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i may get in trouble for saying this, but ... jonno's dad is kinda hot.
had a great time meeting a friend from berlin who found dantewoo.com after watching the documentary on channel four back in june. he pointed out a thread that started on cruisingforsex.com as recounts of old public sex and sex club days, and people just kept adding their stories; some people wishing for the good ole days, others reality checking them that they weren't all good, some guys my age wishing for that age of friendly horniness that seems gone now. it's amazing to me the kind of poignance and intimacy that happens in the most sex-centric of places.
"... meanwhile, a ne'er-do-well undertaker's clerk battles fiancée overload against the twisting background of a neo-realistically observed, pre-Beatles dance hall." sounds right up my alley.
sometimes, even after you gently rebuff someone on gay.com, you check your email right before you shut down and see a message like this:
-----Original Message-----b a c K
Sent: Friday, November 24, 2000 4:03 AM
To: [email protected]
Subject: Fuck me in the morningIf you wake up horny, call ***-****
not necessarily connected, but i'm going to this tonight:
was walking through the greenmarket at union square yesterday with toby. saw an older man, tall, walking like everyone else, but with a long, silver tear running down his face.
went to hear one of my favorite orchestral works last nightverklärte nacht, performed by one of my new favorite orchestrasbrooklyn philharmonic, conducted by one of my old college professor crushes. so strange to see him on stage and remember what power i felt from him before, when i was a lowly second clarinet in the orchestra. i remember rehearsing sibelius' third symphony and him knowing my unimportant part, making thrilling, terrifying eye contact at my cue.
the second piece of the night was der cornet, a setting of rilke's die weise von liebe und tod des cornets christoph rilke ("the lay of the love and death of cornet christophe rilke") by frank martin (1890-1970). from the program notes: "... the surprise, pre-dawn attack of the turks, in which cornet rilke charges bravely, madly into the midst of the enemy, his flag aflame, and thereby loses his life in spectacular fashion."
11. resti got home, slept, woke, had sex with a nice jewish boy (although lately i want it guttural and grunting, and can't figure out how to convey this), and cracked open the book i finally got off back-order from amazon, brutal by pornstar aiden shaw. it's kind of good, actually, really raw and filled with the nihilism of the drug-doing and fucking subculture that i've touched half-ass but never groped/grasped. still, there's a part of that self-destruction that i can't deny romanticizing and pushing myself into at times; sick dreams of being down and out, wondering what it would take to get me in the habit of waking and not knowing where i am or what day it is. immature and privileged and bratty, yeah i know, but it's there.rest! to be a guest for once. not always oneself to supply one's wishes with scanty fare. not always to seize things, enemy-like; for once to let things happen to one and to know: what happens is good. courage too must stretch out for once and at the hem of silken covers turn over on itself. not always to be a soldier.
jesus h. christ. why do people copy designs?
listening to:
i want you
and
you want me
so
why don't we
get together
after the dance.
-marvin gaye, after the dance
the only things that made this day bearable were hanging out at toby's place so that we could distract each other from the election angst, and getting really stoned/hooking up with my tattooed, sexy costa rican buddy [a] around 2am.
meant to put this up sooner.
at any one time, he said, he has notes for or drafts of 50 or 100 poems, yet if some take days or weeks to complete, others take years. "repair" includes a long-line poem, "king," inspired by an incident 30 years earlier after the murder of the rev. dr. martin luther king jr. mr. williams watched two white policemen provoking "a tall, handsome black man, bearded, an artist," as he walked to a memorial service.b a c Kblack man, white man: i can still see us, one standing stricken, the other stalking away;
i can still feel the anger, feel still because it is still in me my helpless despair.
"when it happened, i tried to write a poem about it, and there just wasn't a way to do it," recalled mr. williams, who is known to friends as charlie. "it took me years to figure out, what am i trying to say? a poem can't just be interesting. it has to have some passionate meaning somewhere in it. or it has to create a passion. and until you do that, you haven't got a poem."
-new york times, "american bard in paris stokes poetic home fires"
spent most of yesterday trying to make 2 pages of problems into 20 pages of solutions, with modest success. domenic called at midnight to see if i wanted to hit the cock with them. i did. met him, toby, dommie's boyfriend, and dommie's boyfriend's friends. talked to joe, dommie's boyfriend, about the brahms clarinet sonatas in the middle of the floor, in front of the go-go boy onstage. ran into former blind date who i always see when i go out (why, oh why, is it always the ones that you don't want to run into again); we've learned to avoid eye contact. started watching the perverted cabaret show. felt crotch pressed against my buttthis is nothing new for most anyone at the cock, but it persisted. i glanced behind me and saw a surprisingly handsome, five o'clock-shadowy face attached, so played along. then put my hands behind my back and felt the just-past-his-belly-button, thick-as-not-quite-my-wrist cock jutting up the front of his jeans. my new friend was from brussels, he told me as we headed out (said a quick good night to the boys, who told me the next day that they saw the whole thing). nice guy.
even nicer when he was coaxing it inside me, saying all this shit that just makes me melt. how he was gonna start off slow because of how tight i was, but then fuck my brains out as soon as i could take it. telling me to look into his eyes, take a deep breath, and just give in to him . . . oh papi.
we fucked with me riding on top, we fucked doggy style, we fucked missionary position, at one point with him chewing on my soccer calves as he drove it in. here's the weird thing: he wanted me to smack him across the face. no harm done as long as he didn't get it in his head to reciprocate, so i tried it a few times and it was kinda fun and he rammed me that much harder every time i hit him. my virginal experience with that, not counting spanking-while-screwing. he was off to belgium the next day, but better be e-mailing me the next time he's in town. i didn't even realize he was uncut until we were all finished, it was so hard the whole time.
did i mention how bowlegged i am today? today, attended jami's birthday brunch and it was fun fun fun fun fun. there was dori telling me about her boy's place and booting the neighbors out of it, followed by dori mocking jami incessantly for clandestinely owning a cell phone, and all of jami's friends that i've read about but never met, and bobby wearing a red t-shirt that said "enjoy cock," and mimosas for everyone, and then we went to see charlie's angels, which, despite some complaints, is way fun.
at one point, cameron diaz executes this excellent, matrix-esque mile-long kick to crispin glover and a cheering yell came out of my mouth that i haven't heard since high school football games. other noteworthy scenes include drew barrymore's gay-converting cleavage, cutesy-pootsy joey from friends trying to get ling (lucy liu) to marry him, and a few more cool fight scenes. it reminded me of the last movie i saw with dori . .
the last three words on my site that people searched for are, i'm totally not kidding, "apples," "blowjob," and "paris." i heart the visitors to my site!
had french toast and coffee at casimir today with matthew, matthew's boyfriend frank, and my dear frederic. freddy's jet-setting all over the world these days but is based in paris, so it was nice to see him again and tell him about my and brandon's tentative plans to hit amsterdam and paris in april. it's all so wallpaper*.
left work early to hang out with my big, strong italian papi. geezus, i'm always so bowlegged after we spend a few hours together. met up with domenic, toby, alec, and the rest of the peanut gallery at recess at greenwich and spring for booze and an upsetting mouse sighting. dinner at that bistro on spring and thompson, more wine, then a friend-of-a-colleague's birthday bash at fun.
somehow, someway, even though fun is under the manhattan bridge and in the irregular bowels of chinatown, it was overrun with wall streeties. considering that we still had our laptops with us, i guess we weren't much better. chatted with this girl i work with but don't know so well. she's black and british and stunning, and she told me about her fuck buddy, this other british guy who married an american girl for the green card (unbeknownst to her) and is cheating on her with my friend (also unbeknowst to her). balls all around.
fun itself is an interesting venue, though, in that random vignette-from-a-gregg-araki-movie-meets-the nightmare-heroin-junkie-investment-banker-crowd-from-the-dildo-scene-in-requiem-for-a-dream. except not traumatizing like that movie was. i really hated that movie, by the way.
got home, got online, met nice, drunk filmmaker with great hairy pecs, drank some more with him, had sex, gave him some tips on using microsoft word (i am such a fucking dork), and went to bed, circa 4am.
it's not even really saturday yet, and already there's a used condom and three half-empty cans of budweiser on my bedside table. whatta way to kick off the weekend.
birthday lunch with jami. lately, when she and i hang out, one of us runs into a steady stream of people we know - more disturbing phenomenon than raging popularity. today it included a really nervous-looking korean american chick who jami worked with several years ago, who inexplicably knew everything that jami had been working on for the last two or three years. chilling.
close.
went to john ashberry's reading at st. mark's in the bowerie with j. i'd never been inside the church before, although my ex had told me about it and how song-and-dancey it is for an episcopal church. it was like most churches insideopen, high ceilings, stained glassbut in addition to the chairs in the pew areas, there were these carpeted tiered floors on the sides, with pillows scattered around. so we sat, and later laid, there.
even though i haven't hung out with j very much, i feel kind of close to him, and it was nice to lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to mr. ashberry read lines like (paraphrasing): "the new cough drops aren't bad, tasting something like an orange slice that has been left on a girl's behind," and holding j close.
then went to moustache, ate middle eastern food, and talked about the pros (me) and cons (j) of israeli boys. before bed, sent orchids to mom for her birthday on the 3rd.
