Saturday, February 21, 2009

a journal entry i wrote today that ended up becoming a short essay on fidelity

I promise to stop blogging journal entries so much.

{because I've been asked three times in one day, I would like to clarify that 'German' is not Zac German. he is a man from columbia who's names is pronounced more like 'Herman' that is of no relation or significance to the literary world}


I’ve been thinking a lot lately about fidelity. What brought this about was a text I received from German. On Valentines Day I texted him “Do you have a girlfriend?” Two days later he responded with “Yes I do.” I told him not to contact me anymore. I’ve been talking to people about this a lot the past week, because it hurt me, and the responses I’ve been getting, although varied in syntax all seem to express a certain damnation of my promiscuity. Surprisingly from people who have in the past expressed admiration of my behavior, support, or at the least indifference. The only person I have talked to about the situation that responded in a comforting way was Tao, who simply said, “There will be others.”

I keep it no secret to people who engage me in conversation that I don’t believe in the act of fidelity in any way. I feel it to be a betrayal of one’s self and honesty. I am amazed that even upon a long winded elaboration of the concept, many people only garner that it is in the interest of promiscuity. I feel that I am faced with many reasons to reject this social structure but still have yet to hear a compelling reason to adhere to it. Even people who in the past have acted as I do, and have expressed agreement to me have recently receded those feelings, now that they are in a relationship. But what I see is those people struggling with fidelity. The closest I’ve come to a good reason to support fidelity is the protection of jealousy. The problem is that I’ve never seen this work in practice. People often make romanticized explanations of “saving themselves for their lover” or some sort of gifting of their body in a sole way to express love for someone. ****** recently argued that this was in no way an expression of “body ownership politics.” I had a hard time believing her. Even ****** who is forever analytical started using vague abstractions and romantic language. Nothing made sense to me, making it unarguable.

There are some trends that I have noticed that I think are important to note. First, it seems that the people who gain the most from my beliefs in an open sexual environment are the first to be judgmental of it. What I mean is that the harshest critisms have been coming from a) the friends of mine who love to hear about my sexual exploits. For now lets call them they voyeurs. I don’t mean that in a cruel way. I myself enjoy exchanges with people who seem to live a little vicariously through what I tell them. I like to talk and write about the sex I have as a way to relive it and also, it helps me to analyze situations. For me it is a mutually positive relationship. Unfortunately these are some of the first people to over simplify my occasional unhappiness with the situation. Like people in relationships often are, I from time to time am unsatisfied with the outcome of an affair in an emotional way. Often it is pointed out to me with the tone of “you get what you pay for.” I find this offensive but often I don’t like to argue that with people, because it will become a long winded diatribe, that will no doubt put both of us in a bad mood. There is another group of people who are often harsh in their opinions who are b) the people I have sex with. Just a few days ago I was lamenting to a man that I have been sleeping with in a casual way for over a year now about German. He proceeded to tell me that I attract people who need to “blow off steam” because of my frankness and how quickly I sleep with them. I became very angry with this person and refused to speak to him for a few days. I got many apologies and a load of sweet things my way from him. I agreed to see him that week. We watched a movie and laid on the couch together. Eventually we went to bed because I said it was okay for him to sleep over. He then got very aggressive with me and we had sex. It was nice. However, it was a little funny in retrospect what had transpired over the previous few days. This happens often with my male lovers. First a wave of critism, then when I revoke my kindness and friendship to them they suddenly want to have sex and will say anything to make things better and mend the relationship. I think that most times this is motivated by jealousy.

The other trend I have noticed is that the people who are the least likely to practice safe sex are the ones that are “cheating” on their significant lovers. This something that one might not believe, but I’ve been doing the field work and have found that only those who are being dishonest with themselves, their lovers, or me are the ones who want to have sex without a condom.

I haven’t felt possessive and jealous in a very long time. Often I feel frustrated with the dishonesty of people, like German. But everyone I see also see other people. Arguably the least kind and friendly lover I’ve had in some time, ****, has treated me with the most respect and has never hurt my feelings in anyway, because of his honesty with me. He has never hid his intentions and always tells me if he needs to take time off from sleeping together and generally being in touch because he is trying to take another relationship seriously. When these stints are over I am always around when he wants me because I never have any bitter feelings, and also, I just love having sex with him.

I’ve been going over an analogy in my head lately about my sexual transgressions. I feel like having sex to me, is a lot like eating food. The desire to do it is instinct. It cannot be smothered. Even animals who have been nutuerd hump objects. Now, people are sometimes saying things to me like “what do you see in him/her?” Nicole hates many of my lovers because she does not like them on a friendly or cerebral level. I see it as this; There are days I want a very expensive meal, organic vegan food, caviar, and home cooked dinners passed down from older generations. But there are also days that I want to eat chips and salsa, french fries, doughnuts, coffee with too much sugar, jolly ranchers, etc. I know I am over simplifying here but it is to make a point. People who over romanticize their food are called yuppies. They annoy people. But even the most liberal minded people I know romanticize what I see as just another bodily function. The candy I eat is always wrapped, and the same goes for the sex I have.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Sometimes My Heart Pushes My Ribs

I just got Ellen Kennedy's book, Some Times My Heart Pushes My Ribs. It's the first release of Muumuu House. Yesterday I didn't do anything. It was my day off and I spent the entire day at my computer, chatting with people, making submissions and editing old crap. It was raining and I intended to stay in my pajamas all day. Tao sent me a message as soon as the shipment of her books arrived and I immediately left my warm little apartment in Brooklyn, to ride a train for an hour, got the book, and then rode the train an hour back home. By the time I was home I had already read the book 1.3 times through. It is a short concise book of poetry and short fiction. Last night I read the book 2 more times. Today on the train to work I read it again. Ellen's work is addictive, you can re read her simple sentences many times and garner new moods each time. After spending less than one day with this book in my possession I can honestly say that I'm really excited what 20 year old Ellen Kennedy does with the rest of what I'm sure will be a very long career.

Everyone should buy a copy of this book here, because I'm sure they will adore it as much as I do.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

CAVES by Matthew Simmons

It's really incredible. I enjoyed it so much I read it twice in an hour.

Read it here.

Here is a gchat that i just had with Matthew:

me: do you have a cat?

Matthew: yep


me: aw

good name

Matthew: i have a tattoo of my cat

me: really!?

you rule

so hard

Matthew: it's on my forearm

a cross between my cat and the old black cat firecrackers logo

me: <3

kitties are zee best

Matthew: he was, unsurprisingly, unimpressed

me: hahahah

fickle creatures

Matthew: but when it was healing, it smelled like a wound

so he would try to lick it

cats are sorta gorss



there it is

me: my cat licks my hair when i sleep

like frantically

Sunday, February 15, 2009

some random journal excerpts from the past few months

In the morning there was a cup of coffee waiting for me on the kitchen table. From there on all day I did nothing but walk on the beach and drink wine and spend time with my father. At one point late in the afternoon I look a very long walk along the shore. I stopped for a while to write METAPHYSICAL in the sand and then take photos of it. There was an attractive man watching me do it, and I had wanted to kiss him and then run away, but when I thought about it a bit, I realized I have enough romance in my life to sort through. I regret doing this, and did from the very moment I walked away and looked back to find him with his hands on his head inspecting what I had been writing on my hands and knees in the sand. Dad’s cousin came over for a bit, along with my Great Aunt Joan and her husband Jack. I haven’t seen them all since I was a child. It was lovely to sit around and have pleasant conversation with them until my Grandparents arrived for Thanksgiving dinner. We all ate and moods were well, which felt strange to me because it was obvious to everyone that we were there to say goodbye to Grandma. Ali and I were a bit drunk and we had a food fight with whipped cream and then wrestled on the floor and after a while everyone left. When everyone was gone we took vicodin and then walked on the beach together. She told me that the night before Dad had said to her that his will had declared me the conservator of Juan’s estate. I felt good about this. We went home and watched a movie with Dad. I was too high to pay too much attention to it. Ali fell asleep. After the movie Dad went and sat outside. I got my ipod and ran to the beach alone. I was feeling really stoned at this point. I walked for a bit listening to Philip Glass again. I don’t know what inspired it but I took off my pants and pulled up my hoodie and walked into the ocean until I was waist deep. I smoked a cigarette and listened to music this way for a song or two before I decided that it was foolish of me not to swim, the water was frigid. I went to shore and took off my soaked panties and my shirt and hoodie. I ran back into the water totally naked. I was afraid to go completely under the water. It was so so so dark. I thought there might be sharks or stingray or jellyfish. And the cold was so close to unbearable. But I just kept looking out at the horizon and felt so incredibly small that it seemed harmless to my life to swim for just a moment. So I waited for a wave to carry me and I took a deep breath and submerged. I swallowed a large mouthful of water. My lungs went tight and my whole body felt light, like it was hollow and my euphoria was more like a delightful frenzy for a moment. Then just as quickly I remembered how cold I was and I ran for the beach. I stumbled and fell in the sand and felt silly. I put my clothes back on and ran home. At home I took a hot shower and fell asleep with Ali on the couch. I slept there all night. My sleep was restless but I was still so happy.

This morning I woke up in Florida. I ate pancakes Dad made again and drank coffee. We went to my Grandparents house to say goodbye. Then we left. Ali gave me a Vicodin for the plane. It was a lovely plane ride. I felt comfortable the entire ride. I arrived home a few hours ago. Kyle cannot come over tonight, but he is coming in the morning when he gets off work and I asked him to bring cocaine to wake me up a bit. I am quite drunk now. I will go to bed soon.


The other day on the train I was thinking about satiability. I could not think of any time in my life I felt satiated in any regard, in respect to the things I desire and enjoy. I am still slowly mulling over that idea and what it means. I fear that it is just mostly semantic.


I would like to wax for a bit about the nicer parts of my week with German. I was so dreamy eyed and wrapped up that I forgot to write about him at all, and since this might be the last entry where I have opportunity to write about him without anger, I want to do so now. To start, last night seems appropriate, because of it’s freshness. There is a moment that should be noted here, because of how profound it felt to me. We had sex three times in a few hours and we were reasonably exhausted at 5 am. We laid on our backs, I had my arms around him and he had his head on my shoulder. I had just given him a back massage for about an hour and he was very lucid with his emotions. We were, at the time, talking about childhood. He mentioned to me his obsession with a South American folk singer he had at the age of thirteen. Then he softly sang a line in my ear. I told him how soft it made me feel when he sang or spoke to me in Spanish. Without continuing the conversation he sang to me Spanish folk for the next half hour. I stared at the ceiling while listening to him and I scratched his head and the nape of his neck. It occurred to me at many moments during that half hour how surreal this felt and a wave of elation kept passing through my brain. It was similar to the feeling one gets about two hours after taking a large rail of cocaine and the happiness is beginning to wane but still feels unnaturally good. It’s this space of thought where one has to enjoy what is happening while battling a sense of irony and sarcasm. I think it is the difficulty of doing so that makes those types of moments so elating, rather than what is actually happening in the room.


It’s 5:30 am and I cannot sleep. ******* is asleep in my room and has been since about nine last night. I’ve been crying a lot lately. Not for any distinct reason. Many things have been mounting on me I suppose and I’ve become incredibly tender. I’ve been wanting so badly for someone to hold me and listen to me, maybe even pity me but there is no one like that in my life. This is an unfortunate product of my lifestyle. If you refuse to be traditional and monogamous, people rarely see you as a romantic tender person. I have accepted this, but it still makes for lonely nights when I cant sleep.

Sunday, February 08, 2009

NANO Fiction

NANO Fiction featured my story on their web page for their next issue. Go read it, and then pre-order the print copy here.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

please don't misunderstand me, honey

when I told him
he smelled like christmas
i think he misunderstood me
it seemed like he thought
i was making
a romantic
i should have been
more clear
i was trying
to save time
now he has
the wrong idea
about me
all i meant
was that
his deodorant
reminded me of
this certain candle
my mother likes to
burn during the
i knew something
was wrong
in the morning
when i looked out
the window and he
stood with me and
looked as well
i said "its a clear
day today"
and he took my
hand and said
"what do you

Sunday, February 01, 2009

Robin Cotton

Today I found the website of an old friend of mine, Robin Cotton. We went to arts high together, and then MCAD together. For a summer we lived together. At one point in time, Robin and I were very good at making soup together. Once, we saw a lady taking a shit (we think) in our back yard. Another time Robin came home after I had been lying on the couch in the dark for three hours listening to Beck on repeat in headphones, crying. "Are you ok?" he asked. "Yeah," I said. Robin is a sculptor. He has always been pretty amazing. He has a blog too. You should go look at his really pretty work and if you like it send him an email, because I bet that would make him smile.

Robin, if you are reading this, I kind of miss you.