Don’t know why I got here at 7am today. The workplace. I discovered that iKraveit, the local stalwart bodega, is not open 24/7. I was there at 6am and they were closed. I’ve never seen them closed since they opened. I have a foggy memory of one of the early founders of the place saying that they night do a deep clean every week starting at midnight on Sunday. But I don’t remember him saying the place closed during that time.
I don’t know why I’m up so early. Anxiety is high. Morning mas required no porn. I don’t really want to be here. Part of the way along on the W train today I asked “Where am I going?” No one commented on my early arrival. The 7am crew. I’m the 9am crew, here before the 8 am peeps. I feel like I am full of poison fluids, toxic grease. I was in Bushwick yesterday, after a failed excursion to the BQE around St. Michael’s. I went in to St. Michael’s for the first time in at least a year. The St. Joseph Mausoleum looked the same as I remembered it. That was where I wanted to be interred. There or the newer St. Mary’s across the way. But the dude from the office never got back to me. I did an in-person consultation with a sales rep, it lasted about an hour. He promised more contact and callbacks but they never came. I reached out to him but there was nothing. They don’t want or need my business. Lay me down in the pauper’s field. I won’t even care. But I did have a neat idea for how I would populate my columbarium niche. Among other things there would be a mirror, in which visitors would see their reflection.
Change of subject. I don’t let on much about myself to the people I work with. The people I work with are the people I work with. In a way this is unfortunate but it is a product of the weirdness surrounding the fact that I work where I do, and my somewhat flambouyant history with this company in years past. But that’s for post-mortem discussion, hoping and assuming there is a day when I no longer work here. I don’t let on much to peers here but one guy sometimes gets me to reveal certain things. His mention of having visited Japan got me to go on about the Japanese Waif I “dated” for some months per- and post-pandemic. I put date in quotes because we were just fuckbuddies. We had little to talk about and not a lot of time for anything but automatic, insatiable sex. I didn’t say all this to the co-worker, but having somehow put her almost completely out of my mind some of those memories came back. I rarely remember a lot of the sex. I black out, or get excited enough that something wipes out my conscious awareness of where I am. I always remember the moments of penetration and the first moments of being inside her but after that the brain is swamped and swarmed with … something. I don’t know what. I remember she had sort of snarl, a small one, approaching a snort but not quite. This sound she made throughout intercourse, when she wrapped her tiny self around me. These memories flooded my mind as I explained to the co-worker that she was, unknown to me, a compulsive shoplifter. I learned this by phone, when her roomate called to let me know she had been deported. How does anyone get deported back to Japan, of all places? Apparently she had been given ample opportunity to get her shit together but her urges could not be stopped. She never stole anything from me, as far as I can tell. But I also suspect she was lying about many things. Her age, for one. She claimed to be 26, and to have turned 27, making her half my age at the time. She seemed older, and more wise. She was in control of when I came to her place in Flushing. There was no spontaneity about it. She was probably getting boned by other white guys (she had a fetish). For as much as I got to know about her background and time in the U.S. I remember certain aspects of her timeline just did not make sense. She will always be a mystery to me and I’m fine with that. As my co-worker said, she is one for the memoirs.
There is a woman I want to talk to, and I will, but first I have to remove my cockshots from the sex site. She says she will not talk to anyone who shows their “manhood” on the site, though many of her contacts and people she interact with have cockshots on their profiles. She shows her breasts, and they are beautiful. I will feel sad removing that stuff. I like being naked. Ironically, I feel safest that way. The last woman I was with, I was naked probably 70% of the time I was at her place. In bed I could not be any other way but completely uncovered, not even for a quick finger play. But this woman has standards and I get it. If I need to show her those pictures I know where to find them. I have them in a folder with all the videos and pictures I have collected for a documentary I was making about masturbation. My masturbation. Not anyone else’s. I have not done anything with that project in a few years.
I’m going out for a walk. John Street.
