cedo nulli & happy halloween

i did something this weekend that i am really ashamed of. this is also the thing i think about when i masturbate with my favorite (and broken) vibrator.

goodbye self-respect.
goodnight morality.
hello desperation.

i slept with ishmael last weekend. the first time i slept with him, about a year ago in chicago, i remember it being really, ridiculously, good. a year later, second time around? seriously, probably the biggest (i.e. smallest) disappointment of 2008, next to the doctor telling me he wasn’t going to give me any more money. nunca mas, that’s what the doctor said to me and i repeated these words when i closed the door in ishmael’s face. goodbye white boy, i liked you for nothing.

i am trying to keep my mind off the frenchman.

the surgeon suggested i should spend a weekend in westchester. he texts me or calls on his saturdays off, asking if he can see me. i say no, he asks why. this weekend i tried to explain while i enjoyed sleeping with him (more like, i didn’t mind it) i didn’t want to have sex with him ever again. in other words, i don’t mind hanging out with him (i do) but we won’t be having any sex, i regretfully inform him.

lets wipe this blade clean. i have affairs within affairs within affairs. if the doctor is the big circle in my heart, and within that big circle we have the smaller circle of the frenchman, what happens when the frenchman leaves on vacation and i get back with the doctor (temporarily) and now the doctor resides in the smaller circle of the frenchman? confused? so is my libido. here, it’s something like this: ( ( ( ) ) ). i hope my diagram makes sense and yes i meant it to look like a vagina.

to whom am i suppose to feel guilty? who is the object of my affection?

if i didn’t have this egotistical need to “write” and to “create” something good, there would be nothing stopping me from making money, partying, and fucking guys back to back. yes, i realize i do this anyways but honestly, sometimes i take weekends off. sometimes i stay home the entire weekend and ignore phone calls and read. what do i read? robert bolano’s “the savage detectives.” who do i read? jose saramago. i also listen to music and look for independent films (synecdoche, ny & i’ve loved you for so long) that i want to watch. i wish i had someone to go with

happy halloween everyone, im going as the devil, which i realize isn’t much of a disguise (that’s my roommate with the sunglasses as a pimp angel):

[where there used to be a picture of me]

p.s. i had a dream this weekend. i woke up in dirty sheets, maybe this played a part. do you sometimes have dreams, and they are so haunting and so overly blown symbolic that you are convinced you’ve had this dream every night of your life and this was the only time you remembered it? reverberations, that’s the word we’re looking for.
in the dream, i move back home. home is where my mother is, not necessarily los angeles, the valley or porter ranch. in my dream, my mother lives in a futuristic condo building that is in the ocean. yes, a building which rises out of the ocean. since we have aspirations but are not exactly rich, we have to live on the first floor. the entire building is made of glass, supernaturally strong glass and my room, rather large and luxurious is 4 glass walls facing the ocean in every inifinite direction. as expected the waves crash into the glass (for some reason, the building stays still); can you imagine living in a room where the waves looked like they were about to swallow you up? i am deathly afraid of the ocean; you can disappear, no one would know. so in this dream, i am unpacking and re-arranging my stuff getting ready to live in this ocean room where some of the water leaks in a little. if you were in front of me, i could draw you a picture of this room, where the sound of the ocean, ferocious and horrifying deafened everything and yet, there was silence. and though the dream took place in daylight, those waves were black underneath their foam crests.