my thinking

Only my thinking will determine the shape of my world. The direction of my life in each moment. I can maybe change the world, but only I can change MY world.

friendly

The wind and the traffic sounds friendly outside.

male

When I was born, I was given the identity that is called "male" in our culture. Perhaps the doctor was the first to decide this. He saw my genitals and in his mind I was pronounced male without any more thought on his part. And in telling everyone else, he stamped on me an identity in which I had no say. Everyone else from that moment kept telling me what "male" meant. There were no options to be considered. I had to live out what they told me.

Why did I feel the need to follow their ideas so desperately? Because I learned very soon that the punishments were very harsh towards those who dared violate the gender role thrust upon them. The enforcers have always been my parents, my teachers, my peers. My friends. No one got to think about this. And though we may have wanted to protect each other from hurt, our best thinking of good protection was to urge each other to fit in. The threats were too large to mount any kind of a battle against without risking exile from the only families we knew.

But now that I'm an adult, the threats don't look so bad. People are coming to their senses, little by little. I can at least risk talking about the role of male, thinking about it. Some, because of the fear they feel, may scoff and avoid the topic, but I can decide whether or not this identity of male is a crock of shit, to be disposed of properly.

I can't start over, perhaps, but I must begin from where I am to create for myself an identity unpolluted by hurt. I know that "female" is not a better option, at least not for me.

There are good parts of my old male role to be salvaged, and then the rest can be cast away, along with the name.

Man oh man.

am I a boy or girl

Which one is it? How did you decide? What is a boy? A girl? Are they opposite? Why do you say that? Why pink? Why blue?

All my life I thought I was a boy. I never really questioned why. Others had the questions. Other boys on the playground. Everyone had to be one or the other. And if they stepped outside of that role they got teased, taunted, spit on, assaulted.

We didn't ever know why we did this, acting out this brutality. It just came out of us. We didn't remember that these roles were quite harshly stamped on us against what little wills we had when we were still babies. Everything is bigger than you when you're a baby, and you have to just survive it. Most of it just gets in you and you forget.

Am I still a boy? Why? Did I ever change for a moment? Was I ever outside of the opposites?

I went on every day trying to maintain all the ways I was supposed to be a boy. But eventually I had to decide to violate one of the major rules: thou shalt not love other boys. It took me twenty years to do this. The early conditioning ran deep. But I am better for any way I fought against it. I am better for having tried to be true to myself.

Why keep it up? Why boy? Why girl?

I will create other options. Possibilities as yet unimagined.

I choose neither.

heaven

Heaven is where we get to have our lives outside of history.

Easter

Today is Easter. I thought I would go for a swim, having nothing else to do, but after taking the bus to the Y, I discovered I had thought wrong. Really, I had not thought enough. It's Easter--of course they would be closed, due to the "C" part of the acronym. So I waited for nearly half an hour for another bus to carry me home to my apartment.

Having all this time on my hands, I looked at my blog, and I enjoyed reading it. I like how I write. And I've been thinking about writing in my blog again for a few weeks now. So after taking the first steps in braising some collard greens, I am sitting down now to write my first entry in many months.

I have nothing I want to write at the moment, but I expect I will be making entries now and then in the future.

I guess I could mention that I watched "Juno" with a couple friends last night and liked it well enough. The most important thing I took from the movie is that there is a version of the Carpenter's "Superstar" performed by Sonic Youth. I must have it. I will not rest until I do. As for the movie itself, I thought the script was a little too cool to be credible. However, upon reflection I realize that it only enhanced my enjoyment of the movie.

This morning I watched a movie on my computer via Netflix called "Antibodies." If you enjoyed such movies as "Silence of the Lambs" or "Seven," you will probably enjoy this one. It holds up well to either of those movies.

Anyway, I will close this entry for now. I wish everyone a very happy Easter.

three i's

I try to reveal alot of me to other people in general. It's a very difficult thing for me to do. I'm not very brave. I feel like there's no one who knows me very well, compared to me knowing myself.

Writing down honest things about my fixations is a way of trying to do this thing, to reach people, and it reflects how ambivalent I feel about really wanting them to hear this. Who could possibly want to hear this? People, maybe even friends, can if they want, I think. I put it out here for them. But it's completely up to them whether they want to trouble themselves to suffer through the distasteful displays of internalized oppression that I want to think through.

Isolation, invisibility, insignificance. The three i's which move my life in weaker moments. Am I really any of these three? Can you help me see that I am not? No one has before, not completely, not definitively. So I find myself seemingly alone when faced with them. And feeling weak I do what any reasonable person does when faced with scary monsters. I run like hell.

I have not yet escaped.

But I love putting these words together and the sound they make of something very meaningful. Metaphor, rhythm, good spelling. I really am hoping these are the only parts you will actually notice.

Your best response, which I don't expect or hope from you, is to be delighted with me for what good I do, what good I am, how hard I try.

And when someone shows me that, it's all I ever want to hear from anyone forever.

starting again

Damn. My "tab" button isn't working, and I don't know why. Story of my life. What's working and what isn't? I tend to be preoccupied by what isn't, for no other logical reason than that I was taught to so preoccupy myself. I notice that my last entry in this blog was in February, when Kikuchiyo died. It's time to write again. I believe that, at least now and then, then is some reward in this. I want my life to be full of nothing but reward, but I have achieved nothing resembling such a state of grace. I continue to try.

The important thing is that tomorrow, the fourth of July, there are some good tennis matches to watch and a wheat-free banana walnut muffin to eat for breakfast.

R.I.P. Kikuchiyo. 2/7/88 (?) to 2/14/07

Kikuchiyo died on February 14th, around 2:50 pm. I had stayed home from work to be there, and hired a vet to come and...finish him off. Euthanise is the popular word.

Yes, he was in a bad state. On this last day, he stumbled back and forth between his perch on the cablebox--until he felt too warm I guess--and back to my bed, lying on his paws, facing the very blank wall. He hadn't eaten for a day or two. Didn't seem much interested in food, this cat who used to loudly demand food each day before mealtime with a "meow" that was more like a "bark."

On this last day he whimpered. Never heard him do that before.

Oh, Kiku. I assembled your pictures all in one file and they now flash at me as a screen saver, and I remember how beautiful you were alive. And then dead too.

Except you had your mouth open. Except you're probably a handful of kitty ashes now. Mixed together with other pets. Hope you like that.

I want you back and I can't have you. You're dead and I've had all of you I ever will. Will it ever be enough?

I feel more single now. And empty. I'm alone, but it's not supposed to be this way.

I expect to see you on the empty couch when I get home from work. I wait for a small furry animal to crawl on my lap. He purrs when I stroke him. He greets all my friends when they come to see me.

Kikuchiyo, I love you so much.

the day after Christmas

It is the day after Christmas, early in the morning, during an hour when I should be sleeping. I don't want to know what the time is, although I realize that here, in my mother's house, at any moment clocks may chime and cuckoo and permit me to figure, by counting, and with somewhat doubtful accuracy, the hour I do not wish to know.

I am having difficulty sleeping. The bed is too soft, my cat annoys me with his proximity indifferent to my comfort, I have eaten and drunk too much. So I give up sleep in favor of writing this, imagining and hoping that the time I spend doing so will equal in restfulness and tranquility to my physical, emotional, and mental health that of sleep and dreams.

Like being outside of time. Stolen moments.

My brain races and I have many thoughts I hope I will remember later. Things I want to get, friends I want to speak to, resolutions I hope to fulfull in the coming year.

There is one whose friendship I want to regain, or begin anew. I see that he thinks and wonders and dreams. He and I share interests valuable to me. We live in the same century, in close proximity, of different origins and backgrounds, during short lifetimes.

Our friendship has been brief and perhaps tenuous. I don't wonder much how it faltered. I see the current failure to connect as being something like a glitch that happens which one is powerless to correct, and at the same time notes as a temporary, inevitable, annoying consequence of using the computer. Like a dream from which I will awaken and soon forget.

I could be dreaming at this moment. I suppose we all could.

The reality is that we may never be closer as friends than we have been. And I think this is no great loss if it is true. There are many people in the world, all of them worth fighting for, a truth one only can have the occasional good fortune of noticing and appreciating.

I do believe there is no regret in reaching out and hoping, no matter the outcome. Hoping is how one lives.

in my CD changer today

1) "Crunk Hits Vol. 2." Raunchy and rowdy rap.
2) Rachid Taha, "Diwan 2." The Algerian artist's homage to rai roots gives the lie to his own claims that he's only a rock artist.
3) Bob Dylan, "Modern Times." Beauty like the lines on a face.
4) DNA, "DNA on DNA." No wave essentials or noise pollution--you decide.
5) Pavement, "Wowee Zowee Sordid Sentinels edition, Disc Two." Always wanting more, and finding it.
6) Ramones, "Rocket to Russia." My own teenage lobotomy every day.
7) Charley Jordan, "The Essential, Disc Two." Easygoing country blues.
8) Romica Puceanu & The Gore Brothers, "Sounds From A Bygone Era, Vol. 2." Romanian diva Puceanu's bold and beautiful beltings amid a swarm of lurching mandolins and accordians.
9) Charley Patton, et al, "Screamin' and Hollerin' The Blues: The Worlds of Charley Patton, Disc Five." Gruff, mysterious, poetic country blues by a master.
10) The Andrew Sisters, "Apple Blossom Time." Not quite riot grrls....

another hospital stay

I had another inpatient hospital stay on Thanksgiving Eve, Wednesday. I drove home from my mom's and was preparing to go for a swim, but I realized I couldn't ignore the dull ache I had been feeling on the left side of my chest. All the paper I had brought home after my previous hospital stay warned against it. So I called the hospital and attempted to talk a nurse into telling me it was nothing, but she would have none of it. "CALL 911!" So I did, and asked them to not turn the siren on please.

I warned my roommate I might be staying in the hospital again--she would have to feed Kikuchiyo--and expressed my discouragement and annoyance at the situation. Then other whining from outside caught my attention, and I headed downstairs to meet the paramedics. They stood confused in the foyer, unable to determine which buzzer to push. I let them in, and one of them scrambled for the stairs, not understanding I was the afflicted one. Perfectly understandable, since I showed no outward distress. I think it was a fireman that guided me out to the ambulance.

She sprayed nitroglycerin under my tongue. She listened to my chest. She connected things to my chest to measure my heart rate. She took blood. She stuck an IV port in my hand.

At the ER I was brought in on a wheelchair, as custom dictates. They hooked me up to the ECG, and I watched bad television and waited. Eventually after several channel changes by several different passing nurses I ended up watching Men In Black. I waited and read and watched and waited some more. After the movie, I turned off the idiot box and lay on my stretcher, watching my heart rate hover around fifty, then forty-five. I never knew my heart got so slow. I felt comforted that my heart was so efficient.

They did a chest x-ray. They took more blood. And I waited and read and waited some more. At last I got to see a doctor. The nurse gushed that he was really good and really nice. I noted that he was sort of good looking and asked if he was single. No, married.

The doctor told me they couldn't find anything wrong. I appeared to be in fine health. He said, however, that the cardiologist I had met during my last visit advised them to keep me there overnight for observation. The doctor explained this very casually and made it clear that it was my decision. I told him I would like to leave, and he said ok.

So I waited and waited for someone to come and release me. I felt I was waiting too long. When a nurse finally came to my room, I stressed to her that I really wanted to leave, and shortly afterward another nurse arrived and started to prepare me. He then mentioned that he needed me to sign a form waiving their liability: since the cardiologist had advised me to stay, it was clear that I could die and was taking my life in my own hands by leaving.

Somehow that hadn't been what I understood from the doctor's explanation.

I don't want to die.

So I stayed.

They determined by morning that I was ok, and I only had some tissue inflammation not associated with any heart stress. The prescription was for Aleve. I wish I hadn't stayed. Another hospital bill to inconvenience me.

last tuesday

Last Tuesday I had an atrial fibrillation. It lasted until Thursday a.m., and I stayed in the hospital Wednesday to Thursday. I have told so many people about this. I don't want to die. I never thought I would, never really considered the possibility yet. I guess I should. I want to get to all my feelings about this. I only cried once during the telling, and this was to a voicemail. I'm still taking meds for it. I saw a stranger for coffee on Sunday, and I almost started telling him. I don't want to die. I want everyone to understand that their opportunity to know me may be limited. Or rather, my opportunity to know them. Be close to me before it's too late, and I'm dead, and I'm cold, and I can't tell anymore.

refrigerator notes

Languid he chants on the moon.

Purple diamond beauty let sky be a peach.

We soar franticly wanting storms.

I garden my smooth gorgeous easy dream friend.

Watch me goddess of blue sausage.

She is water.

They likely run after roses.

Go ask for misty honey picture.

Worship rain moment petal.

proof that television has a greater meaning

"It's not always that easy to distinguish the good guys from the bad guys. Sinners can surprise you. And the same is true for saints.Why do we try to define people as simply good or simply evil? Because no one wants to admit that compassion and cruelty can live side by side in one heart."

Desparate Housewives, Season Two, "That's Good, That's Bad"

truth and beauty

I once said that I wish I felt the way I feel when I'm drunk all the time. And I actually am drunk now.

I'm drinking calimochos and watching a film about Hitler youth (Before the Fall), and the first thing I notice is that there are wonderful, beautiful concepts in their idealism. Unfortunately it's all based on racism and anti-semitism. But the concept in a speech by the headmaster of a school which a poor youth attends is that all are equal, whether the son of a butcher or the son of a high-ranking government official.

I suddenly realise that Hitler succeeded for as long as he did (and still does in some circles) because there was a strong element of truth in his rantings, a truth which people yearn for. But racism and anti-semitism are in no way necessary or rational for this truth to be a living one.

Racism and anti-semitism, of course, kill the beauty of it.

And so, after watching this horror--in which innocent, loving youth die in submission to the warped, fanatical righteousness of their elders--I understand why I drink.

Why anybody drinks.

sunk

I am sunk. Like the treasure chest at the bottom of the sea. Fish squirm and zoom past. And here I am. I don't know how some patterns got stuck to me, but I'm seeing a few, and it hurts, and I wish I didn't have to make mistakes. Mistakes were very dangerous for me as a child, so every time it happens now, I feel like the end of the world. I don't know the fool I look like to some. I act sincerely, and people are offended. Good people.

Kikuchiyo with study text. 

team player

I've struggled lately with feelings of being an outsider. The feelings, though often restimulated by external sources, are reinforced and perpetuated by my own unwitting thought-patterns. How delightful. I have even felt like an outsider on my softball team, which is wholly un-team-like of me.

I don't know really what to do about this, and I constantly crave help. And on top of that I have the male pattern that says I can't ask for it. How wondrous.

But back to the team thing. The whole world and everything in it is one big team, in a way. I think it makes sense to behave as if it were, as if every person and animal and plant and rock was a natural ally, able to help you become a better you, to constantly strive with as a team to better the world.

So an observation here is that I need to think of what is positive in reality for every negative thought-cycle I find myself mired in, so I can stop being mired. And be a better team player.

I apologize for every time I have judged someone else. I will keep deciding to believe that the best possibilities exist to be fulfilled. I will keep noticing that I am a significant, visible, good, etc., member of the team. And that everyone else is too.

new dresses

I think I would do well here to strip completely naked and put on new dresses. I want to think other than how I've thought.

Tonight in a class we thought about oppressor patterns as relates to having been brought up Christian, or at least of a Christian culture. There are many patterns that even people who have renounced their Christian identity keep, thus becoming ensnared in that which one would hope to avoid.

Such as thinking that you must be the judge of others, i.e. my way of judging you makes more sense than your way. That's a Christian residue.

Such as thinking it's enough to be good yourself, let others be damned. The best you can do is "correct" them.

For a long time now, the idea of identifying myself as Christian has been repulsive to me-- I want nothing to do with the travesties I've seen in its name. But I have carried the patterns.

It's good to say aloud "I am a Christian," and see what I feel like, and be okay with what I feel like. Just to say it and laugh, or cry, or scream hellfire and brimstone. I am a fucking Christian.

for keeps

Hi. Just wanna say hello again. Haven't seen you for awhile.

I'm okay. I'm working and eating and sleeping and exercising some and trying to do things well. That's me. I get along ok. And my cat, he's alright, my best friend he is.

I know I haven't been writing, but I do think about it. I think about why I might need it. It's just a good thing, is the all around excuse I come up with. I don't want to say anything special about it right now. I just write to write. Maybe like eating or shitting or breathing or desiring. Or thinking. There's all of that.

Keep it simple. Keep it clean. Just keep it anyway.

my mind off sex part one

I played my guitar tonight. What a friend I have missed! Exploring sound and rhythm is pure wonder. If only I could figure out doing it without stress to my hands and wrists. Touch lightly. The steel strings bite into my fingertips. I remember when they were always calloused, and I never forgot to clip my fingernails because I couldn't ignore them against the fretboard. I push my thumbnail against those fingertips of my left hand, and remember.

I buy and buy and buy, but what I can create without dollars is far more satisfactory, if I needed to choose. I'm pleased so much that I don't need to, but why haven't I been creating? I let my work kill it. How many are like me? The amount of creativity killed by the stresses of an oppressive society staggers the mind.

I decide to recover my love for creating music. Somehow I will figure this out.

poll on masturbation

This is my short poll on the topic of masturbation. Please feel free to forward this link. The poll is not intended to be scientific, just to satisfy curiousity. You may choose to be anonymous in your response. My own responses appear as the first comment. To respond to the poll, please simply write a comment with your responses numbered. A pop-up box will appear which enables you to view the questions while writing your answers. Thank you!

1) Do you remember the first time you masturbated? How old?

2) Do you remember how you felt the first time you achieved orgasm with masturbating? Describe.

3) How often do you masturbate per week approximately?

4) What percentage of the time do you masturbate to orgasm?

5) Do you use porn when masturbating? If not, what stimulates you to orgasm?

6) Do you deliberately plan what times to masturbate? What precipitates masturbation for you?

7) Comments:

buzz

Traffic moans, dishwasher squishes, radiator whispers, computer buzz, mouse clicks, keypad tapping. My evening symphony. Somewhere in the sky an airplane roars. I get up and walk to the bathroom, the kitchen, and then here I am again, in front of this screen.

Kikuchiyo, the 18-year-old red point siamese cat, sprawls on the couch or settles atop the warmth of the cable box. Dinner has been served, and the two-legged warm furniture is too peripatetic to be useful. Later it will carry him to the bedroom, fall upon the queen-size purple-covered bed, lie on one side, then the other, repeating the sequence in oblivious intervals throughout the night.

I pretend to watch from outside. The mind follows this irritating and mysterious rhythm of passing from external awareness to internal awareness and back again, as if they were altogether different zones. I feel this sense of unreality, as if I were isolated down to the stark monotony a few conscious thoughts. As if.

There's a whole world out there. A glance to my right, looking from my bedroom window to the parking lots, lights and buildings, a city crammed with the minds and bodies of unthinkable numbers of human persons, proves it.

Loneliness is the biggest scam of all.

for shame

As I swim a great deal, I have taken to spreading lotion on myself after showering, because the chlorine makes me itch if I don't. I used to spread it on my legs, butt and genitals by putting one leg on a bench while wearing a towel and reaching underneath, pushing the towel away to get at the genital area. Now instead of a towel I use a speedo shammy-type "Water Shed Towel." It's little more than a foot square, and sort of awkward to dry off with, but very absorbent, and it prohibits me from covering up with my towel and only needs to be rinsed and squeezed for care. So I now lotion myself naked and always walk around the locker room naked too. At first I've felt really self-conscious about it and sense people's discomfort (real or not), but I'm getting more comfortable with it now. It makes it easier to get the lotion everywhere and actually, I think I felt more self conscious putting lotion on while wearing a towel.

I've also been challenging myself to not be afraid so much of checking other guys out. I turn my head to look, if only for a glance. I don't stare unless maybe their back is turned. This also depends alot on the relative attraction I have towards them. I really haven't encountered guys who are very obvious about this being ok with them. Amazing how strong the inhibitions are.

I think 90% of men (around here) are extraordinarily inhibited about being naked. How much is "Christian" body-shame and how much is homophobia? I see guys wearing their sport clothes to the gym so they don't have to get naked in front of other guys. I see them slipping the underwear on while still wearing their towel or at least being careful to have the underwear at the ready as soon as dropping the towel. I see them neglecting to shower before getting in the pool (yuck) so they don't have to be naked, or showering with their suits on, and just barely getting themselves wet. And finally, of course, I see them keeping their eyes to themselves as if they were alone when showering and when dressing or undressing. Some really hot guys are so "modest" I want to snatch away their towels and burn them.

And all this shame is passed on mostly silently. People don't have to tell each other explicitly to never be naked in public, you just inherit a tacit understanding by watching how others deal with nudity. Even in religion, there's not that much explicit prohibition. It's just not necessary.

I've been thinking lately if I want to take the extra time out of my schedule to join a nudist group, and as I write and think about this I am moving towards doing just that. I want to be with people on occasion who are not so ashamed. But I wonder in those nudist groups how much care they take to not get sexually aroused. When I look at their sites they seem to be almost as circumspect about this as people who are clothed. I guess there's one way to find out...

dizzy

Birds follow me everywhere. They call my name and make me dizzy. My car is gone, and I can't get home.

I walk a whole mile with a woman I don't know and don't want to know. We're asking questions and still don't understand.

Left then right or right then left I alphabetize my eyes. In my palm they are sticky. I drop them and they bounce on the floor. The cat bats at my left eye with his paw, chasing it across the floor, then eats it . But I can see everything.

The sky is white. Up or down doesn't matter. The sky is brown. I climb a tree, starting from the top branches. When I reach the ground I dig and keep going, past the roots. Worms say hello with no mouth.

In this month of March the rain falls on happy faces, never on the lonely.

backbroke

I'm crushed that Brokeback Mountain did not win Best Picture. Not because I believe it actually was the best film of the year--I'm doubtful that it was, but then these things are far more subjective than is ever admitted--but because, after all, when it all comes down to it, I'm truly, deeply, sick and tired of the oppression.

Here was our hope that some people could get a glimpse of some of what we, as gay men, suffer. Maybe all the ridicule, intolerance, and cluelessness could be exposed for even a moment to those who thoughtlessly perpetrate it. On most days it seems too much to hope, but tonight I surprised even myself, and inwardly hoped that I could walk in a world tomorrow where a few key people who had never understood would suddenly, miraculously, "get it."

So once again, as usual, life goes on, and the oppression goes on.

I don't think I'm stupid; I really am not naive enough to think that things could suddenly change. But, to my surprise, I still have room for hope. Please god let the world show me I have reason.

raw

Dance to the beat of the livin dead
Lose sleep, baby, and stay away from bed
Raw power is sure to come runnin to you

Iggy and the Stooges

I feel raw the last few days, but not with power. Don't know why. Feelings I can't deal with,
they tie up my brain. Something has me stuck, and I can't think my way out. I can recognize, with at least some of the feelings, that they aren't tied to reality. Muddy feelings of anger, stubbornness, gloom, and depression are like a closed circuit that feeds upon itself.

This is the sort of stuff that leads to addiction, but I believe it's my current resistance to addictive behavior that's bringing it up. Not that I haven't been engaging in such behavior. Last night I ate a pint of frozen soy shit. The day before I jerked off compulsively.

And, as if this is logical, I'm feeling badly about myself the last couple days. So difficult it is to set things up in my life to contradict returning to this most basic addiction.

Perhaps this is one reason why I love the Donald Duck character so well. He's absolutely determined and persistent; not stupidity nor ignorance nor failure stops him pursuing his lofty goals. I guess I want that sort of unstoppable bluster.

I noticed before writing this entry that my blog contained exactly one hundred entries, and I already knew that today was my blogiversary. So whatever I might feel about what I have accomplished in this blog, I want to invoke Donald Duck as my role model in continuing to write it. Whatever is good in it is worth trying to strengthen.

boxes

Driving home from work today, seeing cars swerve by me, everyone jostling for position or struggling to maintain, I saw a vision of our world where people separate needlessly and endlessly. Each in their own box, thinking only of themselves, believing that it is enough to carry on within the narrow path each follows.

Any time I can break out of my aloneness is a gift; any reflection I can grasp that broadens my view to include a few others goes against a lifetime of messages telling me that I must fend for myself. Every negative has its contradiction.

All of these boxes travel the same road. We stop at the same lights. We protect each other.

Somehow people connect.

first date of the year

Bright February Sunday. Sort of bleak. Bare trees. Laundry to do, groceries to purchase, pool to swim, friends to call, meatloaf to bake. As I list these to-do's bleakness recedes and I'm left with reflecting on last night's date. My first of the year out of ten I promise to myself.

I hesitate to write about this as I may be seeing him again. That's up to him of course. His true feelings about our encounter weren't evident to me. I didn't feel convinced when he said that we could go out again. Need I say I enjoyed his company? I did.

I helped him find his way to my place from the suburbs as we stayed connected by phone. I had to put my coat on and assemble my backpack one-handedly while holding the phone to my ear. We had determined he would pick me up because parking is hard to get where I live and we both needed to eat. My first thought was that we would see a movie at a theater but we ended up at my place.

It was apparent to me that we both wanted to get into the bedroom at some point though I was more reticent about stating it. He made numerous innuendos during our meal together, and I smiled agreeably. I noticed from this experience and many others I have had that when two gay men like us are out together, we use the safety to remark to each other on the attractiveness of other men we see. This is cool. Can you imagine a man remarking to his female date on the allure of other women on the street? But then they may feel less need to do so since they are not oppressed that way. Not that I believe they wouldn't like to sometimes.

There's not much more I want to say about this, as I feel it would be improper without knowing how he feels about the frankness I typically display in my ramblings. Suffice to say that we did find our way into the bedroom, and he has a very nice cock. You can fantasize yourself and get more satisfaction from it than what I would write anyway.

Hope I see you again, guy.

me and creature

I'm baking pizza from a glob of spelt dough leftover from when I made pizza two days ago. At the same time, I'm braising some collard greens to bring to work tomorrow. Somebody's birthday is tomorrow, and others in my department are bringing taco fixings. I think greens are fantastic on tacos, and I hope my workmates will think so too. But most likely they won't touch the greens. There's a great deal of lip service given in various seminars at work to eating vegetables, but the most people come up with on treat days are bite size pieces of carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, and maybe bell peppers to be smothered with sour cream dip. Greens are inspected as one would eye slime draped on the lurking figure of the creature from the black lagoon. Eeeww!

I wish the creature from the black lagoon were my workmate. We could go swimming together after hours. No one would dare tell him he couldn't go in the pool, and he could also stand up to those prudes who might feel that I should wear a suit. I could get alot from such a friend. We could walk around arm in arm singing that Beach Boys song about vegetables. Maybe if I got to know him (it? maybe not male since it doesn't have a dick) I would find him less hideous.

And then when I wanted human companionship I wouldn't have to win it--my creature friend could just drag a new guy home to sleep with every night. We could do three ways, though it's hard to imagine what kind of sex creature might get into. We could just share if I couldn't get it up for him.

What friends we would be! I'm afraid he might eat my cat though.