Thursday, April 29, 2010

Sexpo, Paparazzi, Moving, Longing

Last night J., de Milo, and I all went to this Sexpo downtown. It was TRASH (*accompanying contemptuous dismissive gesture mimed*). We were so excited. We though we'd see gay porn stars! We even allowed ourselves to get so carried away that we fancied Buck Angel would be there. And though we all laughed at ourselves about how fucking scary he is (really: every infant boy's anxiety of the "bad breast," of the fatal feminine: a woman who can catch us, and kill us--his with vagina!), I think afterwards we would have risked Buck's cunt over the douchy sleeze-bags that populated the place. Poor women. And, interestingly, we were unmolested--we vamped and camped up a bit, and I thnk for this reason we were more frightening to these dumb-ass men than they were to us. Hahaha. Oh how I love invert-ability (Freud's blessing to faggots: we know how role-play like motherfuckers).

I'm moving today. Just across the street. Into "Pride Tower": Pride party at my place this year! (Perfect view of the route :) ) I'm not looking forward to it tho... it's a pain in the ass... But I'm excited once it's done. It will be beautiful--so much sunlight, more room... and still in Boystown. So important!

Being in VA made me really appreciate how lucky we are here to have a space that is all our own, where we run the streets.

I miss VA. I feel so stupid saying it. I miss "Tall J."--though, his name also begins w/ "J" so, I dunno... maybe I should just stop. He's become like a splinter under the skin of my imaginary. Digging and then disappearing and then sharply re-appearing. He suggested movies I should watch. "Antichrist" and "Otto: or, Up with the Dead People" (a gay zombie flick out of Europe). I'll have to find them some how. But I don't know if I should. This, thus far, other than the intoxicating memory of dancing, is the only thread that extends between us. And it is so tenuous, so fragile that I could so easily snip it without any pain or loss. But that's a lie. So I keep these txts in my phone, these titles, these suggestions.

I re-read my last post: it was half-true (or un-evenly true): I wanted what was also _not_ J: the difference, the remainder that couldn't be folded into the image of J. His accent, his age, his particular appreciation for the music (he knew the words, and was electrically alive when a song he knew came on; 1243: none of the bitches are better than me... It came on at the Sexpo last night and I thought of him instantly, and was thankful for his introduction, for I felt she was singing for me, and so I sang along having learned this refrain for the first time with him, his voice nestling the words in my ear as he gyrated against me)... (real good: we dance in the studio... [I'm your biggest fan...]--there's no other superstar...)

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