The Age of Illusions

On a rapidly darkening late afternoon in the City of Dreams and Illusions, two lost souls have arranged to meet each other on a blind date. It’s a Tuesday in December with a full moon in Gemini.

Mark decided they should meet at the downtown public library where he could easily be found reading in the comic book section.

“Sorry I’m late,” Daniel apologizes.

“That’s okay, I was early.” Mark embodies scabrous self-confidence accentuated by a goatee, pale blue eyes, and an effervescence that should prove magnetic to any young man or woman that comes his way.

With Mark leading the way, they walk outside as the uneasy yet natural flow of embryonic burgeoning conversation envelops them like a zephyr.

Mark says, “You mentioned in a message that you were going to some meeting tonight.”

“It’s a leftist anti-war public forum with loud media clips followed by a discussion.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I ate some soup at home . . . We can go somewhere for food if you’re hungry.”

“Okay, thanks,” Mark responds mock-sarcastically. “ . . . I know where we should go . . . Yesterday you messaged me your favorite Leonard Cohen song, ‘Famous Blue Raincoat.’ Mine is ‘Bird on the Wire.’”

Mark stops when he reaches an inconspicuous restaurant.

They sit down at one of the tables. The waitress takes their orders. “What’s in the dip that comes with the bread?” Mark asks.

“Olive oil, vinegar—”

“I’ll have that. And a glass of Merlot.”

Daniel orders chamomile tea.

“What’s with the slouching posture and the pants?” Mark asks Daniel.

The waitress arrives with their orders.

As she walks away, Mark says, “I’d like to see you drink some Merlot.”

“I’d rather not because I took Tylenol recently.”

“Don’t worry; you should be okay.” He calls the waitress. “Bring him a glass of Merlot too.”

“I’m worried about my liver.”

“I have an uncle who one would think must’ve done a lot of damage to himself, yet he’s actually quite healthy.”

She returns with Daniel’s Merlot. He takes a sip and is pleased to find out how much he enjoys it.

“I grew up in Johnsley, a redneck town.”

“My hometown is Etown.”

“What’s it like there?” Mark asks.

“I guess it’s less liberal, less diverse.”

“You like it where it’s less liberal and diverse?”

“I guess not. Yet people aren’t less friendly there.”

“I understand . . . I’ve had all kinds of sexual experiences with guys, even straight men. A guy whose girlfriend broke up with him wanted to cuddle with me. They often feel guilty about it afterwards.”

“Although liberalism has nobly fought against homophobia, we still live in a heterosexualized society.”

“Yet there have even been straight guys who asked me to top them . . .”

“Many believe it isn’t really sex if it doesn’t involve penetration.”

“Penetration of what exactly? . . . Sex to me is any consensual sexual act.”

“Even straight sex doesn’t always have to involve penetration.”

“It sounds so middle school: this fixation on penetration. Like first base, second base, third base… It’s kind of immature . . . So you still live with your Mom. What about your Dad?”

“I never knew him. For the first eight years of my life, my Mom raised me as a single mother.”

“Wow . . .” Mark asks the waitress to serve them more Merlot. He also lets Daniel eat the two remaining focaccia breads with olive oil and vinegar. “I take all sorts of drugs: marijuana, LSD, mushrooms, cocaine, ecstasy, DMT.”

“I knew a woman in college who said she takes LSD about four times a year. She said I should try magic mushrooms first.”

“Mushrooms are not as intense as LSD. Yet they have more of a physical effect. So while you’re sitting down on the toilet, all of these interesting ideas start flooding your mind . . .”

“What’s LSD like?”

“You can’t take it too often because it forces you to see things in a completely different way . . .”

“Is it therapeutic?”

“It can be . . . although I’ve had bad trips.”

“How does cocaine affect you?”

“I get racing thoughts and write lots of lyrics . . . .”

_ _ _

It’s darker outside—the sunset’s goodbye.

“Would you like to come to my place?”

“I was going to go to that meeting.”

“Just come to my place,” Mark cajoles. “I’ll show you my guitars.”

They take a bus. Daniel is pleasantly suffused with the two glasses of Merlot and marijuana capsules. “I just go with the flow, let others guide my decisions.”

“You don’t mind other people making decisions for you?”

“No, but I worry that I’m passive, self-indulgent, self-destructive. Combining Tylenol with alcohol might damage my liver.”

“Are you a hypochondriac?”

“I don’t know. I take Tylenol with methocarbamol for chronic pain.”

Mark says, “What kind of chronic pain?”

“Lower back pain,” Daniel lies. “Tylenol doesn’t always help much. Taking it regularly could damage my eardrums and liver.”

“If it doesn’t help you that much, you shouldn’t take it. You probably take it because it gives you some sort of high. Do you smoke cigarettes?”

“No. I’m afraid I might get cancer.”

Mark says, “I knew you’d say something like that. Do you have any tattoos?”

“They’re permanent.”

“You can get them removed by laser . . .”

“Have you ever had temporary delusions from marijuana or other drugs?” asks Daniel.

“Yeah . . . Too much of anything can play games with your mind.”

“All these delusions symbolize something. They’re exaggerated, but they’re also pointing to some hidden truth.”

“Here’s our stop.”

They get off the city bus at Columbus Avenue.

“This is where I Iive, my neighborhood, my kingdom . . . .”

From the corner of his eye, Daniel catches a fleeting glimpse of a body being carried on a stretcher.

“Ever seen a dead body before?” Mark asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“You’ll probably see one sooner or later. You’d remember.”

Mark and Daniel walk to a neighborhood liquor store where Mark buys a bottle of whisky. Afterwards, Mark walks toward the neighborhood convenience store, with Daniel keeping the pace, and both of them oblivious to the ghostly full moon—a lifeless body shining its reflected light upon the only planet that we know beyond the shadow of a doubt to be inhabited by intelligent life.

Mark grabs a can of pop and reads the French-language side of the label (“Pamplemousse”) before buying it alongside a seaweed snack.

As they ascend the stairs to Mark’s place, Daniel says, “My mother worries a lot and expects the worst. I’m kind of like that too.”

“You have to transcend that, otherwise you’ll always be crippled by ‘bubble boy syndrome.’”

Mark opens the door.

“So what did you take this evening?” one of Mark’s co-tenants asks.

“Not much, just two glasses of Merlot,” Mark replies.

They walk into Mark’s room. “Sometimes guys I had sexual experiences with threatened to beat me up.”

“Guys are conditioned to feel guilty . . . My stepdad once called me a homophobic slur and a guy once shoved me after calling me the same word. In school, some kids would mock me, labelling me gay before I was even aware of it.”

Mark succumbs to a momentary gloom as a downcast expression intrudes upon his alcohol-induced euphoria. “Were your parents drunk when you were conceived?”

“I’m not sure if they were drunk . . . Maybe that’s why we’re addicts.”

“Speak for yourself. I take drugs to show everyone I fear nothing. You fear everything; you’re worse than a mouse.”

Mark puts his drunken smile back on as he opens the pop and the whisky, mixing the appropriate amounts into a plastic cup. “You know what happens when you interact with others, take risks and have fun? Interesting things happen when you’re swimming in the pool, when you’re not a spectator. You make all kinds of friends, and lose friends. I even had a friend who killed himself.” Mark smiles. He’s smiling like he’s pleased with himself. Pleased that he got away with something. Daniel recalls the phrase, ‘The death of the soul . . . .’

“Have you ever read the novel Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf?" Daniel asks.

“I don't read novels."

Mark offers Daniel the cup. “I like this concoction.”

“I tried watching that movie you mentioned once—Mulholland Drive—it’s so slow.”

“There are some pretty boring parts. When I saw it again at a cinema recently, I didn’t enjoy it. I took THC capsules, and the ending’s dark . . .”

“And marijuana causes things to seem more vivid . . .” Mark takes out his laptop and tries to search for music videos of his band The Happy Chameleons. He shows Daniel ‘Lovelorn Valentine.’

“Sounds a lot better—in terms of production and quality—than a CD some guy once sold me. I wish I could be a singer in a band.”

“To be a singer, you have to be confident. You don’t have to be a good singer. You just have to have bravado, stage presence . . .”

Mark shows Daniel another of his band’s songs—‘Prisoners of Childhood.’

He then searches for the country song, ‘Crazy.’

Afterwards he lets Daniel search for a song. Daniel chooses Kathleen Edwards’ ‘Goodnight, California.’

When the somber song ends, Mark tells Daniel to shut the door. “Let’s keep it rolling,” Mark says. Instead of choosing a romantic song, Daniel picks the tempestuous 'Drown Soda' by Hole (the studio version from the Teenage Whore single).

Mark puts his hand on Daniel’s pants. Mark says, “You can touch me too.” Daniel is overwhelmed by a wave of anxiety. When the website goes to Hole’s song 'Violet,' Daniel quickly pauses it.

“What turns you on?” Mark inquires. “Oral? What kind of porn do you like?”

Daniel tells him about the Gay Frot Sutra. Mark tells Daniel to find it online. Instead of doing that, Daniel says that he’s scared.

“Of what? Tell me.”

_ _ _

“Do you think I can still get to that meeting? Do you know which bus I should take?”

Mark checks online. He takes a while and seems chagrined.

“When I plan to go somewhere in advance, it’s hard for me to change plans.”

“I understand . . .”

“Will we get together again?”

“Sure . . . We’ll smoke some weed and do coke. And cuddle first.” They walk outside, and Mark seems affectionate. “We all want to be loved . . . It’s a pretty dangerous world out there.”

“I’m worried about performance . . .”

“That’s okay; being soft happens to many men sometimes.”

“And premature ejaculation.”

“I was with a guy who ejaculated too soon when we were doing 69, and he was angry that I didn’t cum in his mouth.”

“I’m not confident.”

“Someone can be fat and have lots of self-confidence. Don’t see me as some handsome, ineffable Prince Charming. You’re not bad-looking. You deserve a chance despite your upbringing.”

They walk toward the bus stop; it’s cold outside with patches of melting snow and slush on the ground. When they reach the stop, Mark kisses Daniel.

“I like you,” Daniel says.

“I like you too. I’m bisexual, yet I like guys more.”

“Are you okay with waiting until the second date?”

“Sure . . .”

“ . . . I can be hypersensitive to rejection. I should be realistic.”

“Realism is good. Have you ever overdosed?” Mark asks.

“Yeah.”

“My roommate was acting weird because I overdosed recently. It was the anniversary of my father’s death . . .”

“When I overdosed, I didn't know that it was the ten-year anniversary of my grandfather's death. He was the only father figure in my first five years of life."

“The forgotten obsequies.” He kisses Daniel again as the bus approaches.

Daniel is about to go on the bus, yet some sort of epiphany stops him dead in his tracks. With the warm welcoming suddenness of a chinook, the truth dawns on him. If he leaves now, he may never have a chance to make love to Mark, to embrace him. Although Mark appears to desire Daniel right now, will he ever desire Daniel again? If Daniel goes now, this may prove to be nothing more than a bittersweet memory, a haunting unattainable mirage, a missed oasis, the path never taken.

This evanescent epiphany vanishes when the driver shouts, “I can’t wait all night!”

He steps onto the bus.