What shall I do next?
What should I do next?
What can I do next?
What am I to do.....
The week has hung about and drifted away. I think my lack of focus must be some delayed mourning that is bubbling up.
Thank goodness for the dance. Bar Code was just right. The music was very good, the clientele was a fair balance.
I had cycled into town, and pulling up near the Shaftesbury Theatre (the Miserables one), a pretty girl accosted me without hesitation and asked me to give her a lift to the G-A-Y bar, and could she have her picture taken on the back of my bike. How gay must I look? She didn't even give me the chance to counter her assumption. No wonder so many straight guys choose nowadays to adopt some campness. If it is all you need to do, to have girls throwing their bodies at you! Shame I couldn't take advantage.
Then I went along the river to Parliament Square, and finally saw something beautiful to penetrate the miasma of my mind. The back of Westminster Abbey, facing the Houses of Parliament, is a Gothic marvel, with flying buttresses and all. The view of this side is obscured from most angles, and for once I thought of sacrilege. Two oversize plane trees are far too close to the building, and block too much of the view. Chop them down, thought I. They're only London planes, which aren't even native. Plant a new tree closer to the road, of a more sympathetic species.
I continued into the park opposite the Horse Guards parade, and beheld a glorious scene. The fountain in the lake, directly under a waxing crescent moon. The shrubs and trees skillfully lit, and benches to welcome romantic lovers. If only. Alone, I nonetheless soaked it in as much I could.
Great Snogger visited my home two days ago, and was a fine overnight guest, with an intelligence that exceeds that of any of my previous lovers. I was glad of his listening ears, and found myself venting some of the frustration of recent family events. After he left, as I regained some of my solitary presence, it occurred to me that I was in no way yet prepared to have another boyfriend. I'm just not feeling "sorted" enough (to be sorted is the new cliche criterion of self-adjustment). And as I muddled through the rest of this week, it occurred to me that I was probably depressed and possibly trying to make sense of yet another level of mourning that I had been ignoring.
So this evening, after taking leave of Her Majesty's lake, I repaired to 79CXR to drown my moroseness. And in the space of a pint, it began to work. Suddenly, I perked up, and noticed the throbbing music was finally speaking to me as nothing else could. Quickly hunting up and down the crowd, I decided it was time to break for Bar Code.
As I pulled up to Bar Code, I sought a railing that was perfect for locking the bike. But 3 guys with bikes got in just before me. They could have been English, but the latter one laughed in acknowledgement when he noticed that they had stolen my parking space.
I pride myself on being able to distinguish fine nuances of difference between the multiple cultures in London, and the laugh was not English, but East European. I asked them, and indeed, they were Russian. Dressed imperceptibly to blend in, they were eager and hopeful to find some night fun. It really does seem to me these days that I encounter in London more Russians and East Europeans, than Brits. It's just the new reality, but as usual, a lot of people won't notice it until they get to read an article about it in their newspaper.
As I dived into Bar Code's basement, I met the heaving music and thronging men. Just what I needed. And then, at last, the one thing that switched me on. A bartender whom was in my eyes, utterly, utterly beautiful.
I don't know if it is because I'm gay, or because I'm a man, or because I'm a visually stimulated person. All else may seem utterly pointless, and then finally I cast my eyes on someone that to me is beautiful, and at last I am enervated. It doesn't have to go further, and it probably wouldn't make any difference if it did. All I want is to see someone that triggers in my brain the reflex....Ding Dong, beautiful, Bang!
And the rest of my stay became a pleasure of the Dance, without my needing to look at him again. It's a trigger thing.
This probably was the first time in my life I have ever cycled home from a bit of clubbing downtown. Bless the summer for the possibilities it brings. It will soon be gone, and I will then be mourning that instead. I think I'll give up mourning after that. There must be an easier way of just moving on.. Skip the mourning, and live the whole day long.