Last night was probably the first time I've managed to keep my pants on when faced with extreame temptation. Lucky me?

Today marks the 72nd anniversary of the Reichstag fire.

She begins wrapping her dreads in purple and black embroidery thread. I notice some discards and begin braiding three strands, making it just long enough to tie around her wrist, near the white “blessing” strand she received for the Lunar New Year. She smiles and makes me a bracelet as well, tying in two small bells.

Long, lost weekend.

On March 3rd (3/3) there are 303 days left in the year.

Jesus, tornadoes in Southern California. The sky is falling, the world is ending.

"Love is the Law, Love under Will"

Too much Throbbing Gristle and white wine.

"I'm hot on the heels of love
Waiting for help from above"

The California Aqueduct, at almost 450 miles in length, is the longest river in California. It is entirely lined with concrete.

“Words as weapons, sharper than knives.”

I’m off Thursdays and Fridays now. This was the first time that Michelle stayed over on my days off. Last week she was in San Diego over those days. She came over on Wednesday night, I think. The days blend into one another. On Thursday, I woke up at about 11:00 and did some cleaning while she slept. She sleeps a lot, like 12 hours a day. My apartment was trashed from so much beer, cooking, and laziness. I spend about 3 hours taking out empty bottles (I really wish there were recycling facilities nearby) and dusting. She woke up about three hours later. We started drinking some wine and chatting. She passes out at about 21:00, after we demolished quite a bit of chardonnay. White wine is nasty. Awake for just a few hours and she’s already out of it. I wake her up at about midnight to check on her and we go back to the living room. Friday is about the same, with the addition of a viewing of Ju Dou. Being half Chinese, she’s seen a few Zhang Yimou films, but not this one. I don’t think this one is quite as good as Red Sorghum or Raise the Red Lantern, but it’s still good. Before it comes on, she asks if it’s a “woman’s film”. I don’t think she meant “chick flick” so I said yes, it is. It’s about a rather manipulative woman trying to get out of an abusive relationship. Zhang’s use of red and yellow is somewhat heavy handed but still wonderful (unfortunately the DVD is pan and scan, but it’s the only version that’s available.) We wind up at Cheers where we run into some casual friends and eat some nachos from Roberto’s. I felt bad about abandoning her for a few games of pool, but she had some company to talk to so it wasn’t so bad. When we got home, we started a more serious conversation. Relationships are always strange. No definite “rules of engagement” (to borrow a military phrase) have been established. I don’t know what to expect or what she wants. It goes okay; we come out of it unscathed. She was still there when I left for work tonight, so we’ll see what’s up later.

They sold the ring that Aristotle engaged Jackie with at auction. The Kennedys are dead. Camelot is dead. Long Live the King.

I just got called an amoral hoyden.

As Heather once said, "Life Sucks".

Who is more pathetic/tragic: Echo or Narcissus?

I actually went out of my stomping grounds last night, all the way to Pounders. It was like Sanctuary used to be with Dan and Kat, Russell and Alexis, and John and Jamai all sitting around bullshitting. I miss that.

I found a ride to the Coachella Festival; a ride with two close [albeit recently too busy to hang with much of anyone] friends. I wasn’t seriously worried about finding a ride since I know there are other people going that way and, if worse came to worse, I could stay with a college friend near there and still make it via Greyhound. This way is the most reliable and least stressful.

Rolling Stone has an article about Gwen Araujo.

Vladimir: Well, shall we go?
Estragon: Yes, let's go.
They do not move.

"The passion of lovers is for death said she"

I'm a Trendy City Faggot! I am better than you. My clothing is better, I am more sophisticated, I smell better, taste better, look better, and feel better. What’s more, I snigger into my macchiato at other faggot stereotypes, because they are all so tragically simple. God why can’t I get laid?

What kind of Faggot are you?
Brought to you by Pushing Through

She sits in front of my computer talking on Ian’s phone as I walk in from work; an empty bottle of merlot and a full ash tray in front of her. I wish I could have stayed home and enjoyed this small bacchanalia. She asks me if I’m alright; as if I have a reason to be upset. I’m confused at first (I’m just quiet for a moment is all) but I think I understand now why she asked. “You’re going to the store with me.” I say this line flatly, coldly. I spend most of my day dealing with people in a passionless, dismissive manner and I realize too late my mistake. Actually, it could have worked also as a joke. When she’s changed and put on her boots we approach the door. I peck her on the cheek and say “Honey, I’m home” to lighten the mood. Snapping into character, she replies “How was work?” I want to quote Heathers, the scene where Big Bud Dean is role-playing in front of J.D. and Veronica, explaining how his day at work went, but the words get stuck on the tip of my tongue and I miss a beat. We get beer and more wine at the drug store, narrowly avoiding death by Las Vegas traffic two or three times. Back home, we listen to music and talk. I’ve been watching too much television these past years and feel out of touch with the situation. This is all I used to do not so long ago; talk and drink. She grows hungry but all my prepackaged, microwavable food has been eaten. She asks for spaghetti. I have to make sauce from (almost) scratch. Canned tomato stuff, onions, garlic, dried peppers, olive oil, and (dried) Italian seasonings. It’s cheap and easy (no jokes, damn you.) We eat at the table. I haven’t used very much at all since facing the wild, wild world on my lonesome oh so long ago. She helps with the dishes. I wish I didn’t have to work the next day, the start of the Lunar New Year. Her family is having some celebration to honor the event. I was invited but since my schedule changed, I have to decline. We go to bed far too late, but I don’t mind. I’ll be off Thursday so I think I’ll make it.

Today is the beginning of the Lunar New Year. Kung hay fat choy

She made it back over last night.

She took the bus since she hurt her arm and her truck has a manual transmission. Living in Chicago has taken away any fears of public transportation she may have harbored in youth. I left work for home at 9, since my schedule changed, and caught the Pecos bus to Flamingo since I couldn’t find a ride. I had about a 20 minute layover so I walked into Lee’s for some wine for my young lady friend (and myself.) I knew I had beer in the refrigerator but there’s something about wine and women. The bus I wait on never arrives; instead I catch the next one a half hour later. The driver explained that someone had a stroke and the bus had to wait for an ambulance and all the bureaucratic nonsense that goes along with an incident on the bus.

My company wasn’t expected until 11ish so I wasn’t worried, merely inconvenienced. The two bottles of wine became heavy cradled in my arm. I felt French for some reason. With my beret, black satchel, long coat, and bottles of wine I was only missing a baguette and some brie to complete the ensemble. I had enough time to change and drink a beer or two before she arrived, stunning in her black coat and eyeliner. I felt dumpy in my dirty jeans and Ween t-shirt; unshaven and unkempt next to her dance club pallor. “But I’m a punk, damn it!” I try to lie to myself; DIY and shit. I don’t think she minds my appearance, however. Even as she keeps powdering her face. I offer up a beer or some wine. She opts for the beer first, pouring a Newcastle into a Budweiser logo-emblazoned pint glass that I got at Sanctuary years ago. She makes some snide comment about the logo; I’ve heard that too many times to be that amused. I know Budweiser is shit. She sits on the couch; I sit on the floor near her feet. She gives me a CD and a patch for St. Valentine’s Day, explaining that she forgot the card she made. Slightly embarrassed, I play the CD. She knows the band, she says. They’re from Chicago. It’s some neo-folk sample-driven stuff. Moving to the merlot I brought, we change out CDs. She says I’m being quite tolerant of “her music” which makes me laugh. She assumed I only listen to synthpop and other, lighter stuff. It must be the REM and Morrissey posters. Of course I listen to power noise, neo-folk, and the rest. Some people in the audience might think I’m close-minded about music but I actually listen to a broad spectrum of stuff; just not most mainstream shit. We finish the wine and play a little on the floor, hoping my roommate doesn’t interrupt. She becomes quite drunk and asks that we go to Cheers and get some food from Roberto’s. Ian comes in at this moment and exits to his room, slamming his door. That sort of aggression makes me very testy but I leave it alone. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” We leave, catching my friend James just as he’s walking up to my door. We turn around and head to the bar, but my companion becomes drunker. Instead of eating in the bar, I bring her into the restaurant to eat first. She’s stumbling a bit. Of all things, she orders a carne asada burrito. I put some Spanish music on the jukebox to liven things up. She sobers up enough for us to leave for the bar. We only stay for one beer; it’s getting late and we’re both intoxicated.

Getting home, we go right for my bedroom. The last time she was here, she spent three nights. She slept on the couch the first night but the other two in my room. I didn’t know what to expect, but I guess I should know better. “Two total strangers, but that ain’t what they’re thinking.” After being sexually active for 17 years, I’m still surprised at how different everyone is in intimate situations. What you want, where you want it, and for how long is always completely different for everyone.

Needing to work the next day, I fell asleep quickly and still nude. By the time I woke, she’d put on her pajamas. I cuddled softly for a few moments before getting ready for work. She might be visiting San Diego on Thursday, but I hope she sticks around.

When I got home last night, my roommate had company; a woman. She’s been over several times; I don’t mind her company. They’d ordered pizza, rented some videos (actual magnetic tape - so quaint!) and picked up some beer. Miller High Life, of all things. I think she has poor taste in beer. She mentioned that she wanted to get Michelob, but he insisted on the Low Life. I had just gotten some decent beer and the pizza had dead animal on it so I declined their offers. It’s always strange when he has company over. He spends most of his time on his computer in his bedroom, exiting for the occasional cigarette. I, on the other hand, have my computer in the living room, next to the television and stereo. Most nights, when I return from work, I turn on the idiot box for the usual diet of war documentaries, MASH, and Daria while multi-tasking with several chat clients on my computer and pounding bottles of Newcastle. I’m alone with my misery and addictions. I have nowhere else to hide. I have a radio in my bedroom, but I’m not even sure if it works anymore. It’s a portable stereo that my mother bought for my 18th birthday. As much as I’d like to sit in my dark corner and mope, I’m basically stuck in the oh-so-cheerful company of others. It could be worse, I suppose. They could be actually cheerful or want to watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force or something miserable like that. She notices a CD that my company from a few nights ago had brought out; a Canadian noise compilation. She asks if there is any way she can take it off my hands. I simply give it to her; I haven’t been listening to as much music as I used to and I’d maybe played that CD two or three times. That being settled, they put in a Mickey Rourke film called Angel Heart. It didn’t sound familiar but as it came on I realized that I’d seen it before; perhaps with Jeremiah, but I don’t really remember. It has a pseudo-noir affectation that my roommate finds somehow compelling but I see as merely droll. The Jacob’s Ladder motif falls flat, in my not-so-humble opinion. After that ends, we watch Black Cat, White Cat, an interesting offering from Yugoslavia. I realize I can’t tell the difference between spoken Romany and spoken Serbo-Croatian, even though Romany is more closely related to Indian languages. The film is light-hearted but still manages to keep the hard edge of an obscure art film. I’d spent most of the time Angel Heart was on chatting with my most recent friend Michelle but since Black Cat, White Cat is subtitled I had to pay more attention to the film. I think I’d prefer it if she was watching the film with me, but she lives quite a distance off and can’t find transportation. She offers to come over tomorrow night, which isn’t as good but it will have to do. The Chinese New Year celebration is soon and she wants me to go to temple with her and her mother. It sounds fun, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to arrange it around work; besides, religion bothers me, even Buddhism. My work schedule was pushed up an hour, so I needed to sleep earlier than I’m used to. I manage to nod off around 3, an hour past my target, but I still make it to work on time and I don’t feel too tired today. We’ll see how tomorrow turns out.

"Thought of you as my mountain top,
Thought of you as my peak.
Thought of you as everything,
I've had but couldn't keep."

"You have a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar."

Fuck football.

I found some pictures of the Red Room in Santa Cruz. If I went there today, I might know one or two people if I was lucky, but I'd still like to drink there again.

Just got a ticket to Coachella. About the same price as last year, $180, but this year I don't have any firm plan on how to get there and back. Two friends said they're going to try to go so I might be able to hitch with them. I hope it all works out.

Someone at Cheers played a few games of blitz chess with me last night. I'm so out of practice I made some stupid mistakes. Gotta keep to pool when very drunk.

Sharing space and a bed with someone for a few days has made me remember how good it feels.

Sorry I haven't been talkative, I've had company the past few nights.