Reading Miyazawa Kenji in 1996

I just put ink on my body that won’t go away.

I don’t remember the moment I first heard the words. Possibly I read them from a dyed cloth that was given to me as a gift from someone I can’t remember either. But from the first few lines it stuck with me and over time they’ve meant a thousand different things.

Ame ni mo makezu. Kaze ni mo makezu. Yuki ni mo natsu no astusa ni mo makenu…

There’s a music to poetry that demands it be read out loud and aside from the meaning of the words, the music has its own weight. For a while it was a longing. I was young and dreamed of myself older, calmer, and wiser, living a life that was simple and kind. I imagined that with age would come a serenity that was hard to grasp at twenty­one. The poem was a mantra of a sort that let me put off decisions for a time when everything would be easier.

And as I grew older and came back to it, I read deeper, listened more frequently, and wondered if I had misunderstood. His words describe a man, living alone in the mountains of Iwate without praise or reward for his loving generosity. He tends the sick, and shoulders the weight of the tired. When someone is dying he sits and holds their hands saying don’t be afraid. He cares little for himself, and while sometimes called a fool, he smiles always, knowing peace in his heart.

And yet, after the imagery, after the dream, we end with a simple statement of want. That is who I want to be, the poet says. That man, that human, that person is who I wish I was. But buried in those words is the reality that he is not. That I am not. That we are not. It’s a finger pointing at the moon. It’s a reflection in a pool of still water.

And so today, his words inked on my body, I’m reminded that wanting to be a thing is not the same as being it. And that alongside that want is a thousand others. The man in the poem is not someone who would tattoo his arm with a reminder. He would find no need, although I suspect he would smile and laugh, understanding desire as much as the next. I am not always calm, I am not always kind, and while I try hard to be at ease, I am not often at rest.

But there it is, a memory of a younger self, a dream of becoming someone strong, alive, and awake, embedded in my skin. The knowledge that I will fail sits next to my willingness to try, and it takes nothing away. I will be as kind as I’m able, as helpful as I can be, and live as simply as I can muster, knowing that I will also drown my sorrows, err in a million different ways, and struggle to find peace in everything I do. I am not perfect, and I am a person who needs the reminder, not the person who has already come to live it. And that’s a different sort of peace to uncover.

So iu mono ni, watashi was naritai.

That is the man I wish to be.

-gny

© by The Dirty Gentleman
Who wants to play?

© by The Dirty Gentleman

Who wants to play?

disgustingnovel:

Doc Holidays was dead, but what was worse was someone was playing Garth Brooks on the jukebox. I have had plenty of nights singing about my friends in low places, and I have no regrets, but if that is the only Garth song you know then you should count yourself lucky. While the few patrons that…

I love this chapter. It’s kinda fucked up, but welcome to the second half of the book. xoxo

Anonymous said: Your last answer makes me so jealous, such an interesting dream. I've only had sex dreams about you. Hmph.

Well that sounds interesting to me. Although I think I might need more details to really understand. :D

gny

© by The Dirty Gentleman
I can sit for hours watching her do this. 

© by The Dirty Gentleman

I can sit for hours watching her do this. 

emmafred said: I had a dream that I stole a car, and you helped me get away with it and then bought me frozen yogurt. And later I had a dream about sightseeing in New York with the Dirty Boys, but New York Harbor was a swamp and there was a wooden walking bridge to get out to the Statue of Liberty.

I would help you get away anytime Emma. And definitely buy you all the frozen yogurt. 

Actually all of this dream sounds pretty cool. I would love to walk out to the Statue of Liberty with Emma and the Dirty Boys. Sounds like a good day trip.

Thanks for sharing!

xoxo,

gny

We Were Kids

“We were kids,” I told her over coffee. “We didn’t know what we were doing.”

 

“Don’t try to brush it aside just because we were young. And besides we didn’t do it terribly. Considering the chemicals rushing through our bodies and the thoughts rushing through our heads, we weren’t bad at all. I bet you’d give anything for a kiss like that again.”

 

We hadn’t seen each other in fifteen years, but somehow we came back to each other instantly. The touch of her hand, the smell of her perfume—still Chanel—and the rise of her lip when she poked fun at me were as familiar as the taste of the coffee.

 

“I’m just saying, we where what? Fifteen? We fumbled through everything, and I’m sure I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing, other than being desperate for your skin. Hell, desperate for your attention. Desperate for anything at all.”

 

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, the look on her face so clear and easy that I almost loughed.

 

“You were sixteen. I was fifteen,” she reminded me. “And someone being desperate for my skin the way you were, would be… I don’t know what it would be. All I know is that I miss that longing, that worry, and that sense of wonder when everything was new. Christ, you must have spent an hour between my legs the first time, listening to me moan and as you tried everything you could think of to do with your tongue. There’s a lot to be said for enthusiasm. When was the last time you went down on a girl like she was magic?”

 

It was my turn to close my eyes and try to remember her taste. Try to remember the unbearable anticipation the first time I slid her panties off her hips, saw her brown curls and soft lips. Try to remember my heart beating like is hasn’t in years at the simple possibility of kissing a thigh and hearing a moan.

 

“We never even fucked,” I finally said, wondering as the words left my mouth if they meant anything at all.

 

“We didn’t think we were fucking, but we were so wrong. Your tongue, my hands, you knee between my legs, hell, it was all fucking. Your kiss was fucking. Your fingers in my hair were fucking. I don’t think we did anything else, even when we simply held hands beneath the table at dinner.”

 

“We were young,” I mumbled again, trying to remember the present. There was no point in nostalgia. No point in trying to get something back that we lost years ago. There was no point.

 

“Close your eyes,” she whispered, leaning in closely. I put my mug down and my whole body tensed as I sat upright. I had no idea what she was going to do, but my heart wouldn’t stop, and my head was spinning.

 

Without a word her mouth touched mine, her tongue pushing between my lips in a kiss that was tender, strong, and without any skill at all.

 

“What was that?” I asked, when she finally pulled away.

 

“That was me fucking you,” she said with a smile.

-gny

 

© by The Dirty Gentleman

disgustingnovel:

I sat down next to Jane and didn’t say a word. I was getting good at not instantly blurting out the first thing that came to mind, and this felt like a perfect time to practice. She wasn’t crying as hard as I first thought, but her eyes were red and she was definitely not a happy girl. Her…

Two chapters are up today! I hope you enjoy, although I should point out that they’re a bit on the intense side. 

Summer and Fall

She climbed onto my lap as he watched us, a smile on his face that I had seen a million times before.

 

“I can’t believe I’ve never kissed you,” she whispered, her lips just brushing my own.

 

“Is that what you want?” I asked. “Just a kiss?”

 

“I want more than a kiss,” she said letting me taste her breath as I dug my fingers into the small of her back and pulled her closer. Her lips were full and soft, and I could feel years of anticipation pressing against the back of my throat. Our kiss was tender and strong. It was summer and fall.

 

“You two are beautiful,” he said leaning closer to us, even as I slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Her neck was impossibly soft and her collarbone left a pool of shadow in which I buried my mouth. When her hips moved I was hard in an instant, and she whimpered into my ear as she pushed against me.

 

She was the one who motioned for him to lose his shirt as I kissed the space between her breasts, and out of the corner of my eye I watched him kneel beside us, his hand on his belt and his bare chest strong and slick. Without thinking I ran one hand up his body from his stomach to his parted lips, where he took them instantly.

 

“Let’s suck his cock,” she whispered into my ear, her hand pulling at his buckle. “While we fuck,” she added as an after thought. I wiggled beneath her, my mind growing dizzy in an instant as she helped me pull my cock from my jeans and roll a condom over it as he watched. Her dress was around her waist, his hand inside his pants, and in a moment everything was clear once more.

 

She guided me inside her, slowly opening around me as I held her hips and ass; he lifted her dress, watching us join for the first time. He licked his lips as he watched, and then suddenly she was on me, my cock buried inside her completely, and my mouth back on hers with a hunger that bordered on ravenous.

 

And before I could get used to anything, he was standing next to us, his hard cock in his fist as she leaned in and took him into her mouth. My hand replaced his in a second as I tried to focus on everything at once, and he was impossibly hard. She pulled him closer, leaning back just enough to watch my lips open as well, taking him into my mouth as I pulled her onto me with a hand on the small of her back.

 

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but it might have been years; taking turns sucking his cock and fucking for the first time after waiting almost too long. I don’t know how I managed to focus at all, and I don’t know how she slipped a hand between our bodies to rub her clit exactly the right way. I do know that he screamed out both our names as he grew closer, and I do know that we laughed and grinned as we jerked him off into our waiting mouths. And I know that her sticky kiss, salty and sweet, was full of tenderness and come all at the same time.

 

He lay back and watched, his body still shaking as she clenched around me, her dress now lost to a dark corner of the floor. I kissed her neck and pulled a nipple between my teeth until she screamed. But it wasn’t until I threw her to her back, opened her thighs, and stared at her open cunt that I was fully present. I fucked her once more, her head nearly in his lap, and she closed her eyes and arched her hips to meet me as she slapped her cunt with an open hand. Over and over again she beat her tender skin as I slammed into her, her moans growing darker and deeper with each second.

 

When she came it was with a growl and with tears. Her face closed in pain and pleasure, her thighs closed around me, and her hands turned to fists in an instant. She screamed and screamed, even as I continued fucking her, and it went on for an endless moment. I kissed her mouth as he cradled her head, and when I finally held her she started to laugh.

 

I pulled out and lay next to next body, still in the spasms of release, and he sighed as he touched my face.

 

“So beautiful,” he said again, his voice echoing in the dark room like a light in the sky.

 -gny

Lions and Gazelles

As the frat boys roll into the Lower East Side, their collars popped and their Docksiders worn with salt water from the deck of Daddy’s boat, I stay close to the walls hoping to go unseen. Their girlfriends are impossibly tall, their legs going all the way up with boots that cover their knees, and skirts that go nowhere. They look foreign to me as if sometime a few thousand years ago we split off in separate directions down the evolutionary road. They are gazelles and lions while I’m fisher cat slinking through the shadows.

 

But back at my apartment, with the music switching been Lana Del Rey and Richard Thompson, there are limbs and whisky that have come from a million different directions. We’ve come from old families and broken ones. We’ve come from black sands and swamps, and we’ve come from towering buildings with doormen who raised us as much as anyone else. We’ve come from trailers and mansions, our bodies and minds as varied as the changing streets that crawl off into the hidden places we don’t yet know.

 

Sometimes I wonder if our kissing and undressing is simply another way to cope with the swirling mess outside our windows. If our naked bodies, slick with sweat and beautifully bruised, let us melt into the night as much as the heels and backwards hats do. We laugh loudly and often, even as thighs part and lips becomes wet with anticipation. We move between staring in awe and drifting off behind closed eyes while the world holds us without thought.


The elegant animals on the streets howl into the evening as we pull sounds from our own lips, drowning out the noise from below.

-gny

disgustingnovel:

Two things happened that week: Rachel moved out of our apartment, and I didn’t sleep with Maddy. Maybe that’s just one thing, but in my mind, it was at least four. Not fucking Maddy wasn’t especially difficult; in fact, I barely saw her the whole week she was there, but that didn’t mean I didn’t…

The new Dirty Boys Podcast is now available

gibsongrand:

The podcast of our most recent Dirty Boys show at the Parkside Lounge in NYC on Sept. 7, 2014 is now available.  Follow the links for Parts 1 and 2.
The podcast will be available on iTunes tomorrow.

(via dirtyboysnyc)

Feeling Loved

Asking for help is always more difficult when I don’t know what I need. Help moving, a free drink, or a hug are easier to ask for, but when I’m the most stuck I can hardly even beg for a phone call.

In my swirling world of sex, booze, and parties, it’s sometimes simpler to let the body lead. But at the end of the night those needs are best nourished by the heart and the mind as well. The sex only feels safe when there’s honesty and possibly love, and the drinking only works with good company. The parties leave me aching and alone without an underpinning of community, or even a simple sense of welcome. Of belonging. Of acceptance.

On occasion I get reminded of what it feels like to mix it all together, and those nights I light up the sky. On those nights the kisses are longer, the sex more kind, and the drinks more delicious. On those nights the parties have stories all of their own that get passed down for years as we all struggle to remember what it felt like to be alive.

On those nights I’m reminded of what it’s like to be loved.