Sunday, February 27, 2011
leave the heads on
At the liquor store today, I was overwhelmed by the unidentifiable food scents filling the air. I was hungry and it smelled so good, spices my tongue could taste. I asked the Asian woman behind the plexiglass what that smell was, what she was eating, that it smelled so good. She said that she had been eating shrimp. Shrimp with the heads on, she added. Here, they cook it without the heads, she said, but when you cook it with the head it tastes so much better. I left with my bottles of champagne but walked home with more questions, wondering if she ate it with the head on, what it tasted like, whether she made it herself or bought it, if the latter where I could purchase such delicious smelling food, if the former what spices she used, and the nature of home and its relation to food. Conversation is a bit awkward through the plexiglass of liquor stores. It was such a beautiful day to ponder these questions about the heads of shrimp as I walked home, bottles occasionally clinking together.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Days of Presidents and Queens
A lot occurred this weekend. I have had the last few days off of work and am going back tomorrow. In these past few days, I feel like something has lifted. This might be resulting not from this weekend but from a week ago when I got fucked and the few times I have since then, my ass again unclenched, open, things unblocked.
Friday night, I went to go meet up with some current and past co-workers, all good friends, and we reminisced over Texas-sized margaritas and various meat products at Dallas BBQ. It was a lovely evening that really warmed my heart, getting to see these people I really love and who I haven't seen so much since they moved on from this job. There was also a bit of sadness, three of them gone, and two of them still working at this place, me one of them. I want to be doing something else, need to be. I probably need to quit spending all my free time stoned. That would probably help the situation somewhat move in that direction. Walking back to the train from BBQ, I ran into Adam who was going to go hang out with some of the Drag Race girls, including one I have a giant crush on, Carmen Carrera. I got insanely excited when he told me who he was going to see, squealed like a Bieber fan at a Bieber show, and got totally starstruck at even the mention of this person. I was a bit drunk, but also I really, really love this show, and especially Carmen Carrera. Oh man. So imagine how excited I was when Adam told me I should come with him, that he was going to meet them at someone's hotel room and then take them out. The thought just absolutely overwhelmed me - being in the same small room with these people, with Carmen Carrera. I thought about what I was wearing, how I looked, and thought that I could not meet this person while looking so schlubs. I also was due to meet Jacob at Metropolitan for a nightcap. I also was supposed to work at 7 and could not go galavanting out in Chelsea all night with all these fabulous drag queens. No, I had to get on that L train. I made some excuse to Adam, which I already regretted as soon as I said it, but that I was just too nervous, insanely so. So no meetings with the sexy Carmen Carrera yet. Maybe some other opportunity will present itself.
So I went to Metro and once there had too many additional drinks, more than the one nightcap I planned on, that it is so hard for me to leave a crowded bar. There is life and the clinking of voices, a vibrant hum that gives me so much comfort. It is the most comforting part of any party. Even if a party sucks, I can always find a bit of solace in pulling back and listening to the chorus of conversations, an indecipherable noise, a chicken yard full of sound. We took a car home at some point, after feeling the biceps of a friend and being wowed by their size, Popeye proportions.
There was dirty talk about using the cock rings we had yet to put to use and Jacob put his on as soon as we got home. I did too. We got high and then had a blur of endless sex. It was the dirtiest sex we have had in a really long time. It just messy and passionate, the two of us both hungry, the two of us both also fucked up on alcohol and weed, giving in totally to these hungers, letting them be known, moaning whenever we were fed. The cock rings and the alcohol were extending the duration of the sex. It just went on and on, neither of us wanting it to stop. After fucking him forever, tired, I had him fuck me. It was one of those nights where you can't sleep or don't want to because sex seems so much more fun, that demon has taken control of your body and everything else be damed - the only thing of import are erotic thrills.
The next day, having to be at work at 7, needless to say, was a rough one. Coupled with the lack of sleep, the wicked hangover, was the fact that what had been a nearly dead throat infection had again regained strength (probably due to the volume of cigarettes and alcohol consumed the previous night) and not only that but it had spread into my inner ear. I have had swimmer's ear a couple times as a kid (but doesn't every kid?) but had never had an actual ear infection that had spread from the throat. Oh my God. World of fucking pain. I was nearly crying and only holding back because I was at work, but really thought about finding an empty room to go into so I could bury my head into the carpet and cry out this awful pain. I was stretching out my mouth wide, trying to open up my ear passages, shift them, ease this sharp, sharp pain. It was awful and though it went away after an hour and a handful of Advil, it was still a horrible feeling. I went to the doctor that afternoon, basically demanding antibiotics, anything to kill this thing. I was upset that I was back at the doctor since I had gone on Wednesday and the doctor prescribed me nothing except to drink ginger, honey, and lemon tea. And look, I know antibiotics are overprescribed and that their overprescription creates huge problems and questions about public health and superviruses. I know this. Still, give me some fucking antibiotics. This time, I saw a different doctor at the center. I was felt very vindicated when he told me I definitely had an ear infection now and prescribed me antibiotics without me asking for them. I felt annoyed when he told me not to wait a week next time to come in. I explained to him how actually I had come a few days ago and been given nothing but the advice to drink more fucking ginger tea. And great, honestly, I am into all these holistic remedies, but I was so over hippy-dippyness in this moment and so into this man, sexy, gay doctor, and his quickness with his prescription pad, a 10-day regimen of antibiotics, three times a day.
Saturday night, perhaps, needless to say as well, was a quiet one. Tea, marijuana, antibiotics and episodes of The State.
Sunday, Jacob and I went to brunch at Elmo, me wanting to go somewhere really gay. It was. The food was also pretty good. We then walked down to IFC Center to see Kaboom. Once we bought our tickets, we walked to the dog park in Washington Square Park to look at dogs and smoke cigarettes.
The film was a mixed bag. I had an awesome time watching it. It has all of those aspects of an Araki movie that I love. It was actually really fun to watch but the ending sucked so bad that it nearly ruins the eighty or so minutes that preceded it. The ending is so hasty and clean that I begin to wonder what the hell the vision was here, how this could have happened. It could have been so much better is what is frustrating about it. But that said, I still enjoyed it a lot and would gladly re-sit through it again before I would The King's Speech .
After the film, we walked around some more, the weather still quite cold, but nice somehow after those two 60-degrees we had not so long ago, a knowledge that this won't last that long and the sunshine of the day holding more warmth somehow with this knowledge that spring is not too far. We ate some doughnuts at the new Doughnut Plant and then went home. We lied around, ate food, and gathered some energy for nighttime. We went to a slutty underwear party at a bar on Christopher Street. It was dirty, trashy, filthy, and cruisy. I don't remember one song played. I don't remember one good conversation. It was awesome. It was just I wanted at that time. I let this sex monster out and it totally demolished all other parts of my brain, told them all to shut-up, that he was in charge for the night.
Jacob and I both checked our clothes, placing them in a trash bag, our bag's number written on the corner of our chest in Sharpee. I was 70. He was 71. We were both in jockstraps, the cover ten dollars cheaper in jockstraps. We had a drink, and walked through the backroom area once, a bit overwhelmed by it, eager to get back by the bar, not yet ready for that. By the time I had made it the next drink, both of us were ready for that and were back there. I had my dick sucked by a couple dudes, sucked a couple really sexy dicks, and kissed a fellow here or there. There were a large number of creepers as there always are at sex parties, dudes that try to stick their finger up your ass while you are making out with someone else. Who just sticks their finger up someone's ass without even eye contact, without even a hello? I got a little aggressive with some people after this happened far too many times. There was one moment while I was hanging out with some dude, a nice erotic encounter, something there, and I felt someone try to jab their finger up my butt behind me. I whipped around, grabbed a tight hold of his wrist near my ass, and just looked him in the face, older, creepy man, embarrassed that I am actually calling him out on his inappropriate behavior. Even if it is dark and it is a sex party and a lot of people may be touching me, there is still a needed consent, that this blind grabbing is not sexy, that it's aside from really rude, also a bit scary.
But back to the fun stories, two sexy boys came on my stomach. I came a few times throughout the course of the night. Jacob and I talked to this boy I have a crush on about us and his boyfriend sleeping together. I saw lots of sexy things, did quite a few. We got dressed, left the club, and snow was falling, big white chunks of the stuff. I had thought we were done with for the winter. A nice surprise. We hailed a cab and headed home. I spent that night recalling all these images, all these encounters and could barely sleep. I just wanted to jerk off more and more. The next day, yesterday, my penis was sore from all the action it had gotten from some boys but more so from my own hand in the fevered recollections of those boys. It was actually a fever that overcame me. The fever broke finally and the other parts of my brain slowly came out of hiding.
I went to the gym, ate some food, and soon enough Jacob was home from work. One or the other of us mentioned the Lady Gaga concert that was happening. I mentioned that I had looked at how much tickets were on StubHub earlier in the day to see if there were any cheap ones. There weren't. I looked again and there were now much cheaper tickets since the concert was literally at its start time, it 8pm when we were looking at this. Both of us admitted we would love to go and excitedly bought tickets. We quickly got dressed, not even enough time to try to work a look, and called a car to take us to midtown. We picked up the tickets, just missed Scissor Sisters, but were there with time to spare before Gaga's set and we were so excited!
And I know people hate on Gaga, and I would be willing to bet that you are probably one of them (most of my friends are) and sometimes I am one of those people too, but I actually really respect what she is doing. She actually sings in concert, which is sadly very rare for a pop star to do. She writes most of her music. She is really encouraging of oddness, of freaks, of things that deviate from the social norm. She, though it sometimes comes off as patronizing, is unfailing in her support of gay rights. These are all great things to have of a pop star that is loved by millions of teens. Throughout her show, she gave a lot of homilies about loving yourself, about not letting anyone bully you or give you shit. Those are great things to tell anybody, especially teens. And aside from all of these ancillary things, there was the music itself, beautiful, sweaty dance music. I danced pretty much the entire show. All of Madison Square Garden did. It was really beautiful, the insane energy bouncing through the arena. So she's overplayed and she's ripped off this or that artist, but that does not take away from the joy of seeing this woman play a hometown show to insane fans and wear crazy outfits, do choreographed dances, and belt out songs for two hours. She was much saltier than I have ever heard her, dropping f-bomb after f-bomb.
We rode the train home. Today, I slept in. I went over to Diego's house and he cut my hair. I went to Stella Dallas to look for a new shirt. I have been wearing this blue and black plaid shirt every single day since coming back from LA. I even wore it my last days there. Once I bought it, it became the only thing I wanted to wear. I love its large size, its colors, its fit. I have decided that any shirt I wear again needs to be of similar size. All of my other shirts are too tight, too fitted. And so I have been wearing this shirt for the last three weeks or so. I needed to find a new love. I looked through racks and racks of shirts, hoping to find something to displace this shirt in my affections. I failed to find a shirt and went home without purchasing anything.
Friday night, I went to go meet up with some current and past co-workers, all good friends, and we reminisced over Texas-sized margaritas and various meat products at Dallas BBQ. It was a lovely evening that really warmed my heart, getting to see these people I really love and who I haven't seen so much since they moved on from this job. There was also a bit of sadness, three of them gone, and two of them still working at this place, me one of them. I want to be doing something else, need to be. I probably need to quit spending all my free time stoned. That would probably help the situation somewhat move in that direction. Walking back to the train from BBQ, I ran into Adam who was going to go hang out with some of the Drag Race girls, including one I have a giant crush on, Carmen Carrera. I got insanely excited when he told me who he was going to see, squealed like a Bieber fan at a Bieber show, and got totally starstruck at even the mention of this person. I was a bit drunk, but also I really, really love this show, and especially Carmen Carrera. Oh man. So imagine how excited I was when Adam told me I should come with him, that he was going to meet them at someone's hotel room and then take them out. The thought just absolutely overwhelmed me - being in the same small room with these people, with Carmen Carrera. I thought about what I was wearing, how I looked, and thought that I could not meet this person while looking so schlubs. I also was due to meet Jacob at Metropolitan for a nightcap. I also was supposed to work at 7 and could not go galavanting out in Chelsea all night with all these fabulous drag queens. No, I had to get on that L train. I made some excuse to Adam, which I already regretted as soon as I said it, but that I was just too nervous, insanely so. So no meetings with the sexy Carmen Carrera yet. Maybe some other opportunity will present itself.
So I went to Metro and once there had too many additional drinks, more than the one nightcap I planned on, that it is so hard for me to leave a crowded bar. There is life and the clinking of voices, a vibrant hum that gives me so much comfort. It is the most comforting part of any party. Even if a party sucks, I can always find a bit of solace in pulling back and listening to the chorus of conversations, an indecipherable noise, a chicken yard full of sound. We took a car home at some point, after feeling the biceps of a friend and being wowed by their size, Popeye proportions.
There was dirty talk about using the cock rings we had yet to put to use and Jacob put his on as soon as we got home. I did too. We got high and then had a blur of endless sex. It was the dirtiest sex we have had in a really long time. It just messy and passionate, the two of us both hungry, the two of us both also fucked up on alcohol and weed, giving in totally to these hungers, letting them be known, moaning whenever we were fed. The cock rings and the alcohol were extending the duration of the sex. It just went on and on, neither of us wanting it to stop. After fucking him forever, tired, I had him fuck me. It was one of those nights where you can't sleep or don't want to because sex seems so much more fun, that demon has taken control of your body and everything else be damed - the only thing of import are erotic thrills.
The next day, having to be at work at 7, needless to say, was a rough one. Coupled with the lack of sleep, the wicked hangover, was the fact that what had been a nearly dead throat infection had again regained strength (probably due to the volume of cigarettes and alcohol consumed the previous night) and not only that but it had spread into my inner ear. I have had swimmer's ear a couple times as a kid (but doesn't every kid?) but had never had an actual ear infection that had spread from the throat. Oh my God. World of fucking pain. I was nearly crying and only holding back because I was at work, but really thought about finding an empty room to go into so I could bury my head into the carpet and cry out this awful pain. I was stretching out my mouth wide, trying to open up my ear passages, shift them, ease this sharp, sharp pain. It was awful and though it went away after an hour and a handful of Advil, it was still a horrible feeling. I went to the doctor that afternoon, basically demanding antibiotics, anything to kill this thing. I was upset that I was back at the doctor since I had gone on Wednesday and the doctor prescribed me nothing except to drink ginger, honey, and lemon tea. And look, I know antibiotics are overprescribed and that their overprescription creates huge problems and questions about public health and superviruses. I know this. Still, give me some fucking antibiotics. This time, I saw a different doctor at the center. I was felt very vindicated when he told me I definitely had an ear infection now and prescribed me antibiotics without me asking for them. I felt annoyed when he told me not to wait a week next time to come in. I explained to him how actually I had come a few days ago and been given nothing but the advice to drink more fucking ginger tea. And great, honestly, I am into all these holistic remedies, but I was so over hippy-dippyness in this moment and so into this man, sexy, gay doctor, and his quickness with his prescription pad, a 10-day regimen of antibiotics, three times a day.
Saturday night, perhaps, needless to say as well, was a quiet one. Tea, marijuana, antibiotics and episodes of The State.
Sunday, Jacob and I went to brunch at Elmo, me wanting to go somewhere really gay. It was. The food was also pretty good. We then walked down to IFC Center to see Kaboom. Once we bought our tickets, we walked to the dog park in Washington Square Park to look at dogs and smoke cigarettes.
The film was a mixed bag. I had an awesome time watching it. It has all of those aspects of an Araki movie that I love. It was actually really fun to watch but the ending sucked so bad that it nearly ruins the eighty or so minutes that preceded it. The ending is so hasty and clean that I begin to wonder what the hell the vision was here, how this could have happened. It could have been so much better is what is frustrating about it. But that said, I still enjoyed it a lot and would gladly re-sit through it again before I would The King's Speech .
After the film, we walked around some more, the weather still quite cold, but nice somehow after those two 60-degrees we had not so long ago, a knowledge that this won't last that long and the sunshine of the day holding more warmth somehow with this knowledge that spring is not too far. We ate some doughnuts at the new Doughnut Plant and then went home. We lied around, ate food, and gathered some energy for nighttime. We went to a slutty underwear party at a bar on Christopher Street. It was dirty, trashy, filthy, and cruisy. I don't remember one song played. I don't remember one good conversation. It was awesome. It was just I wanted at that time. I let this sex monster out and it totally demolished all other parts of my brain, told them all to shut-up, that he was in charge for the night.
Jacob and I both checked our clothes, placing them in a trash bag, our bag's number written on the corner of our chest in Sharpee. I was 70. He was 71. We were both in jockstraps, the cover ten dollars cheaper in jockstraps. We had a drink, and walked through the backroom area once, a bit overwhelmed by it, eager to get back by the bar, not yet ready for that. By the time I had made it the next drink, both of us were ready for that and were back there. I had my dick sucked by a couple dudes, sucked a couple really sexy dicks, and kissed a fellow here or there. There were a large number of creepers as there always are at sex parties, dudes that try to stick their finger up your ass while you are making out with someone else. Who just sticks their finger up someone's ass without even eye contact, without even a hello? I got a little aggressive with some people after this happened far too many times. There was one moment while I was hanging out with some dude, a nice erotic encounter, something there, and I felt someone try to jab their finger up my butt behind me. I whipped around, grabbed a tight hold of his wrist near my ass, and just looked him in the face, older, creepy man, embarrassed that I am actually calling him out on his inappropriate behavior. Even if it is dark and it is a sex party and a lot of people may be touching me, there is still a needed consent, that this blind grabbing is not sexy, that it's aside from really rude, also a bit scary.
But back to the fun stories, two sexy boys came on my stomach. I came a few times throughout the course of the night. Jacob and I talked to this boy I have a crush on about us and his boyfriend sleeping together. I saw lots of sexy things, did quite a few. We got dressed, left the club, and snow was falling, big white chunks of the stuff. I had thought we were done with for the winter. A nice surprise. We hailed a cab and headed home. I spent that night recalling all these images, all these encounters and could barely sleep. I just wanted to jerk off more and more. The next day, yesterday, my penis was sore from all the action it had gotten from some boys but more so from my own hand in the fevered recollections of those boys. It was actually a fever that overcame me. The fever broke finally and the other parts of my brain slowly came out of hiding.
I went to the gym, ate some food, and soon enough Jacob was home from work. One or the other of us mentioned the Lady Gaga concert that was happening. I mentioned that I had looked at how much tickets were on StubHub earlier in the day to see if there were any cheap ones. There weren't. I looked again and there were now much cheaper tickets since the concert was literally at its start time, it 8pm when we were looking at this. Both of us admitted we would love to go and excitedly bought tickets. We quickly got dressed, not even enough time to try to work a look, and called a car to take us to midtown. We picked up the tickets, just missed Scissor Sisters, but were there with time to spare before Gaga's set and we were so excited!
And I know people hate on Gaga, and I would be willing to bet that you are probably one of them (most of my friends are) and sometimes I am one of those people too, but I actually really respect what she is doing. She actually sings in concert, which is sadly very rare for a pop star to do. She writes most of her music. She is really encouraging of oddness, of freaks, of things that deviate from the social norm. She, though it sometimes comes off as patronizing, is unfailing in her support of gay rights. These are all great things to have of a pop star that is loved by millions of teens. Throughout her show, she gave a lot of homilies about loving yourself, about not letting anyone bully you or give you shit. Those are great things to tell anybody, especially teens. And aside from all of these ancillary things, there was the music itself, beautiful, sweaty dance music. I danced pretty much the entire show. All of Madison Square Garden did. It was really beautiful, the insane energy bouncing through the arena. So she's overplayed and she's ripped off this or that artist, but that does not take away from the joy of seeing this woman play a hometown show to insane fans and wear crazy outfits, do choreographed dances, and belt out songs for two hours. She was much saltier than I have ever heard her, dropping f-bomb after f-bomb.
We rode the train home. Today, I slept in. I went over to Diego's house and he cut my hair. I went to Stella Dallas to look for a new shirt. I have been wearing this blue and black plaid shirt every single day since coming back from LA. I even wore it my last days there. Once I bought it, it became the only thing I wanted to wear. I love its large size, its colors, its fit. I have decided that any shirt I wear again needs to be of similar size. All of my other shirts are too tight, too fitted. And so I have been wearing this shirt for the last three weeks or so. I needed to find a new love. I looked through racks and racks of shirts, hoping to find something to displace this shirt in my affections. I failed to find a shirt and went home without purchasing anything.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
"I feel the earth move under my feet"
I am listening to Carole King's "Tapestry" right now. I should say also, get it out of the way, that I am quite stoned. It is very hard for me to write here. There were intentions to right here and then I put on this music as a soundtrack, something to drown out any other noises, other thoughts, and allow a narrative to take shape, propelled by the ups and downs, so familiar, nearly background music, of this album. But the problem is that this music is too fucking fantastic to be background music, that it dominates and fucking blows my mind with the sincerity of the emotions, the time taken to sing them, the unhurried beautiful folksy melodies, so irony-free, that sound so foreign in today's pop landscape, that music like this now could only come accompanied with a wink.
"If I could only work this life out my way, I would rather spend it being close to you."
And okay maybe there are moments where these lyrics approach the saccharine but the hurt and the humanness with which they are sung break my heart.
I have some throat infection going on, potentially strep throat again for the second time this winter. Doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow when I get off of work. Drag Race is an amazing show. Yesterday was Valentine's Day and also some sort of anniversary in my relationship with Jacob. He says that it's the day we became officially "In a Relationship" on Facebook, and that's probably true, but the cheesiness of the symmetry weirds me out a bit, the sentimental aspect of it oddly - oddly given that I love the sentimental aspect of this album and yet reject any forms that appear in my own life, want to pour cold water on them. Cold water on perceptions of appropriate Valentine's day gifts, trying to reclaim them in a way I can be comfortable with: metal cock ring and leather jockstrap.
I watched Roseanne appear on Oprah while I constructed his card. He was sick and sleeping on our bed in the other room. I had slept til one that day, the both of us fallen to some bug. He made his for me after waking and while I sat on the couch, post-shower, blasting Al Green songs, listening to his feelings on love, also sang with such an intensity of feeling that it breaks me sometimes, brings me close to tears, or actually past their doorstep. Doing so now with this lady, Carole King.
At some point after I had gotten really into this album, some time in mid-college for me, I was playing "Tapestry" while home for the summer, perfect summer music for people under the thrall of outsized crushes, near-romances, what life might turn out to be, and being free during this time in a way I've never been since, going to college, hardly working, hardly having to support myself financially, free instead to indulge these dreams, this romantic life, night and day. I think it was while we were driving that I was playing it, it in my car's CD player, this in that chunk of time when people played compact discs and before MP3s made switching between albums after each song so painless, so easy, and when there would still be the tendency to listen to albums whole again and again. And my mom told me that she used to love this album when she was in college, that it was her favorite album and that she would play the LP over and over.
I got a glimpse of my mom much younger, the sun behind her, those yellowish photos of her I would see of her in old scrapbooks, college age, looking so young and beautiful, the world totally ahead of her. I imagined that girl, my mom, listening to this, knowing that to listen to this stuff you have to be feeling these things, heartaches and incredible love, and I had never realized somehow that my mom was so much like me, that she was my age once, that everyone does this stuff, that though I thought of her in the context of a suburban mom, driving a minivan, she was once in college in the seventies, that she went to a party school in Florida, near the beach, girl from Minnesota, and that she probably cried to this album, thinking about boys she had loved and did still.
So really listening to this album makes it quite hard for me to write, this hardly serving as background music, memories triggered left and right, names of boys, the walk from their dorm to mine and the fresh and new thoughts and sensations I had on those walks of shame, Florida sun, myself fleeing to the Sunshine State for school, and also apparently being moved by this album in much the same way. It was a beautiful parallel when she told me about it, things opening up to me that I had not seen before.
He liked the gift. I was worried. We got dressed and walked over to Fada to have dinner, something about the spectacle of it creeping me out a bit, couples on parade, seeing the awkwardness in the faces of some of the dates, it all a bit unnerving. I had some more to drink and felt more at ease, saw this man across from me, ivy growing on a wall behind him, and realized what it was, that it was sitting here with my man and looking at him and talking and drinking and living. He has fucked me a couple time in the last few days and this is the first time since the summer that I have been fucked, for reasons my own, my normal discomfort with it and the feeling always there that I am about to shit all over the place, but these times I wanted it, made it happen, was quite drunk yes and feeling particularly slutty. We did poppers and I wanted it in further, his dick and its in and out motions mirroring my breaths, in and out, lungs compressing, an intense cycle, feeling of union.
It felt amazing and I am going to make an effort for this to happen more often, be more open, less closed off. And it sounds a bit mumbo jumboish, but I think there is something to it, that getting fucked is a really special thing to do, that it is making yourself really vulnerable, physically receptive, and as a result somehow psychologically also. Sometimes you just need to open that asshole, unclench that sphincter, and let it all go, all that stuff you've been holding tight to. It feels amazing to quit holding on those balloons, to throws those stones in the water.
We took the subway back home, it much colder than when we had walked there. We watched Jersey Shore, took Nyquil, smoked some weed, and had sex. I washed my dick off in our kitchen sink after. We don't have a bathroom one. I wonder what the neighbors across the way think, if they see.
"If I could only work this life out my way, I would rather spend it being close to you."
And okay maybe there are moments where these lyrics approach the saccharine but the hurt and the humanness with which they are sung break my heart.
I have some throat infection going on, potentially strep throat again for the second time this winter. Doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow when I get off of work. Drag Race is an amazing show. Yesterday was Valentine's Day and also some sort of anniversary in my relationship with Jacob. He says that it's the day we became officially "In a Relationship" on Facebook, and that's probably true, but the cheesiness of the symmetry weirds me out a bit, the sentimental aspect of it oddly - oddly given that I love the sentimental aspect of this album and yet reject any forms that appear in my own life, want to pour cold water on them. Cold water on perceptions of appropriate Valentine's day gifts, trying to reclaim them in a way I can be comfortable with: metal cock ring and leather jockstrap.
I watched Roseanne appear on Oprah while I constructed his card. He was sick and sleeping on our bed in the other room. I had slept til one that day, the both of us fallen to some bug. He made his for me after waking and while I sat on the couch, post-shower, blasting Al Green songs, listening to his feelings on love, also sang with such an intensity of feeling that it breaks me sometimes, brings me close to tears, or actually past their doorstep. Doing so now with this lady, Carole King.
At some point after I had gotten really into this album, some time in mid-college for me, I was playing "Tapestry" while home for the summer, perfect summer music for people under the thrall of outsized crushes, near-romances, what life might turn out to be, and being free during this time in a way I've never been since, going to college, hardly working, hardly having to support myself financially, free instead to indulge these dreams, this romantic life, night and day. I think it was while we were driving that I was playing it, it in my car's CD player, this in that chunk of time when people played compact discs and before MP3s made switching between albums after each song so painless, so easy, and when there would still be the tendency to listen to albums whole again and again. And my mom told me that she used to love this album when she was in college, that it was her favorite album and that she would play the LP over and over.
I got a glimpse of my mom much younger, the sun behind her, those yellowish photos of her I would see of her in old scrapbooks, college age, looking so young and beautiful, the world totally ahead of her. I imagined that girl, my mom, listening to this, knowing that to listen to this stuff you have to be feeling these things, heartaches and incredible love, and I had never realized somehow that my mom was so much like me, that she was my age once, that everyone does this stuff, that though I thought of her in the context of a suburban mom, driving a minivan, she was once in college in the seventies, that she went to a party school in Florida, near the beach, girl from Minnesota, and that she probably cried to this album, thinking about boys she had loved and did still.
So really listening to this album makes it quite hard for me to write, this hardly serving as background music, memories triggered left and right, names of boys, the walk from their dorm to mine and the fresh and new thoughts and sensations I had on those walks of shame, Florida sun, myself fleeing to the Sunshine State for school, and also apparently being moved by this album in much the same way. It was a beautiful parallel when she told me about it, things opening up to me that I had not seen before.
He liked the gift. I was worried. We got dressed and walked over to Fada to have dinner, something about the spectacle of it creeping me out a bit, couples on parade, seeing the awkwardness in the faces of some of the dates, it all a bit unnerving. I had some more to drink and felt more at ease, saw this man across from me, ivy growing on a wall behind him, and realized what it was, that it was sitting here with my man and looking at him and talking and drinking and living. He has fucked me a couple time in the last few days and this is the first time since the summer that I have been fucked, for reasons my own, my normal discomfort with it and the feeling always there that I am about to shit all over the place, but these times I wanted it, made it happen, was quite drunk yes and feeling particularly slutty. We did poppers and I wanted it in further, his dick and its in and out motions mirroring my breaths, in and out, lungs compressing, an intense cycle, feeling of union.
It felt amazing and I am going to make an effort for this to happen more often, be more open, less closed off. And it sounds a bit mumbo jumboish, but I think there is something to it, that getting fucked is a really special thing to do, that it is making yourself really vulnerable, physically receptive, and as a result somehow psychologically also. Sometimes you just need to open that asshole, unclench that sphincter, and let it all go, all that stuff you've been holding tight to. It feels amazing to quit holding on those balloons, to throws those stones in the water.
We took the subway back home, it much colder than when we had walked there. We watched Jersey Shore, took Nyquil, smoked some weed, and had sex. I washed my dick off in our kitchen sink after. We don't have a bathroom one. I wonder what the neighbors across the way think, if they see.
Monday, February 14, 2011
happy valentine's day
These photos are from last year, but have never had their Internet debut, but seem appropriate on this day. They are taken by my lovely boyfriend, Jacob.
Friday, February 11, 2011
the rise and fall of the sun on Montrose Avenue
As I walked to work today down Montrose Avenue toward the L station named after the same said road, the sun was coming up over what I have always assumed to be a cement factory off in the distance. It was peaking out, the bright little scribble of red light, thrilling and also maddening to be on the cusp of night and day, thrilling because what a beautiful moment, and yet maddening when you think of how little sleep you just got and how actually insanely early I am up each day, how it might actually be objectively insane to be up so early each day. So you know, there are those competing sensations. This morning, though, the thrilling part of this duel clearly winning. What a beautiful thing it is to witness a new day dawning most mornings. Sunsets have their glory - everyone's always raving about them, and for good reason, however the pleasures of a sunrise are in comparison hardly ever enumerated by people I know. But let just make it clear in case you don't know: They are awesome. They are often the one good thing about waking up so early - getting to see the sky change colors so quickly, our planet spinning and spinning in and out of the reach of the sun's rays, but in this moment that occurs each day, often coinciding with my walk to work, the rays of the that huge Sun out there are just starting to again reach your little spot of Earth. You will for the briefest of moments straddle the border between night and day, a foot in each land, and the pleasure we got from that is a pleasure born from the analogy some back reach of our mind vaguely is feeling out, that this is a small scale version of life, that the fleeting ability to witness that moment, so quickly over, day suddenly brightly here, hints at how quickly our own path is between our rising and our sinking into darkness, that it all happens so fast, that so soon it's over, that it will be over real soon. And we have some temporary relief, despite our existential sickness, because we will at least outlive that sunset and probably the next day's. It really does set one back incredibly to take in these daily things, sunrises and sunsets, that they break my heart sometimes, these red stretches of sky.
After getting off work today, I went to the gym and really experienced that joy that people sometimes talk about in association with exercise. My back was sore but it felt so good to use all these muscles, to stretch all these parts of my body, to feel things tighten up, if even only briefly, in ways that I want them to be tight in all the time. I went to the steam room and jerked off with a guy, older, not necessarily attractive, but I was horny and he kept stroking my dick and I certainly wasn't going to complain given how relaxing and how thrilling it felt at the same time. I rode the subway, did not stop and buy churros even though I normally would done because I was still feeling various muscles on my body tighter than normal. I read about Scientology on the way home and then getting off that subway station, coming out of those stairs, I was again greeted with the sun on the horizon of Montrose Avenue, this time in the opposite direction, heading west. I was seeing the sun rise and the sun set on the same street today. There was something very beautiful about these symmetrical and gorgeous bookends to the start and end of my work day. Change and cycles and rhythms and the march of days. It is somehow already mid-February.
After getting off work today, I went to the gym and really experienced that joy that people sometimes talk about in association with exercise. My back was sore but it felt so good to use all these muscles, to stretch all these parts of my body, to feel things tighten up, if even only briefly, in ways that I want them to be tight in all the time. I went to the steam room and jerked off with a guy, older, not necessarily attractive, but I was horny and he kept stroking my dick and I certainly wasn't going to complain given how relaxing and how thrilling it felt at the same time. I rode the subway, did not stop and buy churros even though I normally would done because I was still feeling various muscles on my body tighter than normal. I read about Scientology on the way home and then getting off that subway station, coming out of those stairs, I was again greeted with the sun on the horizon of Montrose Avenue, this time in the opposite direction, heading west. I was seeing the sun rise and the sun set on the same street today. There was something very beautiful about these symmetrical and gorgeous bookends to the start and end of my work day. Change and cycles and rhythms and the march of days. It is somehow already mid-February.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
los angeles
I am writing this from the Chateau Marmont right now. Jacob is passed out asleep on the bed, not responding to my attempts to wake him up. I am listening to the Cure and I am writing here for five or so minutes before I get more serious about dragging him out of bed and to somewhere in this town to act like a loose floozy. Also, there is a cocktail by my side as I write this. We flew here some three or four days ago, it blurring now, flying here a day early to escape the winter storm that was headed our way. We spent our first night here at his friend's house, sleeping on the floor, cats running around, my eyes itching. We left early the next morning with little sleep, ate some breakfast burritos and went to go walk around near the Hollywood sign, doing the requisite posing for photographs. We went to the La Brea tar pits and then we checked into the Standard Hollywood and then walked around West Hollywood, looking at the gay boys, looking for things to do, food to eat, drinks to drink. We found all of these things at a gay Mexican place, ate bad tacos, drank large margaritas, and scoped the boys walking up and down Santa Monica.
Later that night, we went to Bardot to Mr. Black's, a familiar name from New York, that was actually quite fun. There was this young Keanu lookalike who I was following around the place, making eyes at. Judy Garland's star was nearby. More photo opportunities clearly.
Yesterday, we went to a cute breakfast and then went to the Getty Center, which was a little boring - really beautiful but boring and large and buildings spaced apart for some reason, too close to evoking a suburban office park. A couple of interesting things. Gorgeous views of Los Angeles. We came back to the hotel, rested, and then went to see Men play at Amoeba. There, we ran into Will and chatted with him for a bit. We came back to the hotel and walked to Hamburger Mary's to play some bingo, where I won a huge gift basket full of snacks and wine and chocolate. We had to come back after that to drop off this large basket and that was the end of our night, plans dashed. We passed out easily, abandoning our plans to go here or there.
Today, we woke up, ate another nice breakfast, really the only meals we have been consistently having, this time at Toast. From there, we went to some vintage stores in Los Feliz where I found some really amazing items. And from there, we went to Griffith Park and the Observatory. We then checked into the Chateau, which is insanely beautiful and in which I feel quite out of place, an interloper. We played ping pong near the pool, and then settled into the restaurant to drink some cocktails and eat a burger. We were sitting next to a hip director and a Law and Order star and it was a bit absurd, what a cartoon of LA might be. But more importantly, there was a hummingbird nearby! A hummingbird!
Time to wake Jacob up and maybe have martinis at Bar Marmont before heading in the opposite direction, going to the trashiest gay bar we can find.
Later that night, we went to Bardot to Mr. Black's, a familiar name from New York, that was actually quite fun. There was this young Keanu lookalike who I was following around the place, making eyes at. Judy Garland's star was nearby. More photo opportunities clearly.
Yesterday, we went to a cute breakfast and then went to the Getty Center, which was a little boring - really beautiful but boring and large and buildings spaced apart for some reason, too close to evoking a suburban office park. A couple of interesting things. Gorgeous views of Los Angeles. We came back to the hotel, rested, and then went to see Men play at Amoeba. There, we ran into Will and chatted with him for a bit. We came back to the hotel and walked to Hamburger Mary's to play some bingo, where I won a huge gift basket full of snacks and wine and chocolate. We had to come back after that to drop off this large basket and that was the end of our night, plans dashed. We passed out easily, abandoning our plans to go here or there.
Today, we woke up, ate another nice breakfast, really the only meals we have been consistently having, this time at Toast. From there, we went to some vintage stores in Los Feliz where I found some really amazing items. And from there, we went to Griffith Park and the Observatory. We then checked into the Chateau, which is insanely beautiful and in which I feel quite out of place, an interloper. We played ping pong near the pool, and then settled into the restaurant to drink some cocktails and eat a burger. We were sitting next to a hip director and a Law and Order star and it was a bit absurd, what a cartoon of LA might be. But more importantly, there was a hummingbird nearby! A hummingbird!
Time to wake Jacob up and maybe have martinis at Bar Marmont before heading in the opposite direction, going to the trashiest gay bar we can find.
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