Seeing what you saw. Hearing what you heard. A shared experience in non-linear time. It’s highly arousing.

Do you think if I speak one word about you by the ocean that you live in every particle of water and we writhe infinitely and evaporate and fall again. Again and again.

Back at home. At the scene of all of my crimes.

I'm somewhere between Groupo Extra and Scream Club.

I didn't wear my glasses all day. My face is a different person. Surrounded by hard drives and desert. Excel and InterCall. Tomorrow it's East Coast and dress up. I've been gone for nearly all of January. I spent a few hours at home learning to whimper. Sometimes when I'm alone, I listen to Songs: Ohai and remember the absolute other worldly misery of being in North Carolina alone in June. That was two and a half years ago now. Sleeping awkwardly on a fitted sheet on the floor of an empty apartment. Covered in the dramatic Southern twilight sky. Sweating, cycling, sobbing.

I'm in Hoboken, looking out at Midtown. Thinking about the sound of leather/ hard soles on concrete.

Bring on that January depression plus self harm ideation. I'm 32 and still think about hurting myself. The only difference is now I recognize it isn't normal. And if I could fight and fuck I feel like I'd feel very all right. Fuck my god damn life

When do I get to become the little bottom boy of my dreams. Angelic, disgusting, beastly, hedonic ejaculations. Unafraid (but not unsafe). There are three, maybe four, dudes fucking next door. The 3rd’s orgasm was particularly satisfying. And I was jealous of all the male parts and forms and fluids. I so much love the sound of a man unabashedly orgasming. Especially if they do it in your ear, with their entire body wrapped around you, pulled as far in and you can be. Then squeezed even tighter still. And you compress and are brought in even more. And you get lost in the crook of their arm. You fade away. Under a blanket of shoulders and mass.

I don't spend enough time outside at night.