The Ex Gets Inspired

I can't help myself...my powers are transcendental. Even my ex caught wind of my musings and felt inspired enough to write this charming little diddy (the name has been changed, but everything else is exactly as it was sent to me):

My Paradise Lost By The Ex

Many times, many ways, I look around in a daze.
Every morning I awake, I think of you my heart does break.
The situation that’s at hand, a living nightmare in any land.
First few days I was in shock. Numb, scared, and really clocked.
A few more days, perhaps contrition. A long and painful love tradition.
A week goes by without a doubt. I lose all hope of working out.

In the distance what’s this I see, perhaps a gesture from thy love to thee?
A chocolate heart, a velvet rope, perhaps just some false hope?
He loves me not we all have heard. In mind, in spirit, and in word.
He spoke with passion, he spoke with candor. He’s looking for love that’s grander.

Everyday another try. A note, a card, just not a cry.
I can not call, he will not talk. I’ll try and try, but he will balk.
He seems so far, a bit aloof. Was this thing one big goof?
How does he get through the day, going on his merry way?
How does he seem so easy, when all I feel is sick and queasy?
He’s never tried to contact me, since the day he made the flee.

People say go on with life. He’s just not worth all the strife.
They call me stupid, perhaps a fool. I must stand steady and retool.
They say you’ll lose, you can not win. I cry and cry, I try to grin.
Then he talks, he speaks with me. Very happy he seems not be.
You’ve gone awry with a different guy, your loves not true so do not cry.
Always true I say to him, I did it all on a whim.
You loved me not, my heart was broken. I needed worth, perhaps a token.
He’s a friend, a lover too, nothing like my love for you.

Then it came with a roar, the curse of silence and sound no more.
No more words, no more talking. I’m now ignored with further balking.
No greater fear there is to me, without his voice I can not see.
Silence bad, silence scary. At this time I grow weary.
I must now stop this crazy notion, of his love and devotion.

Heart and mind go out the door. Tell him just a little more.
Tell him how you think it’s real. Tell him how you really feel.
Tell him you’ll do anything, just to be within his ring.
Plead once more from floor to floor, plead away outside his door.

Now it’s come, my time to leave. A profound retreat, I must achieve.
Bid farewell to loving arms, say hello to shallow palms.
Say goodbye to him my dear, let him know you’re always near.
For to love and lose is not a crime, but standard passion through all of time.
Perhaps we’ll meet by chance of fate, till that day I’ll always wait.
I love you always, no matter what. My one and only, forget me not.

It would appear as though my powers are now at an all time high. Today is a very good day :-).

A Night on the Town

After a night of "hard work", one usually longs for the existential beer and meaningless shag of the week. My luck, as always, grants the first but ne'er the second. Mimi, my lovely British partner in crime, accompanied me for this coup d'etat of the East Village.

"I'll meet you at Broadway/Lafayette," said Mimi in an accordingly unsure tone. "I think my train heads there."

"Right then. I shall catch the 6 down there and we'll meet at a bar in that area," I said, knowing good and well there were no bars worthy of our patronage near that subway line.

You see, dear readers, I had a hidden agenda. Like most sluts, I thought "Maybe if I can get her into a queer club and pretend to be there just to have a drink, she might start talking to some hot, interesting guy that I can take home and fuck." This, of course, did not work out as planned. Instead, the night progressed into the most wondrous and enlightening of evenings.

"Where are you?" I asked Mimi as she breathlessly climbed up 3 flights of stairs.

"Broadway/Lafayette, as we discussed you cunt. Where the fuck are you?"

"Jesus Christ, twat. I'm TRYING to find a fucking bar that we can patronize in a civil manner without being bored off our fucking asses," I said.

"Right then. Where would that be?" Said the delightfully caustic yet unavailable heterosexual love of mine.

"2nd and 2nd by some fag bar called The Urge. I'll meet you on Houston," I said.

After about ten minutes of wandering, we finally met up.

"What a fucking ordeal that was, eh?" Said Mimi.

Accordingly, we proceeded to search. I expressed interest in heading to a queer bar to attend to my hidden agenda. Mimi proceeded to exclaim that she didn't care where we went, so long as it was 'somewhere'.

Happy that the selectivity was nonexistent, I chose to head to a lovely little pick up joint called "Starlight". The wall-to-wall atmosphere of cocks in heat was a bit much even for me (Allah forbid!). Having just gotten out of a five month relationship, I was caught a bit off guard by the endless plethora of hot, sweaty ball sacks looking around for the latest ass or mouth to dip in. Mimi picked up on this:

"D'you want to go somewhere else?"

"Hmm," I thought. "Meaningless sex with some random hot man or a few hours of intelligent conversation with a relatively new friend."

Dilemma solved.

Immediately we began heading in search of our newest venture, guided by Mimi (it was her turn).

A bar called "Coffee Shop" ended up being the barre du jour, much to our equal delight.

"We'll have the cheapest wine you've got," I said to the waiter/owner, forgoeing any thought of the looming hangover we were both destined to have by this hasty choice.

"That'll be $4 each."

Pause. If any of you have ever lived in, been to or dreamed of going to New York, you know that $4 for a glass of wine is unheard of here. Knowing that this was probably some homemade concoction of cum, spit and sinful spite, we opted for the only choice available: 3 glasses each.

Ironically, our conversation hit a number of things: Mimi's interest in publishing her memoirs, the shit storm of an illegal's attempt at gaining a j visa, my best friend from childhood texting out of the blue, her parents calling only to be dismissed on a "I'm too tired to talk to you now, even though we haven't spoken in nearly a year" whim. Ultimately, our conversation became the most interesting when I began giving Mimi the truth.

Thus, dear friends, began the mystery of the muse. If any of you have followed our dear Mimi's blog, you'll know by now all the shit that's been happening to her. Our night together was forged by no luck of the draw. I was there to encourage her, support her, and reassure her. Why? Because it's what I do. I am the Gay muse. I inspire. I love. I provide hope, ambition, dreams, faith and passion for all that is daunting and seemingly unsustainable. Ironically, my alcohol induced words are merely verbalized thoughts that I have all the time, yet am too guarded to say aloud (minus the occasions where a controlled substance comes into play).

That, dear readers, is the intent of this blog: to open these thoughts to all.

So, with these opening words; welcome to my world. It's going to be a fun ride, kids. Enjoy.