Every morning I see your picture from the train
I am back from some days away for work, in various cities, certain heights of fancy hotel rooms afronting gay districts and elevated trains, thunderstorms and the dry air of hotel rooms, the starchy fabrics I made sure were changed daily to remove last night's white stains from lonely jerkoffs to reality shows about young cage fighters.
I generally find work trips pretty sexy...it's the transitory, anonymous nature to the habitats of the businessman away from his wife and kids or husband and charging to the company's card...the airport terminal and toilet, the subways, the hotel bar where we're all desperate and unfiltered, then the hotel rooms themselves, which we do not have to clean and which are empty of signifiers. I have the uncanny ability to sniff out the perfect places for trouble in new cities (parks, streets, bathouses). My sex skills on the road should be consumate.
But it never happens for me...I have horrible luck hooking up while traveling for work. Part of it is that I'm chickenshit. Part of it is that I'm just so fucking exhausted from the emotional labor (Hochschild, 1983) of my day job. Eight o'clock rolls around and I just want to smoke a cigarette and drink a beer at a boring bar and then buy some chocolate, shower, and lay on clean sheets on a giant king sized bed and watch bad cable television. That's mostly what I've been doing...no reading, no poetry, no writing, no phone calls home. It's all very depersonalized.
I did make a couple stabs at amorous daliances. At my first travel stop, the exhibits organizer was this semi-cute young man with a chiseled face who had taken an interest in me and my work the past few days. As I was packing up, he came over to sign off on some paperwork. "I'm really glad this event is over...I can get into trouble now," I said, looking him square in the eye and smiling. He merely glanced at me before saying, "good luck with that" or something and walking away.
In the next city I ventured out in to the driving rain that was bone-chilling and headed to a local bathhouse. I'm a fan of certain sleazy bathhouses in Northern European working-class cities but this one, which I had been to before, was gigantic and clean as a whistle and lacking a certain kind of grimy character. It has many, many rooms and people spend whole weekends there. I've often had the idea to do something like that...you know, bring my laptop, buy some bags of chips, and lay around all weekend in my tiny room, porn on the tv, writing and leaving to work out and fuck and then going back inside my little cabin to sleep on the plastic sheets...I wonder if this bathhouse has wifi?
In any case, the halls were mostly empty but I did manage to find a cute Chinese man who was really turned on by me...We found a quiet little space and shut the door on ourselves. But mostly I just wandered around in the halls over and over again, constantly retying my towel, in order to escape myself.
I doubt anyone missed me or even reads this blog but I just wanted to say that I am glad to be back.
I generally find work trips pretty sexy...it's the transitory, anonymous nature to the habitats of the businessman away from his wife and kids or husband and charging to the company's card...the airport terminal and toilet, the subways, the hotel bar where we're all desperate and unfiltered, then the hotel rooms themselves, which we do not have to clean and which are empty of signifiers. I have the uncanny ability to sniff out the perfect places for trouble in new cities (parks, streets, bathouses). My sex skills on the road should be consumate.
But it never happens for me...I have horrible luck hooking up while traveling for work. Part of it is that I'm chickenshit. Part of it is that I'm just so fucking exhausted from the emotional labor (Hochschild, 1983) of my day job. Eight o'clock rolls around and I just want to smoke a cigarette and drink a beer at a boring bar and then buy some chocolate, shower, and lay on clean sheets on a giant king sized bed and watch bad cable television. That's mostly what I've been doing...no reading, no poetry, no writing, no phone calls home. It's all very depersonalized.
I did make a couple stabs at amorous daliances. At my first travel stop, the exhibits organizer was this semi-cute young man with a chiseled face who had taken an interest in me and my work the past few days. As I was packing up, he came over to sign off on some paperwork. "I'm really glad this event is over...I can get into trouble now," I said, looking him square in the eye and smiling. He merely glanced at me before saying, "good luck with that" or something and walking away.
In the next city I ventured out in to the driving rain that was bone-chilling and headed to a local bathhouse. I'm a fan of certain sleazy bathhouses in Northern European working-class cities but this one, which I had been to before, was gigantic and clean as a whistle and lacking a certain kind of grimy character. It has many, many rooms and people spend whole weekends there. I've often had the idea to do something like that...you know, bring my laptop, buy some bags of chips, and lay around all weekend in my tiny room, porn on the tv, writing and leaving to work out and fuck and then going back inside my little cabin to sleep on the plastic sheets...I wonder if this bathhouse has wifi?
In any case, the halls were mostly empty but I did manage to find a cute Chinese man who was really turned on by me...We found a quiet little space and shut the door on ourselves. But mostly I just wandered around in the halls over and over again, constantly retying my towel, in order to escape myself.
I doubt anyone missed me or even reads this blog but I just wanted to say that I am glad to be back.
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