WHO KNOWS?

This weird little blog needs to be updated, and it is a weird blog. It isn't philosophical. It has no one direction. Whatever comes to me shows up here. It is the id of a writer, my thoughts on writings, mine and others, my desires, mostly sexual, my belief in the magic attached to both. I haven't been writing here often, and so I write here tonight, hoping to write here much more in the future. And what will appear here? Who knows?

I woke up to Bookclub which was a strange experience. I don’t know how I feel about it. Actually, I do know. The author has to show up and answer a half hour's worth of deep questions about his book while people analyze every bit of it and ask endless questions about all the strings and special effects, how it all happened. The author cannot say "I really don’t know." People are free to stand up and tell him what they like about it, what they don’t. It is, in a way, serving up an author as a feast to the reader's vanity.

NIGHT PRAYERS

Tonight, at the altar we sing to the gods. We chant and sing and shake the keys and the implements, light the candles, burn the incense, wait for them to come. Call the other spirits,the spirits we are remembering, the dead, the lost, the despairing, call up the saints and the boddhisatvas, call up openness and the remembrance of pleasure, the remembrance of hope, the remembrance of people just trying to do a little bit in this world.

I want to share myself with someone. I get out of the shower and dry myself with the window open and the light on, the curtains up, because it is hot as hell and my apartment is largely hidden, but also because I feel so in need of sharing myself sexually. I will log on one more time. I want to be under Alan, connect with another. I may end up giving myself to myself. I cannot keep this desire in much longer.

            I almost gave up writing last night. Every once in a while, when I see people who are doing so much better than me, paid so much more attention to me and no one is reading me or needing me and my world only seems to serve me, there is a part of me that says, why write, leave this alone, why don’t you disappear. Your writing is not very good or very necessary, leave it alone. If I write more in this journal tonight it will be in response to this.

ALONE

Sometimes we need the negative space, the space between paragraphs where nothing is said and little is done. The little Sabbath between all things that makes a necessary breath. We log on, momentarily, to Adam4Adam where people are always at their worst always putting you at your worst, and then move way from that island of misfit and broken toys. I feel whole right now and wish to remain that way. It is not true that all religions are the same or that we want the same things. Leavine on religion I find myself leaving its values, what it offers and what I am trying to obtain and attuning myself to something different, something I believe to be better. Embracing Buddhist, for example, one must except that the promises and goal of Christianity are simply not there and weight if the qualities of this other way are better are more meet. The old concerns hand there like phantom arms.

I feel so alone and solitary, solid, whole, contained, not in need, not desperate, not longing for attention, love, friendship, fucking, at peace in myself. I would not endanger this by spending too much time online. I almost wish to spend no time online.

On a night like this I do not Deny that I want your long limbs around me, that ll I can do is remember how tall you were, how long, and long for you before me, the scruff of your beard, the smell of salt on your body, the taste of pot and regret, the sex.