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These words are the last testament of Jesus Christ in the New World.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Putting yourself out there is really hard. Letting someone know you're interested. Every time i see someone who is hot or appealing in some way, I ask myself, "am i brave enough to tell him how much I dig him." And the answer is always yes, because you can always overcome fear.
The question is whether you SHOULD overcome fear, knowing precisely when you actually should be brave. Because the question isn't how brave you are, it's how hurt you're prepared to be.
How much should I let myself be hurt? I will never know the answer to that.
The question is whether you SHOULD overcome fear, knowing precisely when you actually should be brave. Because the question isn't how brave you are, it's how hurt you're prepared to be.
How much should I let myself be hurt? I will never know the answer to that.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Here is the Thing Itself
In the Lear sense.
I don't know what I'm doing in LA. Last week, last thursday, I went to West Hollywood for the first time ever (no WeHo for me. slang means you've gone native. trying to go native too fast is simply tacky.) LA has the best gay boys ever. The finest, prettiest gay boys in the world, the ones who really want to TRY as hard as they can to turn themselves into engines of sex, they come here and work themselves out in the finest race of human potential known to man on man.
They are exquisite, each more stunning than the last. They are frequently 23 and when they are not, they are a 37 which claims 29 and could, in the poor lighting of a gay bar, pass for 25.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this information? How the hell am I supposed to convert this into some sort of useable behavior? There is, around me, a slew of gay guys who are AMAZING and will have, we can presume, absolutely no interest in me.
Water water, it seems, and there is an albatross somewhere here, and thousand thousand crawling things lived on, and so did i.
All these guys seem like jungle-cats, constantly stalking to declare their territory and look for prey. I feel like i'm among them, but not of them, ignored. I feel like the jane goodall of the homosexuals, taking notes, but not particularly doing anything to interfere.
In the Lear sense.
I don't know what I'm doing in LA. Last week, last thursday, I went to West Hollywood for the first time ever (no WeHo for me. slang means you've gone native. trying to go native too fast is simply tacky.) LA has the best gay boys ever. The finest, prettiest gay boys in the world, the ones who really want to TRY as hard as they can to turn themselves into engines of sex, they come here and work themselves out in the finest race of human potential known to man on man.
They are exquisite, each more stunning than the last. They are frequently 23 and when they are not, they are a 37 which claims 29 and could, in the poor lighting of a gay bar, pass for 25.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this information? How the hell am I supposed to convert this into some sort of useable behavior? There is, around me, a slew of gay guys who are AMAZING and will have, we can presume, absolutely no interest in me.
Water water, it seems, and there is an albatross somewhere here, and thousand thousand crawling things lived on, and so did i.
All these guys seem like jungle-cats, constantly stalking to declare their territory and look for prey. I feel like i'm among them, but not of them, ignored. I feel like the jane goodall of the homosexuals, taking notes, but not particularly doing anything to interfere.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
I don't know how to make friends anymore. I'm 28. I should have friends by now. I don't know how to make friends without a dorm or bourbon being involved.
