Some days his voice is so loud that I can’t hear or feel anything else without turning myself inside out.
It never lasts for more than an hour or two (often times less than that) but in that time he makes sure that I have his undivided attention.
This can be problematic and disorienting when I’m in public.
Our communication can never last for long because I don’t have the reserves. It’s too all consuming to sustain itself.
He doesn’t like to be ignored and I don’t do it on purpose but it takes a lot of energy and skills that I’ve not yet completely developed.
And paying attention to him can be dangerous, but so can ignoring him. Clearly.
Sometimes he wants me to throw all of my food away. He’s jealous, I think.
Some weekends, everything I plan on falls apart because of him.
The way that I’m falling apart, but seldom admit.
Every day that I don’t cut is a victory. I know this. But it doesn’t feel like the truth. It feels like cowardice.
If I could just cut him out of me… I’d be dead.
That’s the problem.
I think I’m beginning to hate him. Hate myself. Because he’s keeping me prisoner. I missed the party on Friday, the opera on Saturday, the walk in the park today because of his need… and my aversion.
These feel like failures or defeats, but is it a failure if it keeps you alive?
I try to talk myself through it but my feelings are complicated and often contradictory.
I don’t think anyone around me understands and why should they? It hurts being so alone though.
It’s just him and me. Like when she abandoned me. Us.
There are people that love me, which is incredible really, because there’s a big piece of myself that’s missing.
He’s completely disconnected from me and when that connection is made the spark of that moment is blinding… but nobody gets to see it but me.
Or maybe I’m wrong and people do see him, or the absence of him?
Maybe people love me because of him.
I don’t really know.
All I know is that he’s closer to me today than he usually is and I’m alone and I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Earlier, Aaron and I were walking, hand in hand. He was on his way to work and I wanted to part ways at the grocery store but he wanted to keep holding my hand so we walked on until we did eventually part.
It’s so nice to not be in pain. Things aren’t perfect but the not being in pain is very appreciated.
Later…my stomach was worse than it has been in weeks. I’m completely wiped out but my brain still plays connect the dots with circular thoughts. I like that line. It just sprang out of me but could be used in a poem.
The other day Aaron said he didn’t know who Annie Lennox was. We have almost completely different musical backgrounds so I shouldn’t be surprised. I was aware of her in my youth but the first time I think I really fell in love with her was when I saw the film “Eward II”; she wanders into the gay film and sings Cole Porter’s “Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye”; I didn’t know it was Cole Porter at the time or that he was gay until much later when I saw the film De-Lovely, which features John Barrowman in a cameo role playing a character named Jack: this always seems like an untold side story of Jack Harkness to me. Anyways…the Annie Lennox version of Cole Porter’s tune stayed with me long after the film (which I now own on DVD). Once, on a date with this guy Rudy, who has been lost to time, I heard Annie’s rendition again but this time it was in “Prelude to a Kiss” (another gay friendly movie from a gay writer); I bought the soundtrack the next day.
There’s a fictional movie, based on the writer of “Prelude to a Kiss” called The Dying Gaul; I remember that I liked the deleted scenes a lot and wish they’d been in the film…and that the film was far darker than I expected it to be. I should rewatch it someday. The writer / director, Craig Lucas also wrote Longtime Companion and I remember I liked a lot of what the film had to say.
I don’t like being so drained of food and energy and my throat hurts from all the…I don’t even want to go there. I just took a shower. Our shower doesn’t always work but they’re trying to fix it. Tonight I got lucky and it worked beautifully. I shaved though that wasn’t my intent. I sang Cole Porter’s tune in the shower and thought about the lyrics:
“There’s no love song finer But how strange the change from major to minor Ev’ry time we say goodby.”
Like when Aaron & I say goodbye. Love that song. I remember Janice commenting on the key shift and liking it.
Edward the II tells a love story between Edward II & Piers Gaveston; it’s based on the play by Christopher Marlowe. The film is stunning and the gay pride opposite of it’s representation in the Mel Gibson epic “Braveheart”; I actually love both and view Edward II as a sort of more honest sequel. Tilda Swinton was in the film Edward II. The film is highly stylized and so is almost everything I’ve ever seen her in. I like her. She did some strange performance art piece not long ago where she was on display in a glass box in a museum? Did I just imagine that? lol. I used to have a lot of artful pictures taken of myself. I have tons of nudes; some of them are more graphic than others…and I dislike that I don’t have them on display anymore but I’m not sure where I could post them. Perhaps I’ll start a CENSORED photo album on facebook. Maybe the censored aspect could make some sort of statement. I find the censorship of nudity to be ridiculous and insulting.
Anyways. I’m exhausted and I’ve done very little. Maybe I should sleep.
Edit: This rambling was first written a long while back but because I was forced to save it in a collection on Facebook it says that it was last edited on March 15, 2021. But it was “liked” by Kelli Parker, who died November 25, 2020. It was also liked by Serena Shoshana, who I was friends with only briefly, when she went out with a friend of mine in 2015. So this was likely written in 2015. March of 2015.
On the one train in Manhattan a song, a lyric makes me think of San Francisco.
I’m shaving in Paul’s bathroom while man I met at Radical Fairy drag party is watching me.
I’m nervous. He’s so beautiful and several years older than me; he’s 30 & I’m 26.
It seemed like a lot then. Maybe because the last guy I loved was 9 years younger than him; they had the same name.
I cut myself as I often did back then. A tear of blood dripping down my face and before I can react blonde ken doll man moves in and purposefully licks me clean. Sacrament.
I remember wondering if he was crazy. Blood. San Francisco. I want to throw him against the wall so I can penetrate him and understand. Is there pain in his eyes or lust? Possibly both.
I don’t remember what happened next but the next song is beginning and I imagine kissing him, shaking him…
“Are you crazy?” “Do you want to die?”
A side thought where I’m less sympathetic and I give him the degradation I imagine him craving. Strip. Kneel. Baptism in piss and cum. Fucking him mercilessly.
The thought passes and I wonder at his state of mind.
He was newly out then and haunted by his past; “But I’m a Cheerleader” was the wrong movie to watch; it filled him with memories that made him sad. I think he was reading “The Vampire Armand”; I was reading “Merrick”. His parent was seemingly gravely ill. They called during our first sexual encounter to request his presence at the hospital. He talked them out of it. I tried to talk him into it, but instead he said “Damn” while I bit his nipple. I remember telling him that his asshole tasted amazing and then him asking if there were any that didn’t… and I wonder if he ever found out? A taste test with naked men all standing in a row.
He fucked me in that livingroom. It was days later. After he’d taken me to a leather bar and spoke of dangerous sex, but nothing about the boyfriend he’d confess to later. Devastating at the time. I wanted to be his. Just a crazy dream I guess. Lies and dreams and strange encounters that I still cherish.
We’re friends on Facebook. I don’t think of him often and I’ve not seen him in person in over 14 years.
I’m 40 now and I’ve been fucked at least 6 times in the last week. My partner is curious about why I’m so frenzied of late and I honestly don’t know; I’m sure it’s nothing to do with this… but past sexual encounters fill my thoughts of late. This is but the latest example.
Walking from the train I ran up to my place to write this down. I don’t know why. It seems less important now. I need to get groceries.
