Grant's Tomb and Vodka

There is almost no point to writing anymore... life is lived at a clip that outruns it and these letters (which were once my soul survival) seem like almost an archaic practice now.

I am in B's new apartment (at 139th Street) (and for the second night) and it is only part of a pathetic favor to help me avoid Grant's tomb, my vodka bottle and myself.

AIR7 called me today with incredible nerve after last night (I mean, the night before...). When he wanted to cum in my face and I said "no" he emotionally shut himself down and I cried and I hate him and then he said that he loved me, and I left and whispered goodbye, which I know is a goodbye forever. (Please God, give me the strength to make it that way). And then the next night, I slept with B (for the fourth time) and am back again, although only to avoid my tears at his fucking phone call.

Am I supposed to call him back (a funny story!). But I can't because it crushes me and I die every time I try to bend him and all of that to my will. I saw Scheisser on Sunday night, too (who was suddenly so charming again) and I wished for the laughter and for the rush and the joy that my life was. And now I am nothing but a fucking slut. (The Irish man at the concert... the Mexican in the bar... the Indian taxi driver) and I hate myself more for it and feel more and more worthless and I desperately try to connect to anyone.

But now AIR7 is taking away form me even that, and so he is taking away everything... I have nothing without him... without sleeping on his shoulder. Without the flashing red smile of the Whitney museum.

(And B says "It's not raining.")

I don't what to do because I can't make things the way that I wish...

B and I saw Eyes Wide Shut today and all I want to do is smoke up (or snort up) and spit on him and his beautiful green eyes and never need him ever again and never wish to be called sweet or made to feel beautiful... Because I am not. I am a slut who never deserved him to begin with and I want to die being denied him, even if I have to struggle with it.

I don't want peace. I want him. I don't want to move on. I want to move back.

But God and the whole fucking world conspire to make happiness impossible.

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, FUCK HIM!!!