On apathy

The wine bottle smashed against the wall. The alley glittered in broken glass under the distant motion light. All I had to do was move slightly left and he missed. He was getting way tired, and desperate and even more maddened.

"Fuckin hoto, no me tocas no mas! No sabes nada!"

No, tu sabes nada. You don't know anything.

It was his almond eyes that were killing me. And his nipples on his pecs poking through his now drenched dirty shirt. His hat cocked to the side. The red cuts on his face. Him on the ground, half curled, trying desperately to retain himself. Didn't stop me from kicking him some more.

He thought he could get me to suck his dick while his wife's at home then do some damage to make it seem all ok. Well, he did have a nice verga. Reminded me of home. Smelled of dirt and cheap soap and testosterone.

He gathered a burst of energy and ran for me. I didn't dodge this. I let him get to me and then turned on him and pushed him, stomach and face against the wall. Like we were dancing. My pelvis pushed against his ass. Nice culo, too, huh? I pulled his pants down. He was beginning to shake. I was hard. I pulled my pants down now. My belt was a bitch to unbuckle with one hand. He barely struggled. I felt his asshole. Moist. And clean. Interesting. I shoved myself up against that, reached for my phone and took pictures.

"Smile puto. So when your cousins get here- I know you text them- I can show them y tu madre que es un hoto... or you can keep your mouth shut about everything and I keep my mouth shut like nothing happened. que piensas?" It was opening. I was in. I heard a slight moan. I was salivating. I started to thrust. It was hard not to. But I did it slowly. I wanted him to enjoy it. Then I grabbed the back of his head and pressed his face firmly against the wall. His breathe was uneasy. He was barely present.

I pulled out, eventually, pushed him down and came on his face. Again, he didn't struggle.

I knew his cousins would be there soon. Wouldn't be surprised if they had guns with them. They love guns, although they hardly know how to use them. They like the looks I think. It had been a long time since I had to put up with shit like this, but I remembered how things operated. You think about escape routes way ahead of time. I looked up for a quick second. The clouds perfectly framed the half crescent moon and some airplane exhaust lines cutting through it. Cuts.

Perhaps I should have just bolted but instead, with my jacket, I decided to wipe his face, Pulled his pants back on and since he was too far in shock, yanked him up to get him towards my car.

I headed towards an open field near the freeway, but yet another change of plans and turned towards my apartment. Changing your mind so quickly annoys me really. Doesn't stop me, though.

To keep him from any sudden outbursts I gave him some water with tranquilizers. I love tranquilizers myself. I always have them on me. And waited a bit in the car outside my apartment. I had his eyes covered with a tshirt on the way there, never can take chances. Eventually, I got him inside, showered him, cleaned up his bruises and cuts while he was knocking out. Stupid to go through all that work then have to clean him up like this. Again, annoying.

Him laying on my bed, I stared at him.

Then I thought of my mom.

No sabes nada, she'd tell me.

Tu no sabes nada.

Wanting to hold him crossed my mind. If I were any other poor gay motherfucker, I would have been left in the alley half dead by this chollo. So I didn't hold him. But I still sat and stared at him for a while longer.

Pendejo muy guapo.

I'd sleep for a few hours, then get him back to his neighborhood before the sun rose.

lovers

I have many lovers, but I'm not a slut. I fuck and get fucked by one or another and feel the lapse from touch to touch. One I've had for years, another for a complicated 3 months, and others for not long and not much longer I'm sure.

It's ridiculous, a bit trite, but true when i say I see myself in every single one of them. It's also true that each one's differences from me can many times alienate me with their consequential presumptions and impressing desires.

See my reflection and see it dissipate to someone else...

Maybe it is you who can save me.

A life of moments captured in smoke and mirrors has a certain charm to it... very atmospheric... and getting lost in the interpretations of interpretations, meanings take on a drama that can be, well, life affirming... Ever notice how life affirming doesn't necessarily connote purpose? Why is it we need to feel alive when we are already living? Why we need purpose to keep going when we're already moving towards tomorrow?

Losing yourself in love is as profound as finding who you really are in it.

Nonetheless I cannot accept another for who they really are, hence so many.

Is it really all about myself?

One only likes to suck cock. The other only likes to top. Another only likes to cuddle and make out. I can't remember anymore what I even like.

One feels we need a more farther reaching and efficient public transportation system. Another feels marriage is only for the straights. And still how many of them care about not much more than this or that band, this or that tv show? Most of them.

And one of them, if I recall, has something to say about how everything could be better. Again, most of them.

There are dreams somewhere in them, and I can't remember where mine are.

If there weren't the choice of only sucking cock or only doing anal then making a claim that monogamy just isn't natural in the natural world (actually it's quite prevalent in the animal world)would be easy. But there are always preferences and these choices stem from an idea of a single thing. The question of one or many disseminates into inevitable hypocrisy and irony.

If you're so goddamn picky, that implies you want something, someone particular. You don't find that ironic, you whore?

Personally, I love irony.

... so who can save me from this mess of choices? Certainly not myself. I'm the reason I'm in this mess in the first place.

I'm not looking for a prince charming, and... I'm not looking for myself. I'm looking for a dream, I think. How does one deal with the frustration of the dream/real conflict?

I had a dream recently that one of them, standing sordid and tall and with a smirk said:

I wanted to be like you
I wanted everything
So I tried to be like you
and I was swept away
I didn't know that it was cold and
you needed someone to show you the way
I took your hand and we figured out that
when the tide comes
I'll take you away

Funny, too, 'cause I really love that song.