goodbye

day 32 of quarantine

My neighbor was kind enough to check up on me.

all

I

see

everywhere

are 

the

dead

i made it this far

abstract trepidation

I roll over in the musty sagging bed and attempt to piece together the night before. The dank room I occupied was windowless; graffitied walls painted pink with the lingering stench of a million Mexican hookers. I lay naked on an old spotted mattress, itself smelled of mildew and various indescribable aromas. The bathroom was down the hall. I arose slowly and staggered to the sink next to the bed and took a piss, washed it with water from the tap then splashed my stubbled face.

Gravity took over and I slumped uncontrollably back onto the bed. I lay there dizzy and aching - head pounding as I stared at the naked light bulb dangling from a wire coming out of a hole cut in the plaster in the ceiling. Directly above my face, there was a bright yellow spot in the plaster. That's rat piss, I thought, not water damage. Rats always piss in the same spot. Humans don't - unsanitary fucks...

My mind throbbed with the kaleidoscope of a million images. It had to be round nine at night, the bars were in full drive cause the sidewalks were pregnant - crawling with twinky Mexican fags. They swaggered and cooed to and fro from one disco to the next - Albatross, Bananas, Riches - all glaring and giggling at every crotch. The disco and chacha beats thumped as outside between the clubs agile hustlers lurked in the shadowy shadows to rob the unwary tourist or desperate old queen with time worn accuracy. We stood outside Bananas and smoked and laughed until I was invited inside for some much needed drinks. He said his name was Arturo. Short in stature with a thin build and black curly hair cut short. I loved his smile - heated me pants every time he did.

The place was lit, you dig. Wall to wall boys lined up and jumping to the beat, swirling and dipping and cruising around like aroused Tom Cats. The sexual tension was thick like only it can in these Mexican gay joints.

Arturo introduced me to his friends - all fine characters and there was one cutey - a thin twink named Manuel and he really took a liking to me. And the boy really liked to drink his drink. On that note - beer and tequila began to flow.

Arturo, Manny and I hit the dance floor and boogied until the joint closed down at 2am when the lights snapped on immediately followed by the shrill cries of trannies hiding their melting faces in dispair. The waiters ushered the entire lot out into the streets where continued the frenzied socializing, fags, trannies, and lezzies huddled in groups talking and laughing all wondering where the next party was - a yellow hummer drove by and invited me to a fiesta in the hills, I refused.

Arturo, Manny and I jolted drunkenly across the street to a chicken restaurant and devoured delicious chicken tacos and made out in the booths - where the waiter snarled pinche jotos but we just laughed under the sneering glare of the fat mamacita that was running the joint - and that's when Arturo came up with the idea to rent that cheap ass room. First we stopped to buy a fifth of cheap tequila.

Down dark, trash littered alleys of mangy dogs and bums with quivering hands reaching out forever, past shady characters glinting eyes under fedoras twinkle in the moonlight and hissing hookers with silver teeth and bruised thighs - we stumbled up worn wooden stairwells to a nameless hotel in an unknown place and slapped down the twenty in front of a fat receptionist chewing on a cigar so nasty.

With difficulty, Arturo pries the wooden door open, flicks on the light and the cockroaches scatter. We ritualistically pass the tequila bottle around - tastes so good going down. I retch. Little Manuel jumps up and down on the bed - something breaks inside with a muffled boing - we all laugh.

Tongues and fingers probe as clothes were peeled off and erections exposed. I sat on the bed as Arturo laid me back and began to suck my cock like a champ and that fucker knew what he was doing. Manny played with my nipples as he continued to kiss me talking all dirty like in Spanish. Arturo's fingers found their mark and were slid up in me and I didn't need to instruct this horny fucker in anything, he puts my feet up over his shoulders, spits into his palm, lubes his cock and slides in with slow deliberate movements. Thrusting and lunging, Arturo fucked me as I gasped and grunted through clenched teeth. Manny jacked me off, kissing and massaging me - talking oh so dirty. Manny was the first, kneeling over me - he squirted his cum across my chest...then it was me, with Manny milking it out, I gasped and squirmed in an intense orgasm. Pounding faster and harder, Arturo pulls his cock out and squirts his semen all over my stomach, too - falling next to me in a sighing plop.

We lay there talking a bit sharing a delicado cigarette. Eventually both had to split and they did. They got dressed, we shook hands and said good night - I finished the bottle of tequila we had purchased and fell onto the bed.

the gay agenda

We think we want sex. It’s not always about sex.

It’s intimacy we want.

To be touched. Looked at. Admired

Smiled at. Choked out. Laugh with someone.

Feel safe. Feel like someone’s really got you.

That’s what we crave.

That's what I crave.

l'obscurité est mon seul ami

Okay, here goes: I am not normal and I have never been normal and I’ll never be normal and please don’t ever say I’m a nice guy because being a nice guy is the last thing I consider myself. I am a horrible, damaged monster doing his best to stagger through this shit storm I was born into. I suffer crippling manic depression and have been diagnosed as borderline schizophrenic. I can almost never go to sleep. After a childhood and adolescence filled with continual abuse and violence, I literally feel as if I’m dying when my body does something stupid like try to rest. I see demon or monster faces when I close my eyes. This is similar to meth addicts who have stayed awake too long and probably just a product of my insane insomnia. I am not a person. I do not do things a person does. I haven’t been a person in years.

I don’t want your pity. I don’t want a fucking thing from you. I’m not posting shit to look cool. I’m a garbage person attempting to expell through written word what I’ve done with my life. Simply allow me to write and make my jokes. This is all I have, understand? Ah yes, I forget, you cannot understand.

I have been, and inevitably will always be, trapped alone in this black diving bell at the bottom of a lightless ocean...cables severed...

homeless, hungry, happy

An age such as ours is the most difficult one of all for an artist. There is no place for him. At least, that is what one hears on all sides. Nevertheless, some few artists of our time have made a place for themselves. Picasso made a place for himself. Joyce made a place for himself. Matisse made a place for himself. Celine made a place for himself. Should I rattle off the whole list?

Those who are perpetually talking about the inability to communicate with the world, have they made every effort? Have they learned how to be as wise and cunning as the serpent, as well as strong and obstinate as a bull? Or are they braying like donkeys, whining about some ideal condition in the ever-receding future when every man will be recognized and rewarded for his labors? Do they really expect such a day to dawn, these simple souls? I feel that I have some right to speak about the difficulty of establishing communication with the world since my books are banned in the only countries where I can be read in my own tongue. I have enough faith in myself however to know that I eventually will make myself heard, if not understood. Everything I write is loaded with the dynamite which will one day destroy the barriers erected about me. If I fail it will be because I did not put enough dynamite into my words. And so, while I have the strength and the gusto I will load my words with dynamite... You want to communicate. All right, communicate! Use any and every means.

one more tomorrow

horrible horrible horrible i cannot take this anymore i need to escape this prison i have encased myself in 

i am not living 

i am waiting to die xxX