Tuesday, January 22, 2008


If only I could tell you what I think I of you. I am sure you would smile and blush. How could you not smile and blush? If you only knew what I think of you... I wish I could tell you.

I can't.

Not Enough Sunlight

Maybe it's because I didn't have coffee yet today... Maybe it's because I didn't have sex last night... Maybe it's because I didn't shower till noon... Maybe it's because I lack vitamin D because there is less hours of sunlight during the months of January and February... Maybe it's because I lack vitamins I am not even aware I am lacking... Maybe it's because when I look at you I feel compelled to find joy by holding your hand... Maybe it's because its cold out... Maybe it's because I haven't talked to my mother in over a week... Maybe it's because I'm poor... Maybe it's because it is a month since Christmas (which means another eleven months to do)... Maybe it's because deep down I really don't like Christmas... Maybe it's because I find most men I see today very attractive... Maybe it's because I'm stressed... Maybe it's because I have no reason to be stressed... Maybe it's because I'm tired... Maybe it's because I sleep too much... Maybe there's no reason to feel this way... Maybe there are too many reasons to feel this way...

There is no word for the nothing I feel. Indifference is inadequate. Blase is too descriptive. I can not think of any representation form in language to tell you how I feel.
Maybe that's the problem to begin with...

In an effort to get to understand this despair (even that word is misleading - I am not sad per se, but not happy neither), I fear the untold secrets of my subconscious. There are infinite possibilities that determine how and why I feel and think the way I do: The mingling of the psychological, biological, sexual, and social are too complex to de-code. Discovering how and why I feel and think the way I do may not provide the solution, but rather, add to the problem. What if the secrets of my subconscious reveal a shallow, insecure, petty self?
What if, the catalyst for my thoughts and feelings, my entire being, is less than admirable?

I fear self-understanding. My subconscious is a black mysterious place without limits or boundaries. If I dare venture into this unknown, I would feel so lost and alone.
But I do feel lost and alone... I fear the extremities of being lost and alone. Who knows what depths of loneliness are hidden in my subconscious?

So, where does this rumination leave me?
In the dark...
I'm scared of the dark.
But I can't help thinking that I'd be happier with the light on.

Monday, January 21, 2008


My heart aches.

I am no masochist, and though it never satisfies, this pain feels so good.

Left Behind

I miss you. You are missing. I wish I was with you.

Things seem so simple sitting in your living room. Or drinking a pint at a local pub. Or listening to music driving down Albert St. in your dad's car.

I wish I could go back.

Things seem so much easier...

In retrospect
At times I feel I need to find God.
But where do I start looking?

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

See Me See You

To see and be seen dominates my thinking. You see? I see.
To see provides access to who and what we are.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

It's Not About You

"It's not about them. It's about me," he tells me.

I have always followed the rule that in order to engagessexual activity with a person one must find that person sexually attractive. I thought everyone followed that rule. Apparently not.

"So... Were they hot?" I ask.

"Not really," he casually replies.

"How can you have sex with someone who you find less than attractive," I inquire.

"It's not about them. It's about me," he tells me.

What does this say about me?

If he is my boyfriend (and he is), and if we have sex (which we do), then it is possible that he finds me less than attractive. I could be anybody. I can be any body.

I am many things. I am heart. I am soul. I mind. I am body.

But am I just any body?

Does he love me? Yes. There is no doubt.
Does he desire me? Maybe... This is where doubt begins.

Male Gaze

There is something about him. At first glance, you inevitably miss it. You have to take a closer look.

His being exists on the border between natural disposition and keen talent. A subtle crossing of the legs, hands resting on the small of the back, a slight inflection of the voice...
Is it performance? Or is it just the way he is?
Is there a difference?

He traverses, he transgresses, he transcends sexuality. Neither homo nor hetero. Both gay and straight. Never and always bisexual. His sexual appeal appeals to all. He is desire incarnate. He is adored without ever being conscious of adoration.

There is nothing between us. Only my gaze. My gaze constructs a man. My gaze imagines a person. My gaze,God-like, moulds a being from the clay of nothingingness.
Gazing is pleasure. Gazing is thrilling. Gazing is sex.

I am subject. You are object.

I am a voyeur.

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Resolve and Achieve

This New Year, I resolve to be
1) more active
2) more sensitive
3) academically rigourous

In this New Year, I hope to
1) Graduate University with High Distinction
2) Get into Graduate school
3) Travel (to Pittsburgh, New York, Berlin, Prague, and Rome)

I will resolve.
I will achieve.

Saturday, January 05, 2008


I never look good in photographs. This provides a real problem.

Do I really look like how I am represented in a photo?

What is the discrepancy between reality and how that reality is represented in a photo?

The photograph was thought to destroy painting as a mode of representation. The photograph is able to accurately represent reality with more precision and detail than a human hand ever could. If this is indeed true, what does that say about me? Am I really as awkward and odd as most (almost every) photograph makes me out to be.? Maybe I would've been more attractive if I lived in an age when a painting was the most common mode of visual representation...

Every possible way to see oneself, either through a mirror, a photograph, or video (a moving photograph), is representation. I will never be able to know what I look like. I will only know what representations of me look like. But what if these representations of me, especially the photograph as representation, are identical to the real thing... What if I am what the photograph shows me?

Do I really look like that?

I hope not.

Thursday, January 03, 2008


His message:
hey sexy im 19 years old from brampton im a swimmer with a hott 9 inch dick

His profile:
i live in brampton i have an 11 inch dick that needs sex,

No grammar. Bad spelling.

Nothing is true in cyberspace.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008


"Help! I need somebody. Help! Not just anybody. Help! I need somebody. Please!"


They all knew their lines. They all knew their parts.

Stand up. Bow Head. "Lord hear our prayers!" Sing (Know the words. Know the tune) Sit down. Cross Yourself. Stand up. Shakes hands. Sing. Sit down. Stand Up. Cross Yourself. "Lord hear our prayers!" Sit down. Stand up. Bow Head. Silence. Say the Lords Prayer. Sit down. Stand up. Sing. Eat Christ. Drink Christ. Sit down. Stand up. "Lord hear our prayers!" Sit down. Repeat.

It is rare for me to appear in such a performance so absolutely unrehearsed.

I want to Catholic Mass today (even though I'm not Catholic, nor a church going man). I didn't know the first of January was a Holy Day of Obligation (Isn't everyday a day of obligation when you're Catholic?). "Ponder. Treasure the gifts of God," the Priest told the meagre congregation who gathered at St Thomas Moore Chapel early this bitter cold Tuesday morning (Should I treasure the biting cold of a prairie winter - at least it brings beautiful hoar frost). Ponder. Treasure. No matter the context, these are words of wisdom appropos to the first day of a new year.
Sometimes the bravest thing to do is hold on. Sometimes it is braver to let go.