Hippy Dippy Groovy Love

"Something tragic happened this morning", my house guest says to me after waking me from sleeping in, "I went to get a bowl of cereal and all the cereal I bought was gone. I just bought it yesterday!"
I explain to him that, whenever anyone brings anything into my home, it becomes communal property. Food, furniture, clothes, and even some toiletries belong to all the inhabitants of the apartment where I reside.
Even personal space and privacy are shared between me and my three other room mates. There are three bedrooms divided by four of us. Of course we describe one room as being "My room", and the other as "{Erica's} Room", and the other as "{Sandra's} room" merely because our respective beds, dressers, and shelves furnish the rooms. But other than our furniture claiming the space, we can hardly stake ownership of any room in the house.
For instance, for the past three weeks my house guest has been sleeping in my bed in "My room". Which means that there are now five people sharing three beds. So I have often squatted in the other too bedrooms available (sleeping next to another of my room mates). If we define one's bedroom as where one sleeps, then I either do not have a bedroom or I have three.
We see each other naked often. Between showering and dressing (we also share clothes), just lazing about for the day, or just because it's too damn hot, my home is what some would consider to be a "naked house".
Bathroom space and time is also shared. It is very rare that the four of us ever lock the door. We've plucked, shaved, styled, and manicured while sharing the bathroom space with a room another. We have showered together, and even brushed our teeth while another took a shit. Admittedly we aren't exactly privy to each other's sexual lives, but when we need to claim a space for a roll in the hay we are straighforward and blunt. "I don't know how to say this, but I am going to your room (where the computer is) to masturbate, so don't come in for a sec," my room mate confesses to me on a Saturday afternoon. "I'm coming in", a room mate yells from behind my door, "so stop touching yourself!". Needless to say we are all very open with our personal lives and possession.
Our "Naked, hippy, commune" (as one of my room mates call it) is the single best protest against our capitalist consumer society that I can think of. Ownership is completely overlooked. "What is mine is your and what is yours is mine" is the apartment's mantra. And this mantra does not make special exceptions for any special (house) guests.
Because we don't "own" or "possess" anything, or maybe it would be better to say that because we "Own" and "Posess" everything, we rarely fight. We all accept the rules of the land and we have learned to love it. And because of this unique arrangement, my room mates and I have developed a family of sorts, with all of us playing father, mother, brother, and sister at different points in our time together. We share with each other the intimate personal details of our lives. So, like everything else in the apartment, my love is your love and your love is my love. Multiply that love by four, and counting our house guest (who is getting used to the situation three weeks in to his four week stay) making it five, that's alot of hippy dippy groovy love.

I Am Single Again Damn It!

Fuck them all (I think "Fuck them all" maybe to hostile. Damn Them! feels excessively offensive as well. Maybe Pshhhah would be best) Psshhhhaah, I say to them.
I am attractive.
I am stylish.
I am intelligent.
I am interesting, damn it! (The "damn" was appropriate in this case.)
Why would they not want to love me?
I am not concerned with their shallow, selfish reasons for not being into me.
I hate that new book, "He's Just Not That Into You". I hate it because I don't care why they aren't into me. If they aren't into me, why would I want to read about their feeble reasons for not finding me irristible.
I am irristible!
I'm single because no one else meets the high standard required for being my lover.
In this case, nothing (no one) is better than something (some one).
I am enough for me!
I know that now...

My Love Is Gone

My lover has left. He is going abroad. For enough time that we can no longer be together.
Now we are both able to experience all that we could not while in the confines of our relationship.
We can have a taste of the forbidden fruit. We can be where the grass seems to be greener.
This is a mixed blessing. Being in love is the greatest gift of all and we have given it up for the hopes of something more. Only time will reveal the extent of our sacrifice.
Each experience beyong this moment gives us greater perspective on our past.
We are free from the obligations of love for each other.
Is freedom the greatest human condition?

Still Alive...

I am tired of hearing pseudo-existential, philosophical arguments about how nothing has meaning in this world, how everything is a construction, how nothing is true, how life has no purpose, how words are hollow, how nothing is real, how nothing matters.
If nothing matters to you, then I don't matter to you.
I would rather spend time with someone who thinks I mean something.
Why choose a world, a life, a word that has no meaning (Meaningless in itself is a meaning?)?
Choose a life that means something.
Choose a world that means something.
Choose words that mean something.
Have faith that it matters.
Because if it doesn't matter to you, what's the point?
If there's no point, do away with yourself.
If you don't have the courage to do away with yourself, I would venture to say that things in this world do matter to you.
Then why the pseudo-existential bullshit?
The world matters Your existence matters.
That's why you're still alive.

I HATE THE WORLD!

Sometimes I hate the world in the morning. Nothing pleases me. Everything irks me. I hate myself. Which irks me even more. I think of everyone in my life and I hate them too. Which makes me hate me more. Which irks me even more. Sometimes I hate the world in the morning.
But then I leave my house...
And no one notices me
(FUCK YOU! Notice me now before I leave you forever. I will be reknowned and infamous one day and you will wish you stopped me on the street for an autograph! Even if I hate me right now, YOU should love me. Love ME damn it!).
And I get hungry cause I haven't eaten, so I stop for a doughnut on my way to where ever I'm going. (Doughnuts always taste good first thing in the morning.)
And I realize it isn't that bad.
Someone will call me eventually. I have a doughnut. And soon it will be noon.
I only seem to hate the world in the morning.

Before I Read This Poem...

The Assignment: To create a piece of theatre out of a collage of poetry.
The Premise: A young man tries to confess his love to a girl he has admired from afar.

Before I Read This Poem

(The Young Man stands with a piece of paper in his hand. He unfolds the piece of paper. Looks at it. Looks at the girl. Looks back at the piece of paper and then re-folds the piece of paper.)

Before I read this poem, I would like to tell you some
things
About Myself
I know - I’m like you
I want to hear a poem
I want to say "yes" at the end
because I am sick of saying "so"
I want to see the thirst
inside the syllables
I want to touch the fire
in the sound
I want to learn something I didn’t know

I want to hear a poem
where ideas kiss similies so deeply that metaphors get jealous
I’m going to crumple this word
I’m going to twist it
yes
It’s too smooth
I want to hear a poem
I want to feel a poem
I want to taste a poem

(The Young Man's passion grows. He is almost yelling.)

Realizing
Each moment is history
Each moment is passion
Each action is meaning

(The Young man is embarassed. He unfolds the paper again.
Looks at it. Then speaks to the girl)

Before I read this poem, I want to tell you some
things
About Myself
Sometimes we don’t understand poets
They can’t have normal conversations
Without slipping into flowery language
or turning everything into a metaphor
The fact is too often the poet’s imagination
is overactive
We admit word smith’s aren’t
so bad when push comes to shove
But a lot of poets are like awkward cunnilingus
They tend to beat around the bush
it’s just that getting caught with your similies
exposed can be totally embarrassing
We aren’t opposed to all metaphors
or turning everything into a metaphor

(The Young Man is embarassed again. He looks to the piece of paper. Then speaks to the girl.)

Before I read this poem, I would like to tell you some
things
This is the first love poem I have ever written
Maybe you will forget about it by the time you wake up
tomorrow

(The Young Man is frustrated and exasperated. He folds the piece of paper again.)

Before I read this poem, I would like to tell you some
things
I know - I’m like you
I can’t stand this confessional poetry crap
My life isn’t a poem
And you still don’t know me
and I still don’t know myself
So if you want your poems to stay fresh
and clean (clean)
sometimes its better to just say
what you mean

(The Young Man rips up the piece of paper.)

Sometimes
Poetry isn’t Enough

(The Young Man watches the pieces of the poem float to the ground. He looks to the girl)

I fell in Love with you.

When the Sky Goes Black...

When the sky goes black
And storms start to rage
I think that the world is ending.

Which reminds me I am alive.

I like when the sky goes black.

Zen and the Art of Looking for Love

I have to learn to be single.

I heard once in a musical that "You can't love another till you love yourself". The thing is I don't think I don't "love" myself. I think I am worthy of love. But I still am a "relationship" guy - I am always either in a relationship or am looking for one.

Is this a problem?

My intuition tells me "yes!", but I don't seem to have any evidence to support my definitive answer. It's just a gut feeling. I should listen to my gut, right?

So if it is the case that I should learn to be single, then why is that the case?

I don't mind spending time on my own. I don't fell dependent on a lover. I can make it through on my own. What's the problem?

In my defence, if I love to be in love, if I love to have someone there for me, if I love the company, then why not want to be in a relationship?

I think it comes down to ZEN AND THE ART OF LOOKING FOR LOVE. This philosophy (which I am in the process of developing) espouses the view that one must live their life for themselves, free of any need or desire of another, free of any expectation or obligation to or from another, until the individual finds themselves crossing paths with another with whom they have developed an intimate relationship that merges their lives, needs, desires, hopes, and dreams together.

My desire is like an elephant. It has the capacity to be a gentle creature at the command of his master, but if provoked has the power to trample his loving master and go on a destructive rampage.

If I could be a ZEN Master then it would be like this photo:

Finding peace upon the calm the elephant.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT SEX

Someone commented that my Blog was far too concerned with sex.

THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT SEX.

There you go!

Mother

I have a good mother. She loves me more than anyone I know. Her love is a selfless love. Her love is pure. She believes in me. She thinks I will do great things in my lifetime. She wants the best for me. I cry to think of her.

I love my mother.

My mother loves me.

If anything is true, it is this.

Sunday Afternoons

Let me wake up to a sunny afternoon after sleeping in just enough but not too much.
Let me roll out of bed, shower, throw on the most comfy cut off jean shorts and a t-shirt.
Let me go for Brunch with friends and family and eat French toast and homefries.
Let me watch episodes of Sex in the City and laugh and converse about love, life, sex, and existence.
Let me drink Iced tea and go for ice cream to pass the time.
Let me walk down the street to the bookstore ever so slowly.
Let me do nothing.
Let me be lazy without being guilty.
Let me relax.
Let me let go of my weekly worries.
Let me know what I want and be happy wanting it.
Let me have time for myself.
Let me have the perfect Sunday Afternoon.

Lists

Reasons Lists Are Good
- They help me organize my life
- They help me remember things
- I feel a sense of accomplishment when I cross something off my list of things to do
- I make them at work to help pass the time.

My Favorite Kinds of Lists
- A List of Things to Do
- A List of My Favorite Songs, Books, or Movies
- A List of Movies I should Watch
- A List of Books I should Read
- A List of Songs I want to Listen to
- A List of Potential Baby Names

* I also like making a Budget for myself.

I would recommend making both Lists and Budgets.
There is something about taking it from your mind and putting it in words.

Is this why I blog?

I am...

I am an Uncle.

Choose Choice

* I wrote this months ago, before I began blogging. I would like to share it with you, despite how it may be out of date with my current situation. I think it still provokes interesting questions.

I am single again and free of the confines of monogamy. Indulging in my new found freedom, I consider the options before me: boyfriend, fuck buddy, summer fling, husband hunting, one night stand, or even to forget love and sex for awhile and be on my own.
With the wide range of choices available, I can’t seem to decide what I want. Do I want to pursue a committed relationship so soon? Then I wouldn’t be able to have the fun of making out on the dance floor with a nameless hottie. Should I find a fuck buddy to keep me sexually satisfied but free of emotional attachment? It seems that ever since coming out I just leap from man to man, so maybe it would be best to be on my own for a change. The amount of options disable me from making a decision. If I choose one option, then I am missing out on all the others.
Coming from the prairies, the plethora of choice the city offers is daunting. Both my brothers, who stayed in Saskatchewan, married before the age of twenty three. The dating scene seems simpler there. There are less options and so people are more open to find happiness with the lovers they can see a potential future with. In the prairies where everyone seems to know everyone, there isn’t the allure of "what’s behind door number three" to tempt potential lovers from running off.
It’s like television. People in the prairies don’t have cable and the people in the city have digital satellite. The people in the city channel surf, but it takes them so long to get through all the channels, that by the time they have scanned everything to offer, the new shows have started. While the people in the prairies take a couple seconds to go through the channels offered, make their choice, and enjoy the program. I am jealous of the simplicity the prairie life has to offer.
Either way, a choice must be made.
As I sit here and write this, the most available option is to find a man off the internet. I can test the pool of available lovers by scanning the profiles of the local chat room to help me decide what to do. My profile pic of me in sexy undies immediately brings the attention of many gentlemen. There is: 19, 5'10'’ 145lbs, Just checking things out. Or: 36, have cam, white top, 6', 185, looking for slim twinky bottoms. Or: hot masculine, muscled, versatile bottom downtown, 5'9'’ 160, 32w 42c, brown hair green eyes, looking for white/latin top. So depending if I choose to find a lover, fuck buddy, boyfriend etc... or not, there are a vast amount of men to choose from out there. Everywhere I turn, I am bombarded with the pressures of a multitude of choices.
I am tempted just to decide not to decide. That is, decide to be on my own instead of enduring the rigourous process of finding someone sexually, emotionally, and/or spiritually compatible. The confines of monogamy don’t seem so stifling from this perspective.
Then the thought occurs to me. I can decide not to be on my own and also not to go hunting for a new man in my life. Maybe it’s best to wait, and see what comes to me. I decide to take the Zen approach to finding love and happiness. And after all, how do you know what you want until you’ve had it?

Everyone Has A Story

I attended a party last night. I was there with people I thought I knew. I guess I do know them, but there is so much to know about someone. I keep learning that everyone has a story. There is always something we don't know about the people we spend time with. That's why I want to hear a story. Tell me something I don't know.
At first I wanted to share these stories with you. About these people I call friends.

But then, I think no. You have your own friends.
Ask them to tell you a story.

Learn something about someone you care about.

Learn something that you didn't know about someone who you think you know well.

Learn something that matters.

Remember AIDS?

Last night my ex and I walked past the AIDS Memorial on our way home for the bar. Thousands of names of the dead are displayed on plaques that are posted on tombstone like monuments that follow a path in this small city park. My ex and I followed from the first plaque at the beginning of the path with the names of those who died in 1983. We follow the path.. 1984. 1985. The lists get longer. 1991. 1992. More and more names flood the plaques. So many names they resort to using a smaller font to make room for them all. 1998. 1999. Some names have nicknames like "madame" beside them. Some are merely first names. 2001. 2002. There are the end of the path stands a gentleman. He has been watching us the whole way. As soon as he sees us see him. He turns slightly to the, feigning an attempt at being discrete. And he unzips his pants and smiles at us.

He wants to fuck. 2005

Does he remember AIDS?

Swiss Chalet?

What makes Swiss Chalet swiss?
What is swiss about roasted chicken?
Roasted chicken is a common entree in many different cultures is it not?

I guess it must be that "Chalet Sauce".

What the fuck is that stuff anyway?

Someone I Want to Have Sex With

To accompany my latest Post.

Obsessed With Sex?

I think about sex all the time. I want to have sex with many people. People I know. People I don't know.
I am not sexually satisfied.
I have sex about three times a week presently, but this is not sufficient.
I want to have sex with men. With many men. At the same time.
I look for it on the street. At the bar. Online. With my exes. With my friends.
Despite my desire, I am not ready to sleep just with anyone. And not just under any circumstances.
The time, place, and person all have to feel "right" (whatever that means).
It is the tension between my obsession for finding sexual satisfaction and the need for the right elements all to be in place that is the soruce of my angst.
I just want to fuck and be fucked.
Other than a moment of orgasmic bliss (which isn't always a guarantee), sex adds little to my life.
Why do I feel I need it so bad?

I Just Want To Say "YES!"

I am a "social butterfly". I have managed to accrue many different sorts of people that I would call my friends. This often is the source of tension, guilt, and disappointment.
Some friends are not compatible with others. Some are good one on one and some are good in groups. Some are good for Monday afternoons and some are more suited to sharing a Saturday night out dancing. Some are once a week friends and some are once a month friends.
The issue is not all my friends can appreciate this.
They call and ask if I want to hang out or whatever but I can't always say yes. I am a busy man. I have many friends and have obligations to them. I have a job. I have a career in the theatre. I need time to myself. Yet, some friends can not hide their disappointment or annoyance with my inability to make the time to spend with them. This tension forces me to feel guilty. I don't like feeling guilty.
I just want to spend time with all the great people in my life.
But it is just not possible.
Dear Friends: Please understand this.

Addicted to Coke

Work was tough. I needed something to help cope. I didn't know what could help me get through.

So I drank a can of coke.

Am I addicted?

All signs point to yes.







Killer Cola Indeed!

Chameleon?

I often see people on the street and I am unable to get their attention. Why don't they recognize me? I wave and my familiar face does not pull them out of the fierce rat race on the streets. All I want is to say hello. Sometimes I think it's because I wear glasses. Sorta like a Clark Kent syndrome. They only know me with my glasses and so when I am sporting contacts they do know it is me, or the other way around.
Am I a chameleon who just blends into the world?
or
Do I just having many physical identities that are inconsistent and therefore never familiar?
Am I too familiar and am lost in the crowd
or
Am I not familiar at all?
Could you tell if someone else somehow posted an entry on my blog based on writing style and/or content?
Who am I?
How am I who I am?
(This got too deep and too profound too quickly)

Saturday Night

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night! (ala Bay City Rollers)

alas, if my Saturday night was as good as that song is, I wouldn't be writing this sitting alone in my bedroom.

Where is love?

Maybe I like being single better anyway...

Liza Minelli is My Hero

When I crash and burn from fame and success, I want to do it like Liza.
Sometimes I wonder if she is oblivious to how everyone thinks she is positively campy and ridiculous.
Listen to her sign New York, New York with Pavarotti. She cheers him on.
"Go Luciano Go", she yells.
"Just keep singing it, just keep winging it", she sings to him.
I wonder if she is one of those people that is drunk all the time. I think so...
Even if she does know, she just keeps on going on doing what she's doing and that takes guts.
Go Liza Go!

Ramblings of a Love Life Continue Part Two

Is the need for love and desire part of being human or just something to help us pass the time?

Ramblings of a Love Life Continue

My ex from London is back. I want to have sex with him because it is hot. Maybe tomorrow...

My date was nice. "Nice" in the mediocre sense of the word. It wasn't terribly romantic, or terribly fun, or terribly interesting, or terribly terrible. It wasn't anything really, just nice.
We could be friends or we could be lovers. Only time and another date will tell. I just hope the next date is more than "Nice".

I miss my ex (the one taking a tour of Montreal and New York City). Do I just want to be loved?

I will never see that beautiful janitor again.

Woe is me?
(Despite my woe I am actually quite happy)

Addicted to Coke

I think I am addicted to Coca Cola.
I drink it to quench my thirst.
I have made a pact with my friend to stop.
I will not drink coke for the Month of August.
Is this possible?

Ramblings of a Love Life

I have a cruch on the Starbucks boy because he has large beautiful eyes.

I have a date with a boy (with whom I share a name) tonight at ten thirty.

My ex keeps text messaging me.
Example:
Apparently I am more curious about you then New York City.

I had bad anonymous sex with an online trick this afternoon.
Will my date be just as bad (without the orgasm)?

I would like my other ex to return from London so I can have a for-sure good lay.

Where is love?

Anonymous Sex Epilogue

He came over.
I came. He did not.
He was not as attractive as I thought, but he turned me on. Sorta.
It was quick.
It was bad.
Awkward.
Embarassing.

Anonymous sex doesn't work for me.

Why do I keep inviting blokes over then?

Cause I want to get laid.

Woe is me!

Anonymous Sex

Today, I am horny.
Today I feel I am looking good...

Today, I went online to a chat room and found someone who is willing to come to my apartment and have sex with me.

He is attractive. Tall, fit, masculine. I think he will turn me on.

We will see if he does...

I am nervous.

Why? He has already agreed to come over. I am not rejected.
Why am I nervous then?

Another adventure and another Blog Post.

I just hope that the sex is good.

A PLEA FROM A BLOGGER!

Dear Strangers:

Comment on my Posts.
PLEASE!
This is one case in which I do care what Strangers think.

Share Your Thoughts, Feelings, and Opinions

PLEASE!

Yours Truly,
The Bedroom Prince

This is Not Necessary

There was a note on a automatic sliding door.
"CAUTION: Sliding Door."

Why caution for a sliding door?
It slides from side to side. It is difficult to get hit by it.
It's automatic so it is difficult to run into it.
If you were to run into it, it would be like running into a window.
Why no "CAUTION: Window"'s then?
Regular doors are more dangerous. It is very easy to get smacked by a regular door.
Why no" CAUTION: Regular Door"'S then?

Maybe it is cautioning stopping have way through and getting shmucked by the closing doors. Would the sensors know you are there?
You would have to be pretty stupid for that to happen though.

I just think it's excessive.
The only thing more excessive than that is me blogging about it.

Ignore this blog!

The Paradox?

He is beautiful.
I desire him.
I do not know him.
This is the first time I have seen him.
But from one glance I know...

He is beautiful.

And he's a janitor.

Is this a paradox?

Maybe if I call him a caretaker. Or a custodial engineer.
No. The truth is he cleans up after us.

This does not seem right.
Such beauty should never have any connection to a toilet bowl.

"Your beauty is enough!," I shout in my head.

"Stop what you are doing.
You should be a slave to nothing.
You are too beautiful.
You must be free"

My inner-rant is futile.
His beauty is only enough for me.
His beauty means nothing to the world.

sigh....

I Haven't Been Here Before (Part I)

There seem to be infinite worlds in this metropolis. I continue to find myself on the way from here to there and stop and realize "This place is new to me. I have lived in this city for over two years and not once in that time have I ever been here before."

This is another tale of the undiscoverd wonders of out vast urban landscape.

It is raining and I am at the mall downtown. I have a rehearsal in an hour several blocks away. I opt for the underground system to get to where I need to be. There is a complex set of halls underground in the downtown core where I live which will help me get to where I'm going while avoiding getting wet from the rain. Off I go....

The underground system reveals an unknown world to me. Stylish, yet unnaturally lit halls lined with marble and granite. It is impeccably clean and almost sterile. Time does not seem to pass under the skyscraping towers: You can not see the light of day here. Men in suits pass on their way out of their offices heading home to work. (I am attracted to men in suits. I am glad I have found this corner the urban landscape.) This world is much different than my dillapitated apartment in the artist-student community in which I live.

I have lost all sense of direction. I must use the map to guide me from the lower levels of one giant tower to another. The colours of granite change from gleaming white to rich red to sparkling silver-flecked gray. This is a place of money and wealth. Even the floors are expensive. I look left and then right trying to figure which route to follow. The paths seem to go on forever. This is a place of bigger, longer, faster, harder. It is a place of excess. The shops and food vendors are closing their doors even though it is only shortly after five. This is a place where making money is the main concern.

This is a new world to me. It has it's attractions (men in suits) and I can sense it has it's flaws (the pursuit of wealth?).

But best of all, I haven't been here before.

I Don't Owe You Anything!

I like being anonymous.
Online I can be anonymous.
I do not show my face.
I do not share my name.
I can appear and disappear at a whim.
I do not owe anyone anything.
I do not owe you the truth.
I do not know you.
You do not know me.
We are free from any obligation.

Yet
I share with you.
I do blog.
But it doesn't have to be good.

I don't owe you anything!

WHERE ARE THE GAY BLOGGERS!?!?!?!

HELLLLLLOOOOOOOOOO!
ARE YOU THERE?
GAY BLOGGER?
IT'S COOL.
I HAVE A BLOG AND AM A HOMOSEXUAL.
(There must be others out there like me)
WHERE ARE YOU?
Where are you?

Late Night Calls From A Friend?

"Hey. Did I wake you?", he asks.

It is two am. My ex-boyfriend is calling from Montreal.

"No. I was spending quality time with Harry."

"Harry?"

"Harry Potter and the elusive Half-Blood Prince."

"Oh", is all he is able to say.

I broke up with him a week and a half ago. He is spending a week touring Ottawa, Montreal, and New York with an old boyfriend he dated while studying abroad a year and a half ago. His apparent need to holiday with his European ex was one of many reasons I felt our relationship needed to end.

"How are you?", I ask.

"I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news I can't find someone who wants to touch my penis and the good news is I can't find someone to touch my penis."

It is Pride in Montreal. I can appreciate his desire to have some boy "touch his penis" during the most festive time of year for gay men.

" I don't feel attractive. I have tried everything to pick up, but no one is interested. Then I look at {European Ex} and notice that he's attractive and that boys are interested in touching his penis. And even though I could touch his penis, I don't want to. I want someone to want to touch my penis. And what's worse is that I am getting so upset over something as trivial as trying to find a random fuck in a random bar."

I can't deny that I am pleased that he has lost interest in the ex boyfriend. The same ex that was a point of contention between us in the last days of our relationship.

Yet, I find it odd, but comfortable that it was me he turned to to express his disappointment with himself and his gay lifestyle. It is unusual to call an exboyfriend about the woes of finding random sex.

"And all I could do was think of calling you. I miss you."

I can't deny that I am pleased that he misses me.

I can't deny that I am satisfied by the idea that he still loves me.

"I don't know what to do with my life. I need to move forward but I don't know how. And here I am getting upset by not being able to find someone to touch my penis. I just want someone to want my penis in their mouth. And then there's you. It scares me to think that you are greatest man that I will ever have in my life. I am not prepared for you to be the one. I will feel like I am missing out somehow. I wish I was there to hold you."

I can't deny that I am pleased by his rant.

We continue for an hour longer. He goes on about the existential crisis of being a young gay man: the desire to be desired but the acknowledgment of how superficial that desire is. It seems all very Oscar Wilde-esque to me. I offer as much support as I can. I, being a young gay man, have encountered this existential crisis as well. But, as we are both implicitly aware, all he is looking to do is rant, and so for the most part I just let him go on the rant.

We don't want to say goodbye. We like each other's company. I suppose he wants my company because he's still in love with me. I want his company because I want to be loved.

Finally we have exhausted the moment and say goodbye in soft hushed romantic tones.

I consider the events of the previous night while at work today. My ex decided that I was the person he would like rant to about the angst of being a young gay man. This is a common rant I hear from gay friends, not ex lovers.
Why should I, his ex lover, care that he isn't able to find a new lover?

I would have never thought it would turn out like this, but I believe that my ex and I are becoming friends.

I don't know if I am prepared for this.

Want (Part II)

Why do you stop wanting something once you have it?
It would be much cooler to keep wanting it and keep satisfying your desire for it by realizing you have it over and over again. Sorta like having the three second memory of a goldfish. Or it would be much cooler if the feeling of wanting sorta lingered for a long time and you would always remember how happy you are to have what you want.
I want to write better Blog Posts!

Want (Part I)

I want a new job. I want to win the lottery. I want to fuck. I want to be fucked. I want pancakes and maple syrup. I want to go shopping for myself. I want to see my parents. I want to write a great play. I want my great play to get produced. I want people to see my great play.
I want a poster for my bedroom wall. I want to go to Spain, Paris, Rome, Venice, London, Bejing, Quebec City, New York City, Hong Kong, Saskatchewan, Vancouver, Berlin, Prague, Amsterdam, the Czar Palaces, San Fransisco, Sydney, and St. Johns Newfoundland. I want to see the world! I want to live in a hotel for a month. I want a blow job. I want to be hired to be in a commercial. I want a metropass. I want to be well read, well cultured, and well educated. I want to star in a sitcom. I want to get in to English 290 or English 273. I want to make out with someone. I want to speak french, italian, spanish, and portuguese. I want better arms and a more muscular chest. I want an MP3 player. I want to go on a date.

I want more than I have. Can't I just be happy? I am happy. Maybe. Why do I want?