October 1992

Santi called this morning, but I feel myself withdrawing from all the people I used to love. In a way I'm worried about myself. 'What am I going to do with my life?' I ask everyone. It's all so inspiring and discouraging at once. I will not lead a normal life. I refuse to get lost in the world. I just masturbated and am coming to enjoy and know my body more.

Still running into the famous. Lea Thompson came into the store. At Water Tower I sat next to two film actors who talked about the characters they were playing. Bought a book on Erte. Browsed the shops. I knew that I was alive, a child in America. Alone. Strong. Instinctive. Sexuality is a misunderstood thing. At a party, amidst the noise and the drunk people, Peter asked me what my wildest fantasy is. I said I didn't have one. Which is true. I don't. 'What's yours?' I asked. "To be with a man," he answered and smiled. I told him to, 'Let yourself be free. Experience your sexuality. Don't push anything. Let things happen. And most of all, enjoy…' If he was flirting with me I didn't care. I didn't want to be sexual with him or anyone. But I asked who he thinks about when he masturbates as Santi had once asked me. Peter answered, "Women… and men." Brandon watched us from across the room, smiled as if he knew what was happening.

A peaceful friend I'll make when I meet death. Let me go. I'm fucking suffering. Why is everything such a struggle? Smoking. Eating. This health kick I'm on isn't about caring for my body, it's to fill the holes and the desperation. But to die is to leave behind so much beauty. Find the power button and shut me off. Shut me off. I'm unhappy because I'm unhappy because I'm not doing anything to improve my situation. Has this journal become a work of fiction? Has it been all along?

Peter invited me to go to Starved Rock. The woods were wonderful. Dark. Quiet. We repelled from a cliff. It was exhilarating. Peter and Jason were beautiful. So American. Peter told me that when Jason had first met me at one of his parties he'd found me, "Intense looking. Very Roman." I thought that was kind of cool. Came home and found out that dad's mom passed away last night in Tehran. He cried a bit as I rubbed his back. But damn it, we're so distant. I decided that I would overcome the distance and show him support. I sat down with him, held his hand as we talked.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? I feel useless and want to die. Damn it, why?

Where is beauty? Only bad memories, a broken home, weak spirits, and a boring journal filled with filth. Learn, Emil. Learn to be happy.

Tom gave me the number to his masseur who is gay and twenty-five. The massage was great. I kept getting hard-ons. Called Brandon afterward from a payphone in the sun and we met for lunch.

Reading Shel Silverstein's "A Light In The Attic".

I called Brandon who said, "This is strange. I almost miss you. What are you doing to me?"

Loving moments of life.

I met the girl Brandon's having sex with, Danielle. She's beautiful and nice. We smoked a couple bowls and went to Brad's barbeque. We were cold until the wine warmed us. White wine. Red wine. Delicious food. Danielle and I were lost in our own conversation. Joked and laughed. Later in the night I went with Brandon to get more pot from Brent who is gay and has AIDS. That was depressing. Brent was wasted. He could barely talk. I promised myself I would never let things get that bad and felt a deep fear of life just then. Then Brandon, Danielle and I went to Roscoe's. It was packed. We were already drunk. I talked to the bartender whom I'd met at the Manhole once before. He moved quickly. I said to him as he mixed our drinks, 'Aren't you supposed to listen to my problems? Isn't that what bartenders do?' He smiled and told me what days of the week he works and to go see him. He gave us free shots. The guys were checking Brandon out left and right. Of course this bothered me. I tried to make conversation with some guy that was by himself but he was weird and had a lot of attitude. So, when I turned to talk to Brandon the guy said, "I gotta go, dude. I have to meet someone." It was so lame. Aren't people out to have a good time, meet others, and talk? I hated his arrogance.

I'm not in school but I read. I write. I study on my own. I just want it all, that's all.

K.D. Lang was on TV. "Why do they all look like that?" my brother asked. I just chuckled. Dad was yelling Turkish into the phone. 'I don't know,' I finally answered my brother. Growing. Feeling. Feeling addicted to this journal. Visions of life- what could be, what was, what might be. Wishing I could express myself more clearly.