MONDAY
7:26 a.m. I’m supposed to meet up with a priest this week. Wednesday night. Married priest. Gay priest. Gay married priest. I’m both turned on and bored.
12:09 p.m. In fiction if you don’t care about the characters it doesn’t matter what happens to them. Someone could be shopping for a pillow and someone else could be getting fucked. But if you don’t care about the person getting fucked it’s over. Same with poetry. Poetry is following the turns of the mind. If you have a boring mind why should anyone follow you. I send the New Yorker some edits to a poem. They have a lot of questions on this one. Interesting.
5:15 p.m. On 57th & 1st this guy makes me suck his dick for an hour. I like it but also get bored. When it comes to the body it’s like…even if you have an interesting dick…it gets old. The mind always wins.
8:33 p.m. Cleaning my apartment I think about where I should move in the spring. My friend S says Chelsea. My friend W says West Village. But what if I just move somewhere overlooking Central Park. Wouldn’t that be nice. I guess the entire point was to move back downtown. And live on the west side where I’ve never lived. Sometimes you have to follow your heart. Even if that’s brought me pain. It’s also kept me lucky. And free.