Do you know me? Have you seen me in the last six months? if you have, there you are. As i see more people, more people shall join its hallowed area, and one day i wish to write something about everyone single person pictured, explaining our relationship, or backstorying some cute funny anecdote.

Some nights stick…

Very weird. Very. Sometimes. Your mind. Just doesn’t… go. Every. Word. A. struggle.

Andsometimesyourthoughswontstopracingonandonandoninabigfatstringofjammed
consonantsvowelseverywhereoneleadingintotheotherleadingtocontinualmusingsandcalculationslikeabadacidtriptrainwreckyoucantgetofffrom.

And so this night emerges, vacillating from pole to pole, oscillating like a mad grandpappy clock.

Its an amber mooner eclipse which shall not reappear (or disappear) for another seven years. Tonight some poor soul will wake up next to their lover and find him cold, his last breath long exhaled. Tonight two young punks will try to find that slippery happiness by forging new ground carnally. Tonight someone will cry, dream, die, fuck, curse, yell, fight, rape, steal, kill… tonight energies converged for a mighty mix of mischief and magic.

What happens when you live through history? Do you remember as it happened? Does the moment shine in your memories? Does it expand, does every retelling add to it, skew it, bend it to your optimal whim?

What happens to a dream when you wake up? Where do fairies go when they die? Does god exist? Why won’t maddona sleep with me? Was jesus the best or worst jew?

Nothing means anything or everything has meaning. Answers lead to questions which lead to more questions which are really answers onto themselves.

Why take yourself so seriously? Don’t we all have daughters? Dont we all cry when it rains?

I have ten toes, ten fingers, one penis, one brain, one heart. I have an ego, a soul, an idea.

You have nothing but these words for now. Maybe its enough, maybe someday you will understand.
What goes up, must come down, unless… unless it doesn’t know that.

So lets keep it to ourselves, and let it soar past the heavens.

one crazy week...

i live, therefore i am... not going down with a celibate october. that's right, and the rules of propriety force me to keep the juicy details to myself, so take that, blog fans, no scoop for you. but, in other parts of the week funny things occured which can be typed out and electronically exhumed with publishing light:

i had a crazy night on the town in the Soho House. (how posh).
i masturbated with the lights on.
i saw my good friend Paden from high school, which leads to

GREAT MEDICAL STORIES FROM THE WORLD BEYOND
i mean, you think you know the dilly of what the human body can do, but you have no idea. How bout a testicle the size of coconut, just waiting for you to shine a flashlight through it so you know it is either water or something worse. or having to stick your finger up an old, drunk vet's ass while he rolls over jamming your arm so you can't escape his nether hole. Boy am i glad i am a lowly editor cum blogger.

i also saw the ex, kerry, which was fun. she looks well but reads too much.
and can i hear an amen for the sox, kicking some unprecedented ass to reach a world series they might actually win. i mean please!

poker takes over again...

Yes, i played poker Thursday through sunday. I got into another weekly game, and then both of the ones i played in had two games, and wam bam thank you maam, i walk out 140 dollars richer.

A bit of back story... my artist friend Johnny Mac grew up in CT, and a bunch of his friends have a pad on the upper west side. His skill level is all right, pretty good living room style. He tells me that he played with these guys and beat on them pretty bad, said i could clean up. And then i did. Only they played limit (max 4 bet) and a cash game, not tourney. The next day i played with my regular peeps and brought one kid from the new game, who enjoyed the no limit and actually won the whole thing (first time a rookie took it all). He convinced the other kids to play no limit, when we played the next day. And i knew he was kind of intoxicated by going all in, and used that to kick his ass in two hands. He had the most money on the table and was trying to push people around, and i knew it and called him on it. 2 queens on the board, i had next pair, called his all in, and doubled up 20 bucks off him. Two hands later, i get top pair, i check it, he goes all in again, i call very quickly, flip over the queen, he has nothing and i take the rest of his money. He is out, pissed (might want to switch it back to limit) and i go home rich.

Beside that, the jam packed weekend went by quick and powerful. Earlier in the week i had a little debate party fiasco. A. Rutty, social engineer extraordinaire usually had a shin dig a his place, but i did not recieve a call or invite, but i didn't even think twice since he just always had it at his place, and i have begun to get into doing the debates in a social setting, since it is just so much more fun, so i was looking forward to it. But the closer i came to leaving, the more i realized that it might not be on, so i call rutkoff and he doesn't answer and i don't have his girlfriend's number, so i decide to just wing it. If it's on, then it's all good, if not, i get served. nice train ride for nothing, and i miss the first part of the oratorical whup ass.

no C trains come and its almost nine and im getting pissed, and finally the local arrives, i get off and claire, the girlfriend, appears at the station asking me if im going to her house. Well, yes. Except in her asking i realize its not on and im just a crashing fool. She reaffirms the not on serving, but says she's just watching it with her friend Sara and i am welcome. I feel like a bit of a schmuck. Here we are trying to get a good picture and here is try number two, and as always, third is a charm i looked stoned in the first two, or just evil.

backstory deuce... Frosh year sara lived down the hall, claire lived on the third floor. they both did track. Both are cute and like any small liberal arts college, you get to know the beautiful people as such. By the end of junior year and bit of senior, they went out. Oh the perverse fantasies of most of the guys on campus of being the meat in the lesbian sandwhich. they also made an appearence at the naked party which bred my profile pic. they broke up some time after that and both went directly to a male significant other (if either of them had gone after another girl it would have hurt the other, i think). the male on one side was none other than aaron Ruty, the claire stealer.

so here i am, not only just crashing claire's house, but crashing her time with her best friend now ex girlfriend, a time away from their boys, probably a time they cherish. so what do you do? you sit, enjoy the debate, try not to be obnoxious. I tried to get out of there after it was over so they might get some time, but sara's always just leaving right quick. then i pissed in the shadow of the atlantic clock tower, in an alley way.

saturday after poker john and i went to dove (had never been there before, yuppie kind of prep scene) to see this kid who's younger than us, josh. we randomly met katzenbach, and afterpartied at his dope apartment. traintracks ensued, which had not happened in a while. bump bump bump bump it up. you know how we do sometimes.

all right, endpost musing.
what is it about beauty that attracts us so much. obviously, in an evolutionary sense, very obese people are unhealthy thus less attractive as birthing mates. but actual face beauty, good proportionate bone structure, why do we care so much. how does it have the power it does over us. Laughing at jokes that are not that funny or wanting to be near someone just because they look a certain prescribed way. If we grew up in a society where ugly faces were attractive, would they have that same power? where did our idea of what is attractive begin? why is beauty beautiful? i can't deconstruct it, but i do realize the weight it has in my decisions regarding women, and i can try to not let it control me as much. is that not enough?

The first pic…

This is the first picture on my blog. Yes. i bit the bullet and actually paid so i could do this, give you, my sweet sweet following, readership, fans, colloquially known as Cielo, a picture. my very own drawing of the desolate ladnscape. you see, my friend/acquaintance (don't you just love those fuzzy inbetween relationships where you can't categorize where you really fall in the sliding scale of knowing each other?) okay, she's definitely just an acquaintance but we act so natural when we actually see each other that sometimes I wonder, whatever, Meredith just got a blog and she goes through it in a very different way, mostly showing pictures and narrating her story through snapshots. Well that got ol’ dusty thinkin’ that maybe he could show and tell in similar fashion. So there it is:
“Desolate Landscape.” A quick masterpiece depicting how I am doing for the nonce. It’s a bit bleak, Yes. Lonely. Yes, but, still, its got its own charm, right? The subdued elegance, the understated statement.
God, I should have been an art historian, anyone with a nack for bullshit can go elbow deep up his/her ass to make you see the “worth” of any piece of crap some hack snob art school wuss puts a signature on.
But this is neither here nor there.
What is of importance comes in the form of the October agreement. Yes, trick Diz and I still query ourselves on the possibilities that out of some magical prestidigitation, a big fat zero can become a one. Will it happen and who shall hit it first? For about a night, it looked very good for me. Putting in some extra time in social endeavors, I felt that my vibe, my energy (I once new this hot edgy cool chick ((who never, though she seemed to enjoy my company, expressed any interest)) who acerbically described a “loser” by quoting his use of “the energy over there”) was going in the right direction, maybe even the correct frequency to synchronize with someone in the same sphere…(retrospect weighed that fantasy back to earthy reality)
Which brings me to harris…
Harris, a man I knew only from the fringe of his fame for many a day, and I shared a punch drunk subway home after a debate where we were the only single people in attendance. In our flirting with the girl who’s Chinese locked boyfriend (who I know and harris does not) allowed us a slight sense of an opening we came upon great conversation fodder for the lengthy trip home: a universal question that I have gone through: true love existing versus the idea of it being crammed down our throat by fairy tales and movies, all that media overload. But what really got to me was his description of what he was looking for in a girl. My crude adjectives of edgy but smart paled to his better worded description:

“You see, S— (how Victorian English of me, right?) is pretty hot. But I talk to her, and [a back and forth opposite motion with his hands] theres nothing there, so automatically she’s out, I need someone who’s in my sphere. A sparring partner, who if I lob a fast ball with some heat on it can hit it back. Not out of the park every time, but enough.” (quotation farther than it might appear).

And ladies and gentlemen, that was why I did not get angry when upon saying good bye, Harris called me his young padowan. For, even though I am younger, I felt no hierarchical miss match (this part of me that wants to rank everything, I shall maybe get into later, the competition, needing to have a defined place, yadda blah bla) except this, his better view of what he wants to find (he could not find the subway though, in that respect, drunkenly finding your way, i am still the jedi and he the apprentice).

More picures coming, I swear.

Classic Australian teen angst movie…

Why does flirting surge such emotion into us? That gray zone of the implied, the nervousness of rejection, and the paradise of feeling wanted, it all adds up to a magical and very frustrating part of the human mating ritual. You see a girl at a party, conversation circles flow and remold themselves, witticisms are said, and suddenly the unbidden gaze of a cute shortie streams in at your peripheral vision. Interested? Annoyed?

Snap happy camera moments lead to tight conversation with shifty underlying meanings you question the rest of the night. Good byes with subtitled hopes of making another connection at some undescript point, deeper contact, losing the safeness of anonymity, arriving at the threshold of broken down barriers and truly testing the communion of two unknown souls meshing for the first time.

The liminal, or the middle, the limbo where everything and anything can happen, the point between decisions, the lacuna from neuron to neuron, an area of butterflies in stomachs and overproducing glands pumping biochemicals… actualness, accomplishment, true action, the finality of decision with its closure and branching off to new adventures—it has its own rewards and elation (or distraughtness and blues), but the infinte possibilities (quick side inside joke: hey Patrick, good luck in the searching the infinite abyss) of the unfinished, untried state gives it the magical aura of anything and everything all at once, heizenburg's (or whoever he is) cat, and I revel in that.

Yeah, I know, I’m going a bit wannabe deep, trying too hard. I just needed to get that off my chest. Sex, not just the simple definition but the all encompassing meaning of the word that delves into all the spheres of human life gets me all hot and bothered, so I take any chance to philosophize on it. Flirting, that prelude to sex, it IS magical. A place where we are all vulnerable and just want to be accepted.