From: horsestorideon@hotmail.com
Subject: currencies in drinks: a screwdiver. a bloody mary. a shot of jagermister. [3]
Date: November 2, 1998 11:41:20 AM PST
To: exit2k@hotmail.com, afw10@columbia.edu, mrvisible@worldnet.att.net, sowinski@inetdirect.net, sejohnst@midway.uchicago.edu, and 24 more…
cold morning. cold enough so the throat is sore.
still in the fuzzy stages
knowing that boy, in the bunks down the way… one set under and at least 30[20(10)] dream-feet away. he’s clutching his groin like he were a woman. i thought he was a woman, the way he was clutching himself like that… the sound of them fucking woke me up and the way he was sobbing and clutching like that i thought the other guy’d just been too big for her. but it was a Him… and that changed everything… as his cupped hands moved away from his penis and tried to comfort his ass, he sobbed and writhed. his face glossy in the dim light of the morning. the hard-wood and dull colours only enhancing how distant and alone he was.
the many who fucked him into this state was angry as hell and buttoning his pants a few feet away. then further. he’s gone now.
i remember a bit ago when his ass was pushing in the way a fucker’s ass would push into that girl’s body [i tought he was a girl then]. hshe was writhing even then, little whimpering sounds you’d hear from small puppies needing milk with no eyes to get it.
and it’s a cold morning: i can tell.. my throat is hurting in the man i’m in bed with is moving around as men do in the morning. i know what he wants because i haven’t been giving him any. i’ve been sleeping in. since i’ve stopped taking all those drugs [all of them] my mind has become a much more frightening place to be. maybe i only thing this because i’ve been on holiday from there… but i’m certainly comming back now. maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the drugs… it could be the atmosphereic pressure of fall forcing Back into my head.
regardless of WHY, my dreams have been knocking on my walls. they’ve been forcing me to pay attention.
just before the boy got… raped, as he did, we’d all been driving away from where we’d been… back to our bunks, that is. we’d all been at this old house in the country. a place of making noises, i guess. where someone used to be: now there was just us. an old theater in the morning light. next to: sun setting. emptying out through the wooden doors; all lights being extinguished.
his hand is on my cock. my mouth is so dry. he’s writhing like that and you can almost feel him SUCKING on you. his legs, his hand: they’re sucking on you. then his mouth… at least that’s a standard… most people just Suck with their mouth.
maybe i should do something for him, he’s been really … useful,helpful,something to me since i’ve been here. he’d said “i’m thinking about my cock in your mouth” but that dream. oh, fuck that [i’m not having sex as a favour right now]<<
but now he's thrown a leg over my body and he's trying to make his cock something appealing… something i'd WANT to put in my mouth. my mouth which is so dry… my tongue moves around clumbsly inside. from tooth to tooth and wall to wall. i can hear it sifting through the night's sleep. i try and get the saliva working.
and i can still enjoy his body… if only he wasn't in his cock right now… and i can still enjoy his cock.. if only that wasn't IT. and he's pressing it into my face; i hold it under my chin. i let it in. just a little, just the head. but he's forcing it in and i hate when they try and "fuck" my "face".
i make every inch of my body a message saying "fuck you, tiger" i cum on his back and he comes on my chest.
too many things like this and i'll be a fucking monk again…
the way that boy was clutching like that.
i've got to go<<
one of my reactions now-a-days is to cover my mouth.
i find i'm doing this all the time.
— there i am smiling, looking in the mirror with a hand across my mouth.
— there i am talking with someone as my shoulders jerk up and i'm slightly turning away; hand comming up to stop my teeth from showing.
— i'm talking to you, but you can only see part of it.
say you're with a construction worker.
say you've got a lot of work to do
and HE's saying something about the Lord.
ok, say you're in a BAR. say someone's made the kind move of takin you out Drinkin.
say they've taken you to not One, but Two bars.
one.
two.
ok.
so you're in the second bar and it's not really ok.
you try and explain this at one point
but he just buys you another drink.
"whattaya want?"
one.
two.
you get bad cigarettes and someone tells you
the first thing to escape their stone face
"those things'll kill you"
and you'd like to let him know that you know that.
you'd really like to let him know that you know that and have known that for a long time
but what happens if you join the long ranks of What She Said?
she, she's up on stage tonight. she's being a bitch tonight. she's walking around tonight. she's a real slut, and i mean that dearly. she's a whore in heals, rubber insoles… if it matters.
say you're in a bar
and it's gone on quite long enough
and you have to take to walking.
Imagaine this is the time you go for a walk.
you're there with friends and it's time to stroll around because it's getting a bit heavy [or some such inadequate adjective].. maybe it's the lights or the music or the people who won't look at you. don't know.
walk out of one room and so obviously into another.
past the table.
past the doors.
do your business and think about leaving…
[they're talking about someone at the urenals.. is it you? is it me? arrrgh, cover your mouth]
you're out the door again and you decide to stop and talk to someone you've been looking at for various reasons… reasons, you know: reasons.
it's "Hello. paul. aaron." and some other one: you can't recal his name… but he's the one you left with.
ok.
so you're in a fucking Bar. two of two: this is your second time at bat for the evening. two of two, right: you're in a bar and you're doing what you think you're supposed to do. there's steam on the windows and the lights are that nasty yellow… that colour that seems to make everything a complete waste.
bruce
his name was bruce, i remember. at the table, first person you got a name from, kid.
corner of 51st, in the rain outside the bar.
no
at the table
slight accent
frizzy hair up-top
longish goatee
hey, what was it? brown.
his name was bruce.
he said he was a contruction worker and he talked about the lord at some point… some point. something about a construction worker and something about me saying 'are you constructing your own reality?' something about the
and they have houses.
right, i was telling this story to someone about bruce.
bruce was introduced to me by julie… this girl that this one woman predicted i'd meet… it was all very important..
bruce used to work in a mental hospital… then they diagnosed him as severly manic depressive and he left…
we got on well. i was 17 and he was in his mid-twenties and
we drank a lot
we sang pulp together
i don't know if he's still alive
but i'd guess
that when this man said his name was bruce
[bruce, paul, aaron]
that he'd know better…
we're kindrid, our names…
we hang out… we're all in a club.
go ask dave
or jeff
for that matter…
the evening wasn't going too well
i remember laughing and saying something to the guy i was with about how i didn't work well in bars.. and this drag show that was going on..
these people…
i didn't
ok
bruce.
bruce in the car. not on the streets of england.
we didn't have a bottle of vodka this time
it didn't happen like that
not that well and not that majestic.
it was shit dance music
it wasn't classy pop songs pulped out into metaphors for your sorry existance
it was two men in a bar:
"So, this guy walks into a bar and he's been drinking already and i guess he's kinda fuct up ANYWAY and he's in this bar now and he's with soemone else who keeps buying him drinks that mainly feature vodka except one of them was a shot of jjaaaasaggggerrrmiiister.. which can cause problems with this guy who's a little fucctup. this guy walks into a bar and, we'll say, ends up at this table with three men now. well, he's the other. so there are four things at this table right now… he'd seen more and less.. and the guy that the cute twint was bouncing on is right there. he says 'hello' says 'my name is bruce' and the other says 'paul' and, ov course, there's aaron… who doens't introduce himself until paul already has. this guy walks into a bar and stands at this table looking at the three men there. well, one's a man, the other is a kid and the other is a queen, goatee and all. they're cute, you know, like the kind you'd want in a bar if you wanted to"
so, what do you do, then?
i'm all curious: you go to a bar and what are you supposed to do?
you drink?
are you supposed to fall over and wake up?
are you supposed to get coffee afterwards?
you're in a bar: are you supposed to remember it when you DO wake up?
is it worth it? come on, you know what i'm asking…
ok, say you're talking with someone
you like their smile
they have such a nice chin… delineated like that with their beard
like that
you like that
kinda
i mean
what's the point here?
am i picking you up?
ok
so a guy walks into a bar
look:
i'll tell a joke
' a guy walks into a bar and he stands at a table til he decides to sit and they get up, the contruction worker and this GUY like they're going to go build something, right? they jump this barricade… well the guy does… and they get yelled at so they leave the joint and they're outside. yeah, the man left the bar. fuck the bar: he just drank too much anyway. so a guy and this construction worker walk out of a bar (don't ask) and they're in the rain. what happens? ok the guy and the happy worker get a bit wet and walk around for a bit; stand on the corner of 51st and confusion to sit in the front seat [driver and passenger] of an old car. ish. kinda stationwagon thing. and then, like i said, the windows are all steamy and they're doing something in there. right, two guys walk out of a bar and they spend a good hour or so trying to get rain inside a car. the back seat. two guys trying to make rain '
[laughs]
now i'll have to catch a cab
coz the guy i came with isn't here anymore
and i'll tell him something when i get there
i'll tell him anything
it doesn't matter.
this night or the next.
it's LOve, you know
like picking someone up in a park, you know
like a million years with your lover
sugar, sugar honey
with your lover.
when he asks you for something
or if he'd like to see you
like that guy at the truck stop..
like if he'd like to see you
you don't know.
you don't know what to do about the future
not like this
not like fucking this.
you don't know if you should find another car
one with more heat
like two guys trying to make it rain
or just a room.
maybe you should find a room where no men can get in
when the rain comes down…
pretty safe in a desert, i'd say…
but who's to tell?
if you got a window
you gotta door
and people do the meanest things when they really set their minds to it…
i mean
if they put some effort into it
if they love you enough
they'll get inside
you know the feeling
you can't be alone
not even if you make rain for an hour in the back seat of something like a station wagon in a city you don't live in behind a bar you've only been in after the others you've walked out on with the people who always bring you there where they think they'll make you happy or focus on having a good time and the conversations aren't restless in the fading of a thought from alcohol and nicotiene or thc and opium like newspapers and television if you have enough to think about so you're busy as a bee making the world sweet and having it taken from you but you don't have any other function coz you love the queens and you wanna be good so you walk into these bars intoxicated on confusion and having some ideas that seem like good ideas and having some ideas that turn into action before they make it across your lips in the safety net of words
the action takes you
til you need a taxi to get back home
where you can fall asleep with your clothes on
and wake up
like usual, you know
just with a secret history
and draw out some conclusion
from being without a "someone"
on a rainy afternoon.
these are the times we could be together
my darling little boy…
when you get tired of all this walking in the rain
we'll sit and keep eachother warm
i'm here again
i'm here again
i'm waiting for you to come back
i'm busy
i'll be round in a minute