Yesterday I was up at 5:30am, cock hard as a fat carrot, with nothing to do but spend an hour masturbating and then resume my lifelong ritual of accumulation. I downloaded movies and TV series from Usenet. I will never watch any of these but they fill my coffers with potential research material. If someone needs episode 26 of season 1 from “That Girl” I might just have it, though I won’t have anything else from season 1. If anyone needs 20 CDs from a composer I can’t stand but who was much admired by a woman I loved (and that is why I downloaded them) then I have you covered. The movies I downloaded were mentioned by a woman I’m interested in but will not see for a full week on account of scheduling. I have not figured her out but I think the sentiment is mutual. I had a wild, raucous sex dream starring her, but I can only ask if she’s wired for that kind of thing.
Days not working are days unmoored, or so they can seem. Yesterday I strambled up and around Central Park, that unfavorite place I begrudgingly accept on account of its proximity. I ended up somewhere around the Reservoir when rain drops landed on my face. In Central Park if it just starts raining there is almost nowhere to hide. I had no umbrella, neither did anyone else, we all believed the morning weather forecast promising clear skies in the afternoon.
After the Morning Mas I unloaded a stellar dump, congratulating myself for evidently doing something right in the eating and intake departments. I’ve rediscovered those horrible Oncor salisbury steak creations. That shit is so bad it’s good. I gorge on the quantity and am rewarded the next day with a monster size dump that tilts the earth’s axis ever so slightly. Earthologists consider these occasional shivering moments of the earth’s axis a mystery but I know why it happens. It’s the Oncor Salisbury Steak bowel movement that shakes the planet.
I was, of course, payphone hunting up Central Park. I did not make it to the skating rink… Not Wollman, the other one up north, what is it called now? I don’t know what they call it now but inside the locker room wused to be and possibly still is a set of phone booths. I did not get up there yesterday to see if they are still present.
Someone on one of my social media accounts commented how cool she thought it was that I still go after payphones after all these years. Is it a good thing, an admirable thing? Or a reason for ridicule. The ridicule used to be pretty constant. I don’t think that has changed but competing sentiments of respect outnumber the predictable dismissal.
In that day of not leaving the apartment what did I do? I accumulated, of course. I collected more screen recordings of professional masturbators, becoming insatiably enamored with one woman who looks so much like an ex I have to compare her present appearance to that of the ex’s present appearance to convince myself these are different people. The mouth and the smile were cloned, I think, from the ex,as were the legs. She has such a curious, intellectual expression on her face when she is not fingering herself and accepting Lovense vibrational tips from other viewers. I have not tipped her yet because I’m nervous doing that.
But I spent much of my day indoors collecting more video of that woman, and downloading frivolous porn I thought was going to be something other than what it was. I have more porn than there will ever be hours to spend watching it.
Getting back to yesterday, what I don’t understand is why I slept so poorly. I must have walked 7 or 8 miles, Central Park from CPS up to the Reservoir and back, then a train back to Astoria where I walked up to 31st Ave and 60-something Street to check on the old Underdog Payphone still standing there. From there I went back via 30th Ave, looking for the very old Bell Telephone sign at the Irish pub on 40-something street. I was fooled into thinking the place had rebranded itself into a sports bar and gotten rid of the old telephone sign but that was in fact a separate establishment. The old payphone sign is still there, probably 75 years since its placement.
I could have checked on the basement payphone at The Quays but it slipped my mind.