Reader Beware - I'm high.
It's been a long night, from bar to club to bar to club. I'm exhausted, but as soon as I walk into the flat I feel like the silence deafens me to the point where I can't sleep.
People have experimented with writing on drugs before - I'm sure I'm no pioneer. I guess the reason I started typing was to spill out my brain, thats probably the reason why I'm up even though its now quiet and dark, peaceful, but there lies something making me anxious, or nevous.
Disgust is one of the feelings going through me now. You don't really think when you're high, you think and feel. There's no separation between what you're mind spews and what your heart receives. Thats probably why, as soon as I lose my mdma or e high, I feel extremely hollow- because my mind is thinking: what sort of rat-ass, depressing, dirty place is this? With a million ugly men dancing in hot sweaty club? They may have perfect bodies but I don't know - after James I don't think I can respect anyone who's over 30 and remains hooked by the balls into this 'gay scene'. It's all too wrong.
Should I be getting tired of this so quickly? Shouldn't I go through some sort of maturation before I decide to leave this night scene? Shouldn't I milk it for all its worth - sex, attention, what have you?
I found out that Jalaludin Al-Rumi was gay today, after reading one of the posts on Mithly.com. That makes me feel so good. No matter how good you feel about yourself and about your connection with God, its always good to have a role model- in this case a Sufi poet who taught my mind everything about gnosis. Gnosis. Just as I think that, my heart yearns for it. I know I'm too weak, not formidable in my convictions, to properly seek it. I'm not sure its one of those things where only trying counts either.
What to do what to do.
Stop swallowing pills thats what.
But then I like that feeling. That feeling when the butteflies surface, when you feel like your core is only being held down by a body, and that in return your body becomes lighter. That feeling I get when a good minimal track is thrown on, or when I hear a church choir. Euphoria - love - yearning. Followed by a come down that brings your thoughts into dusty, dusty corners of your mind. I promise this is it for a while, and then a while passes, and I feel like it again.
I'm sorry I just can't get over how rediculous this scene is. I mean London is particularly bad - I remember neither Madrid, Frankfurt, New York, or any of those clubbing hot spots have this feel of absolute decadence with no purity, nothing to hold on to when you're coming down. In Madrid it was the Sun and the Fantastic People. In Frankfurt it was the sheer elegance of Cocoon. I can just go on but you should know what I mean...
I warned you.
Sunday 18 February 2007
Tuesday 6 February 2007
Sunday 4 February 2007
Thursday 1 February 2007
Love that makes you weaker?
Monday 3.04 PM. At some point during the quiet afternoon hours he stands staring at the tube floor. His face is vacant, iPod volume to a bare minimum (just enough to drown the metal roars in the tunnel). He sways to the abrupt movements, holding on with both hands to the metal bar above, but his gaze doesn’t shift.
Was revenge ever part of the plan?
Sunday 2.35 AM. The crowd at the Shadow Lounge was heaving. M looked across at Anders and whispered in his ears “Do you wanna fuck?” Anders, half drunk, stared in amazement, before nodding his head vigorously and stuttering something incomprehensible. M wasn’t sure why he asked Anders of all people but conceded with his cock that sex was a rare incident now. It occurred once every month or three- with a complete stranger, not his boyfriend. Now he was desperate, even if it meant going back to previous lovers. Previous assholes. M nudged Andres and pointed to the bathroom with his eyes. Anders followed like a stunned puppy. Inside the stall with dim lighting, he fumbled with Anders’s pants, pulled them down to reveal his huge pale dick. Anders tried to kiss him, but M pre-empted by pulling Anders’s neck towards this chest, only to push it down towards his crotch. Anders got on his knees and started tending to the rising demon. Clearly drunk, Anders abruptly got up and started mumbling. The mumbling became more coherent as he gained confidence. M, slightly drunk himself, decided to give him a chance to speak.
“…and…umm...if…I’ve been waiting for this for …. But… so long… you know you mean everything to me…when I think about what I did…I’ve been waiting for this…I love you…you’re so…please…”
M was starting to realize an unfamiliar urge. An urge to just listen and watch Anders, once the source of so much pain and heartache, descend into an apologetic remorseful rant. M said nothing. He stared Anders in the eye an enjoyed the pain he was going through. Every bit of it. Revenge. Anders disgusted him as a person, but he was a good fuck, and M needed that now.
M dragged Anders out of the stall as the latter struggled to replace is cock. It was the ladies room and some flirty remarks were thrown. The cab sped off to Vauxhall, to the Chariots Roman Spa where men indulged in habitual debauchery on every night of the week. Bring your own poppers. In no time the two of them were in a cabin, and Anders for the first time pleaded “Fuck me, please, fuck me I need you to really fuck me”. M didn’t hesitate. He fucked him, knowing it was the first time he’d ever done so, and knowing that Anders was emotionally disturbed. He didn’t care. He fucked him and came. Then he explained that he needed to be home. Anders, still very much a zombie, followed him out.
The next day M turned off his phone, and deleted any messages he received – and they were many. Still M wondered, he knew his own behaviour was abnormal, so was revenge ever part of the plan?
No- revenge never was. The best revenge has always been living well. But in desperation you loose a part of your self esteem- whatever that was founded on- and your mistakes become graver, your behaviour more animal and less human. Where is the point of saturation though? When do you say – that’s it, this relationship has brought much love and stability in my life, but it has cost me my excitement and sexual adventure, my ability to be honest and my freedom from guilt- and it needs to end.
M sees no point of saturation in sight – meanwhile the mistakes keep happening.
Was revenge ever part of the plan?
Sunday 2.35 AM. The crowd at the Shadow Lounge was heaving. M looked across at Anders and whispered in his ears “Do you wanna fuck?” Anders, half drunk, stared in amazement, before nodding his head vigorously and stuttering something incomprehensible. M wasn’t sure why he asked Anders of all people but conceded with his cock that sex was a rare incident now. It occurred once every month or three- with a complete stranger, not his boyfriend. Now he was desperate, even if it meant going back to previous lovers. Previous assholes. M nudged Andres and pointed to the bathroom with his eyes. Anders followed like a stunned puppy. Inside the stall with dim lighting, he fumbled with Anders’s pants, pulled them down to reveal his huge pale dick. Anders tried to kiss him, but M pre-empted by pulling Anders’s neck towards this chest, only to push it down towards his crotch. Anders got on his knees and started tending to the rising demon. Clearly drunk, Anders abruptly got up and started mumbling. The mumbling became more coherent as he gained confidence. M, slightly drunk himself, decided to give him a chance to speak.
“…and…umm...if…I’ve been waiting for this for …. But… so long… you know you mean everything to me…when I think about what I did…I’ve been waiting for this…I love you…you’re so…please…”
M was starting to realize an unfamiliar urge. An urge to just listen and watch Anders, once the source of so much pain and heartache, descend into an apologetic remorseful rant. M said nothing. He stared Anders in the eye an enjoyed the pain he was going through. Every bit of it. Revenge. Anders disgusted him as a person, but he was a good fuck, and M needed that now.
M dragged Anders out of the stall as the latter struggled to replace is cock. It was the ladies room and some flirty remarks were thrown. The cab sped off to Vauxhall, to the Chariots Roman Spa where men indulged in habitual debauchery on every night of the week. Bring your own poppers. In no time the two of them were in a cabin, and Anders for the first time pleaded “Fuck me, please, fuck me I need you to really fuck me”. M didn’t hesitate. He fucked him, knowing it was the first time he’d ever done so, and knowing that Anders was emotionally disturbed. He didn’t care. He fucked him and came. Then he explained that he needed to be home. Anders, still very much a zombie, followed him out.
The next day M turned off his phone, and deleted any messages he received – and they were many. Still M wondered, he knew his own behaviour was abnormal, so was revenge ever part of the plan?
No- revenge never was. The best revenge has always been living well. But in desperation you loose a part of your self esteem- whatever that was founded on- and your mistakes become graver, your behaviour more animal and less human. Where is the point of saturation though? When do you say – that’s it, this relationship has brought much love and stability in my life, but it has cost me my excitement and sexual adventure, my ability to be honest and my freedom from guilt- and it needs to end.
M sees no point of saturation in sight – meanwhile the mistakes keep happening.
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