December 16
Ever since the shoot, I have been obsessed with Swan Man. Despite his cold exit, I still believe he has immense possibility as a lover. Nothing he’s done really indicates this, but I feel it in my gut. There’s something slightly off about him, an aura of screwy mystery. I too am a mystery. And there’s something else, a sense that he saw into me and captured me. Maybe it was the camera, or the memory of that Irish boy in the tent. Or maybe I’m at the edge of a magical life-shift aligning me with Swan, as the planet Sexoid implodes in a far-off galaxy, scraping its lunar scalpel into my bitter, blistered raisin heart. Whatever it is, I’m convinced he’s special.
I invite him to dinner, which makes him quasi-real. We communicate through text, though, so he slips back a bit towar
