I would have loved to have had the option to have a conversation with Mr. Desi Arnaz at some point in my life. I see that it will not happen like that, of course, but I always felt myself having a shallow interest in his black-and-white character on I Love Lucy. He brought a small touch of color to a screen that couldn’t recognize it any better than the audience that enjoyed his stern sensibility.
(Ew. I’m going there today. It just makes sense that it happen like this. But it isn’t going to be easy.)
My conversations today will have a primary focus on developing characteristics of a person that seems like they are, for lack of better terms, ‘dead inside’. Now, the reason for the laced nature is to research more into how to reverse the loss of bodily sensations in holistic, medical, philosophical and spiritual ways. I can only do that when I start to map out symptoms and warning signs for the phenomena. I am also looking into major depressive disorder as a good place to start working from.
(Trial. Error. Trial. Error. Trial.)
Inseparable. We used to hang out all the time. I’d go to see him after he got done with work, and we would walk to a friend’s house. Once there, we would blow through a few cigarettes between the two of us and help to teach a one-year-old how to speak French. We would always enjoy going to the back and keeping warm in each other’s arms, and he’d love to sit in my lap when my legs were sending out invitations. We would dance to music, sleep sprawled out all over house, and huddle up when we decided to put on a film. He was great. He was great.
Pretty soon, his hugs turned to playful wrestling to blows on floor to knock outs. Violence was an unexpected route for this love to have gone, but it happened.
When I think back on it, I only see him as a bully anymore.
(Fat lip on my face, and thoughts about a statement of truth made yesterday that I can’t shake from my skin. Maybe it goes deeper than that. Anger/Passion as the composition fiber to complete the magnum opus of consciousness? I’m far too removed to make sense of it now.)
I’ve never had the best relationships with friends that have short attention spans. I get lost in their child-like naïveté and fixate on their lack of pursuit when it comes to life’s depths and complexities. There are some curious oddities that I have found myself plagued with as of late, but nothing a good shot of _______________ can’t cure.
He gave me a key to his place a couple of days ago. I freaked out on him, and he took it back later that day. He was definitely trying to get at something, but I just couldn’t let him realize it yet.
Luck. Luck is the reason why I feel so conscious, so extensively considerate. I feel so warm when I think about his head lying beside mine as we close our eyes to end another exciting day. I begin to steam when the man decides to talk about his colleagues getting stuck in romantic situations around him. I loathe how I take the time to prep myself before I leave to go to see him.
And I’ve seen him for a long time now. Distance is much needed.
I am ravaged by rumors and misdeeds in places where I cannot possibly be held accountable. The imaginations of friends and strangers is just as lucky as me, it seems.
A somber wave of memories about T.E. Lawrence hit me like a ton of bricks as I brushed the sleep from my eyes when I got out of my friend’s bed this morning. I haven’t slept in another’s bed for many months now, and the quality of sleep was exceptionally less-than-stellar. I feel like I’ve got a fever, but the cold air outside has been playing tricks with my temperature for the last few days.
I feel like I am being persecuted by my livelihood as of late. I’ve had a long discussion with the relatives that I’ve been staying with, and they don’t like that I work two jobs during the week and make time for my friends and don’t come home to spend any time for them. The argument seems to be focused around the fact that I am young, and their thoughts are that I should be spending my young life with my family (as they are not going to be around forever). I find that to be an absurd logic, and I refuse to listen to it most days.
Either way, I’ll be around the bend soon. I miss rooftops and garden parties and costumes - they all seem to find me in the best of moods.
I’ve been sleeping with a red cashmere blanket for months now. Each time that I decide to lay on the stained fabric, I play with my hair and compare it to the composition of the material. I do this to invoke some sort of synesthetic effect, but before this morning, nothing had ever come of it.
I woke up at around 5:40 AM and checked my phone. I heard faint whimpering from the dogs in my room. I got out of bed and walked to the living room to let my dogs outside. I open the door and stretch for a brief moment. I walk around the living room and see my reflection in one of the mirrors. My hair is a lush red, and I rush to get a better view. I stand looking in the mirror, making sense of this ludicrous scenario. And then my eyes opened.
I was in my bed. No whimpering this time around. I checked my phone and immediately snapped a picture of me on my computer.
I’ve been feeling hyper-gay over the last few weeks. Let’s fish that out now.
About two weeks ago, I decided to up and drop everything for about 10 days and duck out to Kansas to go visit an ex-boyfriend of mine that wanted me to visit. I left all of my money, IDs, and computer behind as I decided to just embrace what was to come of the trip. I stayed with him and his three gay roommates (each of them more different than I could’ve imagined), and we did what any group of gay guys does when we decide to congregate: play video games. I have always had a sense of disdain for video games because I see them as an ultimate waste of time, but I did have fun swapping stories with some really great guys. We bonded for the whole time that I was there, and so that things didn’t get awkward, I was able to stay clear of the ex by leeching onto one of the other guys in the house. Things went better than expected, but it was the complete contrast from what I’ve been living in for the last few months.
I’ve made a best friend out of a licentious acquaintance during the end of the summer. We’ve shared more experiences than I’ve shared with many of my friends, and he has just been absolutely the kind of person that I needed to surround myself with. His name is Josh. I’m not sure what else to say about him, except to casually mention that he also shares similar bedroom habits as myself and my crew in KS. No big thing, just a common interest - like window shopping or hunting in the mountains.
I met an author a few weeks ago. We spent a splendid weekend getting to know one another around his family a few weekends ago, and things took their turn for the best and the event ended with a rooftop barbecue and hot chocolate. I’ve been seeing him now for the last three days on a consistent basis, and I’ve internalized his presence in my life as an embodiment of simple pleasures. I’m not in love, and I feel great about that.
I feel great about a lot of things lately. Except for being so out-of-touch with everyone.
I miss my queers that know what heteronormativity is and live in deviation from expectations. I miss my queers that talk ideals and politics because they feel their civic duty calling on them to speak out. I miss my queers that indulge in aesthetics and leave with more inspiration than Erato could ever have attempted to fill them with.
How bittersweet and relentless - these social phenomena continue to exist; no era is ever totally amassed in subordination.