Thursday, February 16, 2012

This view, again

The ways desire is regimented in gay male sexual spaces, distance enforced, masculinity required, silence a given: I've been talking about this a lot since I've been on tour, but it's worse: I'm at the Nob Hill Theatre. Randy told me how they changed the downstairs so it's not just video booths, more like a sex club with a back room and you have to pay $10 to get in but then the video booths are free. The guy working there is actually friendly, can I call him a receptionist because he's behind a big counter? They even check your coats and scarves, kind of exciting and I'm downstairs and there are definitely guys there who I'm attracted to, first I have to go to the bathroom to shit -- yes, glamour comes first. And then I'm back in the hallways of longing and loss and yes, there are other words starting with lo that could go here but they never will, I've already realized that, no problem there exactly but the problem, you know, I already told you: the ways desire is regimented, distance enforced, masculinity required, silence a given and there is no space, none, none at all, for me here. Sure, I can dance in the empty back room, I could approach all the guys I'm attracted to -- mid-40s full seventies facial hair V-neck T-shirt hairy chest; tall skinny guy giving Milk, yes the movie, that's the one I'm really hot for and he’s the snottiest, no surprise -- those two are white, then there’s the Latino pretty boy who pushes you away before you even get to him, I guess he's the snottiest, actually, maybe there's a contest. There's always a contest. Then the mixed-race guy with a few facial piercings, can't tell what he's looking for, and the white indieish tweaker who keeps talking about how old everyone is here, he's the only one who will talk to me since, well, he's tweaking, right? Oh -- and, the bigger tall mainstream gay butchish Latino guy. Yes, I approach all these guys, but no luck, and then I’m there way too long and I get even bolder, using words, can you imagine, words? Do you want me to suck your dick? Thinking really, these guys are just walking around in circles, or standing looking grim, consciously and unconsciously -- and yes, it is grim here, there will never be anything fun, that word has been banished. Do you want to watch me jerk off? No luck there either -- there is no luck here, somehow the fact that the video booths are free makes people close the doors and keep them closed, so that there is even less possibility for interaction without the glory hole intermediary, can we really call that interaction? Distraction: sure, it can be fun, but then what? There is a whole open back room, and nothing happens there for the whole 10 1/2 years that I'm in that terrible place where I thought I would only be for a half hour max.

It's getting too late, I'm ready for bed -- I tell the tweaker that but he says it's only 9 pm. No, it's 11 -- I mean I know he's not going to go to bed, but I need to. Sometime I will ask myself: what are these people looking for? I've asked myself before. I will ask myself again. Sometime I will marvel at the fact that, aside from a glamorous and mischievous queeny demeanor and style marked by something other than what I'm supposed to be, you know, I'm actually somewhat conventional in the ways these people are looking. I lived too long in other people's desires to work the masculine realness these tired bitches require, or at least I can't go so far as to show up in khakis and a pea coat or black Sta-prest and a bomber jacket like I did for so long with my paying tricks. Not a bomber jacket -- what is that brand-name that can signify off-preppy gaystream, punk diffidence, indie angst, worker chic or just plain I'm-not-even-concerned-about-fashion even though I'm always there, somehow, just there -- you know, there are many. Brands: this world is made for that type, and yes eventually I'm outside yelling and sing-shrieking I’m one of those people everyone is trying not to notice and what am I yelling about exactly except, I don't know, trying to express the anguish and pain and exhaustion and overwhelm and over-it, over, over, and over over over over over it. All I know is that when I get to the bottom of the hill I'm talking quietly, repeating I hate my life I hate my life I hate my life, and then I'm ready to get Superglue to fix one of my earrings, and some computer ink for Randy, maybe a mousepad but they don't have one and then I'm at the next store buying water before heading up into the apartment where the sky is stunning, somehow the clouds are illuminated a deep blue and that's when I realize I love this view, again.

No comments: