9-4-26 Check-in
- Steven Orr
- 2 days ago
- 3 min read
Here I am.
9-4-26 living the dream. In New York City baby. In the East Village, all in all, not a bad place to be.
Challenging time of the year what with 9-11 vibes everywhere...ahhh it was the event that changed everything...
I finished my application for ______ Estates. We shall see...Flatbush: damn what an ugly figgin' name: however the rent would be much easier than my almost $1300 I'm currently responsible for!
Maybe a benefit would be forcing me to give up doing massage. M4M bodywork that has definitely fucked with my brain. The rage, the disrespect. The ongoing confusion of being used, allowing myself to be used and stimulated all, all on the outside, never an appreciated for the me Self and Soul on the inside. Men are dogs. And then there's the glorious sex addiction: when you get your fix, it's fabulous. But afterward you're wandering about like the oft-fabled "Hungry Ghost" in Buddhism. Always seeking that man fix and being disappointed. Oh well--enjoy the ride! Hey, there's something kind of cool with my doing the work, the touch--when really, technology has stolen so much and replaced it with neurotic faggots staring at their cell phones all the time...all the time...thank goodness in my archaic world I still KNOW and specialized "the touch" (the beauty that only men can give each other). I used to be bi...
I am so lucky to be the recipient of so many great New York benefits. I keep looking (in spite of it all) for a cheaper place to live as I grow old gracefully all alone. No small feat! I keep trying. I wanna fill out two more applications this weekend. There is hope.
Am I chronically depressed almost all the time except when I'm commingling with massage clients, drinking or enjoy the waters at The Bath House? I wonder? There was hope this week, however, I did make a super cool track a few days ago...have to see about AI mastering and maybe posting.
I'd love to again look at perhaps a Facebook or IG ad for my massage and/or selling my CD Ocean Vision but shit--really? My current online promotional cunt charges $500 minimum for some kind of ad. Ridiculous!
Tonight I chanced upon my old former buddy, the Foot Slave coming out of Trader Joe's on 14th Street. We had some 17 years together off and on. He was the shadow of all queer men who introduced me to the world of queer fetish, fed me, deepened that addiction, and then cut me loose. Feet. So lovely, so dark, and in the end, so nothing...please follow link below to Chapter 8 of my novel COMFORT free to read online
Billy, my (formerly beloved) foot slave didn't see me. Indeed he didn't look like he was seeing anything. He has become a wizened old man. Once, virile, hot has all hell and now...nothing, I have no doubt he traded (gave up) his virility, and his once "hot" sexy chi because he stopped dancing. After all too--he was severely damaged (being 5 years older than me) with the AIDS queer holocaust: but I must never stop dancing, that's the difference between us. Ever...regardless of my needing a hip replacement LOL!
The power of music and movement, every queer man's right, safe space, sanctuary and crawl space for both spidery episodes of throwing shade and judgement and a place of elevation and celebration of all the gold of being queer, loving men and music. And in the end we are left alone, yes? Unless but my trick of fate we happen to find and fall into some sort of community...
Time to go to the gym...after I take a nap for a while ; ). I need to do another gummy. I'm so grateful there doesn't seem to be any parties tonight Amongst these East Village crawlspaces with the young cunts screaming and the testosterone-ridden lads with their hunky, jocky empty laughing and shouts of ballyhooing all about the place. The quiet is so lovely. Thank you God! Nothing but the endless hums of the fans and maybe a peek at the endless phone images of muscle, one more glorious than the other. Isn't it strange, porn as teddy bear. (I'd like to return to Teddy bear, but don't quite know how...).
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