Thursday, March 14, 2013

One day

But it led to me singing, in the part of the park where the cruising now takes place although I don't know why, why this part of the park that's so visible? It doesn't make sense. And these people, why so skittish if you're going to have sex in public? Really, if it's public then let it be public – don't run away just because someone comes closer to look, me, I'm coming closer.
But what was I singing?

One day, I'll be done. One day… One DAY… One day… One day… I'll be DONE. Jumping up in the area and flowing between trees and laughing and groaning and yelling and, one day, one day, one day — will I? Will I please?

Bending and trilling and twirling my voice and of course everyone looked at me like I was high, like this way of communicating was something twisted. Or, actually, most people just acted like I wasn't there. When it's the horrible lack of communication in these spaces that brings me to such pain among the disdain, you see why don't want to write about it, not really, even though I must? Even though I have, even though I keep doing it, even though I keep going, keep going although it's gotten to the point where even what masquerades as connection makes me so desperate in the horror of my participation no not my participation but the limitations, the lack of possibility, I know I've been thinking about this for so long. For so long and last night one of the things I thought about was that place of hut in childhood, that broken tattered never going to survive but still surviving, that yearning for something my father would never give and does this relate? I mean he would never give, he would never provide, that safety of embrace instead it was just a trap his desire and will I ever get out of that desire for what he would never give?

Before last night, I don't know if I would have thought this related. I mean everything relates, but in a direct way, I don't think I would've thought about it in a direct way. But something is shifting, it just gets worse, these spaces for me. And I think about the structural and familial and societal homophobia that leaves so many like me but not like me in these spaces so broken and searching for or maybe not searching for, maybe that's the problem I'm searching but they're not, they’ve stopped, no, some are searching, and some have stopped, and some are stopping while they're searching and some are searching while they're stopping but the problem is that it's horrible. All of it. And still I'm drawn there, but why? Why can’t I just let it go, this horrible world of masculinity grabbing for what it wants, cocks and mouths and holes, not even bodies really just some part and will sex ever be something else? I know sex in these spaces will not, but sometimes is, once in a while, but even then I don't think it's worth it.
I might as well tell you about this moment, the moment when I realized that there were four people here, maybe we were finally having sex together or apart I'm not sure but I realized oh, that's the guy who said you really like being held, while he was fucking me or maybe it was afterwards, and then there's the one I walked home with and we talked, even exchanged numbers, and then the third one, he was fucking me in the rain. And you know, realizing this connection should have felt nice, right, like there's a history we’ve shared, here in this park creating something splendid together but instead it just felt gross the way there was no communication, I tried with the one from the walk, the one who works in high-end retail but he didn't say what exactly so I don't know, I asked him about the two guys underneath the tree a little bit in the distance, are those two straight guys? And he just looked at me like I wasn't even a human, no I was a human but why here, not here, don't try that here.

And the other one, the one from the beginning, approaching me from behind, are you looking for fun? Maybe. Let's go this way. I didn't realize he was the one from the hugs before, all of these people blend together in their attempts at being nondescript but later I realized he was the one with the truck with wood in it, we exchanged numbers too even though I knew I wouldn't call him, something about when I said why doesn't anyone like to talk here and he thought I was saying why doesn't anyone like to fuck, that's how he was connecting so I wasn't any longer.

But he was sweet, before, and now I'm sucking his dick, I mean I was, and the guy from the rain was watching but not wanting to come over and the guy from the walk was trying to suck that guy’s dick oh I don't know, I'm not doing a good job at describing it because I don't really want to go back there. It sounds fine in a way, but the problem is the way that everyone was reaching for a disconnect, reaching for something they wanted, a body part or as sex act, but not something else, there was no acknowledgment of how it could be something else, that's what I was thinking in the moment maybe, but afterwards when I realized oh it was something else, and that makes it even worse that there was no acknowledgment, that there can't be in these spaces, or there can, but there so rarely is, and why am I even in these spaces, I don't belong, I never have belonged, I've been in these spaces for 20 years and I never will belong, I only get further and further away as I'm closer, further from what I want and I don't know how to get back and so I keep searching past the shutting off that's required, required, required I said required I mean I even wrote that in The End of San Francisco, there's a whole chapter about this but still I can't get past it, the shutting off that's required, shutting me off a when will I throw it away, find something else, maybe even learn to desire something else, something other than what this leads to, the familiar, the public, that's the part I appreciate but what about finding something else, that’s the key as to why I'm still here, there, because I haven't found what I need. And will I ever?

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