The Name Game, Pt. Deux (Re-post)

The Name Game, Part DEUX

Part DEUX - "The Tooth"

I have acquired a nickname. A moniker. A pseudonym. A nom de plume. Since I am Michael Vance II, a friend of a friend has dubbed me "the Twoth" (pronounced "tooth", like "the fourth", but more dangerous, arrogant, and perhaps even misinformed ). I quite like it. But this funny thing of names and naming brings me closer to the end of this exercise. How do we feel about fucking ourselves? How do we feel about being with someone with whom we share the same name? Is it strange to call out your own name while screaming in ecstasy? Is it confusing? Is it an ego trip?

My roommate says he couldn't do it. Everyone I know says they couldn't do it. Honestly, I'm surprised, being a faggot with the name Michael, that I haven't had this come up before!

Maybe there's a new fetish waiting to be born out of this? Same-name-attraction. It's funny. It is weird. It can be confusing. It does seem odd (at least right now) to be like "Hey Michael... or like "Yeah Michael did..." I almost feel like one of those freaks like "The Rock". You know - those weirdos who refer to themselves only in the third person. I'm like "Do you SMELL what Michael's cookin'?!? Well DO YOU!?!" . The funny thing is - and maybe herein my answer lies - Michael and I both sort of like it.

Currently reading : Shadow Lands: Selected Poems By Johannes Bobrowski Release date: 01 June, 1984

The Name Game (Re-post)

This will be a kiss-n-tell piece of sorts. Perhaps it will also have elements of a masturbation. I'm not actually masturbating while writing this (though I could), but I'm definitely tickling the part of my heart and intellect that is rather and quite spun on my affection's object...

MISE EN SCENE (curtain lifts)

I met a boy. I met a boy I really like. I met this boy I really like whose name is also Michael. I met this boy I really like named Michael, his middle name is Paul, and he has a "the III" suffix after his last name, which I also seem to like quite a bit. It (his last name) sounds like "botch" (like a botox job done with scorpion venom instead of botulism toxin), but it's actually without a "B" and instead with a consonant appearing later in our alphabet. That consonant happens to be what my middle name starts with.

This boy I like was not met online or through pickups or anything so seedy,usual, or typical. Like all the best men (because they and I are all old enough now to call us what we are - men) in my life, he was met through the synchronicity of chance. An unplanned encounter. A degree of separation. Another person. Someone introduced us. It was innocent and simple.

Well I like this boy a lot (really?!?). After spending the whole evening with him yesterday, through conversations and walks, through dances and smirks, through escapes and diversions... I believe that it is not so much the FEELING I'm feeding on - the feeling of liking and being liked - but indeed it is the boy. I found something similar with another boy (or maybe - and luckily - it found me?) shortly before leaving Indiana, but alas, I was leaving... and we both knew that, and we knew sort of what to expect, and adjusted our actions and feelings accordingly.

But this one is different. I mean, yes I love how he makes me FEEL. I love making him laugh. I love that he played me one of the saddest, sweetest, most beautiful songs I've ever heard on the steps outside one of the busiest gay bars in New York on a flashy trashy Friday night. I love that he danced with me. ACTUALLY danced - not because he thought I wanted him to, or because everyone was dancing, but because he WANTED to. I love that he doesn't give a fuck. I love that when I followed him into a hidden alcove on the fifth floor rooftop terrace of a new club's opening night that he politely closed the wooden gate and promptly pinned me up against the wall, giving me a kiss that I will never forget for the rest of my life.

I know what you're thinking... and it wasn't THAT kind of kiss. So many people here are like "Tongue first, then fucking. I'll get your name later." Maybe I'm old fashioned? Maybe I'm a romantic? But this kiss was ripe with a careful intention. It was delicate. It was heartfelt. I'm positive its origin was above the waistline and not below. I'm not an orchid or a rose or any pussy shit like that, but he really took my breath away! My head spun... and when I felt his tongue touch mine so gingerly and with a smile on his face, I had to appreciate his tenderness, feel the weight of the kiss, and simultaneously revel in the moment.

After a night of watching "fierce" queens and trannies cut a rug on the dancefloor, we ended up circumnavigating Bryant Park on foot (the first 5th Ave. stop was closed) to get to the subway. I decided to go home with him. But I think too much. I think about the future. I think about getting played. I don't want to feel like a whore. I think about how much I know I like someone, and how much I want them to know how much and why I like them... I hate coyness and those guys who get power from withholding their feelings/thoughts... I don't want to be that guy. Whoever my affection's object happens to be, deserves to know that I know how I feel... without exception or an expectation. Sure I desire what I desire and want to be liked and loved as much as the next human... I just don't want to be strung along. I don't want to be convenient. I don't want to be a "thing".

I think about all of this, and I know talking cheapens it all... and that explaining something takes away some of its beauty/power, yet I still had my freakout before getting onto the 7 train. "Please tell me this isn't just for tonight. I know this is only the second time we've hung out, but... if it is, tell me. If you don't want really want to put some energy into seeing where this goes, tell me. If we're just gonna hook up, tell me. I don't want that. I'm sick of it. I don't have the energy." He deftly shooed my hysteria away with a smile. We got on the train shortly after passing a whole canteloupe with 5 large bites taken out (rind and all) discarded on the sidewalk.

I'm at a point now that I want something back. I don't want to be like that canteloupe. I think I'm better than five measly bites. I want to be like somebody's fruit (haha) tree that is always in season, and my mate never tires of apples. It's not even that I think I deserve something from anyone, but I want to know that my attention, my hardons, my mistakes, my misgivings, and my love will not go unnoticed/unreturned/unrewarded. Because really and honestly folks - what's in it for me? What's IN IT for any of us? I know love is a selfless act, but IT STILL TAKES TWO. Anyways... again - I think too much.

I went back to Queens with him. I stopped at the deli and got a tooth brush. We listened to Daft Punk, and made out until the sun came up.

This morning, I woke up with M.I.A.'s song "Hombre" stuck in my head for some reason. I watched him wake up while I played with the hair on his chest. I rubbed his shoulders and arms, then with a laugh and a smile and a short sweet kiss, pulled the loosely-knit see-through blanket over my head and put my mouth on his meat.

As we left his apartment, a group of Mexican men were playing volleyball on an asphalt court across the street next to a dollar store. We went to an Irish diner in his neighborhood. He told me he could eat breakfast food for every meal. I got a club sandwich & french fries with curry sauce. He walked me to the subway and we said bye. "Hey Michael." I turn around. He takes his sunglasses off and says, "I want you to know how much I like hanging out with you, and what an amazing time I had last night. I want to see you again really soon." Fuck the subway, I might as well have gotten on a rocket to the moon.

For those who care - here is where the night carried us:Posh (51st and 9th), and Opaline (20 w 39th - in between 5th and 6th)

Currently listening : Her Love Is Real... But She Is Not By Edie Sedgwick Release date: 22 March, 2005

Midwest to Midtown West: an analysis of escapism and relocation (Re-post)

The Midwest is America's breadbowl. Most of it is safe, cozy, charming.

What makes the Midwest the Midwest? - its people and its scenery/geography. The two go hand in hand - landscapes, driving trips, farming, outdoor activities, grilling, haunted houses, gardening, fairs, etc.

Do these "things" exist without the human there doing them? Is it in the intermixing of human and raw, unbridled nature that we get that distinct "Midwest feeling"? Would a newly-plowed cornfield be beautiful had no one done that work, or in turn had no one been there to notice the work already done?

Many people in the Midwest (born, raised there) feel the need to escape it. As if the Midwest were a landlocked prison. "A prison of what? For whom?"

Walking through Central Park the other day, maybe it was Independence Day, under the surreal tree canopy street by Sheep Meadow, I realized I traded one Midwest for another. That even if I had been wanting to escape something by leaving the Midwest, I now lived in the middle west of Manhattan. I lived in Hell's Kitchen. Midtown West. I know those reading might see no irony or coincidence; it is there I assure you. Words not only MEAN things (like red is red, and dead is dead), they are also symbols... carriers of ancient feelings and messages from one soul or even one generation to another. They are all we have to give us perspective, and perhaps in addition to song and touch, are what allow us to connect to the "Other" outside outselves. They are more than just a meaning - they are a glue. A frame of reference. Context.

The weight of this realization surprised me. A heavy and dark mood of contemplation swept over me. Had I indeed moved up? Was it hierarchical? Or was I living the same life at a different latitude? Had I simply moved ON? HAVE I moved on? Did I finally have some sense of context for just how truly insane my life and the energy of the last nine months had been?

I definitely feel the past moving further into the past. I feel my roots settling in here. Instead of appreciating landscapes in a car, I appreciate peoplescapes in a subway or on the street. I have moved. I have not arrived. I have always been here. But I know now, that I am not going anywhere any time soon.

Here are some links to stuff I can't stop watching/listening to. Check them out. You'll be happy and/or evil you did.

Annie's official home page:
http://www.anniemusic.co.uk/

Goldfrapp's official page:
http://www.goldfrapp.co.uk/

PostSecret blog - addictive, human, voyeuristic, and free therapy
http://www.postsecret.blogspot.com/

http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/
I post under my pseudonym Corocet

NYC/Chicago/Boston walking/public transportation directions
http://www.hopstop.com/

Currently listening : The Smiths By The Smiths Release date: 25 October, 1990