This was originally published on January 10, 2022 back when this newsletter was on Tinyletter. It's quick, rough, and perhaps in need of an edit. I hope you enjoy it in its full, messy glory.
Hi, I’m currently writing this in the air, presumably over Utah or Idaho, I think. I’m going back to Vegas for a visit, staying at an AirBnB (I know, sorry) just a few blocks from the slum I used to live in a year ago.
Whenever I go up into the air, I try to stay as present as possible. I’ll look out the window if I can, watch the horizon widen. I like to feel the G-force wiggle my molecules around and shift me up and down, push me down and squeeze me in its grip. I frequently have the urge to dawdle, to complain about being too tall for the cramped rows of an air bus, to steal more time on Instagram before I have to turn my phone off, to take a nap. But I force myself to stay. I have a mantra: “You’re flying, goddamn it, you’re flying.”
I never used to believe I would leave. I thought the bowl of the valley and the flat of the desert were where I’d be forever. The first time I got in a plane I was so giddy. Now I have to force myself to be present. To be in awe of the fact that I’m hurdling through low space at a few hundred miles per hour.
Distractions always come. I’m always thinking about 80 things at once, but nothing will set me straight like a mindless activity. It's when I do my best thinking. Washing the dishes, an ambling walk through the neighborhood, sitting tight while a plane launches itself into the sky, bottoming.
Unless the top is pretty good, it’s kind of hard to stay present as a bottom. There’s a negative energy, a yin posture. It takes quite a bit of focus to be still and be fucked. When you’re sitting there, waiting to be hit, slapped, struck, whipped, fondled, bitten, fucked. The passivity can be fun – the anticipation. It’s all about the waiting, the long seconds before a strike. Your mind can go empty in a serene way. But sometimes, a top just does not give what you ask for – and if you’re bottoming, you’re usually asking for everything. Or maybe I’m just greedy. In those moments my mind goes empty and the vacuum is filled with errant thoughts.
Some man humping away at you, not giving enough – not enough force, or too much force not enough space between or just…not enough — I tend to become un-present. My mind wanders. I think about an email I forgot to send (fuck I have an email I keep forgetting to send as we speak but I’m forcing myself to keep writing) or groceries or my next piece of writing or going back to my favorite video game. I used to believe that people can tell when you go into that distracted hyperspace, when your eyes go vacant and your energy field is suddenly limp. But, most men who have bad dick, who put me in that bored absent minded spot, can’t tell. I have a feeling they kind of like it when you go vacant.
In those moments I force myself to be present. “come back, come back, you’re fucking goddamn it, be here for it.”