muted frustration

have you ever felt that kind of frustration? the kind when you're alone in an apartment all by yourself, in a city far from where you grew up.

after watching mildly arousing, free pornography for a couple hours, after pleasuring myself for the fourth time, i'm left still craving sex, unsatisfied with my own manipulations, craving more, yet finding my options degrading--i can either browse lewd profiles on gay hookup sites or...well, i really don't have any other choice.

i am left with nothing--nothing but a messy room, a sink occupied by an unwashed plate, an armful of clothes to fold. i have a book i've been trying to read, but its first hundred pages have failed to excite me as effectively as my mind-numbing, month-old crap magazines.

i want the semester to resume so that i might find myself too busy to feel this kind of frustration, so that i might trade it for the kind that is attributed to an excess of deadlines and commitments and insufficient time.

and since nobody's here this frustration is so contained...so muted.

keroppi frog eyes

on the city bus en route back to my dorm i reflected upon a recent realization. well, not so much a realization as "a returning memory...so long abandoned and put out of mind". blankly fixing my eyes on a point on the window across the aisle, absorbing the blurred passing image of shops and pedestrians and oxidizing newspaper dispensers and naked trees and rising sewer steam, i caught myself drooling out of the right corner of my mouth.

suddenly searingly self-conscious i looked around, my eyes not yet accustomed to the shorter distance between me and the people within the bus, only to be shocked by a pair of eyes intently staring at me. i was so taken aback i'm sure i closed my own eyes for a brief moment only to see, upon opening them, the owner of those pervasive marbles that reminded me of my childhood keroppi pencil case. he was a wrinkled capsule of decades of unimportant history, held a countenance of senility, was a poor old black man that may or may not have seen the ingenuous drop of saliva escape from my chapped parted lips.

i smiled nervously--to no reciprocal effect--and looked away.




what a good old man he was, he who brought me to the nostalgia of my beloved pencil case.

the cup of tea

i love the lady's posture. i can't quite tell if she's relaxed or stiff. (the allegorical story of my existence.) of course, it could very well be the product of a lazy painter; apparently the avant-garde piece was criticized for its lack of finish.

i stumbled across this painting by mary cassatt (1844–1926) scrolling through my blogfeed. i'm subscribed to "artwork of the day from the metropolitan museum of art" and you should be too! it's always a treat to come across a delightful painting like this one.

it's been a while

i'm amazed i haven't written in the long while since my last post. i had predicted ample time during which i would vehemently pour out my tormented feelings on the web for the world (by "world" i mean the three of you who might be slightly interested in my life) to read. indeed i have more time now, that i am back home on vacation from school, but oddly, without the pressing need to get an awful assignment done, i haven't been able to summon the will to self-reflect. perhaps the truest sentiments can only be manifested into words in the most inconvenient of times. it is either this or my desperation to avoid being productive when i have to be.

since i've come back home i've spent the days drinking tea and reading porn. i would often pity myself, which would inspire in me the doomed resolution to write a blog entry, but then i'd be aroused again and continue my marathon of vicarious sex.

the other day i was outrageously inebriated at a little get-together with my childhood friends causing regret the next day. i told myself: never again shall i imbibe the devil's brew. some day i will permit a glass of wine, no more, with my dinner, but that will be the extent of my drinking habit.

there are several things that i'm excited to write about, such as my new year's resolutions, my reflections on the past semester, my novel monthly projects, my hypothetical love life, my new outlook on personal expenditures, my diet, etc. but for now i shall retire to bed. prepare for a series of amazing posts!

windows to the soul

i was supposed to meet this guy about an event on campus, whose venue i had previously secured, but he flaked so i'm now compelled to write.

i have a problem that i want fixed desperately. it's been a problem since my early childhood and still haunts me without abating.

today, as i was strolling across this forlorn campus, i walked past this gorgeous specimen of a man. he seemed kind and possessed a naturally seductive presence. no one else was around us, it was just he and i, so out of courtesy he smiled. i should've smiled back, but i produced no more than a sour countenance and averted his glance as my heart started to race. i'm sure he regretted affording me any display of affinity.

this happens all the time. when i'm around men to whom i'm even slightly attracted, i feel extremely uncomfortable, and this type of egregiously antisocial behavior never fails to emerge. i blame my own homophobia and hyper-sensitivity to how others view me. i fear that my longing, so visceral and uncontrollable, might be detected in my eyes. i fear that the moment his eyes meet mine, he shall be doomed to read my lascivious thoughts.

all this engenders similar behavior at other times. i attempt to exaggerate my affected lack of attraction towards another man by being detached, treating him with aloofness. for this, i'm sure i come off as either incredibly shy or uninterested. either way, making friends is all the more difficult.

i always ask myself ex post facto what's the worst that could happen, anyway? who cares if i communicate my lustful desires via my eyes. hey, if i'm unusually lucky those feelings might be mutual, and imagine how great that would be! but such reasoning can't penetrate this weathered yet thick shield of paranoia and self-consciousness.

photography

i'm not so great at taking pictures. i remember spending a load of my (mother's) money on a brand-new sony digital camera in 2005 before leaving for my summer abroad in salamanca, spain. with high expectations i had planned on taking a multitude of beautiful and unique photographs, experimenting with lighting and composition, etc. unfortunately, my extremely hot french roommate and the sleepless nights spent imbibing the countless chupitos and sangrias at the local bars deviated my attention, and my plan never saw the light of realization.

but my fascination and admiration for awesome moments in life captured on film hasn't died, and tonight, as i was browsing through the online portfolio of diane arbus (1923-1971), i found one of the cutest and most mesmerizing photos ever!

woke up at 8pm today

that's right...14 hours of uninterrupted, beautiful sleep. perfect temperature, my window cracked open to let in a constant wintry zephyr. as guilty as i may feel for having wasted an entire day i can't help but feel so satisfied with all the hours i've rested.

one of my roommates told me to record my crazy dreams. i replied, "that's an awesome idea!"

so here goes:
(1) i joined an all-male classical acappella group on my college campus. no auditions necessary. as i walked across the grounds towards a beautiful colonial style house, i ran into a couple of muscular boys casually tossing a football to each other. apparently they found it entertaining to taunt me as i was making my trek and started to verbally threaten me. finally i turned around to receive a flying fist in my palm. i calmly told the boys with an air of superior resignation, "think about how i must feel, having you two pick on someone like me" and so left them dumbfounded.
(2) i followed a strange man into my garage, which was filled with 4 feet of water. our mouths were being ravaged by the other's tongue; we took off each other's clothes and jumped into the wetness. this was turning into what very well could have become my first wet dream since my prepubescent days, but then he started to cause me panic, making aggressive advances, attempting to take my ass with his member. i panicked and pushed him away. yet he continued to pursue my frail nude body. it was scary. a rape-dream. i narrowly escaped through the side window into the front yard before my molester could drown me.

hope i didn't bother you with any noises that may have escaped my mouth during my sleep. please wake me tomorrow if i'm still asleep past noon...

3:13am, 8 days till I'm home

i'm probably the worst person to be reporting to you about mi vida. my self-awareness is the severely selective kind.

i must study vigorously these next several days. don't let me down (now i'm talking to myself).

sorry for the dishes i haven't yet washed! i'll do 'em tomorrow morning...

music for you