Hell's bells.

It seems that in my last "Help! I'm drowning in paper!" frenzy I threw out the poem I wrote for Mark. There are fragments of it in my head, but I doubt I could re-create it, so I guess it's gone forever. A shame, since I think it was one of my better efforts.

I feel sort of illegitimate in my grief. Mark somehow found his way to my weblog, sent me email, and thus began a correspondence. This was perhaps in March or April. I had seen him at Inferno last year, but I was more than a little awed by him and his... conviction. So we didn't speak. At his invitation, I went to Chicago during IML weekend, and we met, talked, and spent time together. Bumping around someone's apartment for four days actually is not a bad way to get a handle on a person.

Basically, we clicked. We really clicked. Every idea he shared with me sent me to what Ferlinghetti called Coney Islands of the Mind.

On the drive back from Chicago, I thought about him a lot. I thought in terms of a future: him in my life, me in his.

I think I wanted to be in love with Mark. That's awkwardly phrased, and sounds cloying, but that's sort of it.

I feel robbed of possibility. I guess I have no one but myself to blame. The important thing to remember is 'when love walks in the room, ev'rybody stand up.' Always always always take the plunge. Jump in with both feet. Don't hesitate a moment. Life is nasty, brutish, and short. Very short. When two souls find themselves on the same small raft tossed by the waves, it's a great thing, a thing to be savored. It need not be a thing forever, and it probably won't be even a thing for long the way things tend to go. But it's a thing not to be missed.

Despite my sorrow, I joined the Ballbreakers in winning our final two games of the season today. We're number one in the standings, thus, we get a trophy. We played the Diablitos. They're a great team. They're scrappy, but they're out to have a good time, just like we are. Now comes the playoffs. I'm unclear who we're gonna be playing in the playoffs.

I scored twice today, and struck out twice, and was out on a short ball that I didn't manage to outrun to first base, but a runner did get home during my attempt. So overall, I think I made more of a contribution than I was a drawback. It was tough to keep my head in the game. I EP'd, which was good, because I would just be swimming if I was in the outfield.

Tomorrow, at 3pm, I meet PunchPig at a Starbucks on Eighth Avenue, and we come back here, and do a scene together. I'm looking forward to it, and not. I feel a little raw from the news about Mark. I'd really like to be whipped rather than punched in the face. Heaving sobs rather than taking blows. I guess I need to find my anger for the scene tomorrow to be successful. It'll be self-pitying anger--as in, "Fuck you God for taking Mark away!"--but anger nonetheless.

And it looks like I'll be spending some time on Fire Island next week. That is so great. The sea, the sand, the sun, the boys, the dunes, the meatrack. That is soooo what I need. To just disappear into a picture postcard for 72 hours or so.

I hope my dog, Faithful Companion, doesn't have a relapse while I'm out there. That would not be pretty.

Oh. Just when I'm thinking that Crystal Meth is abating somewhat, suddenly it's everywhere again. Ev'rybody's doin' it doin' it doin' it. Last night at the Eagle, I was hanging with UnFortunate, and I spied with my little eye two muscley guys. Total knockouts. They were a couple, but were interested in a threesome.

Now, threesomes are not my favorite thing. With only a few exceptions, I've always been the odd man out, or I'm much more interested in one of my partners than the other. But, given that they're a couple and tag teaming was something they did a lot, it seemed like it might work. One of the muscley guys mentioned that he had done Tina earlier in the evening. I thought this might be the equivalent of smoking a joint after dinner before you went out. This proved to be wishful thinking. It proved to be all about them doing bumps the whole night long. If it wasn't for the fact that they were a couple of Colt Models, I probably wouldn't have gone through with it. It seemed pretty clear that what we were gonna get bizzy with was fucking, and I like that to be about connection. Connection and Tina haven't met. But, overall it worked, just because it they were both very hot looking. So it was sort of like watching porn. And, come to think about it, it had all the emotional content of watching porn, too. I suppose you could call it pig sex. I had a good time. Although the sex portion of the evening transpired between 4:30 am and 6:45 am. And me with softball today. I think I'd honestly have to say that I can see the appeal of the whole P'n'P scene. I mean, they were up for anything, and so turned on to getting plowed. That said, it's nothing I'd seek out again, and I think I'd be inclined to decline the invitation the next time around, as I'm not very happy with sex being a performance, and i always think that's what's oing down when your partner(s) are on crystal.

Anyway. My eyelids are getting droopy. Time to walk the dog and then fall back into the arms of Morpheus.

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