Sleeping a little more deeply, or else so exhausted that I'm having lucid dreams: fragments of Randy as if in a black-and-white movie montage, Jimmy Stewart in the spinning scene from Vertigo or some Ray Milland flick, nothing that specific but his face flashing, stylized that way, spinning past--
Anxious breathing--not rapid, just--it feels the way it feels when you're hurtling along in an airplane and you nap and forget you're on a plane--the air not quite right, and the sense of being carried--
And the aching hard-ons that wake me, so strong and straining that it's almost as if someone were about to touch me there-- I who've felt so ambivalent this past year about sex, which was surely a source of his pain.
Rodney Gomez: A Short Tablature of Loss
4 weeks ago