2001-03-03 - 01:54:33
Breather

Breather

I've barely thought about sex all day, today. Do you think I should see a doctor?

I found new, uninteresting employment. I now work a block from that cruisey downtown washroom, and a couple blocks from a porno shop with viewing booths swollen with horny men day and night. While I expect to enjoy the occasional 'nooner', I don't intend to get carried away.

Random, anonymous, quickie sex frenzies me, makes me delirious. Fuck, I love that.

Too, I notice that when I'm having less sex, I seem to experience the whole world more erotically. I watch men differently; things register on a different scale.

And then there is ongoingness. (Mark Doty gave me that word.) Guys keep coming in and out of my life. Does my bedroom need a revolving door?

Does my heart?

Tonight as I mull I note the absence of confusion. I am not discombobulated. Neither am I feeling a whole lot of clarity. Clarity is only ever temporary, anyway.

Unflustered and contraction-free, I sit here writing and wondering and stretching.

Imagining myself: a half-finished sentence, a cum-stained blank page.

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