bj's gay porno-crazed ramblings

Thursday, April 18, 2002

Pre-Bjork, there was Elvis. In high school, just because he was supposed to be the next big thing, we bought tickets when the Armed Forces tour came through Chicago. Of course, I thought his name was stupid, and at age 18, the idea was just an excuse to go hang out with frineds and smoke pot; but, I knew I ought to spend the $4.99 on the album just to check it out. Woah! It's actually hard to remember just how astonishing it was those first few times that album spun on my stereo; for the next 10-12 years, Elvis was practically a daily part of life. Each album coincides with very specific memories. Get Happy was an album playing over and over while I taught a freshman girl how to get the most out of smoking a pipe; Taking Liberties was a gift from a college pal who had a not-so-secret crush on me (a girl, alas!); Punch the Clock was my first summer in New York; Imperial Bedroom was when I had a crush on an older transfer student, alas, a str8 man - but he was nice about it, and we managed a nice friendship anyway, somehow because of our mutual love of that album. Several times over the years folks would tell me I looked like Elvis, which always made me laugh. I never considered him to be a handsome man, but that didn't matter, his voice, and music were fantastic - but, funny, when I look at the cover of King of America, I can finally see the resemblance. I've had a beard off and on, and the glasses, and that blob of a nose.

Gosh, I cant f**kin' believe I was only 25 when that album came out! Pre-gradschool, living in a crappy lower east side apartment, seems like 3, not 16, years ago. Most of these songs get me singing, and singing loud (watch out neighbors, the disc is on now) - thankfully there are some upbeat tunes, as I'm in a familiar sad mood since last night. I managed to go out around 12:30, scarfed down 1/2 a beer before I realized I just wasn't up for the staring at this or that cuteguy until I was too drunk to communicate - but really wanted an all-night sit and talk and giggle and smooch kinda night. It's been a very very very long time since I've been in my, or anyone's, bed and did just that. You know, where you're comfortable enough not to worry about the sexthing, and can relax and just be. Just look at his face, exchange stories, kiss, laugh, snuggle, nibble, you know. Sometimes I'm amazed at the differing types that I can imagine doing that with - but then I realize they're not really that different - it's the face, and mostly the eyes. I often talk about the facial hair / body hair attraction, and while on the surface that's true, I find that if I look at your face and get that "I wanna see your handsome face in 30 years, and I know I'll love it then, too" feeling, then I'm hooked. Granted, that happened 3 times last week at the Post Office. But, alas, it's happened in other circumstances, and I find I am paralyzed. It's that "I know I'll come on too strong, don't ruin it" mood that turns into intense inertia. Very intense. That - "maybe I shoulda done this" and "maybe I shoulda done that" - grrrrrrrr.

ok, I give. I'm sure its just waking up 3 days in a row in APRIL in a pool of sweat in 80 degree weather.


The soldier asked my name and did I come here very often
Well I thought that he was asking me to dance
In my holy coat and hat and him in his red bonnet
We'd have made a lovely couple but we never had the chance

And now you say that you've got to go
Well if you must you must
I suppose that you need the sleep of the just