Carnival rides are being assembled on the street in front of my house, preparations underway for the Feast of the Giglio, a weird neighborhood festival that involves the hoisting of this several ton religious statue, some Catholic festival that has been happening in this neighborhood for a very long time. That it is that time of year again means something to me, that this is a place marker here, a sign of how long I have been here, here in this town, and also in this neighborhood, these North Brooklyn regions. I am thinking about time a lot lately and how I have failed to utilize it.

I am moving off of this block in several weeks. There will be this carnival atmosphere for the next couple of weeks and then the rides will pack up and leave town, or at least this part of it, moving on to the next neighborhood festival, the next parking lot sideshow. I will soon afterward pack it up and move as well. I am entirely unsure of as to where that will be at this point, having yet to call about one apartment, let alone view one either. I do know that I did not entirely love living here, that it felt somehow really lonely to live with these two other people in this giant, slightly grimy apartment and to never see them, that knowing there were other people here and that I never interacted with them made me feel a bit weird, made me want to keep to my room quite a bit. And so despite the convenience of living right off the Bedford stop, I have turned in my month's notice and, unless some amazing and ideal roommate situation comes along (and really that seems doubtful since what I would want would be some recreation of Cypress Circle in Sarasota), plan on moving in some place by myself, meaning that I will be probably be moving due to my economic means to some more southern region of Brooklyn, unless of course I end up in Bushwick, which I think I would enjoy again. For the price I am willing to pay I am finding apartments west of Prospect Park, in Bed-Suty, and in the eastern part of Bushwick - so I think I will certainly be losing these ease of transportation benefits that I now have but I also think it could be an amazing opportunity for me to really lose myself in thought and maybe even ecstasy, to maybe go stir crazy and love that - that I think that may be what I need. But who knows, really?

Really, what it is that I do feel comfortable with, do in fact know, is that I am listening to Miles Davis, am quite a bit stoned, am supposed to be at work at eight, up earlier, and am right now lost in all sorts of thoughts. Aside from these about moving, perhaps even tied to them in some broader metaphorical sense, are thoughts about finding love, the search for some romantic other also a searching for home, some sense of it. I have been sleeping with Diego and that certainly has been quite satisfying but also a bit maddening because I find myself, despite my knowledge of what it is that exists between us, or at least what should, I still find myself, despite knowing that being boyfriends didn't work, that that's not what he wants from me and has said so, that despite this, I still sometimes get overwhelmingly romantic feelings toward this boy and also insane fits of disappointment and jealousy at times, have expectations of him that are unfair given how we defined the terms of this sexual friendship that we have. So there is that.

He left a party on Gay Pride with an amazing view of the fireworks, left half an hour before they were to start to get to an open bar at some gay place, despite there being an open bar at this place. It was something that baffled me and made me insanely sad, that he wouldn't stay a short while longer to watch fireworks. I was with him also on July 4th, some backyard in Brooklyn. I asked him to come to Manhattan with me to watch the fireworks over the Hudson. He declined, wanting to stay at that party. There is a lot in there for me, in how I read these two scenes, what that says about a person, someone who doesn't desire to watch fireworks.

Last night I ran into Pacifico at the Metropolitan, the boy who I wrote about in my last entry, a month or so ago. That entry was the last to have come of this boy, him blowing me off twice to hang out, and so me quitting trying to hang out with him. He was drunk last evening and way too nice, clearly seeming to like me a lot, telling me how cute I am, how nice I am, how good a person he can tell I am, acting a bit as if he had never blown me off twice and not talked to me for the past few weeks. I reminded him of these aspects and he denied them for a few seconds before admitting to them. I was drunk, confused, was there to meet Diego, and these words of some other boy than the one who wouldn't watch fireworks and who would go to some sex party rather than come home with me, that words coming out of this other boy's mouth, this person who relationship-wise represented the opposite of Diego, Pacifico with his desire for monogamy, that they really sort of disoriented me, had me wonder which goalpost I should be kicking this ball toward.

I realized then that it was neither. I slept with Diego last night and it was nice and we cuddled, jerking off together this morning before I went to work, and it was really nice - I wish that things, nice things, could remain so - that the fact that it is nice is the problem - that the sex is sweet and easy makes me look fondly, romantically even, on this person, leading to relationship feelings toward this person I am supposed to be friends with, who I am supposed to be able to talk to about other boys. It is all weird. I don't know. I do know that I don't want to repeat patterns. I want to meet someone who makes me nervous who is new, who is new, who is nice, show is new.

The age of 28 arrived a couple of weeks ago. It feels a lot like 27, though I was happier to receive this gift, feeling more and more comfortable with these increasing numbers, my shift into adult-age sounding numbers, less and less of a fear of no longer being part of these early and mid-twenties, of becoming old.

I am torn lately between the Apollonian and the Dionysian, thinking through the appeals of both and trying to decide between them – my life for the most part some Dionysian orgy, an extravagance of fun, release, and energy, but new options being both thought about and presented to me. This conflict is chiefly embodied in a boy with an oceanic name beginning with P. I met him several Sundays ago at the Metropolitan BBQ, which I plan on heading to shortly, no food in my house and being quite hungry. There was some connection that was more intense than a normal flirtation. I was really attracted to this boy and he apparently to me as well, and so when he jokingly or not said we were going to get married and have a dog called Horatio, I was quite seriously imagining that future, quite into the idea of it.

I went home with him that night, talking about my love of the Late Night line of Doritos along the way, stopping in bodegas hoping to find these rarely stocked Doritos to let him experience it as well as to satisfy my drunken fixation on them, my hunger for the things, perceived in that moment to be just the thing my stomach needed, the only thing that would satisfy it. On his bedroom wall were lots of pictures of Marilyn Monroe; I think these were the only things on his wall, photographs of Monroe in various stages of her career. This made me even more smitten. I overslept for work the next morning, not really caring, quite happy to have met this boy, the potential trouble worth it and more.

We have hung out a few times since, the conversations sometimes going off down the trail of relationships, of what an ideal one would be. His ideal one is monogamous and mine is not; we discussed the different philosophies informing our view of why this or that is better, the two sides a bit irreconcilable. I know that if things were to go any further with this boy, cute, adorable, and smart, then I would need to make some changes, to basically quit being such a slut. And so lately I have been thinking about the two sides presented here – this debauched carefree life that I have been living for the past few years, one which for me really does have philosophical groundings in the sexual nature of man, a belief that the body is something really magical and not wanting to see that hampered down by morality, possessiveness, or the fragile underpinnings of human egos. I feel like in some ways I would be compromising something I believe in to satisfy someone else’s belief system. But I am also thinking that maybe that is okay, that changes are okay, and that I do like this person quite a great deal and should maybe let it play out by normal rules and see how things go.

A few days ago, I did however sleep with Diego, and that threw into doubt many of these thoughts, that it was fun and a really nice experience, that it was the type of hungry sex, of instincts being gratified, that I find really fulfilling and enriching, something that gives me a great deal of happiness, and something that I would potentially be losing. There are many forms of happiness though, and so, saying what I say quite often in these confused and directionless days, I don’t know. I may meet up with this boy later tonight and we’ll see if that happens and if that is ever followed with anything. He loves Muriel’s Wedding, which him kind of perfect.

This past week, I have been working the graveyard shifts at my job and I really do not enjoy it at all, have been sleeping away the day, getting even less accomplished than the little I do on days with a somewhat normal sleep schedule.

It is Father’s Day and I have been thinking about my father some on this day, some music provoking the thoughts more than an awareness of what day it is. It was only after I followed a trail of thoughts that I realized what day it was. But there are things that I think I should get from his sister while I am still able to, bits of information and dates that I would like to have and that I don’t. There are thoughts about some fictional project tied to this desire to collect data, to get details rights.

After Gay Pride next weekend, things are really going to have to change. I am going to start being more frugal because I am going to be going out far less. I am letting life get past me, am working a great deal and partying probably an equally great deal, getting very little sleep and having zero time for reflection, the absence of diary entries here lately proof of that. There are so many things that I would like to get done but which I never do. There are things that need to be written and I am going to have to figure out how to work that into my schedule. I also am feeling a bit restless in my current job, do love the amount I get paid, but don’t really want to be doing this for the rest of my life, and so really need to think long and hard before more of these birthdays appear and I find myself saying similar things, need to think long and hard about what life I want to be leading and to make that a reality, to pursue things I want to, to make things, to perhaps find a job requiring a bit more of my brain.

And these diary entries are so often a forum for me to say this and this and this is wrong, to point out these flaws in myself, to show you my banged-up knee in the hopes that you will kiss it and make it better, but to be clear, to add a bit more flesh to this skeleton of what my life is lately, things are really good despite the normal doubts that come now and again about everything. The week leading up to my birthday, I got to eat amazingly decadent meals each day for free in this restaurant that is opening in the hotel tomorrow. I have friends that really entertain me and care about me and add a lot of joy to this thing, this time here on Earth. There is a boy who makes me kind of insanely giddy and he doesn’t have any of the baggage that everyone I have really liked over the past few years has had; it’s a healthy start for once with someone. I have been in the habit of reading more, of getting stoned, and listening to pretty music on my new headphones with clear sound, no longer the tinny effect of my busted ones I had been using for months. The difference and its effects on my well-being are striking.

I feared that it was going to be a sunny day, as yesterday was. I woke up this morning and there was a slight rain outside. This was great news and I only hope that this gray weather continues into the afternoon when I will be working coat check at some party for seven hours so that I will actually have things to check and the ability to make tips.

This week I am working at least sixty hours for some reason, the offers to do overtime and work coat check at two parties coming my way, and me unable to say no, me desiring to rebuild my bank account, to begin saving money in the hopes of perhaps moving in July. I really love the location where I live and actually like my apartment a fair amount, but I either want to live by myself (which is the preferable option) or with people I have slightly more in common with and where the rent is cheaper, me feeling slightly out of place with my roommates because of their age, their straightness, and their something elseness. They are nice though and I rarely see them since I am home so infrequently, leaving early in the am for work, coming home late from going out, and really just crashing here for brief periods. And so perhaps this situation is ideal for that, especially considering its location. But I am convinced that I can find something for not too much more that I can live in by myself, and in which I can be moody, be constantly naked, masturbate whenever without feeling awkward because people are hanging out right outside my bedroom, and where I can blare music when I wake up at 6 am everyday because I won't have a house full of sleeping roommates.

I am in love with taramasalta. I am reading books again, currently am involved with The Botany of Desire. I saw Outrage yesterday and it was meh, wasn't as great as I had hoped, and in some ways bothered me, the politics of outing people something I am still conflicted about despite the film's argument for the practice. I haven't had sex in quite a while, probably at least a month, and I think it's making me a bitch. Some people have commented on how I have been increasingly bitchy. I found myself getting outrageously frustrated with the people working at the movie theater yesterday and with the person I spoke with on the phone today at Callen Lorde when I needed to reschedule my appointment I had for tomorrow (because of this coat check job) and was told that the next appointment was in six weeks. I am quick to get angry and to throw shade and I am becoming increasingly convinced that this is because my life is absent physical intimacy lately, of touch, of the release and pleasure that comes with such things, and that things are blocked, that that frustration manifests itself in other ways.

Also it seems that once you stumble, the harder it is to walk upright - bad analogy. What I am trying to say with that is that the longer one goes without sex, the harder it becomes to get it. For a long while, it was something that I wasn't so focused on pursuing, something that I didn't have to make an effort to find, that it just happened. Now, however, I am not sure how it happens, find myself sometimes thinking, as I did two nights ago at Metropolitan, how it was that I so easily used to end up going home with someone, what it is one says to someone, how two people, strangers most likely, can agree to this thing. I am becoming more and more removed from this process, am thinking it too much. And as such, my attempts to hit on people are more and more resembling my early attempts to do so when I was 20 or 21 and inexperienced and lonely and desperate and a bit socially clueless as to how go after things I desired. People can smell it, the desperation, the lack of casualness, the lack of ease, and it gets harder and harder.

I smoke lots of weed and listen to music and walk around and feel great. I find myself getting stoned quite often these days.

I got back to this city, New York, sometime early yesterday morning, two am or so, having spent the previous days in Tennessee for the Beltane celebrations at Short Mountain. I am still processing my time there, which was time spent processing my life as of late, and so perhaps really I am still processing my life, trying to understand what path I am on and what adjustments should be made considering the shortness of this life and my desire to live it as best as possible.

There was a fair, perhaps excessive, amount of substance consumption, including acid, weed, opium, whiskey, box wine, and poppers. These all were probably unnecessary, as the most insight I had was riding in a car through the rain with Matt Savitsky, listening to a mix CD he had made, this my first kinda sorta boyfriend, some six years ago. Surprisingly, he was there amidst these faeries and I reconnected with him, spending quite a bit of my time there hanging out with him, having quite a lovely time in his company. Also in these gay woods was Diego and his boyfriend. Also there was Gabriel. The three of these people together in this rural out-of-state setting seemed more than coincidence, seemed some sign signaling something. The three people that have consumed my erotic imagination for my most of my time in New York were all there and so that subject was explored, as were ancillary ones along those lines, such as what I have been doing, what I have been pursuing, what I should be, the nature of time, of attraction - the usual.

Matt and I escaped the mountain one day, the rain and boredom of being in the rain leading us into town. We were talking about relationships and friendships. We would occasionally smoke cigarettes. Melancholy songs would play, some of which I didn't know, would ask him who the band was, would make a mental note to download the band when I got home. I kept looking at his hands on the steering wheel, remembering how attracted I used to be to his hands. The town we drove through seemed like a nightmare to live in, so isolated, so nothing but strip malls. We ate at a Cici's pizza buffet and went to the Goodwill next door.

It rained pretty much nonstop during my time there. My tent flooded. My sleeping bag was half wet and I slept in an awkward and uncomfortable position to sleep in the dry part of my sleeping bag. I danced a lot. My last night there, I asked Matt to make out with me, me again quite attracted to him after spending so much time with him, my dormant crush on him having been called back to life. He said no.

I have resolved this before, but this week the travel guide is going to be written. Matt was in Tennessee for this reason, so was Diego. Their being there was as clear a sign as any that the project needs to take shape, needs to happen, was a bit of an emotional refresher on what it is people from my past meant to me, what they mean to me now, the seeming distance between those (past and present feelings toward places and people), the actual closeness of them.

I am home, or what is home these days. It is still raining and apparently will be for the next few days if the weather forecast is to be believed.

I am listening to Elton John, mildly stoned, but enough so to really enjoy this music in such an intense manner, an emotional one, got home from Phoneix, where I had a couple drinks while talking to Matt, and once here, this new, odd home that I already dream of moving out of into someplace by my \self, in this place, I scrounged around on my dresser for any remaining bits of weed, any crumbs, and gathered enough, my stash empty for a week or so now, to get stoned, stoned enough to listen to Elton John and enjoy it in such a fantastic way and to even feel whatever it is I need to feel to type on these keys, to write on my keyboard, to try to get at something, or at least to document it, attempt to, this little life of mine, short and hopefully sweet, and god oh man, god - I am alive, and there are sometimes when I feel that in a way that I don't that often these days and right now is one of those times and this music is certainly helping me feel that way, helping me feel alive!

But the truth is so much more layered and more contradictory, more gray than the bright blue optimism of the preceding declaration about my aliveness, implying some sort of whoo-hooness, which, you know, honestly at times, probably more so than most people, I do feel, but which to be honest is not a feeling that is constantly present in this little mind of mine, that often there are much sadder feelings, feelings of being pathetic, of not being alive, of being sad about this or that, often some person or other, and feeling quite depressed and wanting to do nothing more than sleep.

And can I contain both of those in a diary entry - joy and sadness - and have the thing make any sense? There is a natural division between tragedy and comedy (look back to the Greeks) and to try to contain both in a work, even a diary entry, often dilutes the emotional power of either, the ability of the reader, you in this case, to get carried away by the work. And what the hell am I talking about again?

I have seen some incredible things lately, among them "9 to 5," followed by Dolly Parton talking to the audience afterward, Justin Bond performing at Joe's Pub, House of Ladosha performing at two venues in Williamsburg, and amazing art shows by Yayoi Kusama and Sophie Calle that are up right now. I am incredibly lucky to be able to experience these things so often because of the place that I live and the circle that I happen to inhabit within these geographic coordinates. Work is going quite well and I imagine I soon might be announcing a promotion here. I interviewed for it last week and am pretty certain I will get it and perhaps if there weren't all sorts of concerns about co-workers or employers stumbling across these things, I might detail these office politics things in more detail, as they are really quite fascinating and full of really rich human dramas, but considering these things and also my luck at having such a well-paying job in what is often described as a bleak economic environment, I will just keep my mouth shut about that and continue on with other topics.

I am maybe friends again with Gabriel. He arrived back in town a week or so ago and I ran into him at a bar and we were friendly and have mostly been since then. We agreed to be friends when first seeing each other, me really missing him a lot, and never really talked about the underlying issues that caused the months of not talking to each other, and maybe that's best, maybe that to try to discuss those things, to discuss hurt feelings, would just lead to further hurt ones and not a friendship. But really who knows because also I am still sort of convinced he hates me, particularly after this redhead and I tried to get him to have a threesome with us. I often think about whether we are meant to be friends, about if we could be, about how really we have to be, should be, and yet it seems so difficult.

This week has also seen some attempt at reconnection with Diego. I hung out with him at his house for a bit last week, me talking to him about my life in a way I haven't been able to in a long while, and me starting to get emotional, honest, me really happy that I had these ears, absent in my life these days really, that I could open myself up to and be really honest with about my insecurities, and then of course he would get a call from his boyfriend, fine except for that his boyfriend got a little crazy pscyho when he heard I was there and started yelling at Diego about what I was doing there, about what I could be there for, all these accusatory questions to Diego, clearly indicating his hatred for me, and all of which I overheard clearly as the two of them were arguing. I got my stuff, headed out the door, and walked home incredibly sad that this person in my life, that these two actually, that I used to be so close to in really special ways that allowed for an emotional honesty I otherwise don't have an outlet for, that the two of them still seem far off, that I need to really work on developing some new friendships of a deep level, but finding it quite difficult to bridge something, to step beyond some polite line.

And Diego and his boyfriend will be at Short Mountain in a week, as will I, and that has me vaguely worried for potential drama that might arise in what I had been looking forward to for months as some sort of spiritual retreat, some time to clear my head, or dirty it, and be something that I am not now, something better.

I don't really know where I am going with this. I am terribly behind on that writing project I mentioned some weeks ago, have (to be totally honest) made no progress on it since those last words written for it, and the goal of finishing it by the end of this month now seems increasingly delusional. If only I didn't love the social life so much, the not being home life so much, that not being alone with my thoughts (or forced to confront my lack thereof) life, I might be able to actually get going on these continually stated goals for my life. Rather I am going to this bar, to that party of a friend, to that show, to this gallery, to here, there, and back again with these limited few hours, continually seeking out the company of a friend, constantly, this neediness I have for friends and companionship and a person always there, someone to kill time with. Thinking a lot lately about what is important in life and less and less sure; sometimes I am convinced to pursue something other than a life hanging out with friends and being constantly stoned is cracked, that everything else is some perverse ambitiousness.

But to be truthful, I am less and less sure of what I writing here tonight, increasingly saying ideas or phrases because I like the way they sound or the force that the argument has in my mind, the ability to stir something, and so for this reason, for a couple, chief among them tiredness, I am going to end these ramblings and head off toward my bed with my headphones where I may play a certain Elton John song on repeat as I drift off to sleep.

This past week has contained a fair amount of things. Spring seems to actually be here today, despite the brief occurrence of snow yesterday and the still often brisk temperatures. I am sitting in the New York Public Library's Rose Reading Room, one of the most beautiful spots in this city to sit at a computer and to think, only complicated by one's own short attention span and the seemingly smallness of my bladder. I came here, it being my day off, and me really trying to get on track with things that I tell myself I would like to do with my life, namely being a writer, but finding it increasingly difficult to write things other than diary entries (thus my presence here today on Livejournal as some way of distracting myself from the project I have actually set out for myself). I have this vision in my mind of a New York travel guide of my erotic imagination and I am having quite some difficulty in getting started with the project, despite it having been in the back of my mind for quite some months. I have a deadline set for myself of the end of April to be done with the major work for the project. The dream is a short little zine with an intro and then descriptions of a bunch of locations tied to my erotic memories. It is quite beautifully conceived in my mind; it is just writing the thing that seems to be quite difficult, the environment, the mood never seeming right for my purposes, me having trouble getting into the groove of stoking the fires of memories, bringing these things back to the surface, perhaps the better time is some gray day early in the morning, or late at night a bit drunk. Right now, however, it is a gorgeous spring day and reflection is the last thing my body, my mind, wants to do. I want to (and I intend to) wander this city, looking at the buds on trees, looking at people, and perhaps going to the thrift store to look at clothes. The project can wait until later today, until the sun goes down, and my mood approaches something close to the mood I should be in for this endeavor.

This past week though, to get at the project of documenting my life, something that has fallen by the wayside and which I need to pick up again as some daily form at least of rendering life and thoughts into words, of getting back in this habit of writing which I have woefully fallen out of, I finally finished 2666. It's massive and messy and beautiful and sometimes boring and frustrating, but entirely worth the effort. There are some sections of the book, particularly early on, that are utterly fantastic. I still believe that Bolano's shorter works, especially stories, are much better than these massive works, but this book is pretty astonishing. I didn't agree with all the hype about The Savage Detectives, not enjoying that book that much, but this one has rightly earned all the praise being thrown at it. That occupied a fair amount of my imagination in past weeks, reading and thinking about the book.

I saw the Koh and Koons exhibition last week, but enjoyed its afterparty at the Eagle far more than the works in the gallery. A couple nights ago, I went to the New Museum opening for "Younger Than Jesus," its afterparty, and then the Metropolitan for karaoke. That night was one of the more fun I have had in a long time, it reminding me a lot of a New York I used to know better before working full time, going from party to party, meeting art fags, drinking free booze, and dancing and singing out of tune. That night was the night in which I resolved to myself that I would from now on spend my days off at the NYPL attempting to write, attempting to make something of myself and this life, not wanting to go to any more openings full of artists who make work, not wanting to be some hanger on to a community of creatives, but rather to be part of this community, to contribute things. And yet, here I am, saying that it's too pretty outside to work, that I want to go outside and play. Always the grasshopper, never the ant.

I am done with hosting that party at Happy Ending, which I am quite relieved about. It was somewhat fun, but it did take up too much of my already limited free time and stressed me out a fair amount trying to get my friends to come out to a bar that I wasn't even that excited about, my memories of Happy Ending not being the best ones, and because one of the other people throwing the party was an obnoxious asshole who I couldn't stand. And so I am free of that, free to wander around from bar to bar if I so choose. The problem with that was a bit like my problem with this library; it was that I felt trapped, that being somewhere from 10pm-4am felt too much like work to me, that I wanted to be there for the fun and not the other stuff, wanted to get drunk and leave with a boy if I could.

And boys. Things have not been going so well with them lately and my confidence has taken a bit of a bruising lately. There is a 19 year old who likes for me to fuck him and that is the extent of our relationship. We will sometimes text when horny, meet up, fuck, and then part ways, no real emotions involved, and probably for the best, because as is it is solely a sexually charged relationship it would probably wither if either of us showed how vulnerable we really are.

I met this boy last week, this beautiful boy, Eli, and he came home with me, spent the night, and the next morning we ate bagels together. It was a really beautiful night, one of the nicest ones I have had in a really long time. We had nice conversation and made plans to hang out again that night, me being kind of insanely into this person I had just met. He didn't end up meeting me that night at Happy Ending and a couple days later, I texted him, saying we should grab drinks soon. Several hours later he responded: "Hey, I'm being good though, little alcohol and no strangers!" An exclamation mark following that no strangers bit. That was a big punch in the gut, making me feel pretty pathetic about having such nice feelings toward this person that thought of me as a stranger.

I have had a huge crush on this guy that works in Room Service, B., and a while ago we had made plans to go out for a drink. It never happened and I gave up on trying, knowing that this person knew I liked them and that if he were interested, he would pursue it. B. has a crush on one of my other co-workers and I got to witness him hitting on this person, K., at Happy Ending. Later, K. told me B. asked him on a date but he wasn't going to go.

At that New Museum afterparty, there was this boy that I really liked, a Luke. Our mutual friend, Bobby, knew I liked him and introduced me to him, him seeming to not take much notice. He was also introduced to my friend Michael, who also knew I really liked this boy and who didn't see why, and of course Luke's eyes lit up when meeting him. Later in the night, the two of them starting making out. Afterwards, Michael said to me, "Why do you think he is attractive? I don't at all." My confidence and heart have been taking a lot of punches lately.

Leaving that party and Michael, who I was annoyed with, I went to Metropolitan, sang "You Can't Hurry Love," talked about Woody Allen with John K., smoked a fair amount of cigarettes, and then left for my house with Richard, it nice to sleep with someone, a friend, and to get off.

The blue sky is calling my name through these large windows and I have to answer.

Diary,

Remember when we used to be closer? I am not sure what has happened, why the entries have been more infrequent and less detailed. It is not that I suddenly have so much more going on in my life and am unable to sit down for a moment and detail it. If anything there are more of these idle moments living here in the East Village at my computer then there were elsewhere, in past living situations further out, so much more of my time spent traveling to and from places and not sitting here idle in front of a computer. The problem is certainly one of position, physical one - that to write in my room, the only way to do so is by sitting up in my bed and having this laptop on top of my lap, certainly not a very comfortable position. What I would prefer (and what I will soon have) is more room, an actual desk to sit at it.

I am listening to Elton John and Billy Joel videos as well as those of Kansas ("Dust in the Wind" for crying out loud!), and either because I am listening to this stuff I am getting really emotional and sentimental or because I am emotional I have put on this music - not sure which is more to blame or if they are both at play here in some sentimental thoughts/sentimental music feedback loop.

Quite a lot has been going on in my life these days and there may be some time where I wish I had documented it better, or (so many of these or's here tonight), or perhaps I will be glad that this area was not documented too well, that some things are best forgotten. Not sure what I am trying to say with either one of those options, not sure if either is actually applicable, but what it is I would like to say and actually will say now is that quite a lot has been going on in my life.

My time to Mexico was interesting and put me through a lot. Traveling alone is an interesting experience, especially when you are already feeling a bit distant, divorced, from other people - that your reasons are suspect and your ability to connect with other human beings is pondered sometimes when you are eating a meal alone on a busy street in a city that is in a country where the dominant language is one you barely understand. There are also giddy moments when you meet strangers and decide to spend the next day with these people riding on a packed speedboat full of people to Yalapa, a small isolated beach town. There was a moment riding back on that boat where I was so in love with everything around me and I couldn't imagine how I could not spend the rest of my life at a Mexican beach, how anything could be more beautiful, more of this life, than that place. A day later though I would get on a bus and ride five hours back inland to Guadalajara.

My trip started there, in Guadalajara, before a quick three day jaunt to the gay beach town of Puerto Vallarta and then I returned back there, to the second biggest city in Mexico, for some reason. I stayed in a ten dollar a night hotel, the Hotel Hamilton, on Calle Madereo, which is the historic center of the city, also near where most of the gay bars are grouped together. The hotel was scuzzy, as was most of the city. I would spend my days walking around it, visiting the gay bathhouses, eating food here and there, and reading from my Lonely Planet guide and from Roberto Bolano's 2666. I made a big dent in the novel and am in love with the book (which hardly makes me unique at all, the book already so praised by everyone) and that makes me happy for numerous reasons, chief among them though is that I honestly don't think I have finished one book yet this year, haven't even really gotten emotionally involved with one yet. I used to read a book a week or so and we are now midway through the third month of this year and I have still yet to complete a book - that also says something about how I have been living my life as of late and why I am excited about the changes about to take place in my life, changes that I think will bring out much happiness and will help me be the type of person I want to be, that physical space is actually necessary to be a productive person within your own home. The book has me excited about not only reading, but about writing as well, and I should get back to that book soon.

The news though is that I am moving in a few days to an apartment in Williamsburg. It is a share with some people off of Craigslist but they seem nice and the room is large and there is a backyard. I am so excited about getting out of this gay dorm from hell where I currently reside, where I currently type this missive from. This place depresses me in so many ways, there is no real kitchen, the rooms are tiny, I have to change keys every week, I have to go to the post office to get my mail, and the landlord is batshit batshit crazy. It will be so nice not to live here anymore. I cannot wait. I was so excited about that apartment, the first one I looked at, so excited about its location, near where I used to live, where I probably have my fondest memories of living in New York, my first memories of living here, near my first couple of apartments, the neighborhood, despite its all too easily enumerated problems, feeling like home - and me jumping at the chance to move back there, telling the person I wanted the room and pulling out my checkbook then, after being in the apartment for about five minutes. Sometimes these impulsive decisions are great and are capable of without warning bringing you so much happiness, so much joy. The knowledge that decisions can me made without forethought, right there, and have an immediate beneficial impact is something I should keep on my mind constantly, that within each moment there is the potential for major life-altering change.

So there is that. There is the subject of boys, which should probably be addressed. I was quite slutty in Mexico. I have been quite slutty at the gym, jerking off just about every day in the steam room with someone or other. For a while, there was some fooling around with Diego but now sadly he is back together with his boyfriend and so that has come to an end. That is a weird situation that is probably best not to explore here so publicly, but the thing that can be said here is that I find myself still attracted to him, that that brief taste reminded me of the casual sexual friendship/relationship that we had, a really easy and nice thing, and made me frustrated that that is over because he is dating someone, that their monogamy has really hampered my ability to have the same awesome friendship with this person I like a lot and that I have a sexual attraction to. I don't know - again probably best not to explore that. There was a flirtation with this Micah boy for a bit before I went to Mexico but I have given up on that, me pretty certain it was going nowhere, the two of us diametric opposites in some ways. I did get asked out on a date tonight at the gym and declined, the person slightly creepy and blonde, pretty much an immediate turnoff. There is a boy I like at work, a person who just started, possessing brown hair needless to say, and really quite beautiful and awkward and charming.

I invited him out to this party I am helping to throw on Thursday and maybe I can drunkenly confess my crush to him then and make out with him. There is this party as well and that has been consuming my time, thinking about that, getting an open bar set up, and talking with my comrades about it. I am excited about this first night of it and to see where it goes. House of Ladosha is playing and I could not be happier. I love love what those kids do with that band and I want to see them blow up and for everyone to love them. The goal is to have performances every week and if were successful in establishing a weekly venue that showcased amazing performers and was also a kickass dance party, I would be so thrilled. But to not get ahead of ourselves, let's see how this first week goes. Certainly come. It is at Happy Ending in the basement this and every Thursday night.

There is work. I still am in love with my job and my co-workers and do feel really lucky to have stumbled into this opportunity. It's hardly an important job, but for whatever reasons I do love it and things are going quite well there.

There is this weather, still cold, and yet spring five days away. There is my excitement about a new season, a new house, a new outlook, a new party, and old interests, things I think important, revived - some crushes, some friendships hopefully, and my interest in the world of literature, as something that is life.

I just got back tonight and will write about it soon. Here however are pics.

The weather was in the fifties today – and I do this a lot, this talking about the weather as an introduction here, as a method of somehow setting the scene, telling you these physical things outside of myself and their conditions as some way of hopefully being brave enough to get at the interior conditions, the weather of my own mind and its shifting patterns, the cold front that descended from somewhere and has yet to lift – and it had me in nice spirits once I finally left my house around noon today, slightly stoned, on a trip to the gym and elsewhere, errands, this, that, and generally just strolling around this city on my day off, thinking about things and not thinking about others, and wondering what it was that I wanted, on what path it was that I was going down, and whether I should do something about that, how to.

After running for a while and lifting some weights, I went into the steam room, the carrot that often incents me to go the gym, knowing that I will be able to sit in the heat nearly naked with a bunch of other men slightly hidden by steam and have erotic fantasies about the men around me and fairly often get to enact in some form those fantasies, jerking off with these men on occasion. Today was such an occasion, though really a non-occasion, something that has become routine, this jerking off in the steam room with strangers having become such a part of my days.

Today, the man appeared to be in his forties and was quite attractive, at least in the mist of the steam room, the mist more than once fooling me and the awkward encounter outside the steam room with one of these men resulting in a slight shutter of regret seeing them in better lighting. The man today stroked my dick and kissed my chest, my neck, the touch turning me on so much. For a good amount of time, I was in this erotic reverie, nothing outside of that physical encounter and my racing heart, but I left once some dude sat next to us, the two of us covering ourselves in towels and acting like we had not just been jerking off. Orgasm frustrated and erotic reverie now fading into normal reality, I thought to myself about what it is I am doing, again the question of what course my life is taking figuring prominently, this time at the showers in the gym, some Latin dude in the shower stall next to me, the guy always there, and always peeking through, showing his dick, probably in these showers all day, and the questions, the questions, and this, some man and his dick, being either the temptation to delay answering these questions or perhaps the answer, either good or bad, to these questions.

I have stepped back from a large number of my friends and see them less often. I have started hanging out with other people lately, namely lots of co-workers. I live in Manhattan. I go to a bougie gay gym often. I find myself taking cabs often, something that used to be a maybe once every six months thing now becoming a few times a week thing. These are some of the changes I am thinking about. I wonder if I am on the wrong track, if I am becoming a type of person I don’t like. I rarely read and never write. I am going to Mexico on Sunday for nine days and I really do hope that I am able to use this opportunity of traveling alone to step back and think through some of these things, to wonder what it is I should be doing and how to go about that.

I don’t particularly like my living situation. It often depresses me. I live with older gay men who seem lonely and stay in their rooms all day. I worry that this is my future. I need to escape this house. Two nights ago, the owner was playing the keyboard in the living room, quite terribly, for a couple of hours, till some of the guys here starting shouting down the hallway to him about how they had to work in the morning. Last night, someone was hopefully drunk and crying and making weird animal noises at the top of their lungs and it was insanely depressing to listen to as I was trying to fall asleep, to hear some man in his forties or so such a mess and making childlike sob noises for the entire house to hear.

I still think about Gabriel often, despite my commands to my mind to quit thinking about the subject, that he is out of the country and to let it and him go. I think about him sometimes when in the company of newer friends, thinking how fun he was, how much I miss him and regret that our friendship has been such a failure. I don’t know why close friendships prove so difficult for me. But the list of close friends I have burned through is quite crazy – that there is some pattern to this in my life of having intense friendships with people and then not talking to them again for a period of time, if not forever, among them: Leslie, Nora, Ethan, Niki (several times), Diego, and Gabriel a couple of times also. I think about Niki sometimes these days also, missing her as well. I have been hanging out with Diego again and he is sometimes sad and sometimes lonely and so I have been enjoying talking to him a lot these days. But my emotions are in a scramble. I can’t read the weather patterns, have no clue what is going on with the Doppler radar screen, and so am just enjoying the ride, commenting on the weather, that it was in the fifties today and it felt really, really good to not have the wind sting me with cold in the face, to walk calmly from place to place, enjoying the walking, the strolling, the living here and seeing people, some known, more not so.