City of Night and The Boys in the Band

City of Night by John Rechy is the only book I put down in disgust. I was 17. Loved to read everything, including cereal boxes at breakfast.

Crazy cause I fucking love Lou Reed’s repertoire.

Maybe I couldn’t finish the book cause I was just a kid? Should I take another look?

Time, my time, is fast running short. Infinite Jest sits at my bedside, unread.

But it’s the wrting, what I do here, my obsessive compulsive drive to get it all down before I’m gone. A legacy? Stella will never read any of my work here, so, in that, I am safe. I bring forth all the bitter bile I can grab and I leave it here. For you. But why?

Remember David Bowie’s death song?

I didn’t much like it on first viewing. Haven’t watched it since. Maybe I will and maybe I won’t. Eureka! I get what he’s done. The drive to keep it up. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Until you die. Yeah, I get that now.

I was 24 when I watched The Boys in the Band. I loved it. Especially Harold the Jew fairy.

I think I am the Jew fairy.

I watched it again last night on YouTube. Harold the Jew fairy is the only character I can identify with. I love this fucking film. (Stella walked out on it.)

I have a $200,000 life insurance policy. I need to die before my 70th birthday, otherwise Stella will get, what? Twenty grand? I want her to have it all.

I am so conflicted. Torn between a death wish and the drive to keep on keeping on. I suppose that’s why I play the lottery every week.

“Everything’s a number, man.”

Zeroes and ones. Off/On. Polarity. I am the fairy Jew. I am not the fairy Jew.

Flip it.