Ok, so I’m not really dead. But I feel like I’ve been excised-through-absence from the normal ebb and flow of my own life, and from friends’ lives. Dramatic, I know—and it’s all me—but there it is. I’ve managed to get out exactly twice in the last month or so and both times (one of which was tonight) had me feeling like a visitor, or the occupant of a space that’s been saved for someone who might show up.
This is not to say that I don’t feel at home in that spot, that I don’t feel as at-home as I’ve always felt with my Fred, but my attitudes about some things are not my own. Or at least not my traditional own. Case in point: unlike most gay men, I have made a very clear distinction between friends and fucks. It’s just too weird to mess around with friends—and no, that’s not a point of immaturity.
Maybe I’ve hit my own personal Absolute Zero, where everything goes so still and stale that it explodes into something new and frenetic. Or maybe observation isn’t enough and I’m experiencing it instead (naaah, see “new tricks, old dog”), or maybe I’m recasting my past along new frame boundaries and have come up with thigns I don’t much care for. Or maybe you can’t depend on your own libido and your own affinities to stick to the same playbook forever. In any event, I have a crush on a close friend of mine, one that follows a crush I had when he was just a new friend. I saw him out, not at work, this past weekend and I actually swooned. It was lovely.
So somewhere between Accident and Essence, between Provender and Providence exists a life that borrows from either and both. The trick is to be enough of a witch or warlock to draw funnel clouds out of Essence to touch down into your own Accidental existence; to guide Providence to feed whatever hungers and slake whatever thirsts. And, of course, to be enough of a pragmatist to exist in a cause-and-effect universe. Teaching a man to fish can work magic to his own world, but lessons can’t be heard over the grumbling of an empty stomach.
So what have I been doing instead of writing nearly-daily here? I’ve been working. A lot. And doing pretty much nothing besides. And only recently have I realized that this won’t do and that I need to be cleverer. To that end, I’ve begun a list of Apple Babes. I figure that if so much of my life is to be devoted to work, I might as well enjoy the scenery. And trust me, chil’ren, there are plenty of Apple Babes at the Mothership. Are they gay? Who cares? They’re babes! It’s fun and it’s harmless. And did I mention that it’s fun?
Your God of Biscuits needs more fun.
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