I’m currently on my first workshop trip, all expenses covered, 5 star hotel, breakfast buffet and everything. There aren’t really anything that I could make a complaint about, in terms of facility.
People flocking in and out, in their business attire, with such hectic manners, like everything was in a rush, made me half jealous since it appeared that they all got a clue about what they were doing, what task was being carried out and more importantly, where their lives were heading. The other half was worrying: those fancy meeting venues, sophisticated diplomatic protocols, standardized manners, corruption, and the immaculate word choices and etiquette sparked intimidation from an outsider trying to get in like me.
I had a dream once. Actually, those dreams are of plenty, and are still being upheld every night in my pillow sleep, turn into a frequent circulation of lucid dreams. And those men that I’d like to store in mind as “of mine” play a great role in influencing it, molding it, or even more ideal, being in it. I want to do something like Jorge, going in a tour loop (even though he’d admitted that it was boring me for years), meeting new people, penetrating in their local life style, memorizing it with optical illusion and turning it into marvelous word flows. I want to do something like Alan, working on a farm, a hostel and a bar, performing multi social tasks, coming home to endless chain smoking out on the field at night with those free-minded fellows. I want to be a mechanic or an electrician, just like my very own father whose hand touch turn every mess of metal into something able to be utilized. Bathrobe with his rather adaptable creativity leaning job, DJ Man and the masturful flirtation with language. And of course, there is Ben as well.
I’ve just finished a chapter in a book Alan accidentally left behind, in which details about the intimacy that a young, clueless dude felt for a guy, a more experienced one, with dark hair and blue eyes, wearing boxer briefs and originally Jewish. They went traveling together, shared the same bed but never slept with each other since the distance between two sides of the bed, two worlds, two entities are too wide apart, even wide enough to create a deep black hole eating the clueless guy from inside. The only thought I had in mind while laying down under the sunny pool that was too fancy for me was “that’s Ben”.
And just yesterday, I went on drinking with the guy sitting next to me in the conference room, who also used to be my law lecture a couple of years back. He said he had no impression about me being one of his student, no matter how hard I tried to remind him how vocal I am when it came to class debates and so on. I fed him my cigarettes, which he managed to gave up for a few months. And then conversation led to his fooling around with one of the guy in my office, who is the ex-boyfriend of the girl (once) in my dream, and also who went down on my cock once as well. This is too much of a loop. I feel like we were just another 2 characters from Closer, that movie with Natalie Portman doing pole dancing for Clive Owen while Jude Law was too busy hitting up strange men online and whining.
Somehow, I don’t really know what to feel waking up in his arms. Nothing happened but I remember confiding in him my fantasies of being a mechanic and night time bar singer/songwriter, leading a nomad life. He also shared the story of his recent breakup and all. I got a cold after that so he went up to fix me some hot water, in my double bed hotel room but without a companion, while the star sky reminded me of the night DJ Man showed me which star signs is what.
I then went to the bathtube, got dressed and as memories began to fade, typing this. A new experience is a new experience. I thought I was slowly adjusting to the practice of being conformtable on my own, without anyone sharing the new adventure, which is also what I used to do before all those men came along. But then once again, I was wrong.