NYC Diary #3

MONDAY

6:39 a.m. I’m obsessed with my new doctor. He’s not exactly new. Just hadn’t gone in for over a year. He was hot then. But now he grew out his hair and looks like Keanu. I stalked him and found his insta. He’s gay. Appears to be single. And I have to marry him. Anyway. I put him in this poem lol.

7:10 a.m. Writing.

9:00 a.m. J is wearing his NYC Marathon gear (he’s also done Iron Mans before). I didn’t know what Iron Man was until I met him. It’s like this race where you run and swim and fly (!?) and stuff. And you actually PAY to suffer this way. And you train forever. And some people even die?? I don’t actually know if they die (or if you fly lol) but I’m always asking J—when he talks about his extreme races—like does anyone die? Are our lives so far from our desires that we have to do stuff like this? Or does it have nothing to do with that.

10:15 a.m. Get ready for work stuff.

1:20 p.m. Work.

6:44 p.m. Penn Station is what Catholics should advertise as hell. I find myself here, on my way home, and honestly think it’s the darkest place on Earth. Been rereading Eliot (“Ash Wednesday” and “Four Quartets”) and feel kind of spiritual!

7:30 p.m. We’re hours away from the Taurus full moon lunar eclipse. Full moons are heavy. A lot of things from the past flood my mind. I prefer new moons. Last new moon in Aries I literally changed my entire aura by letting something go and sending an email (sorry I keep using LA language — aura!! — we love that tho!).

9:40 p.m. At the bar and thinking of my doctor. I have this thing where my sternum pops in a weird way. I think it has to do with posture and slouching. But it gets tight and kind of freaks me out. I’ve had it for years. Clearly I’m not dying. But I made an appointment last week to see him about it and the appointment is tomorrow. Have I asked other docs about this? Yeah. But so what!! Just getting a 7th opinion. I love you, Keanu!

11:00 p.m. By myself. 3 drinks in. Just stalking my doc on insta. He went to a Swedish House Mafia show in Philadelphia at some point. Not a great look but do I care? No. It’s honestly insane how growing out his hair has made him go from a 7.5 to a 10. Today his office called to confirm my appointment and since I’ve gone there quite a lot recently (well first time was for a routine physical), they were like, is it for the same issue as last time?? No, bitch. I have a lot of issues. It’s a new issue! The issue is: I’m obsessed with my doctor and I’m fucking gay.

12:13 a.m. The moment my life calms down (not that it has) I have to invent something I’m dying from or someone I’m obsessed with. It’s always those two things. Death. Desire. I HATE BEING A POET. I want to find god like Eliot. I want to be pure. I want my doctor to think I’m hot.



TUESDAY

6:50 a.m. Write horoscopes for the Taurus full moon. Lie in bed and think about my doctor. William Carlos Williams (the poet lol) was also a doctor. When people have two “jobs” like that, do they hate their lives? Like does one complete them and the other is just there for money. It seems so depressing. All of us know so little about life and what makes us happy. Wtf!

8:20 a.m. Go for a run. Okay it finally cooled off. Last few days it’s been 70s. In November! On my run I think about the characters I’m writing about. Think about what they actually want versus what they think they want. So much of being a person is answering this question.

9:33 a.m. For some reason I exit Central Park on the west side. In the 80s. And go to a new coffee shop just to change things up. Why not!! I never go to the west side uptown. Exotic! Chic! Fun! We love it. It’s another country and I feel like I need a passport.

9:40 a.m. Open Grindr. Because I’m gay and dumb.

9:55 a.m. Well. Here I am going to a stranger’s apartment right after my run lmao. With my iced coffee!!

10:30 a.m. lksjdfoawoin SKJ(SE OdkCM !!!

11:00 a.m. My doctor’s appointment is at noon. I’m freaking out about what to wear. The New Yorker took a poem. WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR THO??

11:22 a.m. Half my closet is on the floor. Panic attack mode. I decide to wear a white t and black jeans. Lmao. I HATE MYSELF. I literally could have made this decision from the get go.

12:10 p.m. I’m in one of those weird rooms where you wait for a doctor on that crinkly sheet of white paper. Why doesn’t medicine get better aesthetics? Like honestly. What is with the slaughter house vibes!? Always some creepy ass painting of a prairie on the wall. Scary utensils everywhere. Like, please. Light a candle. Throw some lamps in the corners. Nobody needs this severity! Is my doctor even gay??

12:18 p.m. Keanu walks in. He got even hotter. We talk about my bloodwork a bit and then I tell him why I came in. (Again.) The weird popping thing with my sternum. He feels it and tells me it’s the sternocostal and costochondral joints (I literally had to look this up for the spelling lmfao). I’m like, okay!! So I’m not dying?? I’m almost disappointed. But really I just want to ask him out on a date. No, you’re not dying, he says. It’s quite common for people who “sit at a desk.” Well, I mostly write in bed, I say. For the first time he asks me what I do. OMG. A moment. I’m…..a poet, I tell him. LOL. Like everyone, he kind of doesn’t get it. The look on his face is neutral and not one of recognition. If I had said lawyer he’d probably be like, yeah I know what that is. But the moment passes. And then there’s another moment. Then silence. OMG. I need to say something!! Anything else, he asks. He doesn’t want to return to the poet answer I gave. Wow. I am devastated. The one time I’ve wanted to be objectified for being a poet and it doesn’t happen. It’s over. I’ve lost love. He smiles. Oh god. Incredible smile. Enjoy this nice bit of summer in fall, he says. Wow. Poetic!! He’s an artist! And a doctor. Like William Carlos Williams! I leave the office. I get another iced coffee. On my walk home I think about why I gravitate toward men who 1. can’t take care of me at all and are cruel and destructive or 2. give total care taker vibes right down to their jobs. I’m honestly going to pray on this. Hope Jesus is listening!!

1:20 p.m. Writing.

5:20 p.m. Work.

9:20 p.m. My friend M and I have dinner at Claudette. I show her some personal life emails I sent that were heartfelt and some people (!) responded like clinical robots. Basically covering their ass. I find it so unsexy when someone doesn’t risk anything. That’s who that person is, M says. She is so smart. OMG if she was a man. I’d believe in marriage!

11:05 p.m. We get cigs then go to the White Oak Tavern to drink more. I thought it was the White Horse Tavern where Whitman used to drink. But no. It’s the other one. So I tag our story on insta wrong lmao. I love being fake!!

11:44 p.m. M wants me to say (here in the diaries) that her French pronunciation is better than mine, even though my Italian is better than hers. Who cares tho!! Italian forever. We also talk about this voice note I sent her once where I bought a candelabra lamp, we won’t say from where, and then the store emailed me and called me and was like, sir, we’ve had customers who have experienced several fires with this candelabra. We are recalling it. We will give you the money back and come pick it up. And I was like, no honey. I love this candelabra. It is so beautiful and it fits my apartment. Then they called me again and were like, SIR! PLEASE. WTF. And I was like, listen Becky. I love beautiful things. If I die as a result of that, tough luck. The candelabra is staying. And Becky thought this was insane. And M thought it was also crazy. I don’t fucking care. Aesthetics over everything. I will die on this hill!!

12:28 a.m. Almost home and as soon as I get out of the Uber I’m like where’s my bag. OMG. I text M and tell her I left my bag at the bar. Can she pick it up?? She lives on 8th Street. Yeah, she says. So she goes and picks it up. Such a good friend!! I take ANOTHER Uber and pay $430958340593409 and then ANOTHER one back home. I’m so tired of being gay and dumb. I need Jesus Christ.

WEDNESDAY

6:34 a.m. Doing my warm up. J is like, how is your book going. Which one, I tell him. He’s like oh, I forgot you wrote poetry too. LOL. I love how nobody thinks writing poetry is a real thing. I’m like, you know what. I don’t blame you. Just make my life hell for the next hour so I can have some sense of self worth today. And he does. This was hard, I say at the end. Don’t be such a pussy, he says. Fucking drag me! Lmao.

9:00 a.m. Work.

7:04 p.m. OMG my black leather bomber came.

7:10 p.m. It’s too small. I’m not a 1 anymore?? Am I a 2??? What happened. OMG. Panic attack.

7:40 p.m. On the way to get drunk I text this guy I want to bang because I know he has the same leather bomber. He says it runs small so he had to size up. Okay thank god!! World peace. Thank you lord. I do actually feel a religious presence in my life right at this moment walking down 75th street.

10:40 p.m. Make it through drinks with myself without sending any sad texts. I’m so proud of you baby!! You deserve to buy something again! You’re a dog. You jumped through the hoops. You’re gonna get a treat. That’s gay rights I can get behind.

12:07 a.m. Before bed I actually pray. Lmao. I feel like god doesn’t care tho. God please let me find a doctor, I say out loud. To fuck. And then I panic. Is it okay to swear when you pray??



THURSDAY

9:14 a.m. Writing.

10:30 a.m. Running.

11:10 a.m. Have sex with this married dad who literally texts me every time he sees me in the park. Which is not that often! But still. It’s kind of creepy to get a text like “hey I just saw you while walking the dog.” He’s “working from home today” and is only free until 2ish. Okay, I say! Just don’t let the dog in the room this time. He literally thinks I’m joking. No dude. I’m serious. If your wife can’t know we fuck, I think your dog shouldn’t either.

12:39 p.m. Take the Q to 14th and walk to Lafayette to return this bomber and get a bigger size. The guy who starts helping me (when I call on the phone) actually texts me before I come in. “Hi, this is Will. Just let me know when you’re here and I’ll have the new size for you.” OMG. I’ve never had a customer experience like this. And when I get there he’s hot. And looks like a stoner from the 90s. I literally say, “so is that your real number or like a line for the store?” OMFG. I can’t take myself anywhere. Jesus take the wheel! I’m lost in life.

1:50 p.m. Moses is leaving 74 & Lex and opening his own shop down the street. Legend. I’m so happy for him. He works so hard. I am—as usual—a little late for my haircut and when I text to tell him that he responds with “Don’t worry. I’m here.” I know this is all business and idk why but his response makes me emotional!! Don’t worry?? I’m here!!!! I can’t imagine a man I’m in love with ever saying that to me. It just means so much for some reason.

3:38 p.m. Writing.

8:47 p.m. I don’t think I should drink or see people tonight. I decide to stay in and watch a movie. 3 choices. American Psycho. American Gigolo. American Beauty. We love America in this studio apartment! I honestly just wanna cry so I watch American Beauty. This movie changed me when I was in high school. Lmao. Everyone was like “are you gay” and I was like NO are you.

11:52 p.m. Way after it ends I put on the American Beauty theme on repeat and just pretend I’m living inside the movie!! Then I call D and we talk for so long about everything. We both just went through breakups. With men who couldn’t give us really simple things. Like a certain kind of presence, I suppose. Certain kind of care. Oh well. I always feel so much better when I don’t have a person I’m obsessed with. I have been writing so much. And thinking in very creative ways. And I love that for me!!

3:44 a.m. We talk way too long. I take a melatonin gummy and go to bed. I was going to pray. Please forgive me god!! I love you!



FRIDAY

7:50 a.m. Buzzer. Who the fuck is it. Okay a package. I literally don’t have clothes on except my boxers but open the door anyway and the guy smiles at me. When he leaves he says “rise and shine.” What the fuck. OMG. I totally had a boner the entire time. Is that why he said that?? THIS DAY IS OVER ALREADY. Mortifying.

9:05 a.m. Writing.

1:13 p.m. Still haven’t gotten dressed.

3:20 p.m. I’m depressed. (Or am I just depressed because I’m not dressed??)

5:00 p.m. I run in the park and it’s already dark. My fall running playlist is so much more psychotic than my summer one. I will literally listen to “Walking On Sunshine” on full blast in the fall, but summer I’m listening to Johnny Cash “Hurt” on repeat. Okay!! What am I actually feeling? Do I even know?? Insufferable poet thoughts. I wish I was a 90s supermodel! No thoughts. Great face. Just vibes. I would want to be Naomi or Cyndi. I love them both so much!! They’re actually both so smart. Lots of thoughts.

8:14 p.m. I’m going to try a second night of not drinking. But then will this diary be boring? I read a bunch more Eliot. He’s amazing. He was so psycho. I love him!!

11:56 p.m. Going to bed early. Not drinking. Reading. Writing. Running. I’m going to buy you another jacket baby!! Good fag.



SATURDAY

10:03 a.m. Wrote a poem in like half an hour. Where did it come from lol. I keep looking at it to believe it’s real. I kind of love it!!

1:05 p.m. Run.

3:01 p.m. In Prospect Park (? I think !) at L’s apartment to be on her and D’s pod.

3:29 p.m. D finally gets there. He’s wearing this shirt that shows off his chest hair. It’s like ok. I already want to fuck you. But let the queer bating continue. Why not!! I love it!

5:17 p.m. We record for almost two hours omg. I feel like I’ve just had sex. Is this what podcasting is like?? So what do I really think of Karl Ove Knausgård? I mean who wouldn’t give that guy head. Honestly.

5:40 p.m. We take the train to the LES and L goes to some elite group meet up thing lmao and D and I go to Clando. Okay. I’m sorry. But Jewish guys are my weakness. They’re so cute. And then a straight Jewish guy? And then he also loves gay attention?? 3 tequila sodas in and I’m in serious trouble.

7:20 p.m. Drunk. L comes by after her hang. D and me have serious faggot energy. I’m kind of scared of us!!

9:00 p.m. D & L are cool. I like my new friends. L is like I gotta go. It’s just me and problematic straight fiction bro. Lmao. We go to Bacaro. Have dinner. It’s a date omg! He’s also like, it’s a date. But it’s not really a date. Lol. We’re so obnoxious. It’s sexy. In my phone my special friend is called Oat Milk. I text him. He doesn’t respond. Honestly I need a lot of oak milk tonight.

10:09 p.m. Get oak milk. Ok nice. Go to 169 bar. Then back to Clando and meet up with a bunch of straight bros. They write….fiction? Okay! Wonder if they like oat milk.

1:20 a.m. I’m going to cancel D for queer bating and he is going to cancel me for ?? Something!! Idk. Lmao. And then we both are going to convert to Catholicism because Jesus cancels no one! RIP Jesus!! You would have loved oat milk.

3:20 a.m. D’s pants rip down his crotch. Lmao. Like actually. And then I punch him in the balls idk why. I just revert to this middle school state of being. Dudes being dudes I guess!! Insane faggot energy. Take away my rights. I love being a guy!

4:04 a.m. In a cab with J and D to the Upper West. At J’s place he gets out Spicer and Seidel and O’Hara and he reads Seidel and Spicer out loud. I’m honestly impressed. Sometimes fiction writers have very bad taste in poets. But not tonight. And then J plays Dylan’s “Spirit On The Water” which is my favorite Dylan off Modern Times. Crazy. Because I don’t know that many people who love Modern Times. And my SF ex boyfriend really got me into that album. That’s when I started to get Dylan. I love late Dylan. And then J plays “Key West” too and then more late Dylan. And early Dylan. And so much other Dylan. D plays Joni Mitchell like a fag. Scorpio shit. Both D and Joni are Scorpios lol. You know what. Scorpio fags hate me. But Scorpio straight guys love me. I keep forgetting J is a Capricorn so I keep asking him his sign. Like a true Capricorn he has dad energy and somewhere around 5:20 he’s like, okay. Time to go home.

5:47 a.m. Sweetie you need to stop having oat milk and find Jesus Christ.



SUNDAY

10:40 a.m. Omg I bled on my pillow. From where?? My ear? My nose? Omg. I feel scared but also a little rock n roll. Time to make another appointment to see Keanu!!

2:40 p.m. Tribeca hook-up guy is like can I come over. Okay sure.

4:20 p.m. After we have sex I get really hungry. You have to go, I tell him. I have to eat something. Do you wanna get lunch, he says. No sweetie. We’re just fuck buddies. This isn’t how it works. But I don’t say that. Sure, I say. So we go to this Thai place around the corner. Um. This is already weird. We’ve never done anything “in the real world.” And in the real world he just isn’t as hot. He’s a real person. The fantasy of what he does to me in bed is broken.

6:30 p.m. A has been in Toronto for over a week visiting this woman he’s into it. Before the trip I think they had met only once?? Lmao. I love it when even my straight guy friends are unhinged. It’s 2022. Nobody has a fucking clue how to live life.

7:41 p.m. Earlier today my lawyer Cancer ex responded to my story on insta. It was about how I want to start going to church on Sundays. I was like where should I go on the upper east. He gave me 3 churches and now we are going to church together next Sunday. Lmao. I love that!! And then he sent me Auden and Eliot passages about the crucifixion. OMG. I think that’s so beautiful!!! I’m feeling so much this Sunday. HE WHO HAS NOT SINNED THROW THE FIRST STONE BABY. I love that Jesus didn’t cancel anyone. And that he hung out with prostitutes and criminals.

8:41 p.m. In a bath. Love how Dylan is like “I’m searching for love” in “Key West.” I love how he just says that. I’M SEARCHING FOR LOVE. What a fucking man. Yeah take your dick out and put it on the table.

10:37 p.m. My next poetry book is called Ecstasy. I want to write an entire book of religious sonnets after that. But Ecstasy as a title is also kind of religious right. And kind of faggot at the club too! I’m so crazy lol.

12:04 a.m. Was texting last night, on a lot of oat milk, about William Blake. And how he was a misunderstood Sagittarius genius. I think about this. And think of Eliot. And how I first read him seriously (and closely) in a college seminar on Pound, Eliot, and Stevens. That class was so hard for me. Everyone complained that it was boring. But I never thought it was boring. I just remember thinking…god. Give me the balls to be able to write this big and fail this big and succeed this big. I didn’t get Eliot for years and years. Until one Sunday I was having a meltdown by myself in my studio on St Mark’s. And I opened O’Hara. And that wasn’t it. And I opened Ashbery. And that wasn’t it. And I opened Eliot and thought, this is not going to be it. But then I read “Four Quartets” out loud. And understood something about sound. Whatever that was, it bought me some minutes away from despair. I love poetry so much. I would kill myself if it didn’t exist.

1:21 a.m. I think one quality I respect a lot in people is not condemning others. And being able to forgive. I’m super imperfect and so I forgive people a lot of the time. I think that’s good. Sometimes I beat myself up over it. Like Alex. You’re letting people walk all over you. But no. I believe in forgiveness. I think we all want to be forgiven. I don’t think there is enough of that anymore.

2:09 a.m. I’m so dramatic omg lmfao. Gay!! Take a melatonin sweetie! It’s not that deep. Just go to bed. But also. Do you think I can wear my chucks to church? Is Jesus a shoe gay??