No All Who Wander Are Aimless

I've been around, just not here. I've seen things, found things. Things I didnt know I was looking for. Things no one told me were out there. Things not found on a map.
Number one thing I found was: I found out that The Man was an asshole. And though its embarressing to admit, I was stupid for feeling so strongly for him, really stupid.

I found New York again. Sometimes I feel like I want to break this city in half and throw it into the sun. But its the city I chose. The city I chose to wake up in every morning, and go to sleep in every night. The city I've loved since before I can rememeber. And with every panhandler comes someone to the rescue. With every downtrodden moment comes inspiration, (from strangers you'll never meet, so they wont ask for royalties. New York is an epicenter. There a few places in this world I could ever call home and they are all in a sense, another New York City. But I will tell you this, there's no place like Brooklyn.

Most importantly I found Richard. I found Richard on the train one afternoon. It was while the man was in Cambodia, I was sad, but suprisingly liberated(he was an asshole). Richard is my personal cheerleader. Beloved by all my friends without trying to be. He is almost perfect. But he has flaws...which I love.

I found that I dont have health insurance. Luckily I got hit by the car before I lost it.

I foundt that my parents are just people that happened to raise me. And that I have nothing in common with them except for the home I grew up in and the people I used to know.

I found that I'm turning 20 in less than a month. I'm so fucking excited I cant really explain. But I cant help but compare myself to others who have done amazing things before they turned 20. Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein. I know its not sensible to compare myself to people like this, but I cant help it.

I found that moving is a pain in the ass. I'm having issues with my old building, and hope to get them resolved soon, apparently they werent aware that I had moved out of that shit hole.

I found that I cant write without reading. Somehow I started putting down books not picking them back up again. But I'm back ( as you can see).

I found that I may not be the writer I thought that I was. Its cocky and scarry to admit that I dont have the great american novel inside me, waiting to burst from my brain. But if its there I hope I find it.

I found that I missed you all. The online community that reads my life. My supporters who never met me. I missed just knowing that I was part of a community of people that may be sitting next to in this cafe in Park Slope, and without knowing me, know me. Because unlike almost all of my other friends, you get to read my like a book. :P

san francisco

Hey there boys and girls. I told you I wasnt dead.

Deepest apologies on being so distant this summer. But let me fill you in on some big events. The man dropped me like a bad habit and took off for Cambodia. Lady B came to visit. I found myself quickly falling head over heals for someone I met on the subway. With whom I am now with in San Francisco. I was hit by a car, he was arrested. I didnt go home this summer due to a falling out with my parents, and I am now paying my tuiton myself. And lastly I am only taking 2 classes this semester because of that.

when I get back to New York and things get into full swing, I know I will get back into the routine of writing everyday.

I'm not dead yet.

It was an odd summer. School starts in 10 days.

I kind of went into a period of mourning after The man left me. Then I met someone who challenges and amazes me everyday. (and he doesnt have a bf in canada either.)

Moving, Big Beginnings, Terrible Ends, and etc.

I'm moving. Not out of New York, not out of Brooklyn, but out of Flatbush. I'm moving to Prospect Lefferts Gardens. I'm across the park from Park Slope. A quick bike ride away from The Michaels, and their randy gang. My friend British Girl, and I signed the lease yesterday. Its a 3 bedroom proper. There's all kinds of space, and lots of closets, and its in a brownstone. There are 2 entrances. Its a remodeled railroad. Meaning that all the rooms used to be connected, not theres a giant hallway that connects them. Its really nice, I'll post pics.

I've had it with my job. My boss cut my hours for a reason that was basically rediculous. And when I literally begged for more, he told me that beggers cant be choosers. So in my experience of working in retail: cutting hours+ lack of mercy= they want me to quit. So I'm not one to disapoint. So after Lady B's visit is over, I'm finding another job. $8/hr isnt worth breaking my back over.

My first Pride is coming up! I'm so excited you have no idea. Everything is great! I cant wait to be swallowed in a sea of gay people from all over the world. If you're going to have a first pride parade, it might as well be THE Pride Parade, no?

The day after the parade is my anniversary of living in New York City. Promise I will post that day. MP is throwing me a little shindig at his place. Probably just the Michaels and a few other amigos, but I'm bringing British Girl and My friend Kat. So hooray for me.

The man JUST got back from Cambodia. I have mixed feelings about his return. I want to see him again and I want to talk to him and hear his voice and drink beer with him and chat about the whole experience. But thats partially the problem. I want him. I want him to stop me mid sentence and say "He and I broke up, I want to be with you. I'm sorry for treating you like shit. I love you so much. I love you the hard way."

I guess we'll just have to see how this goes.

Washington Sq Writer's Block

I have the outline, I have the character sketches, I have the symbols. What I dont have is a first sentence. I also have a cold. I came to Washington Sq Park to try and get some inspiration for the damn thing. But its not happening at the moment. At the moment I'm checking out cute guys, and sniffling my head off, while listening to Tokyo Police Club.

I just finished a book of essays by Joan Acocella called Twenty Eight Artists and Two Saints. The essays on the dancers, like Jerome Robbins, and Martha Graham were the most inspired. The Mikail Borishnikov, and Susan Sontag essays were the most passionately written.
Now I'm reading Against Gravity by Farnoosh Moshiri. I'm just started it this morning, but its really well written and I've heard a lot of good things about it.

Its about to rain, and it will rain for a long time. Four days I hear. The tourists are out in full force today. My job is killing me, and I'm remaning eerily unphased considering that The Man is coming back in 11 days. When that happens I'm not sure how I'll handle it.

On the 25 of this month I will have been in NYC for a whole year. I dont know how I'll celebrate, but I'll figure something out.

Seven Samurai

Seven Samurai! I love this film. Its so beautiful. Alot of people dislike it for its length (3.5 + hours), but I love it because it takes its times. Genius, I suggest you all got get for the long weekend and have a great time watching some of the best cinematography in history. Not to mention the ingenius story line, the class A acting, and the overall wonderfulness of this film.

Happiness Bubbles make me poetic

You have happiness bubbles, right? I sure as shit do. I'm having one right now. It's 12:30 at night, I dont have to be at work for 12 hours and I'm happy as a clam. Sitting in front of my computer listening to Tokyo Police Club, and looking at living prospects. A roach just crawled across my floor.

There are moments where I want more in my life. I feel I maybe should have taken those older men up on their offers of comfort and luxury, but then I think, "wait! I have a brain."
I have been in New York for a little under a year, and even though there are moments when I may crack open and fall to pieces I now have a net. Its not as strong as the net I have from home, but its still a decent size. As long as the dismount isnt too fucked up it should catch me.
I'm happy here, I belong here.

One of the reasons I love it so much is because I know that somewhere in the city, there's another 1/8,000,000 who is sitting in their bed, just like me who thinks this is the wrong place for them. Many fight the current, we are all salmon in our lives. What New York teaches you is that, even if youre a bright pink and yellow polk-a-dotted salmon there's still a place here for you. From the projects of the south Bronx to the backyards of Staten Island, we are diversity. I couldnt live anywhere else.

Friends grow in Brooklyn

Yesterday is officially on my list of favorite days ever. I woke up at around 9:30, after what was a much needed 10 hours of sleep. I made coffee went to the bathroom and got back into bed. 2 text messages came about 30 mins apart. One from my friend Kim, the other my friend Kathrine, both apologizing and bowing out of brunch in the East Village. I went out and bought a Sunday Times in my shorts and flip flops, the $ 3.50 clenched in my hand. My dreadlocks haphhazord on my head. I didnt care, I was happy.

I returned to my most humble abode, and finished The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. I've been studying for finals so I havent had much time to read or write. It was by every defenition amazing.

I got a call from Sanderson (one of the Michaels) inviting me to the street fair in Park Slope, "there'll be beer" he inticed. "I'm on my way." I said pulling on my pants.
I got there and gave him a call. I told him where I was and he said he would meet me there. I found myself in front of a tent overflowing with old LPs and second hand cds. I almost shit myself. The most expensive of them; the Hendrix, and The beatles was maybe $25. I dont actually have an LP player here in New York, but thats why its an impulse by.

I getting worked up in order to start heckling with the man over a Joe Tex LP that I had to have when I felt an affectionate squeeze on my ass. I turned, Sanderson was there, "Hey stud, what's going on?" I hugged, we talked a little bit. I argued and lost my Joe Tex heckle and so we decided to find the other Michaels and Angela. We met them on the corner of Garfield street and 5th ave.

MP is a Michael and Mitchell is a Michael, Angela isnt a Michael but she should be. We chatted had our hello kisses and walked a bit. We decided on brunch and Mitchell picked Bogota, a South American restaurant in Park Slope. We sat down and oggled the hispanic waiters. Sanderson's knee resting gently against mine. The adults got rounds of bloody mary's, I got coffee. They were all hung over from Angela's birthday party last night. I was invited but couldnt attend, it was at a bar in the city and there was no way I could have gotten it.

This came up in conversation again as the issue of pride came into being. "What do you mean you don't have a fake I.D.?" Mitchell chided, " What kind of teenager are you?"
"I've never needed one." I confessed, "I havent been carded since I was 16."
"How long ago was that again?" Angela asked.
"Not that long ago," Sanderson joked.
Mitchell looked at Sanderson and half jokingly said "Dude, you're so lucky."

Sanderson and I are kind of seeing each other. I've explained the whole story about my relationship with the man, and his leaving. I asked to take things slow, he respected that.

So the Michaels were thinking of way to sneak me into the pier dance. I confessed my lack of rythmn and they wouldnt have it.
"you have to go," Sanderson said "you're part of the group now."
"Ohh I love you guys!" I said.

The conversation quickly changed to more recent things.
"We should do a brunch one day." Mitchell suggested. "I think a brunch would be really fun."
"That's a great idea," Angela said.
"Central park?" MP offered up.
"Prospect park?" I offered, "I mean you all live like 4 blocks away. I'll bring a frisbee, we'll get a big coffee thurmos, and some scones or something."
Mitchell set down his bloody mary, "Wow," he said, "You really are gay."

A chuckel was had by all. Then I threw an ice cube at him.

I had the best french toast in my life. And I'm very serious about french toast. We sat and chatted through 3 rounds of coffee. Then we headed back out into the day. There was band playing that no one got the name of. They were great. A jam band, but, you know...good.
"Hey why isnt anyone hippie dancing?" Angela asked.
"This is Park slope sweetie," MP said, "Lesbians dont hippie dance."

It was around 5:30 by then, we all decided to split up and take naps. "What are you guys gunna do?" Angela asked.
"Take a nap," Sanderson said. "I dont know if Jesse's coming with me. Hey Jesse wanna take-"
"Yes," I said.

We split up at about 9 I left Sanderson's and called MP.
"Hey sweetie," he said. "What's up?"
"FOOD!!!"
"Come over, We'll figure something out."

We decided on fish and chips. Mostly because I wanted beer. At the restaurant we had Monty Python's Holy Ale. I love the British. And the best cod of my life.

As I walked to the train station I reflected on my day, my friends, my life. When I got home I called Lady B and we talked till 2 a.m. It was a perfect end to a perfect day.

Look who's writing again!!!!

I finally found time to write today, and now that I did I'm not sure how I feel about it. You tell me.
Jon and Andrew are watching tv, cuddling. Its early spring, still cold. Its nightime.

Jon is 21
Andrew is 40

Jon: I'm thinking of moving. Any suggestions?
Andrew: Why are you thinking of moving?
Jon: I dont really have much here, you know? I just want to carve something out for myself.
Andrew: What about me?
Jon playfully: You have David.(pause) I'm just …whatever I am.
Andrew: And youre okay with that idea?
Jon: No, but if its a choice between being with you like this and not being with you at all...
Andrew: You're not just "Whatever" to me, you know that.
Jon: Dont lie. youre bad at it.
Andrew (standing): I'm not lying. I really care about you. More maybe than I let on, but its there.
Jon (walking into the kitchen with him): And how would I know that if you didnt show me?
Andrew: youre in love with me arent you.
Jon: Yes
Andrew: And youre thinking of moving because you cant stand the idea of my not loving you.
Jon: Maybe.
Andrew(getting angry): Dont maybe me. I know you better than you think i do.
Jon: You think you know.
Andrew: I know. I know that you say my name in your sleep. I know that you hate that you love me. I know that you hate that I knew that you love me and never brought it up.
Jon: I'm too young for you to love.
Andrew: Wrong.
Jon: You dont love me. I'm not the person people stay with. I'm the retreat.
Andrew: Some people may mistake your pesimism for wisdom. Be careful.

Jon walks to the door and starts getting ready to leave.

Andrew: what are you doing?
Jon: I cant walk around manhattan with one shoe can I? Give that back.
Andrew: come to bed.
Jon: So you can listen to me whisper your name in my sleep. So you can hear me loving you? What a masturbatory fantasy that is Andrew.
Andrew: That was just cruel. apologize.
Jon: I'm leaving. (pause) I have to leave.
Andrew: if you stay-
Jon: you'll buy me candy?

Andrew pushes Jon against the door. Jon pushes him back.

Jon: You bring me here, cook me meals, fuck me, make me laugh...Kiss my fucking eyes! Of course I love you. But you do that to him, too. You have jokes, one liners. You have places and moments and photographs. I have saturday night after I get out of work. When youre so tired that you fall asleep before I get here. What happened to ice skating? what happened to a trip to the beach? You may like me alot, and I'm sure that you do, but you dont love me. Youre not in love with me and you never will be. I'm the secret. I'm here to start your fucking car and then slowly we'll fall out of touch. Or you'll rip me off like bandaid and be done with me. I must be some kind of masochist or something?

Jon leans against the door and looks at Andrew with hurt eyes."I just want to register somewhere on your scale"

Andrew: you mean more to me than you could possibly know.

Andrew puts his hands on either side of Jon's head. He looks at him sincerely.

Jon: I dont want to be a foolish child about this, I dont want to overreact. I dont want to sound like and idiot, but I do.I dont want to be jealouse and think jealous things: is he a better kisser than me? What jokes do you have? When youre together do you even need to talk and if you do can you finish each other sentences anyway? Which one is the seriouse one? Who's the outter spoon?
Andrew: You dont have to worry about any of that stuff.
Jon: I'm the other woman, its my job to worry about that stuff.
Andrew: your not the other woman. Now please take off your coat and come to bed.

Jon takes off his coat.

The post about moving one (breaking up)

Me: He just left me. I feel fragile. Like if you tip me the wrong way I may break.
Joey: Oh, Jesse.

And thus the story of the relationship between the man and the younger man is over. I think I'm doin okay. When I think about him, though, those moments where its just me and him: A kiss on the neck that innitiates love making, a wink, a joke, a bad song he used to sing in the shower. The pang in my heart, it hurts now. Almost as though I'm trying to make my chest pang. Its a little hollow. And I feel tired.

He's going to Cambodia for a month, leaving on Tuesday. When he returns we'll be friends, because he's on the most important people in my life, but we will only be friends. I think its okay for me to be incredibly upset about that. He's upset also, but it had to happen. The games we were playing couldnt last forever. I'm not getting any younger. ( I think its a good thing that I can keep a sense of humor through this.)

I've been hanging out with MP alot. Which is great because he's an amazing friend. I owe him more than he realizes I'm certain.

I dont mean to sound incredibly maudlin about all of this. I saw it coming I knew we were breaking up along time ago. But knowing its coming and actually experiencing it are two different things. But I have air in my lungs and a really loud neighbor who screams during sex above my head. I havent smoke a cigarette in 3 weeks. And my gums look pink instead of blood red. Kudos for me.

My favorite things

Because I have no idea how to put what I'm reading listening to on my sidebar (I blame the shrooms), I'm going to post them. And if any of my amigo bloggers would like to send me an email about how to put that stuff on my sidebar I may hug you.

What I'm listening to:

The new Bright Eyes cd is absolutly brilliant. Everyone should hear it. I didnt want to believe that anyone could be my generations Bob Dylan, because Bob Dylan is still my generations Bob Dylan. But Damn Conor Oberst is pretty fucking close.

And Tokyo Police Club. Okay, imagine this: The Strokes and the Flaming Lips get into a fight in an ally. Who wins? The flaming lips, but they're covered in The Strokes' blood. Thats what Tokyo Police Club sounds like.

What I'm reading:

Yes this novel deserves the Pulitzer Prize. I cant wait until my nerdy grand kids find out I have a first edition of this book.

I quit smoking

I did it yesterday. After I realized I now have Gingivitis. Which is a wonderful developement I must say. Maybe next I'll have herpes, or maybe I'll discover a KS lesion on my ass.

In other news I am doing my best to block outside stress. I tend to make things really hard for myself more or less because my expectations for myself are out of this world and when I dont meet them I cry, or walk around looking at my feet. Or do as I have been doing, burying my problems in a Hagen Das vanilla ice cream and Angels in America. Trust me it works.

On June 25 I'll have been in New York City for a year. In many ways I feel like I'm just now setteling in. I can't wait for the summer, so I have more time to myself, and for other things. Many books will be read in Central Park this summer I assure you.

If I get bored enough I may put my reading list on here. I promise I will blog more. I promise.

Big Moments

I sometimes wake up at night. I sit up in bed, my heart racing, my body covered in cold sweat. I look around my apartment for some sign of disturbance, the falled broom, my cell phone beeping from a missed call. A mouse. I dont see anything, I dont hear anything, not even my upstairs neighbor who seems to walk around in ski boots all day long and watch Oprah at a ludicrous decible. I put my hand to my chest, then to my cheek, and forehead. "Holy shit," I think suddenly, "this is my life now."

In the past couple of weeks I've been up and down New York on a rampage. Nobu, Gramercy Tavern, Century 21, Coffee Shop, H & M, Du Mont Burger... and there's more. My personal life has lead me into some tricky territory. The man is still in the picture. But old problems still persist. And though I would love to share them with you and hear feedback on them, it would be unfair to hear about it from my side, seeing as he doesnt know about the blog.

I went to a reading at KGB Bar on Saturday. My friend Martin read from his upcoming novel which I cant remember the name of right now.

I've listened to some really great music lately. Tokyo Police Club, Peter, Bjorn, and John, the new Bright Eyes album, Sondre Lerche...Just to name a few.

But even though my life seems to be slipping into the Sex and the City univers that I didnt ever believe exsisted, I find myself wishing sometimes that I was somewhere else. Which is hard for my to admit, seeing as I wished for almost 20 years that I could live here. Waking up at night thinking "One day that will be my life".

But I feel, sometimes, like I need to get out. Not out the city, not out of the tri-state area...out. Middle of nowhere South Africa, Peru, Malaysia, India. I dont feel motivated to do school work, because more than anything I cant see how sitting in a classroom will make me a better person compared to praying in Bhutan, or walking through Machu Piccu. I mean I'll have a degree, and it will help me get a job this is true, But from what I can see hardly anyone I know likes their job, especially not to the point of WANTING to go to work everyday.

Then big moments happen. Big moments are like little moments. But little moments are the moments you have with someone you really love, and they're brief. His hand clasping yours during the climax of makeing love, a kiss in the kitchen while your making a special dinner. The look he makes when you give him the perfect gift. His real laugh.

Little moments are the moments that, upon relfection, make your chest feel tight. Almost as though your lungs may burst. Your entire chest cavity feels like its expanding and collapsing at the same time.

A big moment is different. A big moment can be any length of time, a second, an hour, a year. It suprises you, and you come to settle into it. It runs at you full force and then as tunnel vision starts to set in and you instinctually lean backwards, it stops. And explodes in your face, like a brilliant parade of stars. And theres so much creativity coursing through your veins that you feel like at any moment you could cry, or laugh, or explode. The world seems beautiful, because its perfectly flawed.

I had a moment like this today, walking across the Williamsburg bridge into Manhattan. As I walked the shuffel on my ipod seemed to realize that I needed the kind of music that would make me feel like my heart could crack. This is the sea, by the Waterboys came on. Then more and more songs, about moving forward, and respecting the past started to play. I tried calling my friends, but none of them would answer. I sent 2 text messages to the man, who didnt reply. But I was glad for it in the end, it wouldnt have been my moment if I'd have had to describe it to someone else.

But here I am, sitting in my apartment. Listening to the upstairs neighbor who seems to work drug dealers hours, typing away about a life I'm not quite sure I'm ready to have yet. I think about my life compared to that of my friends from MI, and the youth of my friends here. My life is so different. I'm an adult at 19, and all it took was almost a year in New York City to do it. I'm happy here, but there are still times when I sit and think, "This may not be the place for me." and "I was TOO ready to live here". Its kind of comforting knowing that I'm becoming a someone in a city filled with someones. But its unnerving at the same time. Will I be one of those extra characters in one of my friends biographys? "The gay boy who moved to New York and found himself in the center of an Algonquin-esque circle." "Jesse, the Boy who never bought his own meal."

I worry that when I have kids, and they say "dont you remember when you were young?" I'll honestly look at them and say "no".

But I wasnt meant for that. I was meant for other things. More big moments, Bhutan, Florence, Tokyo. I just hope that between the big moments and the little moments that my heart doenst actually crack. Sometimes I honestly fear it might.

Grindhouse

See it NOW! Fucking Brilliant!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Everyone in the whole film is just spot on.

The man thinks that it compliments Tarantino's horrible acting perfectly. He does cameos in both films.

national day of silence

Are you doing your part?

We all need to do our part. They say that the new Anti-discrimmination law will be renamed he Matthew Shepard Act. For more about Matthew Shepard's story look here.

Too Gay?

A recent phone coversation with my best friend to breathe oxygen startled me and has been on my mind ever since.
I was talking with my friend Ms. B and she said something along the lines of: since you moved to NYC you've acted noticeably gayer. She said that she was glad that I felt more comfortable in my own skin, but I got the feeling that my acting made she and her housemates (who also noticed the shift) more uncomfortable. I wasnt at all sure how to respond to this. Do I act gayer? and what does that mean? The stereotypical gay, the madonna loving meth head with a waxed chest and pink t-shirt. That, any of my friends will tell you, I am not. I love my chest hair, I dont like madonna, and I got that pink shirt for free. I'll admit, when I'm in a room full of gay men, listening to Rufus Wainwright and talking about Pop culture I can certainly flip my wrist like the best of them. But thats usually about 3 glasses of wine into the conversation.

I think the thing that bothers alot of people that I know from MI is that I quickly grew very confident about my sexuality. That is one of the MANY reasons I moved to New York. I hated that I could be gay as a gazelle in private company but as soon as I went somewhere fairly public instant paranoia set in. I'm so far past that now, remembering how afraid I was makes me almost ashamed. But when I go back to MI there are no gay friends to joke about 8th avenue with. Its all my straight friends (whom I love to the ends of the earth) from High school.

It's difficult letting my hair down with them still. I love them and I know they accept me for who I am and hopefully always will, considering they've seen the very worst and the very best of me. I do worry though at times, that maybe my sexuality will push them away. And whose fault would that be in the end? In NYC everyone I know would say them, for not accepting the person I've become. In MI however I dont think that it works that way.

Things I would only show to the 4 people who read my blog

While I was home I took some pics of my house and my bedroom. More to remeber how kickass my house is, and how even more kickass my bedroom was then to show alot of people. But I felt the need to be really creative with my camera phone. So instead of getting all Annie Leibovitz on everyone, I took pics of other creative endeavors I'd had last year. So here you are:












This is a painting I painted on paper. Its titled : Big deal, I know I'm not Jackson Pollock, but at least my titles make sense.


I painted it while listening to Bad Brains for the first time.







This is my bedroom floor. I used to lay down on my floor when I was feeling enlightened, creative, strung out, bored, sad, or sleepy. Yes I'm one of those people who likes sleeping on the floor.







One day I felt like I should do something with my floor. I've written and painted sayings all over my walls and ceiling, so I took duct tape to the floor. I went over it again with black electrical tape.

Though it says its pretty self evident what I would title it if I really wanted to.

My parents are different people

Theres a really great line from Felicity that reminds me of the way I'm feeling right now. Felicity's parents are visiting and she's having a really hard time dealing with them and they changes in their lives. She's talking to her roommate when she says something along the lines of: "Have you ever had the moment when you look at your parents and realize that they're just...just people, like everyone else?" Thats how I feel right now. My parents, I look at them and they're just like everyone else. Except they seem more fucked up because they're my parents. I'm having a really hard time with them.

My mother acts like she's 8 years old, My father acts like he's 4. My brother is basically just like them, and I act like I'm 38. I hate that I'm always taking care of them. Making sure the house is clean, the bills are paid, the overall well being of all involved is good.

I went to my friend Mrs. B's house yesterday, hoping to hang out with her and catch up. We had plans of drive around and I thought we were going to dinner. But when I got there, there was a sizable crowd and everyone was drinking. Mrs. B was trying to finish an art project for a class, and I ended up sitting on the couch by myself, while their neighbor fell over drunk with a face that looked similar to a ripe apple. Needless to say, I left.

I no longer understand the reasons behind just getting drunk. If I wanted to get shit faced, just to get shit faced, I would do it by drinking bud light.

I cleaned my house. I bought my family food to eat. I paid my family's bills online. Now I'm tired, and I dont ever want to come back. I'm too old for all of this.

In Michigan there are no gays

I am home. And by home I dont mean my tiny studio just south of Prospect Park. I mean Michigan. I have been hom for 16 hours. I am trying not to find some excuse to return to my tiny little studio in Brooklyn.

This is my qualm with Michigan:

Everyone is straight.
Everyone is fat.
No one dresses well.
Everyone stares at me like I'm an alien.
My parents professionally complain.
I hate it here.
And if fucking snowing.

I will try to give a more detailed description of my life here later.

To all those reading this who are still in NYC...I hate you.

My big news

I am heading home on Wednesday. I'm not staying there, just visiting the folks for Easter because it coincides with spring break and all. While I'm there I will be doing what people seem to think I'm good at doing, helping those around me pick up pieces, and find glue to put things back together. For the first time in a very long time, I'm fine, there's nothing wrong. My life seems to be on some kind of plain. Things arent perfect, I still have moments where I think my heart is going to explode, but these days its more because at some moments the world holds me tightly, and shows me some kind of magic.

This moment, in Brooklyn Heights:

How beautiful is that. It reminded me of a line from Angels in America. Harper Pitt, is talking to her husband on the roof of their building on Pineapple st. The Twin Towers are in front of them and she says: this is why I wanted to stay in Brooklyn, The View.

The Big Update

I have returned, I'm glad to say.

I have officially survived my first New York winter. I hit a couple of rough patches, but I think I survived with minimal scaring. Here is a giant update on me.

I am completely happy. My life, though still confusing and stressful is looking better.
I'm not moving out of New York City. I decided to stay and fight.
My father finished cancer treatments. He'll be fine, and out-live everyone.
I'm reading Bleak House.
I discovered how beautiful Brooklyn Heights is.
The man and I decided we should slow things down a little bit. I think I'm okay with that.
A lot of my friends from MI arent doing so well. I worry about them a lot these days.
Summer is right around the corner. I will be staying in New York, but going home 2 seperate weeks.
I'm outlining a novella to work on during the summer.
I want to get back into photography.
I'm listening to Etta James right now.
This is the sea by The Waterboys is still my favorite song.
I still walk on Sundays.
I'm still in love with New York City. That is completely certain.

I'm not dead.

I'm just not sure what to write about at the moment. I dont want this blog to end up being my pedestal to bitch about my life being really shitty. But looking over a few of my previous posts, thats basically what it is. And it would seem that I have bi polar syndrome.

I' not bi polar, I'm just a mess. I hope you all can wait a little bit longer. I can promise with barely any doubt that I will be much better when the weather lightens up, and the sun comes out more.

outof ideas

I'm not sure what I should be writing about anymore. I've been trying to think about what I want the tone of my blog to be, how do I want to be percieved? Basically I came up with nothing.
I cant keep blogging about intimate details of my life because I dont want my memories to belong to someone who isnt, well, me. And when I blog about my day, it just becomes this long and arguous read that even I lose interest in. I have no more stories to post, because I havent written any stories to post about.

This my amigos, is an impass.

The man and I have unresolved issues that we're avoiding. The resolution of which will probably be the end to our "relationship". I'm ruining my academic career basically right out of the box. And at random moments I feel myself welling with tears and I dont know where they come from. I know it isnt the city itself. I wont let myself be one of those people who gets bested by New York.

The thing is, (and this will sound childish), I just want to jump in a machine and travel 10 years into the future to see where I'm heading. Will I know the same people, will I even be alive? Will I have time in my life to actually write something that I feel is worthy of the eyes of others?

Does this get any easier? Or is my plate always going to be this full?

My Oscar Insider is an Idiot

Best Picture:
The Departed

Best Actor: Forrest Whitaker

Best Actress: Helen Mirren

Best Director: Marty

Best Sup Actor: Alan Arking (who saw that coming?)

Best Sup Actress: Jennifer Hudson( I think I called that one)

So the 79th Academy Awards were basically boring. But I had a great time being SUPER gay with MP and his amigos. Let me some things up for those of you that missed it.
Departed won, and everyone realized that they should have seen Pan's Labrinth. Abagail Breslin is basically the cutest button to ever get put on a coat.(did anyone see the Kodak commercial she's in?) The dance co. was genius, the music was interesting. The recaps were well done, except why did we salute American Films?

I would do DIRTY things to Ryan Gosling and Tom Cruise is probably going to be forced to stay away from children. LOOK OUT ABAGAIL HE"LL GIVE YOU A PAMPHLET!!!!
And Ellen was fucking funny.

Oscar Predictions

Best Picture:
Should win: Bable
Will Win: Little Miss Sunshine

Best Actor:
Should win: Forrest Whitaker
Will win: Whitaker
But I do feel an upset with Ryan Gosling. Remember no one thought Adrian Brody would win.

Best Actress:
Should win:Kate Winslet(cant the just give her one already), Penelope Cruz, or Helen Mirren
Will win: Helen Mirren

Best Supporting Actor:
Should win:Jackie Earle Haley
Will win: Eddie Murphy (who isnt funy anymore)

Best Supporting actress:
Should win:Rinko Kikuchi
Will win: Jennifer Hudson, and then she will disappear for ever.

Best Director:
Should win:Departed
Will win: The Queen

Documentary:
should win: Jesus Camp
Will win: Al Gore

The Spoils

I'm not doing so well these days. The relationship is sort of getting off to a rocky start. And we all know that isnt good. School couldnt be worse. I was out last week taking care of MP, and as he was throwing up in the bathroom I relized that I had 2 papers and an exam today. So I'm fucked. Work is getting more and more difficult, and people opinions of me are changing, for reasons I dont know.

As I was coming home from work Saturday instead of going to the man's house, which I usually do, a thought hit me: Go somewhere else. Move. And then the follow up thought hit me: Runaway. Avoid issues, and these arent even very serious issues.

Where would I go: San Fransico, Portland, Seattle, Boston or take a big dive and leave the country.

How would I pay: I would use my parents money, the money they gave me in case I fell on hard times here.

What about school?: I cant pay for school, my parents cant pay for school, the government cant pay for school. My academic career is basically done after next year.

Why go?: Because I know that I'm one of those people who runs from problems and calls it sponteneity. Why do you think I moved to New York in the first place? James, my parents, my depression, my heartache, my sexuality, my boredom.

This is how I feel in a nut shell

Artist: Peter Bjorn And JohnAlbum: Writer's BlockYear: 2006Title: Objects Of My Affection

I remember when, when i first moved here, a long time ago,
´cause i heard some song i used to hear back then,
a lone time ago.
i remember when, even further back,
in another town,
´cause i saw something written i used to say back then,
hard to comprehend

and the question is, was i more alive
then than i am now?
i happily have to disagree;
i laugh more often now, i cry more often now,
i am more me.

but of course some days, i just lie around
and hardly exist,
and can´t tell apart what i´m eating from my hand or my wrist.
´cause flesh is flesh, flesh as flesh as flesh,
the difference is thin.
but life has a certian ability or breating new life into me,
so i breathe it in.
it says here we are, and we all are here,
and you still can make sense,
if you just show up and present an honest face,
instead of that grin.

and the other day, this new friend of mine
said something to me
"just because something starts differently,
doesn´t mean it´s worth less."
and i soaked it in, how i soaked it in,
how i soaked it in
and just as to prove how right he was,
then you came.
so i´m gonna give, yes i´m gonna give,
i´m gonna give you a try,
so i´m gonna give, yes i´m gonna give,
i´m gonna give you a try



I also feel a little bit like the Magnolia soundtrack though. I'm racking my brains out about things between the man and I. We hardly get a chance to talk because he works all the time. And this week he has a house guest coming so I wont be able to talk to him face to face.

I'm having a shit day.

Big Ideas

Man and I talking in bed this morning:

Me:

Do you ever have days where you just want to ditch everything, get your passport out and just go somewhere?

Man:

Everyday

Me:

Good. Thats comforting.

Man:

Ever actually do it?

Me:

Once. I didnt get too far, Chicago.

Man:

Why there?

Me:

It was the farthest from home that I still knew people. Did you ever do it?

Man:

Yeah, I went to Kyoto.

Me:

Really, why?

Man:

It was the only place I could think to go to make sure I didnt run into anyone I knew.

All I have to say is: "All the gin joints in all the world...".

I have taken the leap

I have updated to the new version of blogger. If there are any complications let me know.

My philosophy prof

So I have this crazy philosophy professor who talks with a very thick Russian accent. I can hardly understand her when she goes into tangets about piety, and defenitions, and other useless bullshit. I really hate that class.

Anyway she wears her hair very strangely. Its a reddish-brown color and is curly. And she pulls it up and clips it to the front of her head. Its odd. Anyway when she does that she had one curl that sort of sits on her forehead. I was trying to think of what it reminded me of. Finally today I got it. Picasso's Le R^eve( I cant figure out sub or super script on this bitch.)

My mom is here

My mother is here. She arrived early this morning and basically waited around for me all day long. I took her to dinner at Republic on Union Sq. West. She loves the Pad Thai there. So far things are going well.

I can feel our relationship morphing from mother/teenager to mother/adult. Or at least she respects my decisions more. Its good and bad at the same time. I feel relieved that I dont have to put up the almost charade for my parents that I put up in high school. I also feel relieved that whatever dialogue I decide to use with her she goes with it. And she no longer scoffs at my food buying habits. She actually seemed interested in the fact that I like whole wheat rasin english muffins for breakfast.

I will fill you in on developements with the man and I (the curve ball). and I will digress further about the mother visit later. Now, though its 9 p.m. I must go to bed. I'm exhausted.

The whether

I think I'm becoming narotic. This is why.

The Guy and I were talking the other day as I was leaving overpriced-times square-located-super media-store(dont know if I did the hyphens right). We were on the phone. He was telling me about how he was going to be stuck at the office all night working on a new account because he's having trouble "cracking it". I honestly dont really know what that means, but I was sympathetic.

In passing I made a comment about the dreaded valentines day. Now I'm not one for mushy bullshit holidays, and I never have been. But then again I've never found myself in the fog a potential relationship around the dreaded day. I think the most James ever did was buy me a cup of coffee and allow me to bum a few smokes off of him.

Now I feel like I may want to actually do something special. And by special I just mean order in and watch a movie. I dont want over the top, I actually kind of hate over the top. But I just like being with him.

Back to the point. I mentioned it and he kind of freaked out. "Umm," he said, "We, uh, we'll have to discuss it I guess."
I quickly tried to glaze it over. Telling him it wasnt a big deal I was wondering if he had thought about it, but I think the damage may have been done.

Now I have 2 big concerns in the whole scheme of things:

1.) our age differences will start to become a problem. While I'm not stupid by any means, and I dont think I'm that naive (how the hell do you make those damn dots!?) there is a certain amount of knowledge that he has that I have yet to aquire. This could at anytime become an issue.
2.) The extremely large difference in our incomes. I work in retail, and I'm in college. I basically dont make any money. He works in advertising, and is damn good at his job, and obviously makes more than me. Either he and I will find a way to bridge the gap, or it will become the elephant in the room.

an addition to the previous post

Also what if:

A little tiny mouse is in your little tiny apartment and continually wakes you up so that you only get 5 hours of sleep before your almost 13 hour day.

Hump Day

What is worse?

*Being at school for 4 hours with a pen that doesnt write and no time to buy one for $6
at the bookstore?
*Forgetting that you were suppose to read 93 pages into Jane Eyre for the second
day of class, and feeling embarrassed that your bookmark is at page 17.
*Being so busy that you forget to call your father whose undergoing cancer radiation therapy.
*Listening to your best friend cry on the phone for 45 minutes and not being able to do anything
about it because she's 645 mile away.
*Getting a call from your mother telling you that she's going to be here at 9:35 a.m. and she's staying until saturday.

You pick

My reading list

This is what I have to read this semester.

English 2:

Sigmund Freud "The Uncanny"
William Shakespeare "Hamlet"
Toni Morrison "Beloved"

English 40.4 Victorian Fiction

Charlotte Bronte "Jane Eyre"
Emily Bronte "Wuthering Heights"
Elizabeth Gaskell "Mary Barton"
Charles Dickens "Bleak House" (HOLY FUCK!!!)
George Eliot "Silas Marner"
Joseph Conrad "Heart of Darkness"
Oscar Wilde "Importance of Being Earnest"

another bullshit philosophy class

Plato "The Trial and Death of Socrates"
R. Descartes "Meditations on First Philosophy"
I. Kant "Groundwork"
F. Nietzsche "On the Advantage and Disadvantage of History for Life"
M. Buber "I and Thou"

I never thought I'd say this before but I think my math class is going to be a good break.

You are all allowed to pity me.

First day of the spring semester

I'm seriously considering dropping out.

Sunday of freedom

Last night was spent with Guy. I bought Japanese food from Miyagi and took it uptown to chill with him. When I got there he had made sweet potatoes, rice, salmon, and some incredible thing with cucumbers. We ate, we drank wine, we flirted shamlessly while Steeley Dan played on KCRW. And he always has Cartoon Network playing in the backround.

We watched part of The Motorcycle Diaries.(Which I love.) And I was impressed with his nonexsistent fear of subtitles. I impressed him with my unlengthly spanish vocabulary. ("no puedo".) We made out like bandits, and then we went to bed.

This morning we stayed in bed until about 10 o'clock kissing, and talking about everything. We talked about our favorite days. Mine was 2 years ago. His was 5 years ago. He was praying in "Bum fuck Morocco" and was washed clean by and old man and his two grandsons. By the time he finished his story which ended in his discovering yoga, I basically was speechless and felt a little childish about my own story.

He had to go to work, and i decided to go to around the clock for brunch. The 2 of you who read this already know that. I bought my paper and ate my eggs and drank my coffee.

Then I proceded to turn off my phone and walk around the city for almost the entire day. I explored SOHO, a neighborhood I know little about except that its unbelievably expensive and "hip" which in this town is just another word for expensive.

It was on Wooster St. that I saw Francis McDormand. We made eye contact for a little over 10 seconds. And as I walked past her and two of her friends she sounded like she was talking about my dread locks. This both enthralls and horrors me.

Anyway this post could continue on for days. But I will make my story short.

I bought a cookbook. I hardly ever actually cook for myself, and seeing as I'm a college student with an unusual amount of time on my hands, I figure why not learn the skill. So cutey Tyler Florence is now sitting next to my toaster waiting to teach me how to make blueberry scones with lemon glaze.

And I bought new jeans. They fit perfectly, which is all you can as from a pair of jeans, no?

I rented Kill Bill the 4,000th time and as I sing alog with the japanese songs word for word, I must go to bed. School starts tomorrow and I need to begin with my new years resolutions.

Time's flying by

Last year was absolutly the most important year of my life, thus far. I had prom, I graduated from highschool, and 3 weeks after that I moved 600 miles away from my home of 18 years to live in a place I dreamed about living in for those 18 years.

So why is everything before now such a blur?

I remember prom, I remember graduation, I remember long drives and Jones Sodas and smoking great pot, and doing other drugs, and listening to music that none of my friends had ever heard of. I remember that all in vivid detail, but i just seems so long ago, ya know? I feel like I'm so different now than I was then.

I'm still really unschooled in the ways of the world. But my life is so different now. In Michigan no one would dream of eating at a restaraunt with $15 entee's, I still feel a little guilty about it myself. I certainly cant afford it. But I somehow have aquired friends who can.

Sometimes I have to take a step back and examine things. Which is partially why I started this blog. I need to be able to appreciate NOW the fact that I can go to a members opening at the Met, and meet "High society" people, and then go home to my tiny studio, where I dont have television, and I have roaches.

Home just feels so far away. I think the worst part is that I, even though I miss my friends and my family from home, I truly am happy here. Is that wrong?

While the rest of the world was sleeping

The Guy (formerly New Guy) and I are good at mornings. The bed seems to be an oasis of sorts.
He wakes before his alarm and turns it off. Then he turns and cradles around me. A kiss on the sholder, the nape of my neck. I usually wake up as his hand grazes my chest. I smile to myself as he pulls me closer to him. We exchange good mornings and play footsie for a few seconds, then fall back asleep.

I usually wake up about half an hour later, as he pulls away from me to get ready for work. His office makes him work crazy hours so he doesnt have to be in the office until "10:30 at the latest".

I listen to him shower for a few minutes before I doze off again. He wakes me up as see saddles into bed with me again; his hair wet, his hands clammy. I turn and wrap myself around him like an octopus. "I wish I could lay in bed all day." He usually says, or something to that affect.

He switches on the radio to hear the news, and we listen to the weather report as I absentmindedly kiss his chest. We stay like this for a while. Just me, him, the bed, the morning news. We make remarks about the weather, as he lightly drags his fingers along my back. Its easy touching. Its possesive yet passive. The beginning of something. Something that may become nothing in the grand scheme of things. It also may be something incredibly meaningful, the foundation of profound love. A blossoming.

Eventually he sighs deeply and says "ok, I really gotta go to work now." I clutch him cutely and say "Stay with MEEE, you know you want to." He "Humphs" in agreement and makes a remark about bringing home the bacon.

I watch as he gets dressed, admiring the way he looks. The curves, the divots, the supple and the masculine. To me he is gorgeous. He asks for my opinion about shirts, and jeans. Always the black belt.

I get up and get dressed as well. Hoping that he's noticing me the way I notice him. As I buttoned my shirt this morning he walked over to me, holding my face he walked me back into the wall and kissed me. I felt his arms wrap around me, holding me secure. I felt the world drop away from me. A feeling that I usually had to simulate with a drug or a book. The kiss morphs into a hug, deep and tender.

When we break he puts his hand on the wall next to my head. He resembles John Travolta in Grease, or Jay and the Americans. "Hey kid," he says "I think I kinda like ya."
"You would," I reply teasing. We banter back and forth for a moment and then get serious. He needs to go to work, I need to let him.

We leave the apartment with a final polite, respectful lip lock. His hand on the middle of my chest, mine the side of his face. He likes me.

We walk to my train station, half a block away. We smile at each other, remark on the actual tempature. We talk about the New York morning. And we depart with a hug. I decend the stairs wishing for more time with him. And image him walking to work.

On the train I search my ipod for something profound, something to sum it all up, but I dont find anything. So I look, blank stares from commuters surround me and I think "If only they knew my story, my morning."

Big Resolutions

New Guy and I kept a palpable distance over the plast couple of days. We sent text messages every now and then, but they were very safe "Hows your day going?" "I hate my job" "Stuck at the office late again" kind of text messages. Chit-chat, you dont have to think communications.

Then today I went to MOMA with Lady L. It was something we had planned but I also like that I had a good reason to turn my phone off. I was in my best form. I explained why Jackson Pollock wasnt just drips on a canvas. I gave my opinion of why Warhol, though genius, shouldnt be as famous as he is. And there was the near 8 minute soliloquy where went into length explaining why Les Demoiselles d'Avignon really is one of the most important paintings ever produced. When people started kind of inching closer to me I realized I was getting long winded and needed to wrap it up.

But the art was relaxing. I enjoyed the photography wing. I went into a three part comparison on Hines, Dickens and Sinclair. And she stopped me when I started going off talking about how Dickens had good intentions but being published in magazines that werent in wide enough circulation at the time made Oliver Twist more substantial in hindsight than The Jungle and Hines' photographs.

But alas on the way home I hit a funk. I'll be honest I fell into a shitty mood. So at 5:30 in the evening when most people were leaving the office and pushing their way through the 42nd street station to get home, I was eating fried chicken and drooling over Russel Crow in Gladiator. One of the few action movies I really like.

Then I get a call from Doctor Michael. Asking me if I wouldnt mind having him buy me dinner. This sounded like the perfect upper. I got a gorgeous cheeseburger, that I ate like nobody's business. And I had great conversation about...prosititution. But more on that later.

After leaving Michael in Park Slope I walked to the trusty Q train, my beloved. I got a text from New Guy "So tell me, do know how to ice skate?"
"Oil and water" I text back.
"Perfect! We'll should go sometime this week"
"I'm game"
Then as I descended the stairs and swiped my card I thought "just like that, we'll pretend it never happened.

I guess I'm Sarcastic

You're Totally Sarcastic

You sarcastic? Never! You're as sweet as a baby bunny. Seriously, though, you have a sharp tongue - and you aren't afraid to use it. And if people are too wimpy to deal with your attitutde, then too bad. So sad.

How Sarcastic Are You?

Another Sunday

There's something very rejuvinating about mornings, dont you think?

I have come to a few conclusions and absolutes:

1.) If new guy wants to be friends then so be it. But I do actually want to be friends with him, not the kind of friend where we say friends and never see one another again. Let's face it, I dont have alot of friends in this city, especailly good friends.

2.) If new guy wants to give it a try and actually be in a relationship or some variation there-of, then I'm all for it. I would rather be with him in a romantic subtext then a plutonic one but at this point I'll take what I can get.

Does this sound ridiculous? Am I one of those people who needs someone? I have all these questions. I dont know. My friends all told me to wait until I have a year under my belt here before starting a relationship with someone. I got here on June 25th, moved into my apartment and said goodbye to my parents on July 17th and if my math is correct that means I've been here 7 months last Wednesday. Maybe they were right?


In other news!!!!


Today I had brunch with the Sunday Times at Around The Clock. It's one of my favorite restaurants in New York. Its the only place I can think of where I can get 2 eggs, home fries, toast, bacon and coffee for $5.95 its great. When my parents come to visit we go there alot.

From there I walked west on 9th street until I got Waverly Pl. (This may be a tedious read.) I then took Waverly to Three Lives & Co. bookstore; my favorite in the city. No the world. Its small with a big red door. The floor boards squeek affectionatly, and they manage to have every book I could ever want. Even some I dont, but thats not their fault.

Now I'm home with my purchases. The coffee is brewing, N.P.R. is playing softly and I have my notebook out on my desk. If the story is worth saving I promise I'll blog it.

Have a great Sunday.

Big Firsts

I have found myself feeling like a giant smelly bottle of Santorum. I have in this moment become one of them. Those people who get into fights and then feel the need to talk about it. (I guess for everyone thats not in my family thats normal.) So instead of talking about it, I'm blogging about it.

The New Guy and I got into what can only be described as an altercation, or maybe a misunderstanding. Anyway, I will digress: I was planning on having a special night. I was going to go to Miyagi and get some some food, rent a movie from the evil that is blockbuster, and head uptown to hang out with him, and thussly make-out like teenagers.

We were texting back and forth as I rode the train into Hatters and waited for him to tell me he was home. Somewhere between the Manhattan Bridge and Union Sq. he hit a bump. "I'm kinda in weird mood tonight", he messaged.

Now upon hearing this I knew immediately that my plans had been squashed. I'm not one to get cry over spilled milk, never have been, but missed beef negemaki is a whole other thing completely.

We discussed it at length, the actual problem being what I had suspected: I'm 19 he's what some would consider too old to be dating a 19 year old. There were no resolutions to this problem tonight besides that I was going to go back to Brookers and he was going to bed. He's been working all week on a new ad campaign for a company that's basically been a stick in rear (not so comfy.).

I'm not bothered by the fact that we didn't hang out tonight, though I was looking forward to it, what I am disappointed in is myself. I've always kind of prided myself on the fact that I didnt exactly act my age or like some stereotypical teenger. What I mean is that I'm rational enough to be one to slam doors, or play mind games, I dont say things I'll regret because the idea of saying something cruel enough to regret scares me shitless. But I did it, I said something unbelievably mean, or at the time it seemed that way.

There's a huge difference between this man and Bob. In alot of ways I thank and blame Bob for the way I'm acting. When I met him (bob) I was looking for someone interesting to introduce me to New York. Someone to show me around, take me to places I would never go with people my own age, and most importantly someone to care about me while I'm making my way here all alone.

It was in that scenario inevitable that I would develope feelings for Bob. How could he have not seen it coming. Then one day it happened: the big deal, the thing that made me certain that Bob would never ever love me. I had written about on here, but I dont think I may have said it in passing.

Bob had invited me to a screening of the film Infamous and we had met at his place a few hours before hand and of course had sex. Well we went to the movie, and walk from 66th to his place in midtown. We talked about Capote, Fitzgerald, Parker, Hemingway, yadda yadda. Anyway, it was unclear from the tone of conversation or body language whether I was coming back up to spend the night. We stopped outside of his door, and as he was pulling out his keys a neighbor walked up and unlocked the door.

Bob turned to me and STUCK OUT HIS HAND saying "Good night, kid" like fucking Humphery Bogart. He disapeared into the building and left me standing there thinking "what a fucking pussy". Now I understand that he's and important person that is noticed by a few people in town, but come on, seriously. He could have at least hugged me or something. Friends I havent slept with hug me.

What does this have to do with new guy? Everything. 1.) New guy and Bob live on the same block. 2.) New guy and Bob are both older than me. 3.) New guy and Bob are both amazing kissers. (I may be getting off track here).

But when new guy kisses me he's doing it because he wants to be near me, he wants to kiss me. When Bob kissed me he may have wanted to kiss me as well, but everytime we interacted there was a predispostion of sex. And though I've spent the night at New Guys apartment a few times we havent had sex, we're too busy talking till all hours of the night about our lives, and out likes and dislikes.

In short I feel awful for being an asshole and acting my age when I had no intention to. Other lessons learned : 1.) Bob = asshole 2.) New guy = great catch 3.) guilty feelings= impossibly long blog posts.

I'm Happy!

Hey there amigos. I just wanted to let everyone know that I am great. But I've learned something incredibly valuable in the last few days. Sleeping in your own bed is nice (this is true), but sleeping in someone elses bed is alot nicer, especially if they're there too.

Oh and if they make a movie about him, a younger Campbell Scott would play him.

So its Tuesday

I was reading my horroscope in one of those crappy New York papers online while I was in MI, and it said that January was a time for me to stumble upon romance. Or something as equally cheesey. All I have to say is "fuck". Ladies and Gents his name is Chris.

Now you are ALL aware of my penchant for older men, no? He works in advertising, he's older than me and than most. Anyway, I was at his apartment on Saturday evening, and we basically made out like school kids for 3 hours then with a promise to speak again soon we parted ways.

29 hours later we're talking on the phone (completely ignoring the 72 hour rule) and making plans to see a movie. Those plans occur tonight. I'm meeting him soon, and hopefully things will go well. He cooks, he dances embarrassingly, and he's been to Japan, England, and Morocco.

The only catch I can see, besides our age differences which really is not a big deal to me, is that he live (get this) on the same block as Bob. Now I know that strange things happen to me, but this has got to be the strangest. I'm not letting it get in my way or anything, but it needs to be pointed out.

Wish me luck!

Crash and Burn

My blog has died.

I'm trying to think of ways to rebuild it, make it stronger, faster, better.

Is that how the qoute went?

a poem

Who came before (New York City) Ocean Ave 1/8/07

At midnight I am nothing
neither alive nor awake.
Spectral and concentrate.

I listen out the window as the car alarms ring out
as the car horns shout,
at hookers on the their lunch breaks.

I listen through the door,
as the neighbors try to get in,
pushing my door back and forth.

I listen through the floor while my neighbors fuck loudly
there is not peace at 2 am
there is no time for sleep.

I watch as the sun breaks over the building
imagining the view from the Yorkville
But brooklyn has its charms.

II

Miles Davis plays loudly, Gershwin cresendoes into oblivion.
I check my window locks, and draw my blinds again.
I hum Etta James as I find my keys.

I check my mail box, find Fitzgerald with my bills,
Parker is in the New Yorker, I read it on the Q,
Ginsberg sits quietly watching the Williamsburg bridge.

Patti Smith walks with me down Delancy,
and then leaves me there for Mapplethorpe,
But I'm meeting Joey Ramone for coffee at 10

Basquait works for Three Lives & Company
He recomends the Warhol Biography
But I go with Pollock, he makes more sense.

III

I ran into Audrey on 57th, offered her some Cresants
she's on a diet, and she was wearing black.
I'll go ask Capote.

Whittam asked me where I was from,
He sat down while Joey was in the Bathroom.
I told the Middle of nowwhere, somewhere east of Queens.

Lennon and Ono, what a wonderful couple.
But they're nowhere near as nice as Julius and Ethel
Davidson needs work on his social skills.

IV

Back on Ocean I listen for the gun fights,
for the fist fights
for the robbers.

I listen to the honkers honking,
the hookers hooking
and the po po po-poing

I listen to the creeks from the ceiling
the moans of the evening
and the wind from the world.

I crawl into bed, as Miles blares out another,
as Coltrane bears his soul
as Etta and Ella and Billie bear all.

I think of the middle of now where
how I got here
where I'm going

I think of who came before.


I dont know if this poem makes any sense but there it is.

A Ruff Draft

The land was flat along the highway. All around it was grass, greyish-yellow grass that reminded him of Iowa, reminded him of why he left Iowa. The old pick up he was driving looked more rust than automobile and the radio was on the fritz again. You would never have been able to tell where he was. To be completely honest he was quite sure where he was, but he was away from it. All of it.

Clint's cigarrett was burnign down fast. It was his last one. And with no radio, not heater, and no company, he needed something to take his mind off of what he was doing. The highway was sparse with traffic and clint liked it that way. It was lazy, coming and going, though he was only going at the moment. He wasnt coming to anything, just going somewhere.

A white moving van passed him on the right. Clint looked at the driver. He was a built man, mid forties possibly. He was smoking what looked to me a rather large joint, and nodded to Clint as he passed. It wasnt an angry nod, though it wasnt a very hospitable nod either. It just was what it was. Everything just was what it was.

The note he had left didnt say much, he wanted to keep it vague, for the sake of all things. It was what it was: a goodbye note. The details he purposely left out would be discovered by his parents perhaps. Most likely not. They were good people, he loved them, but he knew what he needed. His friends wouldnt understand why now. Things there were good for him. He was young, fit, and fairly attractive. People liked him, he was polite to strangers, held doors open for women of all ages, and called men sir, or Mr.

His friend knew him to be spontaneous. They knew that he would do this one day. But they had wrongfully assumed that he would need an excuse to do it. An excuse to leave home.

"The world is a big place," he had told them once, "If I'm going to see all of it, I better start now."

So here he was on a highway that he couldnt name, in a state he couldnt place and in a truck he didnt rightfully own. Next to him on the seat was a duffle bag with 3 pairs of pants, 4 pair of socks, 4 shirts, 6 pair of underwear, and 2 sweat shirts. He had his tooth brush, his deoderant, and a cassette tape of Bob Dylan's The Freewheelin Bob Dylan. His single subject red notebook had slid to the floor during a fast turn; the pen stuck into the ringlets. His Nikon 35mm camera was safely kept in the overside glove compartment. His Zippo lighter was on the dashboard. The light was black, shiny and worn.

The highway stretched out in front of him, but at the moment he needed cigarettes.

What I Just stepped in

A giant, white, dead crab in the middle of Church Avenue.
I love today none the less

(I'm not witty today)

So I really suck at spelling. The three of you know that, you cope with it, because you care about the overall message. My punctuation is really kind of an art form. I say this because I use semi-colons like Jackson Pollock might use the color yellow. Periods come as frequently as pomegranite soup, or something as equally disgusting.

The general consensus (did I mess that up?) among my friends is that I write better than I talk. I'm the kid who says "like" fifty times just discribing his lunch order. When I talk I get too excited about what I'm trying to say and forget to actually say it. When I write words like "privy", and "ensconced" come to me easily. They're magical letters that float together in my alphabet soup.

I've been thinking about what I really honestly want to do with my life. This being the time when people usually think about things like that. I've wanted, since the moment I picked up "Where The Red Fern Grows". I wanted to make 11 year old boys cry in their beds. I want to make people laugh like David Sedaris, and cry like Tim O'Brien.

Now I'm not so sure. I dont know if I could actually make someone cry with beautiful prose, if in fact my prose is beautiful at all. Maybe I should be a journalist? But the hours, the endless fact checking and rechecking, the years it takes before you actually get to write what you want. And all I would want to write is four page exposes about Darfur, and Burma, and follow ups on the Dahlai Lama. I wouldnt want to write about Jeffy's auto-mart. I hope there isnt a place like that in exsistence, its probably in Michigan.

I remember reading The Hours and hearing Richard talk about how he wanted to be a writer. To write about a moment, the whole moment, something so small and significant broken down into letters and words; loved somehow defined by ink on a piece of paper. He couldnt do it, and he knew he couldnt do it. I fear that I cant do it either. I know that I've been in love, with James. I know what it feels like to need someone there with you, I know lonliness. I know what it feels like to be emotionally abandoned by a parent. I know the void of having ceased to love someone. I know the slow and painful process of healing. I know that in alot of ways I am a soul covered in bandaids.

But could I have a character like that? Could I "create" a person who had fears, and needs and wants; hopes and dreams crushed by life, a Charles Foster Kane, a David Copperfield. The thought of being responsible for the lives of others, fictional but still people, is so frightful to me. I make them cry, I make them laugh, I make them fuck; and in turn you, the audience, cries, laughs, and gets off in response.

I scare myself into writer's block sometimes. But the need to tell a story prevails and I write more. I write journal entries, poems(bad poems), and I draft novels and stories.

My friend MP told me about students of his that want to be writers "because they think writers dont actually work". Its true. Many people dont want to actually have to sit and write the book, let alone write it well. I want to write the book, I have written a book, or a novella, but I'm afraid of doing it half assed. I'm afraid of writing about true love and having my audience laugh, or worse pretend to understand and then laugh.

Books are crowning achievments for anyone. They're often overlooked as something alot of people do after Grad School. But its work, hard work. Rewrites, sudden moments of inspiration, late nights spent thinking "Just until I get to the heart of it. For every 10 pages written 2 are saved and thats really good.

I want to write about it all. I want to write about true love, and talk at length about a perfect cup of coffee, or those little moments that you never tell anyone about. I want to make money from it, so I can travel and write about traveling. I want to describe riding on an elephant, and running from a bear.

I will be a writer, in the sense that I will put words on page describing and event, Ink on paper. But will I be Cormac McCarthy? Will I be Joan Didion, or Ernest Hemingway. Will I be Keroauc, or Ginsberg? Or will I be discovered after I stopped writing, found in on the few remaining bookstores by a young boy struggeling to find himself in a world thats moving too fast. I can only hope for that.

Life is short, and I'm not one to giving up something that I really love. So if I dont ever write "The Great Gatsby" or "On The Road" I may end up being okay with that. What I wont be okay with is if I never tried to write. Fear is healthy, thats why people have dreams, because they're liberating and frightening.

I'm going to try, I'm going to write, and I'm going to get published. It may not be "Ulysses" but its something, right? There's honor in the trying. I just hope my editor doesnt mind that I cant spell.

So I'm back in a New York mood

I'm back!
The trip was good I guess. I got to spend some much needed time with old friends, and have some new adcventures. I had a Christmas dinner almost void of arguments (those came later), and I rang in the New Year with a few people I wasnt sure I would ever see again.

But I'm back in Manhattan and things are good, because here I'm no one. In Michigan I sort of felt like Neal Cassidy, always provoking the real geniuses to work harder, and live larger. Here I'm just a college student who works too hard, and doesnt have enough time to read The Sun Also Rises for the 5th time.

I got back in touch with friends here. Some of whom I've decided to leave behind me because I'm almost certain my wanting to be friends with them is hurting the actual friendship we could have had. I know that doesnt make sense but its what I'm saying.

When I'm in New York I never feel that New York feel, the feeling that connects all 0f those who live here. That New York feel. Riding the 6 train, walking down Broadway, spending the afternoon in Central Park. You all know what I'm talking about though, right? (At least those who live here.) When you watched The Devil Wears Prada and you saw them eating at Mayrose and you thought "they have really great omlettes" or when you watch Sex and the City and point out that your friend lives in that building, whichever building that may be.

It doesnt happen when youre in New York, its not that atmosphere that surrounds Manhattan, its an editorial New York. New York in print, on film, and in conversation.

I was considering moving somewhere else when my lease ends in June. But I dont think I can now. Because I understand what I'm part of now. I'm not a somebody here, I wont be for a long time, but with a friend who deals art, a friend in enterainment, an aquaintence in publishing I've unknowingly set myself up to become a somebody. Of course in New York there are no somebodies. Its how everyone else thinks of you. Those non-New Yorkers. Because we dont really give a shit who you are if youre walking too slow in front of us.

I heart New York. I love Manhattan, and Brooklyn. I'm not afraid of the Bronx, I tolerate Queens, and respect anyone who likes living on Staten Island. Will I ever leave New York. Of course I will. I want to live in Europe and Asia, I want to do relief work in Africa. I want to learn to surf on Bondi Beach, and go hiking in Nepal. I want to walk through Cambodia, and listen to friends play at a bar in London.

Life is too short to not do anything with it. I refuse to stop experiencing things just because I moved to New York when I was 18. With luck I will live past 100, and do not see Europe in 100 years in inexcusable in my book.

The book has been outlined, it is in a folder sitting on my desk/table/dvd rack, I'm hoping to do something with it soon, because all I have at the moment is time.

Happy New Year.

When you really miss something

I'm salivating. I'm going nuts thinking about it and my taste buds are starting to hate me. I have the biggest craving for two (not just one) wonderful things.
The first are the apple yogurt muffins at Universal News Cafe. I honestly think that Mel Gibson made them himself.
The second is the beef negamaki at the restaurant the Michael and I frequent. If Jesus was Japanese this is what heaven would taste like.

In other news I'm having an ultrasound tomorrow. Aparently I may have gaul stones, why is it that I can only pass the really difficult stuff?

Will write more later. I feel ill. This time I promise I wont disappear for 11 days.

New Years Resolutions

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!

It is the new year, 2007, lots a changes, and new adventures await me. I'm petrified, I really am. But at the same time I'm hopeful. Maybe this year I will find someone to love, because to be honest I am a little lonely. MaybeI will find the perfect apartment, because I really need to move. And maybe, just maybe, I will actually finish something I start writing and I wont hate it, because I really need to work more.

I need to go on a big trip. I know that is a certainty. I need to stop thinking about James, because its obvious that nothing is going to happen there, and frankly I dont think I really want it to.

But my Resolutions are as follows:

1.) Lose weight. I'm not over weight, I'm just out of shape, and I could stand to lose a few pounds.
2.) Stop smoking. I dont smoke habitually, but I use it as a cruch. When things get rough I my lighter is a lighting. Then I fall into a pattern and everything is just not good after that.
3.) Read more. I know this may sound a little unusual considering I read almost everyday, but I have a habit of buying books for comfort and then never reading them. When I read now I dont feel like I'm retaining anything.
4.) Run 4 days a week. I ran cross country through middle and high school. I know I'm busy but there's really no excuse for not running 30 mins a day.
5.) Be more charitable. I love buying presents for friends and I have lots of those Lance Armstrong wristbands but I hardly ever give to real charities.

I'm thinking of cutting down on the coffee intake also. I drink ALOT of coffee. Also I want to make more friends.

I think that sounds good.

Now I can sit and reflect on the end of one of the most important years of my life.

I wish you all a good 2007