Frustration

Playing the love game again, and again, and again...

Another night in another smoky bar, music and beer and boys grinding, flirting, strutting. And yet I get lost on the train again, the hunger clawing at my brain with the neon signs in the shadows where I missed my stop, and the throbbing continues. Hard and fast in the night with a stranger. Why do I expect the stranger to care? Sometimes I want it raw, and other times I can’t understand why they won’t hold me; they, the faceless number of midnight encounters. I try to make them meaningful, but sometimes it’s just a f**k. Meaningless in the morning, but focused in the moment.

 

It hurts to be alone on the other side of the world. Crying silently to yourself when the moment is quiet, and hoping nobody saw. You feel weak. The world is twisting and twirling out of reach, nothing is for certain, feeling depressed. What have I to say right now that would make any difference in the world? It hurts, that’s all I know and I’m tired of it. This loneliness is back, it never goes away. Twisting into fantasy with every passing day. I think I’ve been here before. The lyrics flow like I wrote them yesterday.

 

Do I know what I’m searching for in the darkness, when I look out across the water and see broken pieces of the moon swimming away? Or when I stand in a quiet moment and look down on the park from above, see the black birds fly like a mob, see the plastic garbage caught in the trees, see the millions of other apartments with millions of other half-hearted lovers like me? What do I know? That love is elusive and tricky and can’t be found in passionate sex. And yet here I am.

Reviews

[electricsatori]

I've read a couple of your pieces and I really like your writing style. However, all of them seem like journal entries. They are broken narratives, mirroring the moon on the face of the sea, all floating away. You have such a voice, use it to capture moments and string them together into a story. Let me hear some of your characters speak to each other - I want to hear the foreign dialects you hear in your travels - I want to see their skin glisten against the tarnished lights while you swill whiskey with them, and let all of these descriptions fight against a conflict that must be resolved. There has to be a story to carry your voice along.

[[corey]]

I read the review below and I have to disagree somewhat. Life isn't some neat little story you can just plot out. Sometimes the best of things come in snipits and in flashes. And somethings are just not worth telling. Write what you feel. I think it works best when we can express what needs to be expressed in our own way.

And once again, it works well with this one. You cut to the heart of the matter without adding in anything that detracts from what the focal point should be. The feelings expressed in this one seem to be what a lot of gay guys feel, yet don't really do anything to change. So the vicious cycle of endless physical gratification and jadedness goes on.

This is actually a tragic piece. It's simply sad, which means I love it even more.