I went on three dates with a person I met on gay.com. First date, we met for drinks and then ended up having dinner. Second date, we went to dinner. Third date, we went to see Volver, the Pedro Almodóvar film (excellent, please dont' miss it). That third date was last night. This evening, I went out to dinner with my friend H.P. and then ended up at Eastern Bloc, followed by Element. At Element, I saw the guy, dancing on the dance floor with another guy. They were making out. Either they went on a date or met there, who knows.
Regardless, that guy is out of the picture. But, I am certainly angry and left thinking, what is it that people want? I mean, if I go out on a date with someone, and feel attracted/chemistry, I sort of give it some time, to see if perhaps that person might work out. I don't go on a date or hook up with someone the next day.
As I left, he left too, alone. I just stopped him and told him that that was not the way I operated. He gave me the line that he liked the time he spent with me, etc. All in all, what does that mean. They are vacuous words. I said good night, shaked his hand, about faced, and walked away.
The more I live here, the more vacuous the gay men in this city seem.
A.B.
Showing posts with label B.F.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label B.F.. Show all posts
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
W. H. Auden - 'In Memory of W.B. Yeats'
The guy on Sunday recited this to me, from Auden:
Time that is intolerant
Of the brave and the innocent,
And indifferent in a week
To a beautiful physique,
Worships language and forgives
Everyone by whom it lives;
Pardons cowardice, conceit,
Lays its honours at their feet.
Time that with this strange excuse
Pardoned Kipling and his views,
And will pardon Paul Claudel,
Pardons him for writing well.
In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.
A.B.
Time that is intolerant
Of the brave and the innocent,
And indifferent in a week
To a beautiful physique,
Worships language and forgives
Everyone by whom it lives;
Pardons cowardice, conceit,
Lays its honours at their feet.
Time that with this strange excuse
Pardoned Kipling and his views,
And will pardon Paul Claudel,
Pardons him for writing well.
In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.
A.B.
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