Thursday, November 22, 2007

What the hell is this?

I'm not sure what the point of that nap was, except to clear my head for maybe a half hour. The half hour ended a half hour ago, I'm supposed to write something now about how it's funny that, even though I never hook up on craigslist, the fact that I've banned myself makes me feel like I'm missing something. I mean I keep thinking how am I going to hook up? I guess it's the way the options keep feeling more and more limited, I used to have places that were dependable -- the Power Exchange or Buena Vista Park here in San Francisco up until 2000 or 2001, I can't believe I'm saying the Power Exchange was dependable -- see how everything just gets worse! Blow Buddies sometimes, except it was always depressing too. Or the Fens in Boston 1995, walking between reeds oops don't fall in the water -- that was gorgeous except for everybody's disdain. Basic Plumbing in Seattle 1997, except then I thought no sex club could get worse than that. Even the horrible place known as the West Side Club, New York 1998, that was dependable then. The Cock, oh I miss the backroom at the Cock -- not that I would even be able to go there if it still existed in the same space, because of all the smoke!

I guess there's no use mythologizing, when even at the best of times most of these places were terrible zones of conformity to the masculine norms I've always despised, still I found so much beauty. I can't find it anymore, that's the problem, and the other problem is that I don't know what else to do, I mean where else to search for that passion in the moment except really I want it to last. I keep thinking of these ideas that seem great -- like oh, I'll learn how to pick people up in bars -- but I hate bars, there's always smoke that destroys my life, I can barely even convince myself to go to one. I write certain places in my datebook, and the date just goes by. But then the worst thing -- the worst thing is when I don't have any energy at all except for a few random moments in the day, any sexual energy or any other energy except exhaustion, I guess exhaustion is a form of energy but then I can't help wanting sex to save me anyway, help save me help! It never works. I don't even know where I'd go if I did have energy, except to walk in circles at the Nob Hill Theatre or to look in people's eyes in my neighborhood, wait maybe this person -- he's looking at me, but no he’s not turning back. I could run down the street -- attention commuters, stalker in a red dress, a red dress stalker, red dress red dress I see red, dress!

I know what you're thinking -- maybe it's not passion in the moment that you're looking for, maybe you want something else. Of course I want something else -- I want everything else! And I also want passion in the moment. I was talking to Chris about going to the faerie house for their Thanksgiving, gross I don't even like saying that word but that's what they call it -- even a huge carcass on the table and everyone grabs chunks and wanders around. Actually there are all different kinds of carcasses -- vegetables too, but literally the grease from the flesh is dripping on them.

But wait: the appeal, I was getting ready to talk about the appeal. Well, let's back up -- they used to have a night there called Tuesday Sucks, a sex party every Tuesday and what was amazing about it was that people actually talked, talked and then had sex, and had sex and then talked, and freaks were an item instead of -- well, freaks. I mean we were still freaks, but we were an item, okay -- an item! Anyway, it was kind of sweet, even when the conversation was a bit airy. The night went on for years, but I guess they stopped maybe around 2001 -- by then the conversation was getting worse -- less Goddess bless her and more mainstream gay crystal catastrophe sex club masculinity. My worst memory: this guy was sitting in the hot tub, I want to say that he was wearing an Army shirt, but wait he was in the hot tub -- see how memory works! Anyway, he was talking about joining the military -- oh, that's why I remember the shirt, maybe he was wearing the shirt later? Anyway, in the hot tubs he was saying how it was going to be pretty difficult because he didn't know how he felt about being closeted but he was up for the challenge, he wanted to serve his country. I can't remember if this was before or after the war on Iraq, but the point is that these faeries sat there and listened and offered sympathetic advice -- I mean, I've been around all kinds of apathy, but that was just crossing the line into complicity.

So, anyway -- most events at that house have a similar dynamic -- a sweetness that goes somewhere but, um, maybe sometimes to the wrong places like there’s a numbness around that critical thinking area. But still people generally treat each other like humans, that's pretty rare in gay sexual spaces. Thanksgiving is the low-key event, it's supposed to be some kind of family-type thing -- how lovely that the alternative family can celebrate, well -- you know. Thanksgiving has always been one of the grossest days to me -- in high school I started fasting, but then I couldn't do it anymore because I'd get too hypoglycemic -- one year I had a breakdown after seeing that Queen Latifah movie where everyone gets shot at the end. So now I generally try to hide in my house, or maybe cook dinner with a few people.

The faeries are a strange group of people because they celebrate gender transgression but so many of their events are closed to people they consider women. For some reason Genocide Day is one of the exceptions. So Chris wanted me to go with him, and I actually thought about it -- I didn't want to go in the hot tub, because of the chlorine, and I didn't want to check my clothes in exchange for a towel to wander around in the sex space, because I'm having way too much body drama to be naked around people I might know. Isn't that weird -- I don't have a problem being naked around random people, but around people I know I get all self-conscious like they'll know my history and they'll see that I can't exercise and what that means to me. They'll see that I'm failing. But I was still thinking of going and saying hello and trying to avoid the carcasses, living and dead, and keeping my clothes on, but then I remembered that people smoke pot inside, and that would ruin my sinuses and I just can't risk that.

Why does a nap give me more pain, wrists ready to snap off no not snap -- maybe break? Then my sinus drama is so intense I'm wondering about the mold I need to do something about the mold at least I need to find out what exactly is going on. I finally talked to someone in the city office responsible for citing buildings, but they won't write any citation unless the mold is visible, and then the only thing they do is make the building make it invisible. So they’re not going to help me. It's times like this I mean times like this every day when I start thinking what if I need to move out -- I mean, where would I move anyway -- move without mold, move when my apartment is finally almost together and one of the few things that fills me with calm is to open my up my eyes and look out these beautiful windows, all the buildings and so much sky beyond. The fire escape, my own private beach. It's hard enough for me to get out of the house, let alone move -- are you kidding? No, I can't move out -- there has to be something I can do, first I need to get tests done I guess so I know what I'm dealing with. For now I'll turn on the stove so that it dries out the kitchen, I think that helps. I'll boil water with a few drops of eucalyptus in it, so that's what I'll smell in the air not mold.

But still this pain – I’m staring at the pot on the stove -- what the hell is this? Really that's what I'm thinking, for a minute I can't remember what's going on -- what am I doing? But then I remember -- oh, I'm cooking beans -- at least I get a laugh out of that one, maybe it will become a refrain. Soap in the shower, a toothbrush in my hand, a pen, the phone, my keys, a glass of water, a towel, clothing, a CD, my shoes, I'll think of more when this headache goes away -- wait, what about this headache, let's try -- what the hell is this? What the hell is this? What the hell is this? Oh, it's my headache.

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