Tonight (Explicit Language)
Tonight, right now possibly, a friend of mine is probably getting fucked by a porn producer and former porn star. My friend is a porn star too, and because of what they film there are a couple of things that I can reasonably assume. My friend is bottoming, the producer is topping, and they're fucking bareback. Whether or not he's having a good time isn't something I can know, but I presume so. They're in the producers NYC condo, which I presume is gorgeous. That won't ever be my life.
Another friend of mine is on a date. Not really sure what kind of date, but he's straight, so it may or may not include sex. It's not something I think I'm particularly comfortable thinking about too much, so I'm not going to. That won't be my life either.
A little while ago, maybe twenty minutes, I was in the bathroom after Ghostbusters and I ran into a guy that was one of my best friends about a decade ago. It's one of the guys that I would probably hide a body with, not necessarily because who he is now but who he used to be to me. My life is being alone. Very, very alone.
Tonight, I'm hitting a level of depression that I haven't touched in a while. I was thinking about who should get my stuff when I'm gone.
There are a couple of things I care about. The books. . . . uh . . . The books? Lol. My Ka-Bar? Geez, not that much I guess. The books mostly to Jeff, the rest of it to my brother, including the Ka-Bar, which was a gift from him in the first place.
I'm not to "second stage" yet. I'm not planning on how I'm going to do it. It's still a long way off. But I'm thinking about the preparation that needs to go before the act, so that the things that I'm leaving behind aren't accidentally destroyed.
And so I'm also writing. Because that's kind of the point of despair, when I feel like I should write.
I'm not a danger to myself tonight. Thanks, I know that better than you do. But this life isn't something that I enjoy, and I find it sick and twisted that the world expects so much pain out of me.
Another friend of mine is on a date. Not really sure what kind of date, but he's straight, so it may or may not include sex. It's not something I think I'm particularly comfortable thinking about too much, so I'm not going to. That won't be my life either.
A little while ago, maybe twenty minutes, I was in the bathroom after Ghostbusters and I ran into a guy that was one of my best friends about a decade ago. It's one of the guys that I would probably hide a body with, not necessarily because who he is now but who he used to be to me. My life is being alone. Very, very alone.
Tonight, I'm hitting a level of depression that I haven't touched in a while. I was thinking about who should get my stuff when I'm gone.
There are a couple of things I care about. The books. . . . uh . . . The books? Lol. My Ka-Bar? Geez, not that much I guess. The books mostly to Jeff, the rest of it to my brother, including the Ka-Bar, which was a gift from him in the first place.
I'm not to "second stage" yet. I'm not planning on how I'm going to do it. It's still a long way off. But I'm thinking about the preparation that needs to go before the act, so that the things that I'm leaving behind aren't accidentally destroyed.
And so I'm also writing. Because that's kind of the point of despair, when I feel like I should write.
I'm not a danger to myself tonight. Thanks, I know that better than you do. But this life isn't something that I enjoy, and I find it sick and twisted that the world expects so much pain out of me.
posted by Spherical Time at
12:12 AM
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