lachrymose, et al.

andy p, chicago, illinois —

live from chicago — it's the call from the mayor —

nicely and unexpectedly, rahm emanuel called earlier in the evening (i was still eating dinner). he wanted to send his personal congratulations to me for the signage (signifierness) that i had pulled off on friday night unto saturday. the mayor admitted that he had personally witnessed the signs (signifiers) and that not only was he impressed with the font and justification of the design but that — true to his reputation for community policing — that he in fact was the one who tore them down.

i have made the decent decision — self-kind — not to walk by the store, mostly for the reason that i do not want to encounter the treatment of the signs. in tatters, i think i will be humiliated. gone, i will be dismayed. hanging, i will be embarrassed. this is all to say: i want to thank the mayor of chicago for his prudent use of contemporary policing practices in relationship to my delusional psychical structure and unceasing desperation.

classes started today. i am not teaching the philosophy class this summer — which is fine, it must be revamped anyway with the inclusion of my book, which will be out in september, to the syllabus — so i am teaching two sections of gay, lesbian, and queer culture, which is a drag, in a bit. the classes were fine — i did manage to destroy my copy of "hedwig and the angry inch" — which was to be screened today, in both classes, as introduction, i can't quite explain the mechanism by which i destroyed the dvd disc (atm machine) but it involved slipping the disk into the wrong slot — which was not a slot — but a break between layers in the tower of the media console in 921. it was all amusing except i didn't have the energy to explain it to the children. so instead i bandied on about the child and america whose one story is: grow up, get married, and have kids. i have grown up.

the weather was too warm today. i can't sleep. just went to dunkin for decaf, rapid-cycling.

tomorrow morning is to new ville for the lithium blood level — serum-suck— and if it is .7 or lower i will raise from 900 to 1050; if .8 or higher i will stay at 900; if 1.0 or higher i will give up on modern medicine and take up residence with my nun friend, cecile, who promises to convince me to vote for sanders.

i will wait until monday to go by the store and not go in (pact).

i was happy to receive several messages from the site — most off of the "ejaculated already?" exit survey dial 9. one was decent — "141" — which is a sexy 6 to match my 9. the other was "9" which i'm surprised someone so dim would bother to tap a tap into their chrome. one was "huh" which i liked. it will take weeks for him to be able to respond. it's overwhelming. i have devised several plans for response — both yay and nay — which would be both disarming and charming, either positive or negative, but i will be curious to approach his response — what it is — always with an open mind. he is gay — "glass closet" is a word here — but i also think he may prefer to live heterosexually, which is perfectly fine. i myself flirt with it on the low days. lithium will keep me queer. i am endlessly amused by the small detail that i know nothing about him.

the phone is on ding. hold please, or dial 9 for assistance.

the mayor is now angry. his voice is muffled, almost strangulated, and caller id says he is calling from a warehouse in chelsea. there is one thing that is true about the mayor of chicago: he is not only jewish, he is israeli.

my yard sale signs were obscenely public and i violated his privacy.

i suppose i can justify that: i was trying to help him, out. but in the end it was purely selfish — and with a bit of frustration over his resistance to read the stickers rather than suffer the signs. i will apologize if i hear from him.

"yard sale" was disarming and irresistible.

i will have to trek to the dunkin in washington square tomorrow morning. then lithium level at 9, then sweet kate at noon. i will be sure to peruse ula for another boy — different boy — and one who has since replaced foxy as the sole gay man amongst a series of indie rockers and dyke chicks at a bakery. i will be there — and i will wear my purple shades. if not foxy, then who? foxy would have loved the chicken patch story — but he left so quickly, departed with his mouth malapropism, it was impossible to unveil my tongue and wave about the chicken and the brown.

i now think that i was in love with foxy. it was such a brief engagement, i cannot imagine it was more than 2 wks, and though i don't like jp much i have considered scouting about center street for him, listening to his mesmerizing lisp.

i jerked off about 3 hours ago to marine porn. i haven't jerked off in months. i recently acknowledged to myself: it's not the cut of the penis it's the attitude of the lips. you can see it in the shut eyes of the soldier.

i will wait till monday to go by the store. by then the signs will have been long gone and we can both pretend that our respective destinies haven't happened yet.

lachrymose,

andy

update: i sent the manuscript to the printers. will receive the proofs back in 4 weeks. i noticed a bunch of grammar errors on the online posted "the pervert's manifesto." i don't have the energy to make the corrections but to those who read the facts of the fact sheet: again, my apologies.

a to the p to the double in me