This is what I liked about 2023. Yes, despite going through Disney hell and mostly hating it, I did like some things about this year. Here are some unexpected happy moments over the last 364 days:

• Going to Alaska and seeing the Aurora Borealis – Going into my 27th state, I got lucky and in the two hours that the skies were clear, the aurora showed up! Because of the time change, I’m not sure if it was 2 am or 1 am or whatever, but there it was shimmering and green undulating throughout the skies. I’ll never fucking forget that.
• Henry Kissinger died – Fuck this war criminal asshole. I really hope he is being fucked with hundreds of cocks lined with razors and barbed wire in every orifice. If anyone wanted proof that god does not exist, the fact that he made it past 100 and was fairly healthy during those years should prove that being a good person makes no fucking difference. Good fucking riddance.
• Getting a new job – That goes without saying.
• Seeing Unwound – I saw them twice in February.
• Being whipped – R flogged me real good right after I got off of Lexapro. I sorta knew I would like it, but I didn’t expect to like it that much. I was hard the whole time.
• Fine dining in Vegas – For my cousin’s birthday in January, we went to Bazaar Meats and spent over $600 between the two of us for food. That was fucking fantastic. I was not hard the whole time.

I watched Anatomy of a Fall last weekend, and it was marvelous. Both Sandra Huller and the kid Milo Machado Graner were riveting. But the thing that got to me had nothing to do with the movie at all. 

After the movie, I started watching the press that director Justine Triet did all through the film festival season. In Toronto she was asked about the younger generation directors, and she talked about how she worried about the kids having access to funds to make their films. 

Here’s the thing. Justine is a couple of years younger than me, and she has already realized that the new directors coming up are a different generation. That she is not a part of that group.

Me? 

Well, I still think I’m a young’un. Even though my hair is turning white, my bones creak, I only have partial feeling in my left foot, that I need to be on medication to not die, I can’t stay out past 10pm if I even have any desire to go out,  my brain still thinks it’s in its 20s. I mean, I like discovering new music. Like, I liked the new Lana del Rabies album. The new Danny Brown, and his collaboration with JPEGMAFIA. The new Moris Blak. 

But then I realize I do some old man shit. Like I’ve slowly gotten rid of social media. I am not on Instagram anymore, and I have never been on Tik Tok. I still keep up a blog. I try not to perpetually have my phone in front of my face. I don’t listen to Taylor Swift or Beyonce or any of the pop stuff that are a snooze. I just don’t have that sensibility. 

It’s sort of like that Britney song from her movie Crossroads: I’m not a girl, not yet a woman. I’m not a kid, not yet an old man. 

Fuck.

I had a dream last week. I was on my honeymoon with R at a hotel in Bratislava, and for some reason we hadn’t consummated the marriage yet. The horniness was consuming me. We were in a jacuzzi, and I ripped my shorts off. “You need to fuck me right now,” I yelled. And I needed that dick in my ass right then and there. My dick was so hard it had grown an extra two inches and dripped like a fountain. Since my dick was right there in front of his face, he started sucking me off. But I needed his dick in my ass. I got my dick out of his mouth, got into the jacuzzi and sat on his lap. That dick needed to be inside of me.

It’s been a long time since I felt that level of horniness. Like even when I was at my horniness right after I got off of Lexapro, it wasn’t that ravenous. Every cell in me needed that dick to penetrate me, to feel that moment of breath-taking pain, that moment when your eyes roll backwards when his dick hits your prostate. Every cell in my body needed it at that point.

What ended up happening is I woke up and took a piss, got back into bed and slept til morning where the daily routine recommenced. It’s odd because I although I don’t feel that level of need, I can remember the feeling of it. And I haven’t decided if it makes me depressed or not.

What I did do yesterday was go along the Backbone Trail in the Santa Monica Mountains by Malibu. It was very pretty and all. And if that wasn’t tiring enough I decided it would be a great time to get my smog check, go to the Korean market and do laundry. I’m tired.

I think I’m a bad example for Baba.

Succinctly put, I am thankful that I no longer work for the Rodent. That was a soul-sucking two years, and what pisses me off the most was that there was nothing I could steal from the office on my way out. Fuckers. Hell, I might even be rooting for DeSantis in his war against Disney just because.

Since my family is getting together on Saturday, I figured I would drag my fat ass to Griffith Park. It was a nice day, and while walking along the Riverside Trail I realized this was the first time I went on the trails here at home since my first date with E back when I lived in Pedro. We went over to the Forrestal Reserve, and he gave me a hand job until we heard some people coming through on the trail. I’ve been out hiking when I travelled in Montana, Minnesota, Michigan, wherever. But it had been a while I’ve done it here at home.

I was by myself today, so no handjobs, and even if I went with someone there was a healthy amount of people on the trail. And Marilyn Manson’s Antichrist Superstar helped me not to be completely bored.