inner outer monologues

The only stream I’ve seen in months is the sewage water that flows through the subway. I wonder where it goes. I don’t stop pacing as I wait for the train because I fear the tiny mice I’ve spotted, crawling into my boots. I know I won’t be able to get that feeling out of my head, or off of my skin. I’d also feel the pain of my swollen left knee if I stop, so I don’t. The walk from my house to Williamsburg was a pleasant one, but it's wear is starting to show- especially with the rain. I’ve just attended a wonderful drag show and walked to Greenpoint. It’s 3:40 A.M. and the train is just arriving.

“Tell me about your life. What are your passions? And don’t tell me about your job, but when you get old and you’re on your death bed- what do you hope you’ve done?”

It rolls out my mouth the way it always does.

“I want to know that I’ve created a beautiful home, raised an amazing family and created as much shit as possible. I am a creator of things.”

“Well can I get an AMEN!” He held my hand when he said this. I had moved closer to him in the first place because I wanted to get a better look at him. I wanted to tell him that he was beautiful. I noticed him when he came in from smoking a cigarette, and here he stood smoking again. I touched his jaw-line as I told him that I wanted his face. I fingered his lips when he sang me praises. It would’ve been nice to kiss him on that red-lit patio. Just because.

It was easy to approach him. When the fear of rejection is removed from the equation, it’s easy to open a conversation to anyone about anything. Knowing… well assuming, his sexuality allowed me to expose my fleeting desire for him. The lack of sexual attraction released the crippling sexual tension and, simultaneously, an alluring sexual energy.

This is why I love being around gay men.

On a very basic level I feel very connected to gay men, when we’re all in a nightclub. (Stereo)typically, the men I’m with are all eyeing every other man with or without intentions for a pit stop in an alley way on the way home, and so am I. We all want to dance; we all want to be fierce and beautiful. The testosterone awakens the instinctual desire to pounce and it becomes okay to be more forceful, more direct, and honest. Leaving the club, I want to be more like a gay man. I think we- well I, could learn a thing or two from those queens.

Actually, gay or otherwise, those are all just stereotypical male bar/club/mating tendencies. Harumph.

P.S. I gave birth to Ms. Maturna T. Bear tonight. She might be amazing.