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aittiadf · 3 years

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You say I have angsty gay cowboy washed up rockstar vibes. This was said in response to us discussing the Spike Fuck song “Guts.” You sent me the link to the song and I listened to it the next day when I woke up. I hear heartbreak and mourning and faith. Angsty gay cowboy washed up rockstar is probably not a good way to understand myself.

Yesterday you took me to Jack Spicer’s grave. Jack Spicer is buried in a mausoleum. Its a part of the larger Cypress Lawn Funeral Home and Memorial Park. Its the same place where William Randolph Hearst was buried. I don’t know how the poet Jack Spicer and him ended up in the same place. The outside of the complex houses a building that an especially egregious example of neoclassical architecture. Metallic signage saying “Cypress Lawn Funeral Home” brands every building. It looks ugly, but the inside is full of palm trees and sections of old redwoods. Sepia light leaks in from the stained glass above. It’s beautiful.

I don’t really know what to make of my life right now. I woke up today and I found out I’ve lost half of my life savings. It isn’t a lot of money but it’s what I have. I put it all in cryptocurrency. I don’t know what to do or where I’m going. I should cry, but I can’t. There isn’t anything coherent happening in my life right now. I’m just surrounding by chaos, creating it and reacting to it.

When I tell you that I have those vibes because I really did almost become a rockstar this past year you’re curious. You want to know the story. Telling the whole story means telling you about my old best friend. About our falling out and my subsequent admission into the psychiatric ward at interfaith continental hospital. The ward was on the highest floor in what seemed to be the tallest building in all of Brooklyn. It was freezing outside.They gave me Ativan in a white cup and I read the Bible while I looked at the rain falling on Brooklyn . There was something funny about imaging me up there, like an old wizard chained down on the roof of some dark tower.

You have a map. You guide me through the building, and we spend time searching for the name John Spicer. I don’t know why Jack Spicer was buried John Spicer. We find his name among a list of many others, completely undistinguished. There’s a tiny flower hanging from a hole drilled into his slot in the mausoleum. I touch the flower. I imagine the roots of it touching his ashes, and by proxy me touching him.

I’m writing a novel right now. It’s something I’m really doing, and it feels surreal to say. Among confusion and pain I have an artistic project I’m working on. I’m burnt out on poetry. I want to make music or paint. Sometimes I imagine myself having peace in my life. I have a studio and walk there in the morning, make coffee and then start painting on a number of huge canvasses. The abandon in which I’ve lived my life now comes out on canvas. I’ve managed to distill chaos.

When you send me your songs and playlists and poems I think about how you’re smarter than me. Your curative ability makes me jealous. The way you gather the world around you like driftwood on a beach, combining them to create a bonfire. I don’t have the ability to read the world in the way you do. You’re so delicate in your selection. When you send me this stuff I sit there in admiration. Then I wonder what I flow with.

Listening to the songs and playlists you send me makes me obsess. There’s a heterosexual fantasy that is guiding this romance. We both indulge in it, making hints at the guilt we feel for our private imagining of being seen by somebody of the opposite sex, of sequestering ourselves away and making a beautiful life. Beauty symbolically represented by marriage and a child. Its ridiculous. I really failed at loving someone this past year. If I’m honest I want the innocence that love brings. I want to love someone and take care of them and grow and forget myself.

You tell me about how Kevin Killian would take boys to Jack Spicer’s corner in the mausoleum. He would have them strip there so he could take nude photos of them. Of course we make out in that dark corner. You gets on your knees and put my dick in your mouth. I’m surprised I’m as hard as I am. I feel special while you suck me there, right next to Jack Spicer’s ashes. When you come back up to kiss me I hold your mouth to mine before I unzip you and put your dick in my mouth. I love sucking dick. Giving you pleasure is easier than receiving it. We alternate like that for a while, going back and forth on our knees, kissing and blowing on another. We make out and masturbate in the dimly lit corner of the mausoleum. You have the sense to cum into your hand rather than the floor. You sit there awkwardly after with cum in your hand not knowing what to do. You ask me if I came. I say I didn’t. I feel bad so I make up a lie that I masturbated twice earlier that day so it would be hard for me to cum. Afterwards you wipe your cum on your underwear and have me pose in front of Jack Spicer’s grave. You take a photo of me just like Kevin Killian would.

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aittiadf · 3 years

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chapter 2

My eyes felt like screws after the seventh hour of manning the reception desk at New Ocean Hotel. My shift was almost over and every minute dragged itself over the slow blue sky. I went into the back bathroom, sat on the toilet and took a few hits from my vape pen. The high smoothed me over. I looked down at the checkered tiles of the bathroom floor and pulled out my phone. Samantha had texted me saying there was someone she wanted me to meet. This guy from her church who drank with her had just seen the lights for the first time. She described him as a sheepless shepherd who wandered around praying to a higher power. Aren’t we all sheepless shepherds I thought but then I realized maybe people had more meaningful ways of understanding their life.

She told me this guy was looking for a job and needed a place to stay. I didn’t really know how much I should care. Nothing really happened here and if some person wanted to be by the beach alone with an easy job then sure, he should come and stay for a while. If he had seen the lights at the very least it might give him some space to calm down. For me though it was boring. I’d worked here for over a year and only stayed because it gave me time to work on the free coding academy I had recently enrolled in. What I really wanted was to get out of this hotel and work for one of the startups in the bigger town to the south.

The only time the hotel got busy was during the summer. But even then, when tourist season was in full force, none of the rooms would be filled. But there was always a two-four week span when the fires forced people out from the valleys or the mountains and the rates would spike higher than they were the rest of the year. We would be filled to the brim during that time, having to deny people and everything. It was cruel to raise rates during an environmental crisis. Supposedly there was an algorithm that decided the prices for all the hotels in a thirty mile radius so the rates were always the same and there wasn’t any real competition. So it was all blameless. The mechanized blasphemous rate spiking that occurred when people’s houses were burning to the ground could be attributed to the cloud or some other unknowable piece of technology whose existence could only be hinted at and never named.

I walked back to the front desk and sat at the computer trying to decipher an error in the coding assignment I was working on. It was useless. My brain was fried and I wanted to walk out the door and go home. I couldn’t, so I booted up youtube instead. Fifteen minutes later, I was on my fourth video of this guy who had a hydraulic press. The niche of the channel was that he exclusively pressed food. Lately it seemed he’d been going to a lot of fast food restaurants. I stood there transfixed as I watched the steel metal cylinder pulverize doritos locos tacos, double doubles, fish filets and atomic chicken wings.

My manager walked in from checking on some of the rooms in the hotel and I told her to come and take a look. She sat there dazed for a while as well, occasionally offering some commentary.

“It's crazy to see food transform into such unrecognizable shapes”

“This is making me hungry”

“That actually looks kind of good”

I liked her. She wasn’t sympathetic to the owners. They directed most of their nastiness onto her and she remained nice to the employees. Sometimes though the stress from the owners overflowed onto us. But there was this mutual understanding we seemed to have of the hotel’s emotional economy. Which is to say that we were aware the owners were some real cretinous fiends who cared about nothing but the rates and money and caused people to teeter at the edge.

I think she knew I smoked in the restroom and she probably assumed I jacked off in there too, which wasn’t untrue. I indulged in what I was able to get away with. There was even this time me and this customer who I’d been chatting with locked eyes in the lobby when I came into work one morning. He and I went back into the bathroom and did all sorts of stuff. I think she knew about this too because we had security cameras but between us there was this tacit understanding that if you don’t have a big house with lots of dollars the coast in California is just a place where you go to dissolve into the sunset and burn off.

I told my manager I had a friend of a friend who needed a job and if she knew if we were hiring. She told me we weren’t but had seen that the steakhouse across the street was looking for servers. Both of us thought it was stupid that there was a steakhouse in this tiny little community. Apparently some silicon valley investor had got it in his mind that the real estate in this area would explode. The idea was that by developing some businesses and property in the area the energy of the coming boom would surge directly into his net worth. He had opened this all glass steakhouse, the type of building with exposed steel beams inside. So now, amid aging victorian homes and fields of wildflowers there was an all-glass restaurant that looked more like it made napalm than served ribeye. Maybe the meat was cloned. Either way, it had good reviews on Yelp.

I told Samantha that if her friend was really looking for work that it was available here at this pretty stupid steakhouse. We had this weird friendship that congealed around this time we did acid when we were seeing each other years ago. It was late and we were bored and awake so we decided to take a tab each and walk the couple miles down to the beachfront where we lived in central California. When we got there we took our shoes off and waded up into the ankles in the ocean. The wind was strong and the cold ocean water on our bodies began to feel like needles. There was this dingy beach motel by us with an iron gate that was rusted from the ocean breeze. It opened easily and we decided to take refuge in the stairway of the motel.

All night we stayed awake feeling the euphoria from the acid and having the full force of California beach kitsch weigh on us. I remember taking solace in eating a bag of popcorn we bought and staring at this dead fly on the windowsill. When the sun rose we walked outside and I remember Samantha made fun of me when I took a picture of the sunrise. I told her not to be an asshole, nobody is better than the sun.

On the sidewalk walking home we passed by subarus and lending libraries and stopped to look at the sky. There was a series of six orange lights high above us, moving fast and leaving a small streak of light behind them. We stood there walking with our heads fixed above. We watched them fly across the ocean and over the hills until they were far out of our sight. We didn’t even say anything to each other, we just kept walking by early morning joggers and freshly manicured lawns afterwards, staring at the sidewalk silently.

That was so long ago now and certainly before I came out and she became a Christian. We just had an unspoken understanding that we needed to head in different directions. So I moved further up the coast here and she got some tech job in the Bay Area. I remember getting these weird emails at the time from this place called Excelsior Corp about test piloting this hardware VPN product. The emails just had one line of text: “Looking for test pilots hardware VPN now” and pictures of this big black box I assumed was the hardware you would have to install to access their VPN. I always sent the emails straight to the trash but somehow they always bypassed my spam and ended up straight in my inbox.

But after some time not talking to Samantha I reached out. I was smoking my wax pen on my porch one night when I saw a bunch of shooting stars shoot over me in rapid succession. I thought of Samantha. I sent her a text asking how she was doing. She told me she’d been well but had been having these weird things happen to her. She mentioned all these emails she’d been getting and that she’d started seeing drones in the sky and lights every few months. I hadn’t seen the lights but I’d gotten the same emails. She was telling me about it and she sounded scared but also she said she was doing well.

“I’ve got a stable job and you know I go to church and stuff, and there are some really wonderful moments, just now I saw all these incredible shooting stars.”

She sounded anxious and I was worried for her. I asked her if she liked smoking dabs. She’d never tried one.

“It’s really chilled me out since that time we took acid.”

“I like my church and alcohol.”

I was happy though because despite her nervousness she seemed happy. I let her know I’d seen the same shooting stars and she was ecstatic. Since then we’ve texted and called about strange stuff we see, about weird things happening in our phones, about plans for the future, about her theories on the Greeks, about my times engaging in public sex, about the hotel, about god, and about other things. We were friends and I enjoyed hearing about her world, from the far reaches of the front desk of the New Ocean Hotel.

On the computer screen a wad of Chick-fil-A waffle fries were being squashed into potatoey dough. Me and my manager sat there watching until the steel cylinder had fully flattened the fries and the video faded to black.

My manager gestured at the steakhouse, “What do you think it's like working there? Surrounded by glass for everyone to see? I could never do that. When I worked in a restaurant the kitchen’s used to be closed off from the eyes of the customers. Now they leave it wide open, I feel like I’d go insane.”

I thought of the owners of the hotel lording over me and reprimanding me every time I looked at youtube. “I’d probably go insane too,” I said.

“I definitely would.”

When my shift was over I walked home and stopped at the convenience store to buy a pack of gummy sharks. I chewed on them while thinking about Samantha. I imagined her in church, with some ridiculous outfit on, sitting with her friend. I imagined them both listening intently to the words of the sermon, and getting up from the pews afterwards to fraternize with the other church members. I thought of how all that seemed impossible to me, making conversation to other people in a church. Maybe if I tried hard enough I could imagine it. I tried and my mind thought of being submerged in water. I thought of being in the womb. I thought of what it must be like to feel full. I thought of being in a congregation. What singing with others must feel like. I started to imagine myself there, sitting among the pews unable to join in with everyone’s song. I imagined what it would be like later on during the service, when the pastor gave his sermon. In my mind I listened to him while a stranger next to me reached for a bible on the shelf on the back of the pews and turned to the book of revelations. He placed the bible on my lap while I unbuttoned my pants and unfolded myself hard, smack dab in between the pages that talked about angels, blasphemy and a new Jerusalem. Then I imagined him stroking me while I listened to the sermon, my mind cascading through illuminated halos, until all that remained was a gold blur and me hooing softly like an owl, letting myself leak onto the thin paper pages and onto the carpet below.

It was funny to me that after that time taking acid Samantha started going to church and I got a hold on my sexuality. Too much of my life could be periodized around that trip and sometimes I felt at the brink, torn between the life I lived before and the life I was living now. But there was no actual break between the two, and they were both happening at the same time. I knew that in reality my life prior and my life after bled into each other, with experiences since then coloring the way I read the past and my life prior shaping the way I read the present. But a long black fissure stood there in my mind, dividing the two lives while they tried to congeal around the edges of the abyss. From that fissure too came not just me but Samantha, and maybe anyone else who had seen the lights. We sprouted out of it in different directions like vines, crawling out of black depths and over the grey plane of our existence, stretching into the bright orange line of the horizon.

My teeth smushed the blue-white body of the gummy shark in two. I chewed one piece and stared briefly at the shimmering half body of gelatin I held in between my two fingers. It would be possible for Samantha’s friend to find a job here. I even had an extra room in the converted apartment of the old Victorian house I rented. Then what? I suppose nothing, I would continue with my life, trying to learn to code and working at the hotel. Who knows what would happen when we met. There was this sensation I had though, that everyone who me and Samantha came in close contact with was somehow also sprouting out of the abyss, extending themselves over that grey plane and trying to reach the sun.

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aittiadf · 3 years

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I need heroin or a mental hospital or like anything

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aittiadf · 3 years

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feels important to say that I'm really traumatized by my brother trying to stab me in high school and being assaulted by my best friend of over a decade ... i need to get a grip and learn how to be vulnerable in real ways

it's made me hard and powerful in ways but hasn't given me the softness to receive love although I am good at giving it

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aittiadf · 3 years

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i don't really care i feel like a shephard roaming around the outskirts of a 13th century occitan village maybe the inquisition will get me maybe not im more concerned when i feel something close to a grace i do not have and maybe even an ability to buy produce and cook a meal and later when your hand is reminding me i am here and so are you that im sorry i never told you i think we are both leading eachother out of the rain

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hey. you look great theres a new flavor of vape mint ice you walk into the park theres remnants of a red vase you think about cup stacking competitions you think about feeling devastated. filled some night creature winks at you and above the river pink butterflies hold their wings on a line of fists you think about wasps around the trash brown wet stones in the garden you think of making a wish the voice is virtual and please whisper in this tent not to spoil the moment but when we're together i feel infinite love on planet earth

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aittiadf · 3 years

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spiraling this whole year ready to fall out the end of the slide onto the sand pit and sleep for 10 years

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aittiadf · 3 years

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damn to think I could have things not be messy!!!! when I'm a mess!!!!!

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aittiadf · 4 years

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hmmmkmkkmmmmmmmm

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aittiadf · 4 years

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being here has really shown me how much I'm at the brink

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aittiadf · 4 years

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want 2 be smothered and fucked 2 forget myself...

everything that feels i have lost but feels necessary to leave

I only hope to not have hurt others although I know I have hurt some

I pray not to be confused in the future and more loving and accepting of myself

i thank god for showing me a way to the future when the past right now is a wreck

I thank God I thank god

and.

now what

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aittiadf · 9 years

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groceries bought for breakfast sand crusted on the carpet first hours have a soft touch on our familiar blue what was preferred was covered up in blankets warmth by blood and breath somewhere to hide still and counting as weekends pile on through breathing we whisper our language of hiding so close to the ocean those memories sleep bodies humming and the smell of bacon

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aittiadf · 9 years

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there were some people walking down the street and they were looking at me. i kept on looking back at them and then looking at the street and then looking at the ground and then at me. they kept on doing the same. we got closer and closer until we passed and i tried to sneak glances at their faces while they tried to sneak glances at mine. after we passed each other i stopped thinking about them so much.

the other day in class i kept on rubbing my head. i was getting restless and i was letting my hands play in my hair and shake it all up and then put it back together again. i had a couple people looking at me while i was doing this but it was all alright i really didn’t mind.

on cigarettes i usually like them mostly because they slow things down. they are calming too but mostly it is nice because i can see people moving around and going about there day and living and i can sort of be at a slow and nice pace of life. i enjoy it a lot - looking at these people and watching all the tiny everyday movements. i think there is really something beautiful about the everyday things people do. it is kind of sad but in also filled with its own kind of hope at the same time.

i usually go there at 7:30 and it is pretty cool because the office is really nice and air conditioned. there is a big drawing on the wall in canvas that i really like. and it is of a man holding a woman and they are both naked but the figures are drawn poorly but you can still get the emotion from it and everything. i think its a cool painting because it just shows two figures who are very vulnerable but they have some comfort in each other and for that they are pretty happy. they are both smiling in the picture. she is really nice and i usually start the sessions with a cold class of sparkling water which I’ve come to like more than normal water for some reason. there are all these others posters and paintings in the room like goya and jazz and being in that office makes me excited to be old and have things and a space of my own also.

i always go to the empanadaenada place because it is really cheap and really good. i have become friends with two of the people. the girl from venezuala and the guy from argentina. there is a third girl but she always seems to have a bad attitude or something. i can’t always muster up the energy to be super social and talkative when i am there but sometimes i am in the mood and joke around with them for a bit. but a lot of times i just want to get my empanadas and leave. i have a lot of respect for the girl from venezuala i think actually. i think it would be hard to be living in another country all on your own and working on your own and going to school. you have to really be wanting a better future for yourself.

sometimes i meet these old men here and they make me excited to be an old man one day. they are all so calm and just have this gentleness about them. idk what it is but it seems like so many guys in their youth have this desire to destroy or like compete constantly and these old men just seem to have let that all go and just be tranquil and above it all. it seems like this at least. youth just feels so violent to me. like we are just throwing ourselves into these experiences and we are just so eager to stomp and make our mark on the world. i guess that is a good thing about youth though also is the desire to make a mark or be something in the world. and that probably explains the violence of youth and the competitiveness and all that. i guess sometimes there is this sort of resignation with old people, but it depends on the subject because a lot of them are still passionate about a lot of things.

i was expecting the same deal on the bigmac at mcdonalds when i went but they had changed it. i had to look through my pockets for change and there was a group of girls laughing next to me and i couldn’t tell really if they were laughing because they could tell i wasn’t from here or something but it made me feel pretty awkward searching for change to order my big mac at mcdonalds while feeling watch and very out of place. but i found my change and i got my big mac and left the mcdonalds. i gobbled it down while walking down the street and i have to say i have a guilty pleasure in mcdonalds. they are a horrible company but they got me by the balls.

the image of seaweed popped in my mind the other day because i was reading something else and the word seaweed came up and i decided to write a poem. it was pretty nice because i haven’t been feeling poetic lately and it felt good to write something. i didn’t give it much attention though i just wrote and didn’t even re read it or try to edit it or anything. i think i may give it some more attention later but for now it really isn’t worth it. but i think the slimy watery and sandy image of seaweed on a beach is really nice and especially if the seaweed is fresh from the ocean and in the sun and glimmering in the sunlight it brings a lot of nice images to my mind. but then there is the seaweed that is old and has flies and that brings a darker image. but slick and shiny light green seaweed is so nice.

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