*

First thing's first: FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Anyway. How to put this in relatively calm words while my writing's still so shaky...

All complicatedly good things come to an end, and the more complicated they are the more awful their end (and I never get good things that stay anyhow). This wasn't as bad as Kyle, at least. But it absolutely fucking could have been. FUCK. I'm so fucking lucky it was Shannon and not ANYONE else (well... Sam would've been a lot nicer, actually). Not to say that Shann was nice about it at all. Why would she be? Fag's fine in the abstract, not in the flesh. Oh, it wasn't about that though. Of course not! I was doing all I could to get caught, and what the fuck was she here for if I couldn't keep it in my pants for one fucking second anyway, and of course it had to be HIM are you STUPID??? (...couldn't really say anything to that question, unfortunately).

--And fuck, I was so stupidly into it at first. Things felt so good and I was just letting them feel that way. He was feeling me up and kissing my neck and I was shocked at how soft and gentle he was doing it (the kissing, that is), wondered what it would give way to, if he was just fucking with me, and I couldn't even bring myself to worry about THAT too much. The one fucking night my head's empty as Nate's and that's the fucking night, of course, and as soon as the door swung open I felt a burning all over me and I gasped like I just saw a fucking cadaver or something and shoved myself so far from Nathan I felt my back hit the nightstand, the lamp toppled to the floor-- in some other circumstances, and maybe even in hindsight, this all might be funny. Not yet, though.

Things are rarely just "snippy" with Shannon. Things are either going very well, or they're going miserably. She's fun and self-motivated or she's seething and resentful. She doesn't do things half-way. And if she's mad, she's MAD, and it's like withstanding some sudden thunderstorm that struck while you were out on a walk or something. Nothing to do about it but withstand it, and then it's over. --Neither of us wanted to be stuck in a hotel room with the other after that. I was the one who got kicked out. Sam was rooming with his wife, so I wasn't going to bother them. I obviously couldn't go back to Nathan's room (and there was such a childish part of me that wanted to anyway and I wanted to fucking whip him).

Ben and the crew were staying in a completely different hotel, but I ended up getting a ride there, in the end, after finding the nearest restroom to puke my guts out in. Was in a daze the rest of the night. Didn't say much about why I was there beyond the fact that Shann didn't want me to be with her. "Y'all finally gonna split?" I don't think I can afford that yet. Soon, but not yet. UGH. So close to the fucking finish line and I fucking blow it.

Went to sleep somehow and still had nightmares. The ones in the dark, suffocating feeling, pressed down. Woke up with my fingers digging into my shoulders. I think about Nathan and I want to vomit again. G-d. Why the FUCK didn't he lock the fucking DOOR behind him. What a fucking moron. That could have been WALTER, or even just a fucking housekeeping lady, I don't care! He really doesn't know what he's fucking doing and I thought it could still be fine. I could keep things simple. Nothing's EVER simple with him involved. Moron. FUCK.

*

UGH. My head's still spinning. It's hard to remember anything beyond what happened between Shann and I today. Everything to do with Nathan is a blur. I don't think I looked into his eyes once. I have no idea what I did on stage. Whatever I had to. --But that ties back to Shann. She was still in our hotel room by the time I got back. I knocked on the door quiet. Then a little louder. Didn't hear anything. Opened the door soft, careful as possible. The desk lamp was on but dim. Shann was sat curled up with a magazine, an empty pill bottle on the night stand. "I'm FINE." --She said it before I could even take another step inside. "That's from yesterday, too. I didn't down it all at once or anything nutso."

I told her that was good. Kicked off my shoes and sat next to her. She didn't move. Tensed slightly at first, but relaxed a bit after a short while. I leaned against her. Rested there. Leaned into her neck. Told her she could fuck me, if she needed it. And she sighed heavy, told me it wouldn't feel good because she knew it wouldn't mean anything. And I told her it was okay. I'd done it before. I'm used to it. I didn't want her to take half a bottle of pills, even in a somewhat staggered fashion. I wanted her to feel better.

And she just held me and burst into tears. "Do you know how fucked UP you sound right now???" And honestly, no?? I didn't?? I still don't, really. She was so upset this whole time that we weren't fucking anymore, I'd wake up with her all over me, part of her obviously WANTS it. --I guess still not on her terms. She was right that it wouldn't mean anything to me beyond a favor for a friend. But why is offering a favor for a friend so fucked up? And is that really more fucked up than going on a fucking dex bender because you barged in on me making out with somebody just because I was half an hour later than I usually was (not just anybody, I know, but still)?? Like, okay. Whatever.

Neither of us wanted to sleep in that bed with the other but I knew I couldn't always run off to Benny's room, either. I mean, fuck, I was already fucking caught in Nate's. I can't be around anyone, I don't think. I don't want to exist anywhere when I'm not working. I just want to-- fuck. I just want to be home already. --I think about that and then I imagine that home no longer being private either, nothing safe, never really alone, and I want to scratch my shoulders til they bleed. I want to smack my head against a wall. I want to tear the fucking skin off my body. I'm never what anyone actually wants and I can't give them what they need or I can but only for a little while or never good enough and they all eventually know and there's nothing I can do about it. I want to run but there's nowhere to run.

Tomorrow morning I think I'll run ten miles instead of five. I'll still end up exactly where I started, but it might still shake some of this feeling from me.

*

Singing's harder again. It's funny-- I didn't really notice it had gotten that much easier with Nathan until I severed that connection myself. I didn't want to sever it. I thought it could be like how it was before we touched each other, but even that had been a dangerous place; even that was why we ended up touching each other to begin with. The first few shows after everything, I still tried. It hurt so damn much, it made me feel like burning (with shame, with an odd pain I can't describe in any other way but burning, like skidding across a road, but there was nothing there). And I could tell it was awkward for him too, and that made it hurt even more. Better to just sever it, and do it myself. He can't stop himself, so I need to stop us for him.

Still go to a club every so often afterwards, when we're in the cities for them. Getting caught is even more forward in my mind than it ever was, but I drink that part down til it mostly shuts up. I need fucking something, and really, it's easier to be careful here than it is with Nate. I have a SYSTEM with this. There's no systems for Nate.

Anyway, it's been interesting hearing what music's playing in the clubs lately, the different styles of DJ in each place. I still notice these things even when I'm only somewhere for a good(-ish) time, I guess. I love going to more obscure or "underground" places in big cities; the places tourists would be less likely to know about. Better kept (but not perfectly, or how would I know or learn?) secrets. Chicago and Detroit were ESPECIALLY amazing-- what the DJ in Chicago was doing with rhythms even within the typical 4/4 beat was incredible, and there was such a fascinatingly abrasive, purposefully mechanical grinding sort of tone to the synths and samples played by the one in Detroit. I'm around the music I have to make so much, and around the business end of things so much, that hearing something like this-- intentional and unapologetic ugliness, beauty in ugliness, beauty with ugliness-- reminds me, again, of how many different ways there are to be. I feel that there can be a FUTURE again.

If an exec was with me he'd imagine all the ways he could smooth it out and make extra dough from it. Improvisation and experimentation aren't really things industry likes. They want safe money, and they think so little of audiences (“markets”). Trying to thread a needle between making pop music safe enough for them, interesting enough for us to play, enjoyable enough for everyone else, can be difficult. We’re not hocking fucking Budweiser anymore, at least (and they’d accuse us of being commercial and of course I’d have to defend us, but what the hell can you say after that? --Well, I think I said something about it paying for our tour expenses, and tours were how we best promoted ourselves, or something like that). Ugh, I start thinking about my job again and a tidal wave of exhaustion slams into me.

I know I can't go to clubs even as often I was before the Nate thing. But that's why it's good to write about what I like about when I can (outside of the obvious sex and all). I told Shann she can go out to her own clubs, but she's not nearly as accustomed to sneaking around as I am. She's had at least one guy, though, which is good. Or at least, I thought so. She's not like me, though, she told me. "Sex isn't just something I can do for fun. It's not how it is for me. If I have sex I need to FEEL something from it." Sex has a lot of feelings involved in it just as it is, doesn't it? "You know that's not what I fucking mean, Jules. It's different for girls." One question I was curious about, morbidly curious, but didn't end up asking: did she think I felt anything beyond the physical from sex? Did she think I was capable of that? Did she think gay men were capable of that more broadly speaking? I didn't end up asking because I dreaded the answer and I wouldn't have believed it anyhow. I know how straight people think.

*