should go to with this or that person, and worries about money, about making some, household concerns and all the rest.

It is a difficult thing to do, to create a leisurely pace here and to move according to your own whims, but I am slowly working my way in that direction and am happy about that.

fire island

I went over to Robert's house this evening. We drank Coors Light in his living room and he smoked cigarettes nonstop and I thought to myself that I would feel really good tomorrow if I could have gone three days without smoking (aside from two drags on someone else's cigarette yesterday). After hearing that Ethan had quit and having been wanting to for a while, I threw my pack of cigarettes at the bus station in Atlantic City, leaving that habit behind in Jersey. And Robert smoked cigarette after cigarette, and my hands were ready to do the same. Instead, they touched him. We sat there in his quiet living room and I asked him a lot about his life, hearing his story. He played me some sad songs on his computer and grabbed my crotch a lot.

After we had sex in his bed, we cuddled for a bit. He asked if I ever felt lonely. And I paused for a long while, thinking about what that meant, and answered not really, too busy occupying myself with distraction to feel the thing, but probably doing so to mask it, that it is still there. And now I see that, believe that, but then I just said "not really," and asked him if he did. All the time, he said.

He fell asleep next to me and I headed home, needing to take out my contacts. At home, I read his blog, him writing today about how much he misses his ex-boyfriend. He is sad and sweet and looking for something. I really like him a lot and am sad that things probably won't work out, despite a mutual attraction. I am aware that there is another boy on his mind and that I am a distraction from that. There also are conversational and sexual mismatches between us, minor though they are, that seem as if they could become annoying soon enough. I don't know. I am very confused about many things these days, mainly though my relationships and interactions with the human race, all of them sort of fraying at this point, me seeing severe faults of character and falseness in just about everyone I know and as a result me probably being not as nice as I could/should be. I am not sure what I am interested in pursuing. I know, however, that I am tired and that my bed is next to me and that I am going to lie in it.

The Anatomy Lesson

I woke up early this morning and did some typing for work. It was raining from when I woke up to just recently and the rain was nice, allowed for the emergence of a mood, of a sort of calm. In this rain, with the umbrella that the john left behind in my apartment when he stayed over, an umbrella that is probably mine for good now since I don't think I will see the guy again, I went uptown to the East Side Club where I got tested for STDs. As of three months ago, I was HIV negative, which was a relief to hear, and I should receive the results from my other tests in a couple weeks. I read Robert's script, wrote some emails, and finished Philip Roth's The Anatomy Lesson. I had the read the book before and only realized this about halfway through it. I didn't remember it at all, only would recognize it as something previously read when I came across certain sentences that I thought eloquent then and remembered having liked them.

Tomorrow, I am going to wake up early and do some typing for myself. Then some other tasks, gym and laundry among them, and maybe even some sewing. I am going to Fire Island on Friday for the weekend with Robert and his friends and that has me excited about the upcoming days.

Atlantic City

There was a strung out woman in the last row of the Greyhound Bus, white lady of the type you don't encounter much in New York City, though in my pasts, in Virgina and Florida, encountered plenty. She was asking everyone that came out of the bathroom, including Niki and I, how much longer until we arrived in Atlantic City, a kid in the backseat with their Are we their yets. And she would follow that question by disclosing unasked for information, a type of talk that I don't understand, talking about how she just did the AIDS walk, about her kid, divulging an excess of information, none of it particularly interesting, and it's a type of chattiness where I don't get what the motive is, but which seems to occur with seemingly crazy people, them and also with people who I guess/assume have some sort of drug problem.

I didn't know how long and she didn't seem to believe me, asked how many times I had ridden this bus before, and how long it seemed then. And there are questions with answers to them and how much longer a trip should take is certainly one of those. There are also questions without answers and about those I pondered as we passed industrial New Jersey right outside of Manhattan and then the state's wooded parts and then its marshes and waterways, it all beautiful in distinct ways and in the same way, that general beauty, a place's ability to provoke something in you. Pasts were evoked, past car rides, those as a kid, driving through similar scenery and on this journey, this time past decaying industry I wondered what happened to those past car rides, to that person who looked out the window then. There were questions and thoughts picked at then and they don't seem to have changed and still don't seem to have answers.

The bus pulled up to Showboat. We collected our casino cash and made our way in the rain all the way to the other end of the boardwalk, to the Tropicana, where we had found some incredibly cheap travel deal. A bit put out by the rain, by the long walk, by Niki slipping all over the boardwalk, by a general exhaustion, we collapsed on to our bed, took in the view of the city, a bit sad looking, and the ocean, looking like the ocean always does, expansive in an incredibly quieting way because there is not much to say in the face of such vastness, water stretching back to the end of your line of vision.

We had some cocktails with the bottle of Boca Chica, ten dollars for a giant thing, that we had bought back in Bushwick, went swimming, and then sat in the hot tub, starting to feel like we had hoped to, why we had ventured to this city on the Jersey coast in the first place, to feel relaxed, and despite the gray rain, the shuttered boardwalk, and other things, we were feeling nice, relaxed. We then went to go see a revue show entitled "Best of Broadway," in which they performed a bunch of Broadway songs, mainly Andrew Lloyd Weber and Disney stuff. It was kind of bad, kind of good, but decontextualized from their original plays and performed one after the next, the songs began to annoy me, as did the performances and staging, which didn't measure up to New York standards, but being a casino show, one probably shouldn't expect too much. For what it was, it was good.

We were then ready for another attempt at the buffets of Atlantic City, having researched beforehand where the best cheap buffet was - the Hilton for $10 we learned. However, when we got there, the buffet was already closed, as were all the other buffets. We were a bit wasted by this point thanks to the Boca Chica. Niki fell hard on to the boardwalk, it still slick from the rain and her shoes having no traction. Rather than walk further and her fall more, we stayed in our hotel, eating at Hooters, which was only mildly absurd and actually just what I wanted - fried food and beer. The fall seemingly made Niki even more drunk and she was a total mess at Hooters, spending an hour and a half tearing apart crab legs, spilling butter, her face covered in butter and crab goo and she tore at crab legs with her teeth. It was such an absurd sight to behold.

Finally, we left the dude restaurant and played some slots, consumed a lot more drinks provided by the roving cocktail waitresses trying to make us stupid and bet all of our money. Instead, Niki ended up going up to the room to pass out and I hopped in a cab and went to the West Side Bar, the one gay club in Atlantic City, a slightly sad bar a couple miles from the casinos. Right before I went in to the bar, some man, another person I assumed to have a drug problem, seemingly strung out, was carrying around a black case, and asked me if I wanted to buy it, its contents containing a beard and mustache trimmer. And it felt like performance art, like something that surely must have some symbolism, because who, really who, would purchase a beard trimmer at one in the morning on some lonely street outside a divey gay bar?

It was Latin Night and the place was a small town gay bar, taking in all the gays, a wide range of ages, body types, and ethnicities, though mainly black and Latino, it being Latin Night. I danced a lot, talked to some folks, none of whom seemed to particularly like Atlantic City or their gay bar, but sort of resigned to it. There was a Spanish drag show, which was interesting, and the entire night and most of the songs and mic talk being in Spanish made me really excited about Mexico and led to thoughts about my own ethnicity and my own identity, about how in New York, I spend too much time with white people, in bars that mainly attract white people, and that I need to be more adventurous and spend some time in some other scenes.

Outside, waiting for a cab to take me back to the Tropicana, I started chatting with three guys, who it turns out were in the Broadway revue show I had watched earlier in the evening. I talked to them about their lives, they all being from Canada and part of this troupe that travels here to perform for a few weeks at a time. Their lives fascinated me, as did the symmetry that seemed to be provided with meeting these people I had seen perform as lions, Greasers, and even the phantom of the opera himself earlier in the evening. We shared a cab back to the hotel and I passed out in my bed, enjoying the comfort of a mattress, something a little more touchy feely than a futon.

We ate at a buffet this morning, played more slots, played some skee-ball, and got on a bus back to this city, to New York. And the weather was a bit sunnier today than on the trip down here and things looked slightly different and yet looked the same as they did on drives from years ago in completely different locations, different states. There were these landscapes by the side of the road and the question of what exactly the dimensions of the frame were, whether there even was one, consumed me yet again.

Spring is here. Something about birds and bees, and the other day seeing couples making out in the park, I knew that that was connected to these newly green trees.

After watching the dance parade and hanging out in Tompkins Square Park, I took the subway home with Bri. On the subway, I ran into Robert - one-half of the couple I was supposed to have a threesome with. He told me that he had broken up for good with Michael last night and told me a bit about the theatrics of it. He also invited me over to his house for coffee. I suggested beer instead. We drank beers on his bed in our underwear. Robert is really charming, really attractive, and is someone I would like to be making out with regularly. Obviously, I feel a bit weird about having hooked up with him so soon after he broke up with Michael, who I had originally tried to hook up with. And certainly I am aware that maybe he wanted to beat Michael to the punch, that maybe he just wanted some validation, or that maybe he just wanted to wash away bad memories with some fucking, but really it did not seem to be that at all. It was incredibly tender and playful, was mostly hanging out like little boys talking about life and Brooklyn and art, grabbing each other's body parts just to hold them, not to initiate sexual activity.

The john from last night is pretty much washed out of my system. I just feel too weird about him and the circumstances and our strikingly different lives to pursue it. This with Robert was closer to what I wanted, someone that felt more like a peer, someone who writes and talked about it, someone who lives a few blocks from me.

He invited me to go with him and his friends to Fire Island with them next weekend, as he is going to have a house for the weekend and is getting a limo to drive them there (it being his birthday also). I am pretty certain I am going to take him on this offer. I really like Robert and am excited about having a sleepover with him in a couple of days. He is sweet and sexual and grabby and I am little smitten.

So I saw that guy again, the really hot john who I have lots of sexual chemistry with, saw him again for money. And from my entrance into his apartment, the lines normally dividing me from them, a certain dynamic and a certain acting of roles, was not there. We sat on his fancy couch in his well decorated apartment and had a cocktail, talking about the good and bad things of our past week, of our lives, and went on to a second cocktail. He was playing Belle & Sebastian. That helped cement my attraction, his playing it, allowing me to know he listens to it. It was a signifier I understood, that this person was decent, probably even good, and definitely cute.

We had sex to Cyndi Lauper's She's So Unusual. My choice. The first song on that album, appropriately enough, awkwardly enough, is "Money Changes Everything." The sex was again steamy and amazing, really fantastic. He eventually changed it to Madonna's new album, my choice most definitely not a good sex soundtrack.

We had another cocktail on his couch afterwards. He paid me. We looked at pictures of people on his laptop and talked more. I ended up going with him to Star Lounge in Chelsea, where for whatever reason I had been thinking of going and where he was heading to meet friends. I couldn't keep my hands off of him, kept grabbing him, making out with him. We drank more, did some coke, and made out more, looking at each other in this way where we both found each other cute, likable, and yet would shy away from those looks, knowing that that would be weird. Eventually, we admitted to how weird it was and I confessed that I am really attracted to him. He admitted as much also. I told him that I probably couldn't see him for money anymore but that I wanted to hang out with him more. We made out some more, the sexual chemistry and this awkward situation, tension with roles, making things so full of spark.

He came with me to a house party in Bushwick and then to my apartment. I felt a little awkward, a little scummy when he was in my apartment, aware of how it must have looked to him, to be far away from his home of Chelsea in rough Bushwick and to be in my apartment, which compared to his which I had just been in is a total shithole. I saw the scrappy futon and my sheets with cum stains on it through fresh eyes, was worried that he hated it. But he didn't, or at least didn't say so, and we went it at again, sleeping next to each other, and he left early this morning, and it was a bit awkward, both of us mentioning the weirdness of the situation in which we were both participants.

When I got home from doing errands, from again picking up a transcription foot pedal from work, I read the news about California, and cheered, felt great, that the we I am a part of had won something good, gay marriage. I thought back to years past, to Queer Fist, my being part of that, and the group's opposition to gay marriage, and regretted my views at that time. Not that I am planning on getting married, but it is justice and it is right, and I am really happy about this ruling. I only wish that the ruling would have happened in late November, that the issue of gay marriage is now going to be a campaign issue yet again. I felt something similar when Bowers vs. Hardwick was overturned a couple of years ago - a weird sort of joy, feeling as if wrongs were being righted, feeling that the system of American democracy is capable of fulfilling its promises, that the separation of powers and an independent judiciary are such beautiful things.

The weather is lovely again today. I am working at the theater again tonight and then tomorrow for that business magazine. Diego asked if I would be interested in going to New Orleans and I have been daydreaming about that for a bit today, though my schedule is probably too tight to go as I need to be saving money for my trip to Mexico in six weeks. I got into a confrontation with the person who runs my neighborhood park today finally, after being inconvenienced too many times by their failure to open all the corners of the park, often making me backtrack my route and adding several blocks to my trip to the subway station. She was outrageously hostile and defensive, told me that the gates have not often been locked as of late, disputing my claim, and when I pointed to their being locked now, all but one of the entrances, she said that she was busy doing paperwork and hadn't gotten around to it, this at noon. Apparently, I am dumb for thinking that a park should be open first thing in the morning to its surrounding neighborhood. Her surliness and disputation of facts led to me calling the city, which took my complaint. As I was calling to complain, after getting the park lady's name, they finally got around to opening up the park.

Even that did not spoil my mood. If anything, it made me feel better, that an issue that had been bugging me and really inconveniencing many people had been addressed. Kids have been hopping over the closed gates to exit, which are high and spiked at the top, definitely dangerous, and it was just so fucking maddening that anyone should have to either do that or walk two blocks over and then two blocks back again just to exit the park. But, yes, there is the weather, the park gates are now open, I have an interesting job to go to tonight, I am going to Atlantic City in a couple of days, things with boys are going well, there is good news on the other side of the country, and things could hardly be better.

The absence from NY of the people I had spent most of my time with, Ben and Gabriel, has enabled some really nice experiences. I have been seeing people that I hadn't seen much of and have been spending time alone walking places and by doing so running into people from my past or new people, people I want to be in my future. This past week continues to shock me with how many people I have been reestablishing ties with. On the train ride home just now, having to wait ten minutes at 3rd Avenue, I ran into Alex, this boy I saw a couple of times from Manhunt and who I had really tender moments with before things got awkward for some reason. It was really nice to see him again and we talked and smiled a lot at each other, both seemingly enchanted by the other despite not wanting to be, or knowing that that had already happened and shouldn't again. There were lots of cute smiles and lots of laughter and lots of talk. I talked and talked, pent up stuff coming out, since I had spent the previous seven hours in a theater talking very little.

Today, I was the assistant stage manager for a dance show at La Mama, which, you know, is kind of weird since I haven't done any stagehand work before. I was asked an hour beforehand by Matt if I could help them out today and tomorrow for little pay. I agreed just for the experience. It was a really fun day and nice to see these dance pieces worked on from a couple of angles. Everyone there was insanely nice - and lately everyone seems to be, maybe it's Spring or maybe it's the attitude that I am bringing to them, but as of late everyone's eyes in this city shine with kindness. There were some really cute male dancers, most of the pieces are really good, and so my eyes and brain were full of beautiful things. That much time observing dance allowed me to really take it in, to become affected by it, and see the life of it. I am a bit nervous as today was just a run-through and tomorrow is an actual show that I will be trying to help run smoothly. But I feel really lucky lately, this show just one part of it, getting to experience it, taste it briefly before the job becomes tedious, to see what is involved in helping run a stage. And what hat will I want to put on two days from now?

The guy that I saw last night was more proof of luck. He was someone that I would be attracted to at a bar, would be my crush there that I would observe all night before finally, when he was alone, going up to talk to him. I was really nervous when I first entered his apartment, felt that he was too cute, and was a bit shy and awkward. The sex was really amazing and I am sure he knew that I was loving it also, and that I would probably have been there even if I wasn't getting paid, and today in an e-mail he put that question to me, saying it was really hot and he wants to get together again but doesn't want to pay for it. And to delicately respond to this email without totally offending him or conceding to his wishes was a tricky feat, but I played it cooler than I am actually feeling and told him that I would only do it for money, and we'll see what happens. I think I may be becoming too nice for this job, this line of work, that with another guy I have seen also recently, lines are becoming too blurry, lines between business and friendship. I need to work on this and not look people so kindly in the eyes, not connect with them and make them forget the business dynamic that should be occurring, to keep my eyes that want to love other eyes averted for the hour I am there, to play it more cool, more distant.

I have resolved to write something by this Tuesday to share with Ethan and I like that deadline, that that will help me crack the whip on myself a little. Time management is going to have to be put into effect since there is still a day of work, friends coming back into town, and me leaving town for a couple days, going to Atlantic City with Niki for Sunday night, having found a crazy cheap travel deal, and maybe my luck will extend past state lines, that things will come up all cherries, or all shamrocks, or all unicorns, or whatever crazy things are on the nickel slots that I will be playing between enjoying smoking indoors and chasing down the cocktail waitresses for some free drinks.

Again, here I am at my computer with things I want to recount and a tiredness preventing me from doing so. I did a lot of editing work over the past couple of days, went to yoga for the first time in a while, which felt great and which I need to get back into the habit of doing. Last night, Metropolitan with Clay and Niki. Went home with some boy, house painter, 20 years old, big, manly - name possibly Alex, Felix, or Max. An X is involved I believe. Funny sex with docking, an attempt at piss drinking, and lots of dick sucking. I left after and came home super late, woke up not too many hours after and went in to drop off something at work. Found my way to Central Park, found my way to the Rambles, and messed around with someone in the bushes there, the Bethesda Fountain in view, right across the water. Superheroes fashion exhibit at the Met with Ethan. Terrible text accompanying the exhibition - terrible academic pomo jargon, confident that it was saying something yet saying nothing except what a tool the writer was. Back to the Rambles with Ethan. Sitting by the pond, smoking cigarettes, talking, throwing pebbles into the water. A trip to QT to sit in the steamroom, play in the pool, and eat oranges. Dinner ate at home before being called out to Chelsea for sex work with a really sexy man, the encounter way too hot for it to be work, me wondering why this man was calling me. NY Review of Books read on train until I fell alseep somewhere underneath the East River on the slow L train, waking up at my stop, and finding myself here and ready for bed and listing things because I wanted to poeticize them but found myself too tired, too desirous of sleep and the comforts my bed only feet away promise, and because of these things, instead here they are listed, these days, these happy days of change.

These days are containing more and more. A lot occurred over these past couple of days and to attempt to transcribe those moments, so many of them, would require too much from me right now, particularly so since I have just spent the last five hours transcribing the moments of other people, transcribing a panel discussion on the utility industry. And out of necessity and my desire to actually get some sleep tonight, this will be briefer than I would otherwise like and certain moments that perhaps had I had hours to sit here and write might have been included most certainly will not. I cannot for this reason go into detail about the feelings I felt last night when this mildly creepy person gave me coke and kept on asking me to kiss him on the cheek, how he was tainted, old and trying to be young, mentioning his youth at a couple points and really looking too old to me, too old and yet to stupid to be as old as he looked.

And, really, so what? So what if certain moments are not documented here, this my substitute memory since my real one so rarely works? The moments were lived and certainly aren't any less lived for not being recorded.

Yesterday, Niki and I painted our house this lovely shade of purple. We did this as we drank forties of beer and blasted classic rock. It was really beautiful and made me like both Niki and this house in a very sentimental way. Also while painting, drunk on beer and classic rock blaring, I thought to myself that I would paint for any of my friends their apartments so long as this was the setup: beer by my side, nice old classic rock tunes in my ears.

After cleaning ourselves and our floors of paint drips, we went to Long Island City to the new Deitch space for the Assume Vivid Astro Focus opening. The space was psychedelic insanity, a massive warehouse space given over to bright colors and madness and balloons. There were noise bands, lots of booze, an amazing view of Manhattan, and so many nice people to talk to, to have connections with. From there, I went to Family for Bob's graduation party and on the way ran into Evan. Blah, blah, blah - this I did this, then this listing of items surely boring, but I am running on empty - and running into Evan was lovely and I dragged him to 40C with us and chatted to him a bunch there and on the streets, this old crush from the Strand, possibly a current crush, but the dynamics having changed, him actually being interested in conversation with me, perhaps me playing it a bit cooler than in days of old, and the two of us talking about Gogol, Rimbaud, Dylan, Wojanrowicz, and Whitman, and other things, yes, but still! Comparing this chat with most of the others from that bar (actually from most anywhere), what a treat to talk about such things, to talk to someone who reads!

He left. I talked to a bunch of other people, none of whom had heard of Bushwick, or if they had did not know where it was, and maybe that doesn't seem like much, but it seemed like everything to me then, seemed like the clearest indication of what type of people I was dealing with.

A boy, Paul, cute brown eyes. Went home with him after him being a bit of a dick to me. See earlier referenced cute brown eyes for reason why. He was weird. Claimed to have never drank tap water. Seemingly true given his weirdness. Also had AC on on a chilly night and lots of shoes in his closet in boxes. Despite him saying he just wanted to hang out, he started sucking on my dick, something I surely did not mind, comfy as I was in his bed, it a bit colder than I would have liked, excited about cumming and sleeping in such a nice bed. His phone rang and then doorbell rang and he freaked out and told me I had to get dressed. He was out front for a bit while I laid underneath his covers ready to fall asleep, exhausted from a long day, and made all the more excited about sleep by this fancy bed, so comfortable. He came back, told me he was in a relationship, and that I couldn't stay. This I did mind. I felt like shit, was really unexcited about trekking home on the fucked up L at four something in the morning, had been so excited about sleeping in this bed, and these are the type of people that do not know what Bushwick is, that have never drank tap water, and that even though only 22 used to (yes, past tense for a 22 year old) own a tanning salon.

I left, called Diego, who had just gotten home, and who told me I could come over. He was a bit drunk and so a bit more honest than usual and told me things he had been thinking about, about how I don't treat him nicely, or haven't been lately. And we cuddled in his twin-sized bed, hugging each other as we faded into sleep. This morning, woke up and had sex I really enjoyed, enjoyed even more because my affection for this boy had been heightened by the night sleeping with him and his sweetness. He is really special and I was really happy for him in my life today.

Niki and I did more cleaning this morning, this day, ate some Mexican food, and listened to more classic rock. There was all this transcribing I had to do, and now there is this sleep ahead of me and beyond that days and days and nights.

Last night, I went to a meeting of sex workers. Most were female doms, but still it felt good to be making connections with people, getting involved in more scenes here in New York. My time in Tennessee was amazing and I am going to create such an environment for myself here in this city, am going to extend myself and my time. It is so easy to plop yourself down in situations with strangers, necessary, and I am determined to do as much of this as possible, that this is the best way to meet new people. I am really excited about things right now. I even wrote for a bit today, which hasn't happened in months.

I spent my daytime with Diego walking around Manhattan with him and various dogs, him doing someone's dogwalking duties this week. We sat on the East River and talked about life in this city, about our comfort here and the thing tied to our comfort, a desire for discomfort, for something new, a bit of change, and how to go about making that occur. He was wearing flip-flops today. This meant something to me.

Having been sleeping with him since November, I have never once seen his feet, him always having socks on in bed. It was something that always bugged me, but it seemed as though too much time had gone by to mention it, that surely there must have been a reason his feet were always covered, that maybe it would make him uncomfortable to mention it. It had become a generalized symbol to me of his inaccessibility, of him hiding something, keeping something back. I had outlined in my head several times while thinking about it a short story about the situation and about the significance these never exposed feet would have in the interactions between these two characters, between fictional Diego and fictional I.

And so it was a really nice sight to see him in flip-flops today, to see his feet. Three dogs were walked. They went from bigger to smaller. The last dog was old and barely alive, blind and deaf and walked with pain on its hips, dripping shit out of its ass. It was a sad sight to see, the elderly dog.

Afterwards, he invited me up to his apartment for a glass of Crystal Light. I drank some of the sweet stuff and then fell into bed with Diego, made out with him, clothes coming off, dicks being sucked, jizz being shot, and a feeling of closeness, of affection, being reestablished.

Tomorrow, I go back to work editing transcripts and to other things. The night air, a bit chilly, but only so slightly, feels so good breezing in through my kitchen window, Gillian Welch the soundtrack to the breeze, to this night, to these sentiments.

short mountain

I spent the last week in the mountains of Tennessee at Short Mountain for Beltane with a bunch of radical faeries. It was amazing. I had a really beautiful time, spent most of my time there stoned, and because of that (or perhaps in spite of that) had really beautiful encounters with people from all over and with the woods and for a brief moment with a one Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson. The experience far exceeded any expectations I had set for it and I am a different person right now and really hope that I can hold on to this mental state that I am occupying for a while. I want to somehow convey my experiences there but a week is a lot to compress and I am starting work again tomorrow morning again at the Wall Street Transcript and so should not try to say all, whatever that may even be, and so in brief:

Chinatown bus to Nashville, fifteen hours, half-filled, only non-Asian person on bus, slept intermittently the way there, seat uncomfortable. Arrived at airport and ran into some other people who were obviously going to the gathering and waiting for a ride out to Short Mountain, all of these boys very nice, and already I was having what would occur for the entire trip - really pleasant encounters with strangers, being open and warm and unarmed with attitude. One of these boys was Evan, a really cute boy who laughs in a way that reminds me of Kit, who acts a bit like him in other ways. I was drawn to him right off. Nice semi-romantic moments would occur with him later with him commenting on a purple bow tie I had fashioned for myself from ribbons from last year's maypole, how I was a present for someone to unwrap, and me asking for who. Fast forward a few hours later to me complaining about the bowtie itching and how I was going to take it off, and him asking if he could untie it, me exchanging looks with him to see if he was aware of the implications of him untying/unwrapping the thing. He was. He untied it and we made out, something I had been wanting to do since I saw him at the airport.

Most other interactions, sexual ones, were not like this, were not fraught with what ifs and maybe, but just occurred. Lots of physical affection that easily bled into making out, massage, or dick sucking, all of it quite lovely and liberating, the ease with which it occurred and the lack of stigma or drama attached to the thing, just a nice, pleasant getting off with nice, pleasant people.

The only other extended flirtation was with this boy Brandon from San Francisco. He was really cute in a familiar way also, reminding me of someone so specific, someone I have still yet to name, but someone. And after flirting with him a bit for days, we ended up getting stoned in my tent and getting off with each other, the encounter really lovely and something that I still thought about today even while masturbating.

The actual rituals themselves that occurred, the cutting and burning of last year's maypole and the raising of a new one, the offerings (jizz) placed into the hole of the new one - all of that really stirred me also. I got really into the symbolism of the rituals and burned things from last year I wanted to leave behind and thought about things, intentions, I would like to see realized in this next year. I thought about a lot of things there and feel really freed from a lot that had been bugging me, feel also really in love with people and again have interest them in, again have interest in happiness and sincerity and many good things.

And this doesn't say a lot, and it doesn't because I am tired, because I rode a bus back from Nashville for eighteen hours totally packed, because I just split some pitchers of beer with Niki and Ethan in Greenpoint at the Palace, and because also I am not sure how to say these things thought and felt that are experienced outside the realm of language, these really strong feelings, and to convey them via language, am not even sure that would be that beneficial, that I get it now (or think I do) is enough, is all.