Lucius Bod | Rogue Diary

Man's Tailcoat LACMA M.2007.211.958

Hello. Sometime between last night and this morning, I could not stop packing my trunks. There were so many aged photos, letters and old bills from a decade of living in New York. 

I caressed the pigskin trunk, with its protuberances coming to me. Almost all of my clothes will be creased by the time my train arrives to my destination. Even now I face uncertainty about where.

Something was left behind as I contemplated walking through the door at the end. Thank you. 

Everything is peaceful and more balanced, but innocence is now that old book in my library. It was something I had felt and lived, but is now another part that I collect; treasures that arrive when I summon my past with trembling hands. How cynical of me to remember things this way.

I could not. Something inside me said I should not cease to be. Perhaps it would be over another day, but not at that moment. There was a brief and shiny vision of me walking away and learning how to live all over again, but this time without the sickness, without the ignorance and the fear, always ready to learn and feel everything that came to me, knowing right from wrong and willing to experience it all until it was the right time to go. This was what I thought and felt last night.

What is at the end of this lesson? The incredible happiness of living, of always being hungry and of being eager to walk and breathe. I will dance again and smile like the free man I am. A new beginning in a new city, but without you. If we don’t meet again, just know that I will always love you. I must call my cab now.

Yours truly,

Lucius


© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Ashley Van Haeften/LACMA


 This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 

It’s raining in the afternoon. I open my windows to listen with a clear mind to this familiar sound of water drops, to smell the new scents it uncovers when it reaches the ground. Chimes play a delicate syncopated melody in someone’s balcony next door from the soft breeze passing through.

Time seems to be suspended. My memories take me back through every arrondissement in Paris and nostalgia overwhelms me for a moment. Names and faces come to me relentlessly until my eyes close and I sit on the old wooden floor with my back flat against the wall. My shoulders relax and fall naturally. I breathe deeply once, then I hold it for two seconds and exhale.

So lovely is the scent of wet earth from my small window garden, I experience bliss. The sound of cars and people below becomes a subdued rhythm, a euphonious caress. I count to three and fall into a trance: One, two, three.

Now, a dark and narrow corridor appears in my mind and I walk into it. Clear skies slowly become visible above and at the end, there is a white room with a pale blue chaise longue next to a polished steel and glass side table. On the table is a small globular rock crystal vase with a stunning arrangement of violets. I will return to this place whenever I can.

As I turn around to walk back, I feel neither anxiety nor longing. When I count to three again, my past will have its proper perspective. I am ready.

One, two, three.



© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Milena Mihaylova/Flickr

 This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 

There were great years in my life as a half of two: Wondrous and tender; exciting and meaningful bits of how I looked at life through that prism of spiritual connections defined me. It’s rather hard to review all I have been to my lovers so I can move forward into a calm and sweet future with my new lover.

Before I met my lover, all looked bleak and I had resigned myself to be a lonesome post in my own Street. How could I describe how meeting someone who loves me without the physical expression of my tears in a succinct way? I find I cannot.

How the title of this story becomes clear is about all that came before him; I was a toy. Couples and random strangers left a mad mark on my neck during the intense artificial love we had. Well, this time is about asking for those purple marks because I want them. Because I am proud to belong. Two big male chests that beat together and the different smoothness of our hands belie a trust, respect and surrender we have both agreed to own until the end. 

Waves of fear and an unbecoming uncertainty have made me close my eyes to feel rain on my face. What sorrow there is in good-byes to my toys. I leave them to be played with by others. From now on it’s two, not just one.

This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 

I always feel as if I am waiting at a train station with the baggage from my past, waiting for a friendly face to engage the rest of my life. I tend to forget the grit of work and service to others, but service lately feels more like the expression of my spirit, happier to be in the world as it is.

One belief I have is that the God so many speak of is in fact all of Humanity as cells that form a larger body. With utmost sincerity I believe that we are all meant to act together as a force to protect our Earth, to educate each other and grow as individuals. By serving my peers I have my faith restored in the faces of those who are grateful and strive to be better people.

Because of my nature I always find beauty in the worst that happens around me, even now, when I hear the struggle in your voice on the phone. This makes me feel anxious, afraid of what could happen to you; triggers wish to spike my panic. My anger is defined as frustration from feeling helpless and there is nothing possible for me to do thousands of miles West of your home. Because I’m stronger, I won’t drown into a relapse before I meet that friendly face of yours and go forth.

Text: © Lucius Bod
Image: © "Trust" by Matthias Weinberger/Flickr

My friend Julio was once a vicious bully at school but took a liking to me for reasons he never shared. Perhaps I was distracted by the familial problems I had witnessed and never bothered to ask about. Well, I was content with having someone to talk to after class for a change. We took long walks outside the city to smoke together and to have a great time as often as we could. As with many school outcasts, he taught me his ways, and I shared my toys with him in this new companionship. Ah, childhood…

He left Spain to live in New York in his late teens with relatives from his Father’s side, many of whom he detested, but the possibility of a new life got the best of him. He opened his own automotive body repair shop in the Bronx, and I would help him on my available days to perform accounting tasks. No work was beneath me whilst looking for a great college and a new career. He had a whole new life, which was something I wanted to earn for myself.

After he picked me up from LaGuardia airport we arrived at a very shabby-looking building, where he showed me his new home in the city, located in the East Village in what he told me was called “Alphabet City” for its avenues named by letters. This is where I stayed. After unpacking, I laid back on my new bed, listened to the sounds of the metropolis coming from the open window and smiled with anticipation.



One night, after working at Julio’s auto body shop I left a little early to recover from some greasy food he and I ate for lunch. I tried my best to purchase items at a deli or to buy fresh vegetables, but this time I was not up to cooking and paid the price. 

I took the train home and walked a short distance to the apartment building. I walked up the flight of stairs and came face-to-face with a young couple walking downstairs. Both looked great, in what looked like a re-styled 60’s bohemian printed cotton chemise on her, and a collarless orange batik print rayon shirt on him.

My mother was a client of Loris Azzaro and Nina Ricci in the ’70s, where she took me on days when she had had enough of my sloppy cleaning habits. She taught me so much about quality and style. Her guidance led me to take better care of my garments and to appreciate good taste in clothing on other people. I remember her L’Air du Temps perfume in the iconic Lalique flacon. 

For much of my childhood with her I used to read a lot of Jules Verne books, Agatha Christie novels and Robert Heinlein’s stunning visions of the future in science fiction. Before and after her divorce to Father she would come home after parties in what I would describe as a heroine’s wardrobe. It was an unforgettable life that seemed like a great novel come to life…

The couple did not just take a casual glance at me, they stopped to smile and stare brazenly. I felt uncomfortable. Were they looking at my dirty appearance? No, there was something aggressively inviting about how they engaged me. Both introduced themselves as Nikolai and Polina, the newlywed visiting neighbours from Moscow occupying the sublet flat across the hallway from my friend and me. They asked me, “Would you like to come over for a drink with us in an hour?” I hesitated for one full second, but said yes. I walked briskly to the door and let myself in to hear my fast breathing.

I purged the contents of my stomach, and immediately felt better. Because I had admired the couple as a stylish duo earlier, I wore slim chocolate pinstriped summer-weight wool trousers, caramel brogues and an easy crewneck short-sleeved cobalt blue silk knit t-shirt for the friendly drink meeting. After a short trip to the local wine store I found out they had nice Chiantis in stock, and I picked one out as a gift for them.

After one knock at the door, Nikolai opened it and invited me in. He showed a mischievous grin when he saw the Chianti, he thanked me and took it to the kitchen. Nena’s 99 Luftballons was playing on their stereo, and it brought back good memories of 1984. Where was Polina? I would know in a moment, but just then, Nikolai offered me a tall glass of good straight-up Russian vodka. The effect was felt quickly and thoroughly since I had not consumed any spirits for months. Some light conversation took place between us and he kept serving me this - by now - great vodka. 

Nothing prepared me for what happened next: Polina opened the door of the bedroom completely naked except for black satin high-heeled pumps. She walked over to where her husband and I were chatting and gave me a lusty kiss. The look on my face must have made both of them laugh, but I was close to being completely drunk, so my bewilderment gave way to excitement.

Both took me by the hand, and together we walked into the bedroom. Polina undressed me and seduced me with her lips and eyes. At first, Nikolai removed his clothes, walked to the edge of the bed and watched me devour his wife. He slowly guided the pace at which I was breathing and having sex with her. She looked at me with what was now full ecstasy, and suddenly, I felt Nikolai’s hand on my shoulder. I thought he would join me in the ravishment of Polina, but instead, he made me stop and embraced me from behind. I felt his hot breath on my ear, and he ran his hands up and down my torso slowly. Perhaps it was the vodka and this complete surprise, but I did not object to his touch.

After she and I were satisfied I got up and put my clothes back on. Nikolai’s behaviour puzzled me a bit, but I accepted his invitation to return the next night. I saw myself out of their home, walked quietly back to the flat and greeted Julio with a brotherly hug. He smelled the vodka on me and asked if I had had a good time. I do not know why I hesitated then to tell him about my encounter. Instead, I lied and said I had been out for some drinks at a bar. I knew what had happened was not a dream, but it left me with some disquieting new thoughts about my sexuality, which I decided were best left unshared. "Na zdraví!"

I went back to them every night of that summer. Polina and I made love while Nikolai slowly seduced me, and one afternoon I accepted the sensuality of his homoeroticism so we made love to each other. If this was a battle, aggression became the relentless exploration of our bodies. Every surrender and thrust was transformed by touch and breath into a dance. At first I could not stand my insistent desire to release tension and feel the insane moment of the conquest, but I slowly learned to enjoy our dance and listen to the music we offered each other. I made love to her as he guided me, and then he and I loved each other. Polina’s expression of jealousy and lust was the call for a new dance between the three of us.

My happiness with them ended when they returned to Moscow in August of that year. We went out for a farewell drink together in SoHo. I wrote letters to both for many months. They wrote back and promised to love me again when they returned the following summer. They told me they missed me as I missed them. I could move in with both if I wished to do so, and it would be just the three of us. I looked forward to it.

© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Images: Alex Barth/Flickr

 This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 

Sometimes at night I walk to the beach and lie on my back near the sea to dream of good things about my life. I’m a vagabond soul filled with Internet folklore, and the thought of your kiss shines like the stars amidst dark moments.

During the day I hunt for food and fight my enemies with the anger of my early twenties intact. I’ve taken up smoking again and do so with macho style in my red ‘79 Camaro Z28. A glass of Shiraz at lunch was never happier than with me. Handsome bloke, I am.

At home, my sofa should not reek of tobacco, but there lies my body in the afternoon, holding a pillow and smoking cigarette number three next to a cut crystal ashtray on my coffee table. Life, I am yours. Where are you in this poorly decorated tableau? It’s just another day for me.

Karlie,

Since our last argument, we have pushed and pulled words of beauty and hatred freely between us, darling. I miss coming home to you, but not tonight. Mother says “hello.” I will call you tomorrow afternoon.

Love,

Lucius

Another night, some drinks and too much talk about feelings again... My own were nowhere to be found in the conversation, and instead, I walked out of the flat Karlie and I shared. The expression “I’m going out for fresh air” took on an urgency that made me overlook the cliché. 

I had some time to think whilst I walked in silence for a few blocks. The night seemed inauspicious and gloomy, but it did not reflect my mood. Somehow, my frustration turned into a sarcastic smile that owed its appearance to Papa. I finally understood the man, but it was up to me to determine what to do about our similar conjugal woes.

Nothing magical or wonderful happened after my walk, but I knew it was up to me to challenge our views and transform our life together because I cared. If she wanted the same, she could do so as well but I could not wait. I went to bed for dreamless sleep. My side is always the left side, my dear.





© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Mini Malist/Flickr



 This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.