Since the last breathe, his body was taken to the fires and the collective memories of others in regards to his life on this plane were shared. Instead of tears shed, laughter was brought about for all to enjoy in his honor. The epitaph written for him, I don’t know, and the peculiar thing is that in all honesty, I did not know him much in this experience. That fact, as much I will care to disprove, will carry weight on my shoulders; sadly, only now that in reflection, I wish I would have given him a chance to get to know me and I, him.

And much like the cheap grainy porno flicks of the 70’s, where the actors were actually common people who enjoyed having sex, instead of our contemporary ones with a democratic joy for a check, I too needed a cigarette at the end of the performance. No, there was no casual fuck with untamed hair down south, where I ended up gasping for air like the best athlete. Simply, I was finished with my task; the last task. My last act of a final goodbye in this marathon of creative hurdles.

With the build up of a three page letter, detailing in the most observant of ways, the last corrections needed to this magazine mock up. I never once thought about the release at the very moment I pressed ‘Send’. Seconds later, the message was sent; my last act within this internship, as the Art Director for this small student publication. Ever. Well, ever for the time being. No one knows what a year ahead holds in store for them.

But if I were to receive the call tomorrow night, asking for my services, my answer would be in all Britishness, a polite no. Three years, and never enough care for myself. The journey was long, except much like everything else an end must come to this chapter. Bitter much? Not exactly, but I could use a cigarette or something between my lips, as I don’t smoke. Three years of my life, now ended. Chuckling at the thought, I welcome what the next few years as a student will bring. I can feel my heart again, most importantly.

(Source: , via foto-maniac)

Married to anxiety or to distress, I do not seem to know anymore or as of late. Nor do I care to know which of these two it is. Except that rather than falling under the spell of excessive periods of sleep that have come in waves, I would much rather close my eyes with ease and rest like everyone else. Than rolling in the waves of white fabric, trying to rest my thoughts in this ocean of coils and feathers, until twelve hours of dream set in.

Sometimes I think that I won’t ever be able to sleep, so the sounds of my out dated iPod must be my company for the night. The next day, when the birds outside my window wake me, I know I’ll spend it walking with some dark unease in my eyes. The worst of all, is that I know tonight will be much the same - far too much that I wish I didn’t have to think about. After this semester, I’m partying hard before the summer session begins. Or I could masturbate like the best of them and see if that calms me down. Niffty idea, I suppose.

(Source: pretttyboyswag)

She was in dark black heels, putting each foot forward with a pace more frantic than his or mine. Even still, her swan white dress with its dots of midnight, floated above her knees as we arrived closer to the gallery. Even there, upon arrival she still knew that her resemblance to a housewife of the 1950’s, gave her a grace different to everyone else. He stood there looking at her, and I looked at both of them, inspecting each piece. And of course, I inspected him too.

Working our way around to each nook of the gallery in the downtown portion of Los Angeles, we began to greet the artists. Asking only the select few we liked, if we could use their work for our publication. Without hesitation, they each said yes, our eyes popped into sizes much bigger than normal. Then with the satisfaction that we had made our way throughout the entire gallery, our Art Crawl began.

Not knowing where we would go, our only guide became all the other people who stalked the streets in search of a club entree or the pricey dinner meal from one of the shops on the streets. Near the Fashion District, we continued to go, past the dancing feathers in the air, we finally found our next art gallery. This pattern continued, as we were offered nibbles, wine and all the pleasures of the eye that the gallery walls could offer us from their resident artists. Much of the night continued this way.

Finally, with a lot of exhaustion on our soles, we choose a small little spot to eat before we concluded our night - or so we thought; LA Cafe. She ate her small plate of a grilled sandwich with what tasted like homemade chips. Much to my surprise, he and I split a hamburger, eventually feeding each other as the people of the city past us. Laughing at our play, we continued to feed each other until we choose to snuggle together to avoid any chill the night brought. My face on his chest, I said, “So, how are you enjoying your first gay date, you straight boy?”

Holding me closer, he said, “It’s great. You’re the best gay date, I’ve ever had.” Bursting into something resembling a tiny giggle, I let go, only to be feed another french frie. After our meal, we each drove together back to her house, for some more wine. Not lasting past three a.m., we each went to sleep alone. In the morning when we woke up, he was right there with me, watching television.