I'm down in my grave, writing in my diary. Writing love letters to you, boy.

Strange. You want it from one place, it arrives from another. You go to the well and it's dry and you're thirsty. Then on your way home you fall into a lake and you drown. Oops. It comes from an unexpected source, or it comes after you've given up on waiting for it. Fucking Mercury in retrograde. I can't wait to forge new ground. It is painful and exhausting to reckon with everything again. The same flashes: fire / cold.

Some unexpected surprises, though. A little of explaining, of filling in some gaps. That's always nice. A former lover sent me an email this morning, apologizing for what happened almost three years ago. It's really touching and unexpected. And a little unnecessary-- I had forgiven him (in the capacity that I'm able to forgive anyone) a long time ago. Strange, nice, confusing.

Hung out with Jiddy and Paps the other night. We got groovy in my room, ate Israeli candy and soy iced cream. We watched Fern Gully and talked about starting a band. We jammed: Paps on guitar, Jiddy on ukulele and me on keyboard. Trying to work up a stoner-rock version of "This Land is Your Land". I thought we sounded pretty noisy and shoegaze-y, like Mogwai or MBV (yeah, I abbreviate, lover, I got no time to waste). I think our band, since we're all Leos (Paps and I were born on the same day and year, in fact-- 8/7/84) should be about being a Leo. Songs about famous Leos, etc. I see a real future in this, but I don't think that's so strange.

Got into a fight, on the internet, with another friend. Not even a fight. I just feel so insecure sometimes, but then I also feel like: my insecurities aren't the problem. If someone does somethign hurtful aren't I allowed to say something? Dear Blog Readers right now you are watching me bleed and you're welcome. This morning I drank very strong coffee with soymilk, it was so black it started to curdle the soymilk I had to drink it quickly. And dark wheat toast with smashed avocado on it, and a chocolate yogurt. Feelin' like a woman, lookin' like a man. I feel like I have a big geography test coming up but I never study for it. Thinking of boys in pictures and boys without pictures and pictures of nobody in them (my favorite).


Scott Panther broke my heart / ruined everything. Before he did, we went out to dinner and I asked him if I could tell people I was his boyfriend. He smiled and said yes, and tried to grab my dick under the table but his arms weren't long enough and I wasn't in the mood (I was eating).

Scott: Billy, I have three pet peeves. If you're gonna be my boyfriend you should know there are three things in the world that I totally hate, and here is what they are:
  • Christopher Columbus-- 'Cause... y'know. I just think he's really fucked up and I don't think it's cool that we celebrate him or whatever.
  • Cool Ranch Doritos-- If I smell them, I get nauseous. Like I don't even wanna talk about it. I won't even sit near where someone is eating them, I can't stand it. But this one time? I got so wasted that someone gave me a bag and I totally ate them. I was so fucked up I didn't even care.
  • Men in sandals-- I just... I dunno. Even in the summertime. I don't think it's a good look. I don't think boys should wear sandals, or flip flops or whatever. I mean, it's gross and dirty, A, shit gets all over your feet, it's New York City. But also: I just don't like it. Like jeans and flip flops? I will never wear that. I don't want to be that type of boy. I don't like that type of boy.
Billy: What if I wore flip flops? What if I came to pick you up for a date in the summertime and I was wearing sandals?

Scott: But... you would never do that.

Billy: I know, but what if I did? What would you say?

Scott: I wouldn't say anything. If you did it it would be okay, you'd probably still look cute. I'd still have sex with you.

This is based on stuff that happened a few years ago. I have moved on from the source material of Lover, Ferocious. (My next show is going to be about making a movie. The artistic process of making a picture. it's gonna be a lot harder). Now, actually, I live in a world where a lot more men wear sandals. Maybe this is to say that I live in a world where I can coexist among the "things I hate". These days men wear sandals and show pictures of themselves, wearing flip-flops in (what appears to be) the permanent summer of a personal ad.

I Am, his sandal photo skyline-in-the-street smile says to me, That Type Of Boy.

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