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6:47 a.m. - September 15, 2003
An apparition of defensiveness, which only betrays uncertainty and castigation
Dreamed of Spec dropping pincer bugs (earwigs) into my belly button, and then I was loading his truck with things of mine he has in his apartment. Vibrant, almost coruscant, and like most dreams, textured sublayers of meaning. We talked last night for a while and he asked again when I'm moving to Seattle since I now cannot claim school or employment as an anchor. He becomes excited when talking about living together and listening to him I feel there's something wrong with me because I can't get close enough to participate. With anything. I'm wary of people and situations, constantly distrustful of intentions and possibilities, failing to achieve equipoise with any sense of permanence. I may be improving the external interstices of person and place, but on the inside I'm as lost and confused as ever.

If you've missed Madrigle's guestbook comment, check it out. He is, of course, correct in his approximation of my acculturation of gay mores, the very ones I despise, and I admit to being bothered. First response is of course I want to pursue relationships over the fleeting, and second is But I don't. The longer I'm intimate with someone increases the likelihood that I'll have to bring up anal sex and how do I do that without opening up some and potentially becoming vulnerable, all without altering the structure of you can't know too much about me which itself is a problem? When I'm attracted to a guy - like Eli - and want it, I react unpleasantly and as he said, ass isn't worth this. So given that I lack a shibboleth that eases entry, do I just say no anal, period, let's date and possibly form a relationship - excuse me while I laugh. Even the nicest of guys like John debated ending his nascent relationship because there was no anal. So I swear off anal and hope to find a guy who's okay with that and in the meantime satisfy myself with wrestling and oral sex and licking biceps, all of which I can do with an eagerness that surprises me, and wave the dictum no anal, no anal like a semaphore inviting those who can read the code? Or is this swimming in the muck, is this my being like them and perpetuating what appears to be a core more of who needs relationships when we can have sex now?? In other words, Madrigle's saying I can't have everything my way and something has to give, and in the meantime, well - go back to looking but not touching? Try celibacy as a way of becoming more comfortable being intimate with a man? Continue as I am and when anal sex - the possibility, the position, the question - arises say I have to tell you something: Don't freak out or anything, but sometimes - most of the time - I panic during anal sex, both receiving and giving, and may vomit or shake or start yelling or crying or screaming, but don't let it bother you, okay? Yeah, I don't think so. Or, as Dr. Indy urges, I could be up front and matter of fact, never mind the distasteful Oprahology inherent in I have to tell you something: See, when I was a kid . . . . I don't think so. Everybody's been molested, everybody's got issues, everybody's turned off by emotional basketcases and opening up too much invites trouble.

Yes, Madrigle, I understand your point. I understand everybody's points and cluck-clucking and headshaking and insight, but it seems none of you see where I'm coming from. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

If anything, I'm developing some insight, so I'm not a complete wash.


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