January - June 2000

January 17, 2000

A traveler should be flexible as his position is inherently unstable. Don't become involved with petty things. Treasure those people you can trust. Don't forget you're an outsider. Be careful.
'Time wounds all heels.' Actually the original (Time heals all wounds) is still a pretty good cliche: I find I don't solve my problems as much as I outgrow them.

We celebrated our 3rd anniversary. Yahya brought his video recorder over to mark the occasion, but I was terribly depressed, barely holding back tears of ennui, angst, whatever. January blues, continuing midlife crisis, my rocky gay shell cracking, the meaninglessness of mass pulp culture as Nature sinks into imminent disaster, getting fucked around by the Economist Intelligence Unit... Some combination of the above? Not even a joint interested me Saturday - in fact the idea frightened me, as it would only have accentuated my black mood. Vasya had phoned earlier when M was out, but such cheating holds no excitement.

I'm constantly torn between (a) my safe, comfortable love, where u and c (consciousness) are reconciled, and (b) the tang of illegal, thieving, perverted, anti-social... Job attracts even as he treats me like shit, probably robbing me, definitely lying. At O's, I was betraying a friend and lover, having unsafe sex, being fucked, effectively robbed and lied to. Wow! Does this have anything to do with my depression?! I like the secret pact with these bi's at Pakhtakor. Fleeting meetings, intense ecstasy with no strings attached - Valera and the most recent guy who aroused himself by spitting violently as he got hard. Is this self-hatred or religious transcendence?

February 14, 2000

Happy V-Day! Feeling my sexual inadequacy these days. I haven't come with M in a week. That's about my limit. He joins me a couple mornings a week in bed. I know it's not enough for him, but I can just manage it. A tentative compromise? I only get excited by fantasies of fleeting Valera at the holy temple (sic) or of being active with the architecture student (H?). O bragged of his new conquest last night, fucking him twice in a row. Meanwhile, no Valera at P.

I bumped into Vasya there a month back - the short but handsome gymnast who is a bit of a sappy character ("You're probably bored with me... You're not offended by me? etc.) He lost half a finger at work on a lathe 6 months ago and is now caught up in a messy trial, with a slightly demented ex-cop trying to extort money from him, problems with working there under the table to avoid taxes, an under-the-table payment from the bookkeeper to shut him up, a 'friend' giving false testimony. He asked for first $30 then $10, and I squirmed giving my sums and wishing him luck. Poor guy. Like M and Job, a fatherless guy needing comfort and someone to stroke his ego.

This one quite harmless, but all these details drain him of any sexual attractiveness.

What stirs me sexually? Rather perversely perhaps, I like the self-centeredness (selfishness?) of the bi guy. He both projects and internalizes his anima, meaning he likes his own strength and manliness and woman's (his anima's) eroticism. As a gay who has not found peace, I hate the internalized anima, fearing it denies my masculinity, which means I hate women (with their implicit eroticism) AND myself. Extending the argument, a straight guy hates women, fearing their eroticism, but likes his own masculinity.

Gorki Theater's production of Genet's The Maids makes the case for gays' self-hatred. "How can we love each other when no one loves us?" wails Claire to Solange shortly before Solange poisons her/him, condemning her/himself to society's ultimate punishment. They mock the straight world by wearing the mistress's clothes, role-playing, and indulging in violence and betrayal. Marlen couldn't take it, leaving at the intermission. I found it quite cathartic, helping lift me out of a festering depression.

Some speculative thoughts:

-on Ken Wilber's Sex, Ecology and Spirituality. The fantastic advances in computers and DNA genetic engineering are leading to a new personal holon level for mankind. We are closer to Nietzsche's superman, with instant world control (Interpol extended a bit with unified personal databases), and the prospect of creating genetically superior beings (eternal youth, genius IQ, physical strength and beauty, even emotional predispositions).
The social holon - SU and Cold War - has also been shattered. The SU rigidly controlled personal freedom. Finally the 'form' broke. The world is now entering a new level of dialectic, characterized by the domination of personal and social freedom vs control.

-on Chechnya. The Russian hatred of the Chechens and determination to annihilate the rebels (even religious Andrei at the American Business Center revealed this view) denies the evil side in us all. A la Hitler and Stalin, the terrorism of a handful of fanatics is an instance of the evil side becoming dominant. Even the Stalinoid 'Boy' in Greene's Brighton Rock is portrayed as Christ-like in his suffering in his personal hell, hating himself and what he is compelled to do in a hateful world. But wanting to wipe them out means your own evil side is let loose.
This helps me understand my own sexual/ philosophical fascination with J. Clearly he has this evil side, which is part of his attraction. Thank God it didn't kill me! The answer is to tolerate the more primitive culture of, say, the Chechens (you can't FORCE such proud people, steeped in tradition and justifiably full of resentment for their imperial masters, to do anything), but make sure they observe international laws abroad. Effectively, isolate them if they continue to act like bandits. The new social and personal holon means that such national groups as Chechnya should have their independence, and that they can be controlled through international cooperation and technology.
It also helps me understand the truth of the belief that 'one should be very careful about what one leaves behind - better NOT to leave a mark than to leave a mixed/ bad one'. Who wants to be remembered as predominantly evil?

February 27, 2000

Novel: The Lure of the Secret. Why is being f'd so despised? It's really the betrayal of the secret that is despicable. It should be a secret pact for HIM.

April 15, 2000

Novel: Go with the flow. Feel part of the true world, not the gay ghetto, but in symbiosis with the straight world, a precious subset of 'guys', a gift of God or and product of evolution, whatever. I want to have spontaneous excitement in relations. This means being ready, alive to new experiences, and to being a catalyst for new relations.
Vasya phoned this morning: "I missed you." We'll meet at 1:00 pm at Paxtakor. I can't deny that part of me that craves this 'wild side' to life. Sitting at home behind my computer and being monogamous sounds like the kiss of death, at least physically. But maybe I'm denying my creative, mental life by frittering away time on fleeting momentary relations.
Recently a young Russian hustler I spied at the banya with M and Rob Ferguson, a new arrival, picked me up in Amir Temur park where I just happened to be on a Friday night when M was back at his mother's. He played hard to get back at my place, though after an offer of $20 (he said he needed $30 to get exemption from the army by Sunday) he asked if he could shower, and came back wrapped in a big towel. A few more clandestine meetings, but his insistent demands to borrow money or for a birthday present put me off. Not much spontaneity there. Pure mercantile calculation.

A mid-50s US gay John L has surfaced, along with a mid-40s Cdn Rob F. John heads an accounting reform project funded by USAID, and Rob - a public awareness campaign for water, funded by the WB. John has a cold reptilian appearance, small eyes, a pointed nose, a slow Utah drawl. He constantly brags of his monster cock and clearly wants some orgies, though his flat, matter-of-fact talk of sex and his calculating character highlight everything I find unsexy about the North American mentality. Not a spark of spontaneity or mystery. Rob is much like me in his withdrawn, tight-lipped way. M has taken quite a fancy to him, admitting as much to me, though M says Rob doesn't reciprocate, preferring Asian boys.

Meanwhile, a very few of my cruising episodes have been successful - once in the toilet at Blue Cupolas - a young rough-featured Uzbek, once at Paxtakor with an Uzbek with a paunch, but somehow still sexy, who came quickly and easily. The Uzbek I picked up one night and brought back when M was away was torture, metaphorically speaking. The lights in the building were out, and we came back to darkness and sat by candle-light. It should have been romantic! But already in the park, I noticed his tiny clicking steps. The more time together, the less sexy he seemed. His breath stank and he insisted on deep-throating and wanted to cum all night, giving me no rest. Thank God I was able to usher him out at daybreak. What a disaster it would have been to upset M with such a drip.

Re: life, dreams and metaphor. I see more and more clearly how you live your life surrounding yourself with people who represent parts of you that you like or that you need to balance your persona, much like in your dreams. I dreamed of M buying alligators and an aquarium. Am I a cold alligator? Is M helping me explore my u?
As I age, I realize I play piano, climb mtns, read, etc. to recapture the joy and sense of discovery of youth.

May 29, 2000

It seems M has been philandering as well. A sore has appeared on his glans which can only be syphilis ('the young Uzbek threw himself at me at the banya'). His stubbornness, I should say pig-headedness, is becoming more and more frustrating. Exposing me by not wearing a condom is a real blow, though 'people in glass houses'...

When I come home with a bit of grease on my pants from biking: 'What's the use of cleaning your pants. You're such a slob' etc. The henpecking and whining from him grates, and then he complains about my background level irritability and lack of interest in sex. And he literally threw himself at Robert, as if I should be indifferent (which, I worry, I am).

Yet I still miss him when he's gone. He stayed with Yahya quite a bit the last month before Y left, and has stayed over with Robert a few times, though R has not requited his infatuation (in light of his infection, a prudent choice). There is still something bonding us. And in fact, M diligently comes to me the odd morning and we still have sex occasionally, sometimes encouraging me to come on his back, sometimes to let him have his pleasure.

Meanwhile, I have been on a feeding frenzy at the two cans at Blue Cupolas and Pakhtakor. Ah, anonymous sex with hunky swarthy otherwise straight Uzbeks, strutting their stuff. They can only ever have such relations fleeting, and the intensity is all the greater because of the cultural barriers separating us. I was brought up on guilt and they were too, so we work well together. This last week was a count of six. First a slightly drunk, chunky middle class Uzbek, another day a handsome young guy. They both indicated they wanted my ass but came quickly in my mouth. A really handsome guy Wednesday in the middle stall, who entered my stall almost at once, leaned back in the corner to hide his head.

I blew it with a young guy on Friday. A head next door, a nod, but when I opened the door, I saw a guy in shorts and sandals with a ponytail, and thought someone else had appeared. He saw my confusion and fled, though I then noticed his massive erection. However, another came along. And a trip to Pakhtakor finally paid off; close to 6pm on Friday, a sexy guy rammed it home in a frenzy, pulling back expertly as he came to unload in my mouth.
All kinds - simple workers, 20s-40s, middle class, sunglasses, short hair, long hair, and all Uzbek. The cum usually tasteless, occasionally sweet, especially with younger guys. Only one really disgusting episode - the face looked alright, but the body was bloated and the cock maybe 2'. I used the old 'I'm frightened' though there was no one around. One guy opened his door and when I came in, used the same excuse. A polite code word for 'Get lost'.
In fact it is dangerous. Saturday late pm I knew would be a waste of time - Uzbeks have strict family obligations. But after biking a 100 kms I was still full of energy and breezed downtown. Having installed myself, I notice a guy giving me the eye, looking the other way to the far stall as well, as if comparing the possibilities. After several looks, I took the bait, and walked out of my stall, thinking to enter the one on the other side of him. To my shock I see he's wearing a cop's white shirt. He gives me a hard look, standing there supposedly peeing, his stall open. I gulped, and turned abruptly and walked out, trying not to break into a run. There was his cap at the cashier's. He took it off on purpose (though what purpose is not so clear, having feeled up a cop on a bus and knowing of many stories about cops). I've noticed they don't try very hard to stop the action. Considering the thousands of cops standing around the city, it would be quite easy to have one assigned during 'rush hour' to patrol the only temple in the city.

Making the pact is definitely a fine art. Another frequenter of the toilet there had been caught by a cop and beaten. I acted much more gingerly today, and with nothing to show for it. Somehow it feels like it should be dangerous, it's so special. It's a bit like a prayer at a church alter, though that sounds blasphemous. And it makes for great jacking off later. It is lonely but precious - thinking of all those guys craving it, imagining it, and then lucking out and fusing with them for that moment of ecstasy. Wow!
Yet coming back to M is important. So my two-faced life goes on.