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Skelleggin' Ireland

composed at the time

Belfast Nights: Kim

Friday, August 28

Arrived, walked around, got food, took a shower, slept for 2-3 hours, went down stairs for some indian food, had 2 glsses of red wine and bailey's and cofee with dinner, then to the disco in my hotel, and one guiness (with black current) checked it out, changed my shirt, was dancing and saw this blonde girl look at my twice so i moved over near her and danced near her and her friend, who was more attractive. Keeping in mind Ted's never settle, I kept my eye trained on the red head, the better dancer and the more attractive one. We made eye contact several times, but I couldn't tell whether she disdained me or wanted to talk to me.
Her friend left (got tired) (left the dance floor) and the red head and I immediately began talking and dancing. She was Irish, a fine body and a good dancer, short red hair. After a while of smiling and dancing her friend rejoined us and we were all dancing when the dj said the nite was drawing to a close.
When it was finally over I follwed them out and began walking and talking to them on the street. I was drawn immediately to the red head and we seemed to hit it off pretty well. We (the 3 of us) walked to some other town bar and hung out outside; while the blonde girl (named Jenni) went inside, Kim and I talked and etc.

This dude came over and invited us to some big party tomorrow night and then told me he though Chicago was full of fags - in so many words, he actually pantomimed (repeatedly) putting a board on his ass, so he wouldn't get buttfucked.
Jenni told us about some dance place that would be open until 4am so all of us started heading over. Pretty soon, Kim and I were separated from the reast of the group and we made our way there on our own.

The place was this dingy four storey empty house where the top floor was filled with punks dancing to "YMCA" by the village people. Kim bought me "what she was having," a vodka and coke, which I finished off fast.

We danced to James Brown and Prince and De La Soul and George Michael and every once and a while when I would look at her, I would get this lowered eyelids look that was very sultry (if anything) and I was getting good vibes, especially when I went down low with her (a la lambada). So then during a song she said she liked very much, our faces were so close, and we started kissing and kissed straight through the end of that song right into Bob Marley's "Rebel Music." It was great. Groping (minor groping) and deep toungue kissing against a wall next to some fat punk creature with half her head shaved doing the same thing with some other guy.

I think she was a little uncomfortable, she said "We're putting on a show." I didn't care, three other couples were necking right near by, so who cares? But we went back to dancing with only the occaisonal kiss and we sat out a song holding hands.

At about 2am she said she had to go, cuz she had work tomorrow. So we left, and I walked her out to the taxi stand. We waited there, amongst various drunk Irish lads and then left.

When I asked her how long she lived in Belfast, she said "23 years." Shit. That's older than my brother. She had earlier asked me about my school level and I had said I was going to be a junior in college, so that makes me 19-20, I think I'll say I'm 19. But Jeez, I hope she doesn't read this or ask to look at my passport (that is neurotic). I was born in 1972. There. That's better. I shouldn't have any qualms about lying. I believe the harm to my soul to be no worse than anything else I hope to do to/with her tomorrow night. Anyways, I have found honesty near useless in these circumstances. You make up the role that best fits the evening.

she said "23 years." Shit. That's older than my brother.

We made a date for tomorrow at 8pm at Duke's, a hotel/pub down the street. I handwashed my good long sleeved shirt and a pair of boxers.

I'm very happy.

Saturday, August 29

Calgon... take me away.

I was stood up. I went out and got drunk alone. Life smells like vomit. I am waking up at seven tomorrow to fly home. Chicago smells like vomit. There's no one I want to fuck or see. Their heads are too big or too small. I can't even remember what Kim looks like, but I feel bad. I feel like a Robert Johnson song.

The disco carries on below, I can hear older drunk men carrying on like Irish hyenas. I could probably score if I just went down and tried, but shit. I feel like shit. Boy, getting drunk by yourself is fun,. Who will else I get drunk with? I like gin and tonic. Women replulsed me. Men are beasts.
I'm going to kill.
She'll walk alone, she will.

Everyone is going
to HELL.

At Belfast International. Strange what comes back to you as you enjoy an early morning hunger and a bit of the old Jane's. Remember Donald P Flannery III? Once, at camp Cheley, he got under my skin until I couldn't take it anymore and I beat the shit out of him. One of those "he deserved it" things. He was a little blond haired shrimp. Then a good christian man walked with me and talked it all over with me. There's nothing left for me on earth. I've done everything worth doing.

How/why did Kim ditch me? Fuck. I feel. I feel rejected. I goddamn fucking handwashed and dried my goddamn long sleeve shirt with the jam stains on it. Took a bloody bath, and a shower. I made myself ready, ready, ready. I waited (in my still wet shirt) in the cold wet drizzle of Belfast Saturday night for her. One hour. One hour. Like I had nothing more inspiring/uplifting to do on my last night. I feel like taking one of those pitiful fuckers and escorting him into the bathroom with the promise of my young flesh and then plunging a knife into the fat stomachs and seeing what they ate for breakfast.

I felt like a fool or not. Who knows. I went from bar to bar in town, ordering drinks and vaguely looking for her. The more I drank, the less I could see her face, and the uglier all the women got. I walked in the rain muttering about whores and bitches. Stood around the Empire nursing a gin and tonic muttering about hell and apocalypse for a while. Then I went back to my hotel, wrote in my journal, watched some b/w Bop Hope movie on BBS called "Ghost Breakers," jacked off and went to bed.

I feel like getting drunk again.
I feel betrayed, not so much by Kim necessarily, but by my enthusiasm. All one has to do is turn the page back to see how excited I was. I'm wallowing. I have a half hour to kill, so why not?

And when I asked some guys she'd talked to at the disco the night before, and we were describing her, "no-bra" was one of the first terms they came up with.

What do half-lidded eyes, and swaying hips, and crushing kisses leaning against a wall and feeling little prickles from her whiskers above her lips against mine, and a hand trying to feel her breast gently pinched pinched between arm and chest and open eyed kisses and dancing to reggae music while trying not to leave hickey marks and running opened hands over backs and butts, what do they mean?

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