Men Commuting

Here is a photo series of men commuting in Chicago.

FutureSexLoveShow

Feeling emotionally fragile like a china doll. A broken dusty figurine of a man on the shelf. Boring myself with my analogies. Trying to describe a very New England pain. I'm in a yellow wallpapered bell jar. A story told a thousand times, mostly by privileged white women. Where is the book about me? I'm certainly in no condition to write it.

Watching Justin Timberlake on DVD. The FutureSexLoveShow, I believe it's called. What talent and optimism and soul. Gives me goosebumps. In slacks and white shirt and vest. Grabbing his twentysomething package, the crowd screams. There is such hope in that crotch. Such potential.

Eating Ritz crackers with feta cheese and ham for dinner now. Disgusting. Stomach issues now. Feeling hopeless.

These men on the train home from work. Different versions of Justin at different ages. In their ironed slacks. I can't help but fixate. Every day a new one. They are undoubtedly disturbed by the pained look I must give them. Wrinkling my brow, trying to understand how they got wherever they are. I want to be them. Do they ever want to be me? Certainly they are not interested in the hairstyle. This is an ongoing problem. Who do they want to be? They want money probably and sex. They want to feel safe or make others feel safe. They are hungry.

After the work day is done, I just want to sleep. I refuse the offers coming from no one- going out for a drink after work. "No, Thank You." Just sleep. And when I say sleep I mean go home and hide. And by that I mean watch a Justin Timberlake concert DVD ordered from Netflix.

romances that never were and never will be

sleeping in his sisters bed. thinking about him and not understanding the emotions i was having but knowing that something was really turning me on.
waiting for him to come back so we could do more of what we had done before.
orchestrating some sort of event just to be close to him.
laying in bed crying with pink christmas lights all over my room. my twentysomething world was shaken to its core.
thinking that i lost him. so happy i didnt.

more therapy memories

went to see a psychotherapist near great america. he had a very holiday inn type office. pastel pink and green accents and little scuptures i imagined were given to him by former patients. how had they done? were they successful in their treatments or were they in hospitals? probably marital issues, nothing major. upscale problems.

anyway, he became sort of a father figure to me. lots of talk about what it means to be a man. the wounded warrior. he told me that i tried to entertain people. that maybe i didnt need to do that so much if i didnt want to. he told me that instead of listening to music and watching tv all the time, that maybe i should, once in awhile-- listen to the silence. once i told him i wasn't eating very well and he took me out for hot dogs. i asked him, naively, to come see me in a school play i was in. he politely declined.

after awhile i didn't feel like i needed therapy so much and cut down our visits to once a month and then to nothing. later on after being hospitalized i called on him again. he suggested a book by ken wilber. i still have it-- its all about, fuck i dont know what the hell its about.

then i started seeing a therapist in chicago who i loved. i stopped going basically because i couldnt afford it. she helped me through some rough times. i told her i wanted to go back to school-- she said that maybe i couldnt handle it. i did, and i can.

current events

Last night, I was walking home at about midnight listening to TLC's "Fanmail" wanting to be drunk and dancing but happy that I wasn't. Up ahead, I saw the shadow of a tall muscular man. So attractive, so obviously straight, I didn't even have to see his face.

As we got closer, I looked into his face and he was very cute. He looked back at me with "the look." Did I just imagine that? He kept walking. I turned around, he turned around. He waved me over, and not in a I'm going to mug you way. This guy didn't need to do any mugging, he had a face and a body that people threw money at. I came over, took out the earbuds.

"Hi"
"Hi"
I could tell that he was drunk. Beer goggles. I mean he was hot, what was he doing spending an ounce of his time on me. Like the hot guy that turns bad in movies about date-rape.
We shook hands.
"Are you on your way home?" he asked
"Yeah."
I quickly imagined how it would play out, where we'd go, what we'd do, what kind of things he'd want, what I'd be prepared to do, what I wouldn't do.
He was glassy eyed, head trying to stay centered on top of his body. Really drunk or high. Maybe he wanted drugs? I don't know how that works. Do you just stop someone in the street who looks like they might know where to get some pot, some reefer-- I don't even know what you call it.
As he sort of tried to focus in on my face, I asked, "Are you okay?"
He seemed slightly annoyed by the question almost a little angry, "Yeah."
Silence as we stared at each other and the fantasy of being at my apartment, only steps away with this very high but VERY hot guy quickly turned into something I would rather not do.
More silence.
"Well, nice to meet you," he said, shaking hands again. Big hands. Not the size of hands people from my planet have. These were hands that made a lot of money and got a lot of pussy. He had to be straight. If not straight, the type of bisexual that turned into married with kids.
We nodded goodbye.
I walked home into my apartment building regretting not jumping at the chance of being with this hot guy. The regret went away. I changed the lightbulb in my bathroom that had burned out.

This morning I woke up, and turned on the coffeemaker, having prepared it the night before. I went to pour myself a cup and knocked the filter basket off as I clumsily pulled the pot off the burner. French roast grounds and hot water poured all over the counter and the toaster. Still haven't cleaned it up. Not quite sure how I'm going to handle that one.

Oh, and I set my pants on fire two days ago. I'm not interested in telling that story again.

5 celebrities I wish to sleep with

sex would be optional

1. Robert Downey Jr. (movie star)



2. Paul Giamatti (movie star)



3. Damon Dogg (naughty movie star)


4. Robbie Williams (creamy smooth pop star)



5. Anderson Cooper (news star)

i've got you under my skin

"Men are concerned with two things and two things only dear," I sigh exhaling toxic smoke, "sex and power. All men, everywhere, all the time, forever and ever."

"No, I'm serious. As much as they might cover it up with a bouquet of flowers or a sensitive seeming interest in books or theater, It's all about sex and power. Don't you ever forget it. Don't depend on them, don't put a drop of your trust in them. Remember how your mom told you to stay away from pyramid schemes and Columbia House Music Club? I say the same to you about men."

"Take a computer class, make more female friends, buy a lovely piece of property, start smoking more pot, whatever. Use the men in your life like you would a beautiful piece of pottery. Admire them, take care of them, stare at them for hours, but remember- they are just a decoration. If they break, just sweep up the pieces and dump them in the garbage, forget about them tomorrow."

notes on the boy with the strong jaw

He's a baseball cap wearing, clean smelling, trimmed facial hair and fingernail, sports watching, big handed, perfectly, slightly ripped jeans with broad square shoulders and chest. Durable, capable.

He's curious about art and faggy things, even dabbles in painting or drawing, but not too much. He can't be too curious about anything. He's got other stuff to do, has to make money, has to reproduce.

I was not born this way. My mom told me that the doctor said when I was born that I would never have very good upper body strength. Lots of little things that the doctor said that my mom remembers that stick in my head. Born not breathing, always sticks in my head. Like I barely made it, like my existence was a bonus feature on the dvd.

But that's not a good way to think, is it? No. I slide into it real easy though. Walking around feeling incomplete or special or different.

I'm sorry. So, yeah, he's in one of my classes. He's a real charmer.

dejection

here's to the straight single guys with big bellys and dockers who work in offices
who are balding
who are into asian women
who are moderately tech-savvy
who think that they will never get married
whose weekends consist of blockbuster nights
who have large collections of porn on their computers
whose apartments or condos are conservatively decorated in hopes of a lady visitor

i would date you if i was an asian lady
but i'm not

i see you
you exist
you are sexy
although not typically considered so