MEN ARE BEAUTIFUL WHEN THEY

SELF CONSCIOUSLY LOOK IN THE

MIRROR WHEN THEY DON’T THINK

YOU ARE LOOKING

AND WHEN THEY WEAR LIGHT BLUE

SHOES TO THE MOVIE THEATRE

AND WHEN THEY ARE FLOPPY

HAIRED FEET TUCKED UP

ON THE SEAT IN THE SUBWAY

CAR

AND WHEN THEY LOOK LOST

IN THOUGHT AND POUT

A LITTLE AND FURROW

THEIR EYEBROWS

AND WHEN THEY HOPE

THAT YOU THINK THEY

ARE LOOKING HANDSOME

BECAUSE THEY’VE TRIED SOME NEW

THING THAT SOMEONE TOLD THEM

WAS GOOD TO TRY TO LOOK GOOD.

I DREAMED ABOUT CHATROULETTE

I woke up from a panicked dream this morning. In my dream I went to use the internet video chat site Chatroulette, and I was thinking that I would just aggressively masturbate towards those guys who ruin everything by masturbating on camera. This was supposed to be like one of those videos about sexual harassment where the girls gang up on one guy and sexually humiliate him by saying things like “Come here baby” and “What’s the problem, just kiss me”. Things to make him feel theoretically small and vulnerable. To prove something about how women feel.

As I was coming to a waking state I realized that this was an insane counter-attack. It could only add fuel to the proverbial fire in their crotch.

——-

(Unless I have really misjudged how I look when I masturbate. It could be that it is so grotesque that no man who encountered the display would ever position the webcam in front of his hand fervently working away under his pants again.)

FEMALE MASTURBATION DISCOURAGES MALE MASTURBATION? PROBABLY NOT

I mean, but probably not.

MAYBE IT IS OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE ELSE BUT I AM FIXATED ON THE QUESTION OF WHY THEY DO THIS

Does everyone else know? Am I the only person with questions?

STEPS TO FINDING GUY MASTURBATING ON CHATROULETTE

Well, I’m generalizing here saying that just guys masturbate on chatroulette. I’m sure some women do too. But I never see those. Every time I think “I am alone and the internet could be my friend” and I try Chatroulette, it goes like this:

1) I click on [ Start (F2) ] button.

2) It takes a second, and then I see something blurry moving. It comes into focus. I realize it’s a hand working feverishly in a pair of sweatpants.

3) I click the thing that makes it go to the next person

4) A girl appears. She closes the conversation instantly.

5) Another image appears. It is a penis being manipulated slowly and then much faster once I guess my picture appears.

6) I laugh bitterly.

7) I close Chatroulette and hope someone comes on Gmail chat.

WHY ARE THEY DOING IT

I woke up in a frantic state this morning thinking “why do they do that?” not like “Why would ONE make that possibly morally reprehensible action?” Because I don’t think it’s morally reprehensible or maybe moral in any sense. It’s just masturbating.

But what drives them?

I HAVE SOME THEORIES

There seems to be a kind of eternal optimism that men have about women wanting to see their penises which I will never understand. They have this unflagging conviction that people want to see their penises. (see: cock photo texting) Or that if people don’t know that they want to see these guys penises, they will know soon.

Maybe I wish I had that kind of eternal optimism about my own body. A sense that everyone wants to see my genitals.

I mean, it must be nice to think like “Oh my genitals are great everyone should see them all the time on the internet”

POSSIBLY IT IS DESPERATION?

But then, maybe it is not a bloated sense of esteem about their penis but like a kind of desperation.

Like when you feel sad and rejected at the end of a night of dancing or something and your girlfriends look more attractive in the lighting than you and you think you just want some guy, any guy, to be interested. And then you make out with some guy with weird facial hair because it makes you feel less alone and sad even though you know you are making a terrible compromise of standards and you blame it on the alcohol.

SELF ESTEEM IS DIFFICULT TO MAINTAIN

It’s hard to feel sexy sometimes. Maybe sometimes you just have to whip it out on camera sometimes and say to the world “I HAVE A PENIS AND I WANT YOU TO DESIRE IT” Sort of like the way women will wear low cut shirts sometimes because it’s like “I HAVE BOOBS AND I WANT YOU TO DESIRE THEM”

If there was such a thing as penis cleavage then I think we’d see a lot of that. But for now, all we have is chatroulette and the men who awkwardly or sumptuously recline in their office swivel chairs with their penis in hand asking wordlessly for reassurance, or shameless self promotion.

Is to get an email from someone I don’t know that doesn’t only include a link to a product. 

But it feels nice to feel desperate sometimes. It means maybe that you can convince yourself to do something.

You are walking down College street and you pass a new coffee shop. It has a big window in the front, with a free table sitting in the sunshine but one seat is shaded by a hanging stained glass sign with the cafe name.

You slow and notice there is a small library of magazines, you notice in specific some architecture magazines on the bookshelf. You don’t know anything about architecture but you do like to look at buildings that seem improbable. A woman with white feathers running down her upper and fore arms leans on the cafe counter easily, gaze towards a beat up copy of some pulp science fiction from the 50s. Just looking at the book you can smell the pages, sweetened with age.

She has long heavy hair. Her eyes are not eyes, but dark late-blossomed roses.

I’m sorry that when you asked me

to go to the gym

that I showed up an hour and a half late without your gym bag

and then you walked home with me to get it from my house

and then we walked to the gym

only to find that I couldn’t get a membership anyways

and you said it would be too expensive to pay for the day

since we would only be there for half an hour

I was going to make you a burger to apologize

but then you said you had eaten two egg sandwiches

and I tried to force you to have burgers

to make myself feel better

but you were unrelenting.

Read More

A bottle of Prince Igor sits mostly empty on the carpet of my boyfriend’s floor. 

I wanted to write a psychedelic series of dream-sequences in which it is implied that the bottle of Prince Igor transcends ideology and embraces objective reality.

I’m going to keep that idea in my back pocket.

Let me tell you a story about my life. 

THE TIME I GRABBED THIS GUYS BEER WHEN HE WAS TRYING TO CHEERS ME AT A CLUB

I’m in a club. 

Everyone has that feeling like “oh yeah we’re all on drugs and shit it’s good to be young the bass is vibrating in my chest and i have that guys back sweat on my face now: check out that girl she just took off her shirt i would totally make out with her and i’m not even into girls”

I’m sitting on a railing wearing something I wouldn’t usually wear, you know a loose fitting tank top and you can see my bra and I’m wearing fishnet stockings with sneakers and feeling pretty good everything feels good

Guy catches my eye from the dance floor, and I give him a half smile as we all move our bodies in a kind of bow and grind. He keeps looking at me, and I catch his eye again. He raises his beer to cheers me and smiles.

I grab his beer to be cute, and take a drink. I look back at him, mid-swig.

He looks back at me impatiently. I hold out the beer and he grabs it back and continues to drink it.

I sort of shift on the railing and continue to upper-body dance.