Someone Saved My Life Tonight

I am listening to Elton John, mildly stoned, but enough so to really enjoy this music in such an intense manner, an emotional one, got home from Phoneix, where I had a couple drinks while talking to Matt, and once here, this new, odd home that I already dream of moving out of into someplace by my \self, in this place, I scrounged around on my dresser for any remaining bits of weed, any crumbs, and gathered enough, my stash empty for a week or so now, to get stoned, stoned enough to listen to Elton John and enjoy it in such a fantastic way and to even feel whatever it is I need to feel to type on these keys, to write on my keyboard, to try to get at something, or at least to document it, attempt to, this little life of mine, short and hopefully sweet, and god oh man, god - I am alive, and there are sometimes when I feel that in a way that I don't that often these days and right now is one of those times and this music is certainly helping me feel that way, helping me feel alive!

But the truth is so much more layered and more contradictory, more gray than the bright blue optimism of the preceding declaration about my aliveness, implying some sort of whoo-hooness, which, you know, honestly at times, probably more so than most people, I do feel, but which to be honest is not a feeling that is constantly present in this little mind of mine, that often there are much sadder feelings, feelings of being pathetic, of not being alive, of being sad about this or that, often some person or other, and feeling quite depressed and wanting to do nothing more than sleep.

And can I contain both of those in a diary entry - joy and sadness - and have the thing make any sense? There is a natural division between tragedy and comedy (look back to the Greeks) and to try to contain both in a work, even a diary entry, often dilutes the emotional power of either, the ability of the reader, you in this case, to get carried away by the work. And what the hell am I talking about again?

I have seen some incredible things lately, among them "9 to 5," followed by Dolly Parton talking to the audience afterward, Justin Bond performing at Joe's Pub, House of Ladosha performing at two venues in Williamsburg, and amazing art shows by Yayoi Kusama and Sophie Calle that are up right now. I am incredibly lucky to be able to experience these things so often because of the place that I live and the circle that I happen to inhabit within these geographic coordinates. Work is going quite well and I imagine I soon might be announcing a promotion here. I interviewed for it last week and am pretty certain I will get it and perhaps if there weren't all sorts of concerns about co-workers or employers stumbling across these things, I might detail these office politics things in more detail, as they are really quite fascinating and full of really rich human dramas, but considering these things and also my luck at having such a well-paying job in what is often described as a bleak economic environment, I will just keep my mouth shut about that and continue on with other topics.

I am maybe friends again with Gabriel. He arrived back in town a week or so ago and I ran into him at a bar and we were friendly and have mostly been since then. We agreed to be friends when first seeing each other, me really missing him a lot, and never really talked about the underlying issues that caused the months of not talking to each other, and maybe that's best, maybe that to try to discuss those things, to discuss hurt feelings, would just lead to further hurt ones and not a friendship. But really who knows because also I am still sort of convinced he hates me, particularly after this redhead and I tried to get him to have a threesome with us. I often think about whether we are meant to be friends, about if we could be, about how really we have to be, should be, and yet it seems so difficult.

This week has also seen some attempt at reconnection with Diego. I hung out with him at his house for a bit last week, me talking to him about my life in a way I haven't been able to in a long while, and me starting to get emotional, honest, me really happy that I had these ears, absent in my life these days really, that I could open myself up to and be really honest with about my insecurities, and then of course he would get a call from his boyfriend, fine except for that his boyfriend got a little crazy pscyho when he heard I was there and started yelling at Diego about what I was doing there, about what I could be there for, all these accusatory questions to Diego, clearly indicating his hatred for me, and all of which I overheard clearly as the two of them were arguing. I got my stuff, headed out the door, and walked home incredibly sad that this person in my life, that these two actually, that I used to be so close to in really special ways that allowed for an emotional honesty I otherwise don't have an outlet for, that the two of them still seem far off, that I need to really work on developing some new friendships of a deep level, but finding it quite difficult to bridge something, to step beyond some polite line.

And Diego and his boyfriend will be at Short Mountain in a week, as will I, and that has me vaguely worried for potential drama that might arise in what I had been looking forward to for months as some sort of spiritual retreat, some time to clear my head, or dirty it, and be something that I am not now, something better.

I don't really know where I am going with this. I am terribly behind on that writing project I mentioned some weeks ago, have (to be totally honest) made no progress on it since those last words written for it, and the goal of finishing it by the end of this month now seems increasingly delusional. If only I didn't love the social life so much, the not being home life so much, that not being alone with my thoughts (or forced to confront my lack thereof) life, I might be able to actually get going on these continually stated goals for my life. Rather I am going to this bar, to that party of a friend, to that show, to this gallery, to here, there, and back again with these limited few hours, continually seeking out the company of a friend, constantly, this neediness I have for friends and companionship and a person always there, someone to kill time with. Thinking a lot lately about what is important in life and less and less sure; sometimes I am convinced to pursue something other than a life hanging out with friends and being constantly stoned is cracked, that everything else is some perverse ambitiousness.

But to be truthful, I am less and less sure of what I writing here tonight, increasingly saying ideas or phrases because I like the way they sound or the force that the argument has in my mind, the ability to stir something, and so for this reason, for a couple, chief among them tiredness, I am going to end these ramblings and head off toward my bed with my headphones where I may play a certain Elton John song on repeat as I drift off to sleep.

spring

This past week has contained a fair amount of things. Spring seems to actually be here today, despite the brief occurrence of snow yesterday and the still often brisk temperatures. I am sitting in the New York Public Library's Rose Reading Room, one of the most beautiful spots in this city to sit at a computer and to think, only complicated by one's own short attention span and the seemingly smallness of my bladder. I came here, it being my day off, and me really trying to get on track with things that I tell myself I would like to do with my life, namely being a writer, but finding it increasingly difficult to write things other than diary entries (thus my presence here today on Livejournal as some way of distracting myself from the project I have actually set out for myself). I have this vision in my mind of a New York travel guide of my erotic imagination and I am having quite some difficulty in getting started with the project, despite it having been in the back of my mind for quite some months. I have a deadline set for myself of the end of April to be done with the major work for the project. The dream is a short little zine with an intro and then descriptions of a bunch of locations tied to my erotic memories. It is quite beautifully conceived in my mind; it is just writing the thing that seems to be quite difficult, the environment, the mood never seeming right for my purposes, me having trouble getting into the groove of stoking the fires of memories, bringing these things back to the surface, perhaps the better time is some gray day early in the morning, or late at night a bit drunk. Right now, however, it is a gorgeous spring day and reflection is the last thing my body, my mind, wants to do. I want to (and I intend to) wander this city, looking at the buds on trees, looking at people, and perhaps going to the thrift store to look at clothes. The project can wait until later today, until the sun goes down, and my mood approaches something close to the mood I should be in for this endeavor.

This past week though, to get at the project of documenting my life, something that has fallen by the wayside and which I need to pick up again as some daily form at least of rendering life and thoughts into words, of getting back in this habit of writing which I have woefully fallen out of, I finally finished 2666. It's massive and messy and beautiful and sometimes boring and frustrating, but entirely worth the effort. There are some sections of the book, particularly early on, that are utterly fantastic. I still believe that Bolano's shorter works, especially stories, are much better than these massive works, but this book is pretty astonishing. I didn't agree with all the hype about The Savage Detectives, not enjoying that book that much, but this one has rightly earned all the praise being thrown at it. That occupied a fair amount of my imagination in past weeks, reading and thinking about the book.

I saw the Koh and Koons exhibition last week, but enjoyed its afterparty at the Eagle far more than the works in the gallery. A couple nights ago, I went to the New Museum opening for "Younger Than Jesus," its afterparty, and then the Metropolitan for karaoke. That night was one of the more fun I have had in a long time, it reminding me a lot of a New York I used to know better before working full time, going from party to party, meeting art fags, drinking free booze, and dancing and singing out of tune. That night was the night in which I resolved to myself that I would from now on spend my days off at the NYPL attempting to write, attempting to make something of myself and this life, not wanting to go to any more openings full of artists who make work, not wanting to be some hanger on to a community of creatives, but rather to be part of this community, to contribute things. And yet, here I am, saying that it's too pretty outside to work, that I want to go outside and play. Always the grasshopper, never the ant.

I am done with hosting that party at Happy Ending, which I am quite relieved about. It was somewhat fun, but it did take up too much of my already limited free time and stressed me out a fair amount trying to get my friends to come out to a bar that I wasn't even that excited about, my memories of Happy Ending not being the best ones, and because one of the other people throwing the party was an obnoxious asshole who I couldn't stand. And so I am free of that, free to wander around from bar to bar if I so choose. The problem with that was a bit like my problem with this library; it was that I felt trapped, that being somewhere from 10pm-4am felt too much like work to me, that I wanted to be there for the fun and not the other stuff, wanted to get drunk and leave with a boy if I could.

And boys. Things have not been going so well with them lately and my confidence has taken a bit of a bruising lately. There is a 19 year old who likes for me to fuck him and that is the extent of our relationship. We will sometimes text when horny, meet up, fuck, and then part ways, no real emotions involved, and probably for the best, because as is it is solely a sexually charged relationship it would probably wither if either of us showed how vulnerable we really are.

I met this boy last week, this beautiful boy, Eli, and he came home with me, spent the night, and the next morning we ate bagels together. It was a really beautiful night, one of the nicest ones I have had in a really long time. We had nice conversation and made plans to hang out again that night, me being kind of insanely into this person I had just met. He didn't end up meeting me that night at Happy Ending and a couple days later, I texted him, saying we should grab drinks soon. Several hours later he responded: "Hey, I'm being good though, little alcohol and no strangers!" An exclamation mark following that no strangers bit. That was a big punch in the gut, making me feel pretty pathetic about having such nice feelings toward this person that thought of me as a stranger.

I have had a huge crush on this guy that works in Room Service, B., and a while ago we had made plans to go out for a drink. It never happened and I gave up on trying, knowing that this person knew I liked them and that if he were interested, he would pursue it. B. has a crush on one of my other co-workers and I got to witness him hitting on this person, K., at Happy Ending. Later, K. told me B. asked him on a date but he wasn't going to go.

At that New Museum afterparty, there was this boy that I really liked, a Luke. Our mutual friend, Bobby, knew I liked him and introduced me to him, him seeming to not take much notice. He was also introduced to my friend Michael, who also knew I really liked this boy and who didn't see why, and of course Luke's eyes lit up when meeting him. Later in the night, the two of them starting making out. Afterwards, Michael said to me, "Why do you think he is attractive? I don't at all." My confidence and heart have been taking a lot of punches lately.

Leaving that party and Michael, who I was annoyed with, I went to Metropolitan, sang "You Can't Hurry Love," talked about Woody Allen with John K., smoked a fair amount of cigarettes, and then left for my house with Richard, it nice to sleep with someone, a friend, and to get off.

The blue sky is calling my name through these large windows and I have to answer.