Tuesday, September 30, 2003
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In today's Washington Post, 50 Ways to Use Your Lover,
is about a new exhibition that opens tomorrow at the National Gallery - Picasso: The Cubist Portraits of Fernande Olivier
Even though I'm 3,000 miles away and will have to satisfy myself by ordering the show catalogue, excitement led me to googling so I could hopefully retrieve more information.
This is a show about process, not product. Love this. God I love this. The exploration, the false starts, the dead ends, and some glimmers appear to be encompassed in this show. For me, Picasso isn't the draw (although I am in awe of his work), but it's the chance to view something that is normally kept private, or destroyed.
How often do we get the opportunity to see the creative process in action? And isn't that what life is really about? Sometimes, I think, screw the final product. It can seriously hamper and paralyze an artist. Forget that. On the grander life scale, being glued to an end result is detrimental to humanity in general. Yes, goals are important. But don't get stuck there. Remain flexible, which involves the moment.
I'm so excited about this show that I'm having a difficult time writing coherently about it.
I don't agree with everything Blake Gopnik wrote, but it's still good.
Here are some quotes from the article. (His words are in italics)
"I cannot think of any other moment in the history of art where an artist has this much freedom, and has to decide all for himself what he should do with it. At any given instant in the careers of most other artists, you feel they've settled on a way to paint that's natural to them, at least for that moment."
Personally, I think that's bullshit. How can he make that statement about an artist's freedom? I feel the only reason it appears to be so is the fact that we have an opportunity to peer into the psyche of the artist with this exhibition. Most of the time, we see the culmination of the process. That's what hangs in galleries.
"As you look around the astounding variety of works on display in this show's three galleries -- all works made within at most 10 months -- you realize that Picasso isn't ever working in a style. He's inventing one from scratch, and doesn't know where he'll end up. He's not working toward cubism, or any other -ism for that matter. He's just working. Many of the objects in this exhibition feel like dead ends, or even simple failures. But taken all together, they're witness to a single grand experimental energy and process.
Picasso's method is clearly intuitive, but it's not about the kind of creative turmoil that myth credits to romantic figures like van Gogh or Jackson Pollock. It's more like the kind of intuition that fuels the scientific method, where researchers make inspired guesses about how things might work, and then try them out. In 1909 at least, Picasso is not the alchemist-magician that became his favorite pose; he's more like an eager young genius working long hours in the lab."
Hmmm...once again, is Gopnik saying this because he can see what's happening? Am I crazy or is his statement "...it's not about the kind of creative turmoil that myth credits to..." fallible? How can he compare reality with myth? What's up with that? Honestly, we really aren't privy to the private creative process of anyone. Even this show, which may give us greater insight, is one dimensional. We see the canvases. We will draw our conclusions from these paintings. Most of the process happens behind the canvas, in the body, spirit and mind of the artist.
But, I am sooo all for this show. I totally love the fact that we can experience a part of the journey. It doesn't happen enough.
And here is another link to a blurb about the show.
In today's Washington Post, 50 Ways to Use Your Lover,
is about a new exhibition that opens tomorrow at the National Gallery - Picasso: The Cubist Portraits of Fernande Olivier
Even though I'm 3,000 miles away and will have to satisfy myself by ordering the show catalogue, excitement led me to googling so I could hopefully retrieve more information.
This is a show about process, not product. Love this. God I love this. The exploration, the false starts, the dead ends, and some glimmers appear to be encompassed in this show. For me, Picasso isn't the draw (although I am in awe of his work), but it's the chance to view something that is normally kept private, or destroyed.
How often do we get the opportunity to see the creative process in action? And isn't that what life is really about? Sometimes, I think, screw the final product. It can seriously hamper and paralyze an artist. Forget that. On the grander life scale, being glued to an end result is detrimental to humanity in general. Yes, goals are important. But don't get stuck there. Remain flexible, which involves the moment.
I'm so excited about this show that I'm having a difficult time writing coherently about it.
I don't agree with everything Blake Gopnik wrote, but it's still good.
Here are some quotes from the article. (His words are in italics)
"I cannot think of any other moment in the history of art where an artist has this much freedom, and has to decide all for himself what he should do with it. At any given instant in the careers of most other artists, you feel they've settled on a way to paint that's natural to them, at least for that moment."
Personally, I think that's bullshit. How can he make that statement about an artist's freedom? I feel the only reason it appears to be so is the fact that we have an opportunity to peer into the psyche of the artist with this exhibition. Most of the time, we see the culmination of the process. That's what hangs in galleries.
"As you look around the astounding variety of works on display in this show's three galleries -- all works made within at most 10 months -- you realize that Picasso isn't ever working in a style. He's inventing one from scratch, and doesn't know where he'll end up. He's not working toward cubism, or any other -ism for that matter. He's just working. Many of the objects in this exhibition feel like dead ends, or even simple failures. But taken all together, they're witness to a single grand experimental energy and process.
Picasso's method is clearly intuitive, but it's not about the kind of creative turmoil that myth credits to romantic figures like van Gogh or Jackson Pollock. It's more like the kind of intuition that fuels the scientific method, where researchers make inspired guesses about how things might work, and then try them out. In 1909 at least, Picasso is not the alchemist-magician that became his favorite pose; he's more like an eager young genius working long hours in the lab."
Hmmm...once again, is Gopnik saying this because he can see what's happening? Am I crazy or is his statement "...it's not about the kind of creative turmoil that myth credits to..." fallible? How can he compare reality with myth? What's up with that? Honestly, we really aren't privy to the private creative process of anyone. Even this show, which may give us greater insight, is one dimensional. We see the canvases. We will draw our conclusions from these paintings. Most of the process happens behind the canvas, in the body, spirit and mind of the artist.
But, I am sooo all for this show. I totally love the fact that we can experience a part of the journey. It doesn't happen enough.
And here is another link to a blurb about the show.
Monday, September 29, 2003
Monday morning and I'm at work! I've been working Tuesday to Friday for the last year. Figured I'd switch and do Mon-Thursday for a while.
Stuff inside is still incredibly difficult. Hurt comes over me in tsunami type waves. And yet, I somehow miraculously still function throughout it and within it. Friday, after work, I stopped by to see Bear and wonderboy. Saturday I treated geekboy to the movies. And yesterday Sir and I attended another memorial service. That makes 4 in the last 8 months. For a while it was one a year, and now it's becoming more frequent. Sigh. It's not as bad as it used to be though. Sir would talk of a time, from '94-'96 where it was funeral after funeral. In that time frame He lost over 100 guys He knew.
After the memorial service we went to Septieme's for drinks, conversation and eye candy. It was about 5 pm, quite warm and sunny. We grabbed a table on the sidewalk. Tattoed Bear and a boy walked by. Stopped, groped and chatted. Then beautiful boy, sweet boy and grandfather troll don walked up. A mini party! After they left, bondage top and his partner saw us and joined our table. From there, we strolled down to another place for killer desserts. It was about 8 pm, getting dark and the torches were lit at their outdoor tables. The 4 of us sat and had intense discussions. We talked about pornography and how silly society attitude is, regarding sex. Bondage Top is a pornagrapher and he was sharing his latest ideas for work, desiring to push the envelope which would challenge current laws. We talked about how the majority of people are sheep and simply want to be told what to do. No critical thinking involved. We then likened their need for how they approach s/m education and drew similarities with religion and the bible. Apparently, we were pissing off a couple other tables with our opinions. Loved that. A group got up and walked away in a huff. I think it was the blasphemous act of talking about s/m with Jesus in the same sentence. Whatever.
You know those conversations that are food for the brain? It was all about theories and drawing conclusions, fully aware that we were bantering with opinions. Get 4 artists together....4 people who see sex as more than fucking or beating...and tie it into everything else. We spoke of The Berlin Stories, and the beginnings of what the pan community sees as s/m. We spoke of DeSade and how he's seen as an icon of sorts, when the guy was simply a demented sick fuck. How many people have we seen take on that name as part of their email, or screen name? All about context. You know, it always comes down to context. And people don't seem to see or care to understand that. What is right in one situation can be the worse possible thing in another.
We talked about the writings of Tony DeBlase, and Drummer and how those writings influenced others, and through these fantasies, the modern kinky community was born.
We spoke of the problems with the internet and it's relation to this mainstream bdsm society. The problems with language and definition....and folks appropriating words not knowing the actual meaning or history. Yeah, we went off on all. Nothing was held sacred. It's those type of conversations you can only have with intimates....folks you trust.
Yanno, it was one of those times where the company is perfect, the weather is perfect, the food and booze is perfect and the planets feel to be aligned....making for a juicy evening of mindblowing mindsex.
Give and take. Share and stretch. Push and pull.
Stuff inside is still incredibly difficult. Hurt comes over me in tsunami type waves. And yet, I somehow miraculously still function throughout it and within it. Friday, after work, I stopped by to see Bear and wonderboy. Saturday I treated geekboy to the movies. And yesterday Sir and I attended another memorial service. That makes 4 in the last 8 months. For a while it was one a year, and now it's becoming more frequent. Sigh. It's not as bad as it used to be though. Sir would talk of a time, from '94-'96 where it was funeral after funeral. In that time frame He lost over 100 guys He knew.
After the memorial service we went to Septieme's for drinks, conversation and eye candy. It was about 5 pm, quite warm and sunny. We grabbed a table on the sidewalk. Tattoed Bear and a boy walked by. Stopped, groped and chatted. Then beautiful boy, sweet boy and grandfather troll don walked up. A mini party! After they left, bondage top and his partner saw us and joined our table. From there, we strolled down to another place for killer desserts. It was about 8 pm, getting dark and the torches were lit at their outdoor tables. The 4 of us sat and had intense discussions. We talked about pornography and how silly society attitude is, regarding sex. Bondage Top is a pornagrapher and he was sharing his latest ideas for work, desiring to push the envelope which would challenge current laws. We talked about how the majority of people are sheep and simply want to be told what to do. No critical thinking involved. We then likened their need for how they approach s/m education and drew similarities with religion and the bible. Apparently, we were pissing off a couple other tables with our opinions. Loved that. A group got up and walked away in a huff. I think it was the blasphemous act of talking about s/m with Jesus in the same sentence. Whatever.
You know those conversations that are food for the brain? It was all about theories and drawing conclusions, fully aware that we were bantering with opinions. Get 4 artists together....4 people who see sex as more than fucking or beating...and tie it into everything else. We spoke of The Berlin Stories, and the beginnings of what the pan community sees as s/m. We spoke of DeSade and how he's seen as an icon of sorts, when the guy was simply a demented sick fuck. How many people have we seen take on that name as part of their email, or screen name? All about context. You know, it always comes down to context. And people don't seem to see or care to understand that. What is right in one situation can be the worse possible thing in another.
We talked about the writings of Tony DeBlase, and Drummer and how those writings influenced others, and through these fantasies, the modern kinky community was born.
We spoke of the problems with the internet and it's relation to this mainstream bdsm society. The problems with language and definition....and folks appropriating words not knowing the actual meaning or history. Yeah, we went off on all. Nothing was held sacred. It's those type of conversations you can only have with intimates....folks you trust.
Yanno, it was one of those times where the company is perfect, the weather is perfect, the food and booze is perfect and the planets feel to be aligned....making for a juicy evening of mindblowing mindsex.
Give and take. Share and stretch. Push and pull.
Sunday, September 28, 2003
So have you noticed I’ve been linking instead of writing?
Yeah, it’s been a few fuckin’ difficult days.
A realtor called me Friday regarding studio space. He has a studio that becomes available November 1st and mentioned east light windows. That’s a bonus because the train runs right along the east side of these buildings. Sound buffer!!!! Although a friend mentioned he’d never heard of train noise called that before. And the ceilings are at least 12 feet high. Hmmm…sounds like a place for suspension points. And he mentioned the rent was in my price range. Huh. I’m not sure what that means. Either he forgot what I was looking for pricewise, or it’s higher than my dollar limit and he figures by looking at it I’ll be sold anyway. Silly man. Or….maybe the rent is negotiable? I found it curious that he didn’t tell me the actual rent.
Anyway, I’m going to look at it on Tuesday afternoon. I’m jazzed. It’s across the street from an independent coffee shop and about a block away from this little Italian joint/ale house with lime green walls, cheap food and a retro look that’s not shiny new. Comfortable. Stella Pizza…in the process of changing it’s name to Stellar Pizza. (Hope that doesn’t mean a change of character). I’ve eaten there a few times and like the ambience. Gritty artists, grunge, punkouted kids, families and industrial workers eat side by side. Or sit at the bar, order a pitcher of beer and hit the pinball machines and the pool table in the other room. They showcase local art, changing it regularly.
Hopefully, this studio thing works out. I’m tight for cash, and really don’t have extra to put down a major deposit. Especially on two places (one to live, and one for art/fuck). We’ll see what happens. But I’m checking out all viable possibilities, and will attempt to negotiate if need be. I’ve done it in the past and it’s worked.
Yeah, it’s been a few fuckin’ difficult days.
A realtor called me Friday regarding studio space. He has a studio that becomes available November 1st and mentioned east light windows. That’s a bonus because the train runs right along the east side of these buildings. Sound buffer!!!! Although a friend mentioned he’d never heard of train noise called that before. And the ceilings are at least 12 feet high. Hmmm…sounds like a place for suspension points. And he mentioned the rent was in my price range. Huh. I’m not sure what that means. Either he forgot what I was looking for pricewise, or it’s higher than my dollar limit and he figures by looking at it I’ll be sold anyway. Silly man. Or….maybe the rent is negotiable? I found it curious that he didn’t tell me the actual rent.
Anyway, I’m going to look at it on Tuesday afternoon. I’m jazzed. It’s across the street from an independent coffee shop and about a block away from this little Italian joint/ale house with lime green walls, cheap food and a retro look that’s not shiny new. Comfortable. Stella Pizza…in the process of changing it’s name to Stellar Pizza. (Hope that doesn’t mean a change of character). I’ve eaten there a few times and like the ambience. Gritty artists, grunge, punkouted kids, families and industrial workers eat side by side. Or sit at the bar, order a pitcher of beer and hit the pinball machines and the pool table in the other room. They showcase local art, changing it regularly.
Hopefully, this studio thing works out. I’m tight for cash, and really don’t have extra to put down a major deposit. Especially on two places (one to live, and one for art/fuck). We’ll see what happens. But I’m checking out all viable possibilities, and will attempt to negotiate if need be. I’ve done it in the past and it’s worked.
Saturday, September 27, 2003
How about a treat? Here is the very first piece of porn that really impacted me. So much so that the story attached itself to my skin like a blood sucking leech and wouldn't let go. After 3 years, it's still with me, a part of my gutt.
In the table of contents, click on "Variations On A Theme". The other stories on this page are also excellent reads.
Remember, these belong to another artist and are copywritten.
As the author wrote on his page:
All stories/poems by Daniel C. McGlothlen. See individual links for copyright information. Duplication or any other use in any form without permission of the author is expressly forbidden. Otherwise, enjoy the FUCK outa these things. That's what they're here for. Feedback is always welcome.
So enjoy!
In the table of contents, click on "Variations On A Theme". The other stories on this page are also excellent reads.
Remember, these belong to another artist and are copywritten.
As the author wrote on his page:
All stories/poems by Daniel C. McGlothlen. See individual links for copyright information. Duplication or any other use in any form without permission of the author is expressly forbidden. Otherwise, enjoy the FUCK outa these things. That's what they're here for. Feedback is always welcome.
So enjoy!
Friday, September 26, 2003
According to something that just came across my desk, the Double Header in Seattle is the oldest continuously running gay bar in the US. Me being me...I googled for more information on the bar and landed upon this gem.
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Bare Leatherworks Floggers, Spreader Bars and BDSM
If you aren't familiar with these guys and their work, get to know them. They make high quality floggers and toys...and they are really great guys! I saw them at dinner the other night and they mentioned they are going to be at Folsom tomorrow, selling their stuff. Look for the 16 foot flogger on display. :-)
My rubber flogger is a Bareleatherworks flogger. Love it!
You can also purchase their goods at Mr. S and Toys In Babeland.
Bare Leatherworks Floggers, Spreader Bars and BDSM
If you aren't familiar with these guys and their work, get to know them. They make high quality floggers and toys...and they are really great guys! I saw them at dinner the other night and they mentioned they are going to be at Folsom tomorrow, selling their stuff. Look for the 16 foot flogger on display. :-)
My rubber flogger is a Bareleatherworks flogger. Love it!
You can also purchase their goods at Mr. S and Toys In Babeland.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
------------------------------
I'm envious.
Singletails is back in school. Welding school. His excitement is hugely infectious, and is a powerful reminder of my art school days. More so, because while in college, I was given the opportunity to learn welding and bronze casting. These were offered through the sculpture department. After my intro sculpting class, the prof pulled me aside and said he was holding a place for me in their bronze casting and in their welding classes. At the time these courses only came around once every 3 years or so, and you needed to be an advanced sculpture student to take the classes. But he strongly recommended I take it. Due to my schedule, I couldn't fit it in, still take all the painting studios I needed and graduate in a reasonable amount of time. You see, it took me almost 20 years to obtain my BFA. I kept quitting school due to dissatisfaction with art departments or fear of my own talent. Once I went back and really committed, I needed to just do it.
Looking back on it now, one more year wouldn't have hurt. Especially because I fell in love with sculpture. In total love in such a different way than paint. It's tactile. My intro class involved the building up with clay process, fabrication (found objects and wood), and carving out. Holding a hammer and chisel, spending 8 hours to remove a 1/4" off the whole 50 lb block centered me immensely. It's the only time in my life (other than s/m) where I could literally focus all day. Normally I can work, but frequently get up and move. I can only paint or draw in spurts of 2 or 3 hours. Then I need to move on to something else. I would sit at my bench in the sculpting studio and be fully drawn into my piece. I'd forget to eat or drink. Touching, carving, looking...over and over. Touching again and again. There was so much love in each touch. I'd remove a section, and then caress the piece. I was nurturing the block to take form.
When my prof made the offer of the advanced classes, I thought seriously about changing my concentration. Sculpture was so incredibly physical as well as creative. The sexiest thing is immersing my whole being into a project. But, my inner capricorn came out. Studio space. Storage space. When on my own, how could I even begin to do this? I can't carve stone in a 2 b/r apt. Where would I store my pieces? Lug them around from move to move? Nope. So I turned down the opportunity. I felt I could always go back into it, once I was established as an artist.
I remember with clay we worked on figurative pieces. The model would sit on a large lazy susan type object. Periodically she'd rotate, so we could see all sides. Boredom took over, and so while still studiously engaging with the clay and model, I'd add 60 years to my piece. I would turn a 20 year nubile figure into an 80 year old woman. Shape the skin so it sagged and wrinkled. Give it some personality and character. Quite fun.
Thinking about all this now, it makes total sense why I prefer working on very large paintings. Big works requre full body attention. It's no longer wrist action. But it uses your whole arm, your shoulders, your back. The size requires you move back and forth to see the entire image.
I'm still on the hunt for a studio space. Again, an apt b/r doesn't work for big paintings. I need to be sloppy and not be afraid to splatter paint on the walls and floor. I need to engage. Fully engage in my work.
I have my name on a couple lists for affordable studio space in industrial buildings. One guy said he expects to have an opening in November, which is perfect. My lease is up then, and I can move into a little efficiency thereby allowing me to afford a studio.
I'm envious.
Singletails is back in school. Welding school. His excitement is hugely infectious, and is a powerful reminder of my art school days. More so, because while in college, I was given the opportunity to learn welding and bronze casting. These were offered through the sculpture department. After my intro sculpting class, the prof pulled me aside and said he was holding a place for me in their bronze casting and in their welding classes. At the time these courses only came around once every 3 years or so, and you needed to be an advanced sculpture student to take the classes. But he strongly recommended I take it. Due to my schedule, I couldn't fit it in, still take all the painting studios I needed and graduate in a reasonable amount of time. You see, it took me almost 20 years to obtain my BFA. I kept quitting school due to dissatisfaction with art departments or fear of my own talent. Once I went back and really committed, I needed to just do it.
Looking back on it now, one more year wouldn't have hurt. Especially because I fell in love with sculpture. In total love in such a different way than paint. It's tactile. My intro class involved the building up with clay process, fabrication (found objects and wood), and carving out. Holding a hammer and chisel, spending 8 hours to remove a 1/4" off the whole 50 lb block centered me immensely. It's the only time in my life (other than s/m) where I could literally focus all day. Normally I can work, but frequently get up and move. I can only paint or draw in spurts of 2 or 3 hours. Then I need to move on to something else. I would sit at my bench in the sculpting studio and be fully drawn into my piece. I'd forget to eat or drink. Touching, carving, looking...over and over. Touching again and again. There was so much love in each touch. I'd remove a section, and then caress the piece. I was nurturing the block to take form.
When my prof made the offer of the advanced classes, I thought seriously about changing my concentration. Sculpture was so incredibly physical as well as creative. The sexiest thing is immersing my whole being into a project. But, my inner capricorn came out. Studio space. Storage space. When on my own, how could I even begin to do this? I can't carve stone in a 2 b/r apt. Where would I store my pieces? Lug them around from move to move? Nope. So I turned down the opportunity. I felt I could always go back into it, once I was established as an artist.
I remember with clay we worked on figurative pieces. The model would sit on a large lazy susan type object. Periodically she'd rotate, so we could see all sides. Boredom took over, and so while still studiously engaging with the clay and model, I'd add 60 years to my piece. I would turn a 20 year nubile figure into an 80 year old woman. Shape the skin so it sagged and wrinkled. Give it some personality and character. Quite fun.
Thinking about all this now, it makes total sense why I prefer working on very large paintings. Big works requre full body attention. It's no longer wrist action. But it uses your whole arm, your shoulders, your back. The size requires you move back and forth to see the entire image.
I'm still on the hunt for a studio space. Again, an apt b/r doesn't work for big paintings. I need to be sloppy and not be afraid to splatter paint on the walls and floor. I need to engage. Fully engage in my work.
I have my name on a couple lists for affordable studio space in industrial buildings. One guy said he expects to have an opening in November, which is perfect. My lease is up then, and I can move into a little efficiency thereby allowing me to afford a studio.
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Want to hear some fairly new music? This is a musician who is making a name for herself, at this time, mostly in New England. I appreciate great songwriting, and this person definitely has that skill.
From her second cd, check these out, especially "Feed The Soul" and "Billboards for God". No, she's not a christian singer. These two are more bluesy, and I think that's where she excels.
The lyrics can be found here.
Before I moved away, I'd attend concerts that she'd be playing at. She does the hottest version of "Ode To Billy Joe" that I've ever heard. Sizzling!
Her first cd is under the name Heidi Batchelder. The name of the cd is "Wash It Away". On that one, Scarecrow, You Are, and The Call are my favorites.
From her second cd, check these out, especially "Feed The Soul" and "Billboards for God". No, she's not a christian singer. These two are more bluesy, and I think that's where she excels.
The lyrics can be found here.
Before I moved away, I'd attend concerts that she'd be playing at. She does the hottest version of "Ode To Billy Joe" that I've ever heard. Sizzling!
Her first cd is under the name Heidi Batchelder. The name of the cd is "Wash It Away". On that one, Scarecrow, You Are, and The Call are my favorites.
--------------------------------
Want to know what I consider obscene? This really rankles me.
HMO denies kidney to man with HIV.
On a totally different tack, tonight is the season's premiere of "West Wing". This is the one show I'll faithfully watch. Getting together with Bear, wonderboy, and a couple other people. Bear is making a killer stew served with baguettes and I'll bring some red wine. Yeah...autumn has arrived.
Want to know what I consider obscene? This really rankles me.
HMO denies kidney to man with HIV.
On a totally different tack, tonight is the season's premiere of "West Wing". This is the one show I'll faithfully watch. Getting together with Bear, wonderboy, and a couple other people. Bear is making a killer stew served with baguettes and I'll bring some red wine. Yeah...autumn has arrived.
Happy Autumn!
I miss New England the most in the fall. It's scenes such as this or better yet, on the coast, like this. Late afternoon autumn light slices through the sky, especially near the water and sand. There's a specific smell in the air that I can't even compare to anything else. I can taste the color of everything. And there is so much color!
Newcastle is this very little town near Portsmouth. A friend's dad lived in Newcastle. She and I would grab the pea boat from her father's place and row out to their sailboat. We'd climb aboard, rape and pillage the liquor cabinet, make drinks, and bring them back to the little boat, where we'd spend an afternoon rowing around the harbor. Lazy, delightful days.
The last time she and I did that was 5 years ago. It was my last summer there, before moving to Seattle.
Autumn reminds me of my old home. It's the one time of year I tend to get homesick.
I miss New England the most in the fall. It's scenes such as this or better yet, on the coast, like this. Late afternoon autumn light slices through the sky, especially near the water and sand. There's a specific smell in the air that I can't even compare to anything else. I can taste the color of everything. And there is so much color!
Newcastle is this very little town near Portsmouth. A friend's dad lived in Newcastle. She and I would grab the pea boat from her father's place and row out to their sailboat. We'd climb aboard, rape and pillage the liquor cabinet, make drinks, and bring them back to the little boat, where we'd spend an afternoon rowing around the harbor. Lazy, delightful days.
The last time she and I did that was 5 years ago. It was my last summer there, before moving to Seattle.
Autumn reminds me of my old home. It's the one time of year I tend to get homesick.
------------------------------
About a month ago I heard a song while driving home. This song, or actually one particular verse has followed me, every day since. Fuckin' intense.
"Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain"
Yeah....Dave Matthews. The song is "Gravedigger" and it's on Dave Matthews' new solo cd, "Some Devil". Today, I heard a few more cuts off the cd. I'll be picking it up this week.
About a month ago I heard a song while driving home. This song, or actually one particular verse has followed me, every day since. Fuckin' intense.
"Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain"
Yeah....Dave Matthews. The song is "Gravedigger" and it's on Dave Matthews' new solo cd, "Some Devil". Today, I heard a few more cuts off the cd. I'll be picking it up this week.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
------------------------------
I'm in a mood today. A coworker is leaving...moving to another town. He and I are a team, and although I'm totally thrilled for him, I also feel as if I'm going through an amputation. I've known about this for quite a while, but he made it official by telling the rest of the staff yesterday. We connected from the very first and I've never before worked so well with someone. We've worked on developing a new system together. From what we've heard, in most non-profits, finance and development don't always play well together. When this guy was first hired, I began going to him, asking loads of questions about what would happen with the gift and pledge information that I would key into the database. How would he use that info and translate it in his accounting system?
I discovered his needs and created a system where the donor database would speak with his accounting program. Since then, over 2 years ago, each step of the way, I've consulted with him and customized accordingly.
Due to this effort, our last annual audit has shown that we've balanced to the penny...(which surprised our auditors!).
90 percent of this is because he and I have a great working chemistry. We can communicate and listen to each other.
The others in the office are all extroverts. They can schmooze. They are quite comfortable attending meetings and functions. They can do the cocktail party chitchat. It's their job and they do it well. This guy and I are the opposite of that. We'd prefer to spend our time at our desks working. We both enjoy people, but our conversations need to be more substantial. Board/staff retreats are very painful for us. So, we'd support each other at these events.
So yeah, I'm bummed. He has an amazing heart, and one of the hottest butts I've ever seen. :-) It will be interesting to see who replaces him. And I do plan on remaining open to whoever gets hired.
I'm in a mood today. A coworker is leaving...moving to another town. He and I are a team, and although I'm totally thrilled for him, I also feel as if I'm going through an amputation. I've known about this for quite a while, but he made it official by telling the rest of the staff yesterday. We connected from the very first and I've never before worked so well with someone. We've worked on developing a new system together. From what we've heard, in most non-profits, finance and development don't always play well together. When this guy was first hired, I began going to him, asking loads of questions about what would happen with the gift and pledge information that I would key into the database. How would he use that info and translate it in his accounting system?
I discovered his needs and created a system where the donor database would speak with his accounting program. Since then, over 2 years ago, each step of the way, I've consulted with him and customized accordingly.
Due to this effort, our last annual audit has shown that we've balanced to the penny...(which surprised our auditors!).
90 percent of this is because he and I have a great working chemistry. We can communicate and listen to each other.
The others in the office are all extroverts. They can schmooze. They are quite comfortable attending meetings and functions. They can do the cocktail party chitchat. It's their job and they do it well. This guy and I are the opposite of that. We'd prefer to spend our time at our desks working. We both enjoy people, but our conversations need to be more substantial. Board/staff retreats are very painful for us. So, we'd support each other at these events.
So yeah, I'm bummed. He has an amazing heart, and one of the hottest butts I've ever seen. :-) It will be interesting to see who replaces him. And I do plan on remaining open to whoever gets hired.
Monday, September 22, 2003
I just had what I call a "duh" moment. These are the times when I should have known the answer, but was too immersed in the trees to see the forest.
This is regarding yesterday's post about buddhism and sex. Stuff like this keeps us on our toes and reminds us that we are critical thinkers. We aren't meant to take everything lock, stock and barrel. That's deadly. It's about always questioning, sifting and then keeping what you personally consider the wheat.
That's why I'm not into religion. It seems to me (and I can be wrong) that religion asks us to dive in, total faith, and buy into their dogmas and doctrines. Now a philosophy is friendlier, giving permission to question and think, as the individuals we are.
This is regarding yesterday's post about buddhism and sex. Stuff like this keeps us on our toes and reminds us that we are critical thinkers. We aren't meant to take everything lock, stock and barrel. That's deadly. It's about always questioning, sifting and then keeping what you personally consider the wheat.
That's why I'm not into religion. It seems to me (and I can be wrong) that religion asks us to dive in, total faith, and buy into their dogmas and doctrines. Now a philosophy is friendlier, giving permission to question and think, as the individuals we are.
One of the books I'm currently reading is "Gender Outlaw" by Kate Bornstein. I tend to have 4 or 5 books going at the same time. I've a book near the bed, another in the bathroom, one in my bag, one in my car and another on the kitchen table. It's another part of my ADD way of being in the world. By the way, I don't consider ADD as a disability or something that needs to be made right. Another example of how detrimental limiting ourselves to the mainstream is. Check out the articles in the link.
Anyway, I'm enjoying the book because she asks questions. Loads of questions. Some she answers and others she doesn't. It's an extremely intelligent, insightful read. Enough to cause discomfort at times. And personally, I feel that discomfort is where growth comes in, therefore good for us. An apple a day. The link I provided is to an interview with her. Also a good read.
I wonder if you think I hop around alot...flighty...regarding interests and thoughts. I do and I don't. I tend to mentally work on a whole bunch at the same time. You taste a small sampling of this in my blog. What you need to remember is, simply because I've not mentioned something I've detailed in the past doesn't mean that it no longer holds interest for me. It's tucked in the further recesses, still there and being worked on, but at a slower pace.
Yes, I'm still acutely aware of the insights from therapy the other night. I still think about potential fisting opportunities. I still am internally working on my ideas regarding Master/slave relationships and how I fit that schema. I'm pretty positive now that I'm not psychotic or going crazy. Just have stuff to work on. As my therapist said, I've been hit with many severe dings at the same time. Work is still a blessing and a curse.
I still think of getting beat, or singletailed. If I close my eyes I can hear the whip thru the air a split second before it strikes my skin.
I remember one specific singletail scene...with Sir, a few years back. He would step to the sink and wet the cracker inbetween strokes. I found out afterwards He did that to have a greater ability to slice into my back. Which is exactly what happened. Blood spurted. It spotted His shirt. Fucking hot. My whole back was ripped up. Just thinking about it now reminds me how much I miss that. 3 days after the scene I needed to ask Him to oil my back, because of the scabbing that was still taking place. It was healing wonderfully, but stretching my skin and therefore felt really dry and itchy.
Another time, about 3 hours before hopping a plane to the east coast (in the days we only needed to be at the airport a 1/2 before our flights), I was again treated to Sir's singletail. He wanted me to feel His whip on the plane ride back home. He was successful. I squirmed on the long coast to coast plane ride.
Sometimes I do tire myself out from everything whirling around inside. Many times I've desired to cut off my head, to stop the mental manufacturing. That's part of the appeal of being caged. It shuts down the thoughts for a bit. And other times, I'm invigorated by working on so many things at once.
Anyway, I'm enjoying the book because she asks questions. Loads of questions. Some she answers and others she doesn't. It's an extremely intelligent, insightful read. Enough to cause discomfort at times. And personally, I feel that discomfort is where growth comes in, therefore good for us. An apple a day. The link I provided is to an interview with her. Also a good read.
I wonder if you think I hop around alot...flighty...regarding interests and thoughts. I do and I don't. I tend to mentally work on a whole bunch at the same time. You taste a small sampling of this in my blog. What you need to remember is, simply because I've not mentioned something I've detailed in the past doesn't mean that it no longer holds interest for me. It's tucked in the further recesses, still there and being worked on, but at a slower pace.
Yes, I'm still acutely aware of the insights from therapy the other night. I still think about potential fisting opportunities. I still am internally working on my ideas regarding Master/slave relationships and how I fit that schema. I'm pretty positive now that I'm not psychotic or going crazy. Just have stuff to work on. As my therapist said, I've been hit with many severe dings at the same time. Work is still a blessing and a curse.
I still think of getting beat, or singletailed. If I close my eyes I can hear the whip thru the air a split second before it strikes my skin.
I remember one specific singletail scene...with Sir, a few years back. He would step to the sink and wet the cracker inbetween strokes. I found out afterwards He did that to have a greater ability to slice into my back. Which is exactly what happened. Blood spurted. It spotted His shirt. Fucking hot. My whole back was ripped up. Just thinking about it now reminds me how much I miss that. 3 days after the scene I needed to ask Him to oil my back, because of the scabbing that was still taking place. It was healing wonderfully, but stretching my skin and therefore felt really dry and itchy.
Another time, about 3 hours before hopping a plane to the east coast (in the days we only needed to be at the airport a 1/2 before our flights), I was again treated to Sir's singletail. He wanted me to feel His whip on the plane ride back home. He was successful. I squirmed on the long coast to coast plane ride.
Sometimes I do tire myself out from everything whirling around inside. Many times I've desired to cut off my head, to stop the mental manufacturing. That's part of the appeal of being caged. It shuts down the thoughts for a bit. And other times, I'm invigorated by working on so many things at once.
Geek slut is one of the blogs I regularly read. Intelligent and lusty. Yesterday's entry was especially hot.
Sunday, September 21, 2003
"According to Buddhist Tradition": Gays, Lesbians and the Definition of Sexual Misconduct by Steve Peskind
This article was brought to my attention a few days ago. It speaks of Buddhism and sex. Upon the first few readings, I was disheartened. If one needed to have a religion, I felt that Buddhism was the way to go. So how could this religion I respected be closeminded when speaking of sex? I then saw the op ed piece by Patrick French in Friday's NYTimes which pretty much speaks of the same.
I heard the shattering of a pedestal.
Anyway, after thinking about this for a couple days, I've come to some resolution. I believe that we desire to have our religious leaders (especially those responsible for the origins of said religion) be infallible. I mean...we are talking about God and stuff, right? We want to believe in Santa and the knight in shining armor. We want there to be a one, true infallible deity who poured his/her wisdom and truth into a mortal who then carried that into the world. Life would be so much simpler that way, wouldn't it? One law. Black and white. Right or wrong. Heaven and hell.
But we are human and therefore fallible. And life is all about gray areas.
No one's perfect. And there is no one perfect belief system. Each religion will have it's skeletons. Those skeletons will be different for each who looks at or immerses themselves. It's about taking what feels good inside, and being aware that it's not a blanket belief.
I know someone who is a zen buddhist priest, as well as being queer, and I sure as hell am going to pick his brain when I see him in a couple weeks. I wonder how he balances both in his life.
This article was brought to my attention a few days ago. It speaks of Buddhism and sex. Upon the first few readings, I was disheartened. If one needed to have a religion, I felt that Buddhism was the way to go. So how could this religion I respected be closeminded when speaking of sex? I then saw the op ed piece by Patrick French in Friday's NYTimes which pretty much speaks of the same.
I heard the shattering of a pedestal.
Anyway, after thinking about this for a couple days, I've come to some resolution. I believe that we desire to have our religious leaders (especially those responsible for the origins of said religion) be infallible. I mean...we are talking about God and stuff, right? We want to believe in Santa and the knight in shining armor. We want there to be a one, true infallible deity who poured his/her wisdom and truth into a mortal who then carried that into the world. Life would be so much simpler that way, wouldn't it? One law. Black and white. Right or wrong. Heaven and hell.
But we are human and therefore fallible. And life is all about gray areas.
No one's perfect. And there is no one perfect belief system. Each religion will have it's skeletons. Those skeletons will be different for each who looks at or immerses themselves. It's about taking what feels good inside, and being aware that it's not a blanket belief.
I know someone who is a zen buddhist priest, as well as being queer, and I sure as hell am going to pick his brain when I see him in a couple weeks. I wonder how he balances both in his life.
Have you ever known of people that you just knew….just knew that there was something between both of you? I don’t mean like “in love” or those type of relationships, but I’m talking about something more like a friendship.
There are a few people in my life I have that feeling about. I barely know them. Distance prevents the connections from being established. Physical and/or situational distance.
Yet, I think about them, and part of me longs for them. In some ways there’s a recognition inside of something familiar. There are a couple folks at this time that I have that pull for. I don’t get it. For all I know we’ll never hook up. Yet, this week, they’ve been on my mind…intensely. It's as if something inside is calling.
There are a few people in my life I have that feeling about. I barely know them. Distance prevents the connections from being established. Physical and/or situational distance.
Yet, I think about them, and part of me longs for them. In some ways there’s a recognition inside of something familiar. There are a couple folks at this time that I have that pull for. I don’t get it. For all I know we’ll never hook up. Yet, this week, they’ve been on my mind…intensely. It's as if something inside is calling.
Sir called this morning, while I was blogging. We chatted for a while. He knew I had been flirting with a cold and so requested I come by and pick up some soup He had made. He worries about all of us. Monday I'll go over for service. It's time to mow the lawn. Now that Seattle's skies have finally opened up, the grass is growing again.
After stopping by Sir's for soup, I rented some movies. Spending the rest of the day in bed, I alternated between movie watching and sleeping. I didn't wake until after 7:30 this evening, and am sure I'll be up for a while. But, I haven't much in the way of plans tomorrow. Tentatively, wonderboy and I are getting together for a bit. I've been keeping it light this weekend, trying to get as much rest as I can.
Between being physically down and the emotional stuff, my hunger for play has quieted. Although I had a couple moments last week. They were spontaneous and hot. One was while sitting in Tattoed Bear's chair. The other while walking on Capitol Hill with one of the boys. I turned to him, pulled him toward me and we kissed and groped. I felt this rush of sexual energy that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was a desire for regular sex, not play. I was surprised and delighted. And, it lasted all of 10 minutes.
S/M is a luxury. It's for the well. It's for when we have time and energy to focus on it. Although, I have to say it's always a tad unsettling when other things shove their way to the forefront. The feeling of not being hungry is the same as missing a lover. Hunger is my friend. Hunger is attached to passion. I know it's not gone. I can feel it, but it's semi-hidden in a cave, waiting for the time to rush out again. I can see the candlelight flickering against the side of hunger's face. It's sitting there, crouched in a corner...waiting. Waiting for me.
After stopping by Sir's for soup, I rented some movies. Spending the rest of the day in bed, I alternated between movie watching and sleeping. I didn't wake until after 7:30 this evening, and am sure I'll be up for a while. But, I haven't much in the way of plans tomorrow. Tentatively, wonderboy and I are getting together for a bit. I've been keeping it light this weekend, trying to get as much rest as I can.
Between being physically down and the emotional stuff, my hunger for play has quieted. Although I had a couple moments last week. They were spontaneous and hot. One was while sitting in Tattoed Bear's chair. The other while walking on Capitol Hill with one of the boys. I turned to him, pulled him toward me and we kissed and groped. I felt this rush of sexual energy that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was a desire for regular sex, not play. I was surprised and delighted. And, it lasted all of 10 minutes.
S/M is a luxury. It's for the well. It's for when we have time and energy to focus on it. Although, I have to say it's always a tad unsettling when other things shove their way to the forefront. The feeling of not being hungry is the same as missing a lover. Hunger is my friend. Hunger is attached to passion. I know it's not gone. I can feel it, but it's semi-hidden in a cave, waiting for the time to rush out again. I can see the candlelight flickering against the side of hunger's face. It's sitting there, crouched in a corner...waiting. Waiting for me.
Saturday, September 20, 2003
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It’s after 11 am and although I’ve been up since 7ish I am still foggy and sleepy. What better thing to do than attempt to write and treat you all to my groggy mind. “Oh joy”, you say. Yeah…yeah.
I’ve been doing blog-lite the last few days because I’ve been feeling gross inside. And needing to tuck that to the side for a while, out came the links.
I’m ornery. Cranky, and yet not. Had a therapy appointment last night and it pissed me off. Of course, that must be good because some buttons are getting pushed.
It did get intense last night. Here comes the deep. Quite provocative.
Yanno…sometimes wounds don’t come from the obvious such as physical or sexual abuse. What happens when the hurt began at conception? I’ve vaguely had this idea. But it’s hitting stronger now. And it’s one thing to know it intellectually and quite another to begin to feel it with your hurt kid heart. Or in my case…hurt baby heart. Mom didn’t want me. It’s not specifically me. But she apparently didn’t want a family. So it’s not a personal thing although it becomes very personal. She’s a painter. She came from a family of artists. She was the only girl with two brothers. For that time period, she did marry late, at 26. I wasn’t born until she was 28. And then it was kid after kid after kid.
In some cases, such as this, it is my baggage. There is no need to throw this back on mom. So I’m learning how to be with this hurt, and live with it. Being aware, and recognizing it, and then allowing it to be a part of me, instead of keeping it at a distance. That’s my goal. Little by little all will fall into place. Although, as I keep teasing my therapist, I have time limits. You see, the money I’m spending on him is supposed to go for my brand new 15” Apple powerbook. So in 4 months, I’ll be through the worse, and then can cut my appointments, and spend that money on what’s important, dumping Microsoft and moving to Apple.
I remember coming home from school at 5 and 6 years old. We’d find mom painting in her studio. She’d make herself stop and then tend to the 4 of us. (My littlest brother wasn’t born yet). About 7 years ago she told me that I had the opportunity to live the life she couldn’t. Many years before that she mentioned that when we came along, she really struggled between being wife and mother, or being a painter. She attempted to do both and couldn’t. She spoke of being so ripped in half by the two things she loved, her family and her art. By the time I was about 10, mom put down her paintbrushes, and hasn’t picked them up since, except for a couple times, specifically to make Christmas gifts. There needed to be a purpose for others in her act of creation. She’s now 74. Mom’s had arthritis in her hands for about 15 years. Some days it’s so painful she can’t use her hands. Other days, it’s much better. I deeply feel, in my gut, that her arthritis is the result of not allowing herself expression in the manner closest to her soul.
She did find ways to allow her brilliance and creativeness come through to prevent art constipation. Major house redecorations. New carpeting and paper or paint. Purchasing or moving furniture. Somehow she always knew the future trends in color 3 or 4 years before they’d even appear in New York. One of her gifts. Another was her cooking. She’d sew clothes. At times even design and make the patterns. In the 70’s she would create very large banners for her church, to hang on the sides of the alter…from the ceiling. She would create a logo or card for someone that needed it. She whip off little poems for a family occasion. She’d sit down with us and we’d make all our toys. Blocks, musical instruments. Homemade playdough. We’d then sculpt together.
She’d take me to the library each week so I could load up with books. And at night, when we were little, we’d all curl up on her bed and she’d tell us stories. Stories of when she was little and her escapades with ice skating. She wanted to be a figure skater. Then stories of her massive stage fright and how she chose to combat that by forcing herself to sing on stage. Mom had a beautiful voice. We’d sing lots and lots. She told us of the times in her early twenties when she was working in garages, doing the hand lettering on commercial trucks. She spoke of being the only woman in this male enviroment. This was back in the 50’s. Pretty much unheard of. She spoke of her brothers and their art. She gave us stories of her dad and his hopping from job to job. He even did a short stint as Bobo the clown.
Mom is beautiful. And she’s filled with love for others. But, in some ways that love is tainted because she wasn’t true to herself. She didn’t have the opportunity or the know how. She came from a very sheltered life. There was one role for a woman. Her heart was trapped. Being the person she is, she was somehow able to work through that and create a loving enviroment for all and herself. Yet…there’s a stiffness at times, regarding passion and emotions. I think she’s afraid of herself. She fears the passion that is so deep. I wonder if it’s still there or if it’s burnt itself out from not being stoked.
So I left my therapist last night with some new awareness and major churnings going on inside. My face was wet with tears. I know I’ll need to sit with stuff. Getting in my car I turn on the radio. It’s a station that plays alternative folk type music. No hard rock and rarely classic rock. But this is the first thing I heard when the radio came on:
"Hush now baby, baby, dont you cry.
Mother's gonna make all your nightmares come true.
Mother's gonna put all her fears into you.
Mother's gonna keep you right here under her wing.
She wont let you fly, but she might let you sing.
Mama will keep baby cozy and warm.
Ooooh baby ooooh baby oooooh baby,
Of course mama'll help to build the wall."
from "Mother" - Pink Floyd, The Wall.
"Nope," as I wrote my therapist, "not a coincidence."
It’s after 11 am and although I’ve been up since 7ish I am still foggy and sleepy. What better thing to do than attempt to write and treat you all to my groggy mind. “Oh joy”, you say. Yeah…yeah.
I’ve been doing blog-lite the last few days because I’ve been feeling gross inside. And needing to tuck that to the side for a while, out came the links.
I’m ornery. Cranky, and yet not. Had a therapy appointment last night and it pissed me off. Of course, that must be good because some buttons are getting pushed.
It did get intense last night. Here comes the deep. Quite provocative.
Yanno…sometimes wounds don’t come from the obvious such as physical or sexual abuse. What happens when the hurt began at conception? I’ve vaguely had this idea. But it’s hitting stronger now. And it’s one thing to know it intellectually and quite another to begin to feel it with your hurt kid heart. Or in my case…hurt baby heart. Mom didn’t want me. It’s not specifically me. But she apparently didn’t want a family. So it’s not a personal thing although it becomes very personal. She’s a painter. She came from a family of artists. She was the only girl with two brothers. For that time period, she did marry late, at 26. I wasn’t born until she was 28. And then it was kid after kid after kid.
In some cases, such as this, it is my baggage. There is no need to throw this back on mom. So I’m learning how to be with this hurt, and live with it. Being aware, and recognizing it, and then allowing it to be a part of me, instead of keeping it at a distance. That’s my goal. Little by little all will fall into place. Although, as I keep teasing my therapist, I have time limits. You see, the money I’m spending on him is supposed to go for my brand new 15” Apple powerbook. So in 4 months, I’ll be through the worse, and then can cut my appointments, and spend that money on what’s important, dumping Microsoft and moving to Apple.
I remember coming home from school at 5 and 6 years old. We’d find mom painting in her studio. She’d make herself stop and then tend to the 4 of us. (My littlest brother wasn’t born yet). About 7 years ago she told me that I had the opportunity to live the life she couldn’t. Many years before that she mentioned that when we came along, she really struggled between being wife and mother, or being a painter. She attempted to do both and couldn’t. She spoke of being so ripped in half by the two things she loved, her family and her art. By the time I was about 10, mom put down her paintbrushes, and hasn’t picked them up since, except for a couple times, specifically to make Christmas gifts. There needed to be a purpose for others in her act of creation. She’s now 74. Mom’s had arthritis in her hands for about 15 years. Some days it’s so painful she can’t use her hands. Other days, it’s much better. I deeply feel, in my gut, that her arthritis is the result of not allowing herself expression in the manner closest to her soul.
She did find ways to allow her brilliance and creativeness come through to prevent art constipation. Major house redecorations. New carpeting and paper or paint. Purchasing or moving furniture. Somehow she always knew the future trends in color 3 or 4 years before they’d even appear in New York. One of her gifts. Another was her cooking. She’d sew clothes. At times even design and make the patterns. In the 70’s she would create very large banners for her church, to hang on the sides of the alter…from the ceiling. She would create a logo or card for someone that needed it. She whip off little poems for a family occasion. She’d sit down with us and we’d make all our toys. Blocks, musical instruments. Homemade playdough. We’d then sculpt together.
She’d take me to the library each week so I could load up with books. And at night, when we were little, we’d all curl up on her bed and she’d tell us stories. Stories of when she was little and her escapades with ice skating. She wanted to be a figure skater. Then stories of her massive stage fright and how she chose to combat that by forcing herself to sing on stage. Mom had a beautiful voice. We’d sing lots and lots. She told us of the times in her early twenties when she was working in garages, doing the hand lettering on commercial trucks. She spoke of being the only woman in this male enviroment. This was back in the 50’s. Pretty much unheard of. She spoke of her brothers and their art. She gave us stories of her dad and his hopping from job to job. He even did a short stint as Bobo the clown.
Mom is beautiful. And she’s filled with love for others. But, in some ways that love is tainted because she wasn’t true to herself. She didn’t have the opportunity or the know how. She came from a very sheltered life. There was one role for a woman. Her heart was trapped. Being the person she is, she was somehow able to work through that and create a loving enviroment for all and herself. Yet…there’s a stiffness at times, regarding passion and emotions. I think she’s afraid of herself. She fears the passion that is so deep. I wonder if it’s still there or if it’s burnt itself out from not being stoked.
So I left my therapist last night with some new awareness and major churnings going on inside. My face was wet with tears. I know I’ll need to sit with stuff. Getting in my car I turn on the radio. It’s a station that plays alternative folk type music. No hard rock and rarely classic rock. But this is the first thing I heard when the radio came on:
"Hush now baby, baby, dont you cry.
Mother's gonna make all your nightmares come true.
Mother's gonna put all her fears into you.
Mother's gonna keep you right here under her wing.
She wont let you fly, but she might let you sing.
Mama will keep baby cozy and warm.
Ooooh baby ooooh baby oooooh baby,
Of course mama'll help to build the wall."
from "Mother" - Pink Floyd, The Wall.
"Nope," as I wrote my therapist, "not a coincidence."
Friday, September 19, 2003
Today is Talk Like A Pirate Day. The history cracks me up. It's a fun little site.
And it's another distraction. I need light and silly and so here it is. This beats spending two hours swearing at my database. Try running an extremely simple query with no defined fields and minimal criteria and it continually glitches out with different error messages each time. So I decided it was time for a break.
And it's another distraction. I need light and silly and so here it is. This beats spending two hours swearing at my database. Try running an extremely simple query with no defined fields and minimal criteria and it continually glitches out with different error messages each time. So I decided it was time for a break.
How about some more? In addition to Sargeant, Alberto Giacometti is another god I kneel before. His drawings are line work. It's a continual searching for form and substance. The outward manifests itself due to exploration of what's inside. Here is Studio and a quote about Giacometti by Jean Paul Sartre.
-------------------------------
It's been a very long day and I'm not feeling profound. But I still want to share with you. One thing I'll do to relax is look at art. Charcoal drawings center me. They speak to me in a way that's very different than paintings or sculpture. There's a raw unfinished quality in charcoal sketches that is complete in and of itself. No polish. Charcoal is home in a way that paint won't be although it's a painterly drawing medium. Here's a whole bunch of John Singer Sargeant drawings I was just looking at. Click on each title to enlarge the image.
Bon appetit.
It's been a very long day and I'm not feeling profound. But I still want to share with you. One thing I'll do to relax is look at art. Charcoal drawings center me. They speak to me in a way that's very different than paintings or sculpture. There's a raw unfinished quality in charcoal sketches that is complete in and of itself. No polish. Charcoal is home in a way that paint won't be although it's a painterly drawing medium. Here's a whole bunch of John Singer Sargeant drawings I was just looking at. Click on each title to enlarge the image.
Bon appetit.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Today's a tough day. Sir had a boy visiting and today I took him back to the airport. Afterwards, I was overwhelmed with such...I don't know. I couldn't make it into work. I called in and told them I was taking a vacation day. I needed a distraction and called wonderboy. We headed out to eat, walk around Belltown and take in a movie. The new Johnny Depp and Antonio Banderos movie. It's not a good movie, but a distraction and therefore served its purpose.
Monday was rough and yet ended up being a good day, with the shave and stuff. When I saw my therapist this week I asked him if I was manic, or bipolar or downright psychotic or crazy. He said no, stating if I were, I'd see the rest of the world as crazy. I reminded him that I do. But he smiled and said that was different.
I then told him that I'd love to be totally drugged, locked in a straightjacket and thrown in an institution for a month. Mind you, I'm not talking about play, but a serious renewal of sorts. I just wanted to go away for a bit and stop feeling, maybe allowing my spirit to heal. He reminded me that it wouldn't be wise to do that in this country. I may never get out. He's so damned practical at times.
The feeling of enjoying life with one part of me while simultaneously hurting is getting to me. It's tiring me out something fierce. Sometimes, the pain is so intense. It's an interesting hurt. At times, I know it's coming from my stuff, my grief. In other instances, it literally feels as if I'm hurting for someone else, a specific person. I will be acutely aware of the identity of the person. Sound crazy? At times, it does to me. It's an empathy of sorts. When it's for the other, I literally feel as if I'm sharing in their pain. I know there's nothing I can do for them, but carry it with them even though they may not be aware of it. And I keep loving them.
I picked up another book today. By the way, the bookstore sold out of "PoMoSexuals. They'll have it in a few weeks. Today's book is "An Unquiet Mind". The link provided goes to an excerpt I just now discovered. I think I'm asking for trouble by reading this book. You know the med students who think they have each disease they study? Or maybe it'll knock some sense into me and I'll see myself not as nuts but as someone who is only dealing with wounds that need healing. The author writes about their struggle with mania. While reading parts in the bookstore, I saw myself...up to a point. Nowhere near to the extent of her depression, but there were similarities.
Intensity is me. My highs will be high and lows are deep as well. My mood swings are wicked. But through it all, I feel. I FEEL.
On clear days I can see forever. (Yes, Barbara Streisand is now singing in my ear). It seems as if my eyes and my spirit can cut through the bullshit that we tromp through day after day. It's an amazing feeling. Other days, I still see that, but instead of feeling encouraged, I'm so discouraged. The feeling of isolation is immense. This frightens me.
Right now, I know I need to trust my therapist with this. I'm blessed with someone who not only studies the mind but the spirit. It's a holistic view and therefore I feel best suited for the likes of me.
One gift I've noticed, arising from this turmoil, is the skill I am gaining in saying "I need you." To be able to call someone when I'm in tears and ask for a hug, or if I can hang out with them for a while. To say to someone "I don't want to be alone right now." To ask for help.
See? Blessings all over, in spite of the heaviness of the air or the drenching rains and winds that chill us to the bone.
Monday was rough and yet ended up being a good day, with the shave and stuff. When I saw my therapist this week I asked him if I was manic, or bipolar or downright psychotic or crazy. He said no, stating if I were, I'd see the rest of the world as crazy. I reminded him that I do. But he smiled and said that was different.
I then told him that I'd love to be totally drugged, locked in a straightjacket and thrown in an institution for a month. Mind you, I'm not talking about play, but a serious renewal of sorts. I just wanted to go away for a bit and stop feeling, maybe allowing my spirit to heal. He reminded me that it wouldn't be wise to do that in this country. I may never get out. He's so damned practical at times.
The feeling of enjoying life with one part of me while simultaneously hurting is getting to me. It's tiring me out something fierce. Sometimes, the pain is so intense. It's an interesting hurt. At times, I know it's coming from my stuff, my grief. In other instances, it literally feels as if I'm hurting for someone else, a specific person. I will be acutely aware of the identity of the person. Sound crazy? At times, it does to me. It's an empathy of sorts. When it's for the other, I literally feel as if I'm sharing in their pain. I know there's nothing I can do for them, but carry it with them even though they may not be aware of it. And I keep loving them.
I picked up another book today. By the way, the bookstore sold out of "PoMoSexuals. They'll have it in a few weeks. Today's book is "An Unquiet Mind". The link provided goes to an excerpt I just now discovered. I think I'm asking for trouble by reading this book. You know the med students who think they have each disease they study? Or maybe it'll knock some sense into me and I'll see myself not as nuts but as someone who is only dealing with wounds that need healing. The author writes about their struggle with mania. While reading parts in the bookstore, I saw myself...up to a point. Nowhere near to the extent of her depression, but there were similarities.
Intensity is me. My highs will be high and lows are deep as well. My mood swings are wicked. But through it all, I feel. I FEEL.
On clear days I can see forever. (Yes, Barbara Streisand is now singing in my ear). It seems as if my eyes and my spirit can cut through the bullshit that we tromp through day after day. It's an amazing feeling. Other days, I still see that, but instead of feeling encouraged, I'm so discouraged. The feeling of isolation is immense. This frightens me.
Right now, I know I need to trust my therapist with this. I'm blessed with someone who not only studies the mind but the spirit. It's a holistic view and therefore I feel best suited for the likes of me.
One gift I've noticed, arising from this turmoil, is the skill I am gaining in saying "I need you." To be able to call someone when I'm in tears and ask for a hug, or if I can hang out with them for a while. To say to someone "I don't want to be alone right now." To ask for help.
See? Blessings all over, in spite of the heaviness of the air or the drenching rains and winds that chill us to the bone.
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
I did it.
After thinking about it for a few years I finally did it.
I hadn't told anyone about my curiousity and desire...no one except Sir, and hamster boy. Yesterday Sir, hamster boy, geek boy and I were walking around Capitol Hill. We popped into the Tattoed Bear's hair shop to say hi to folks and surprisingly, he was in. Normally he doesn't work on Mondays.
So...Sir pushed me into the TBear's chair and said "shave her". I was excited and a tad leery (which is the one thing that's stopped me all this time).
Sir looked at me and asked "do you trust me?".
"Sir, yes Sir."
I'm femme looking. My hair is incredibly thick. Most of the time it's down to the middle of my back. I don't keep it long for looks, but because I don't have to fuss with it. I would throw it in a scrunchy and there it would stay for a few days..until I washed it. I wouldn't even comb it between washings, unless I'm doing something special.
Then I periodically tire of hair all over the floor and so will cut it to about my shoulders, as I did in June. But, it's work...and I tired again of tending to it.
TBear pulled out his clippers and my hair fell to the floor. While shaving me, we talked about his latest fucking escapades and we talked about fisting. I mentioned how much easier getting pissed on would be without longer hair. Although the thought of really long hair, tangled and drenched in piss also makes me hard. As we talked, TBear would grab my head, and hook his finger in my ear...hanging on. Fuckin' erotic. At one point during the shave he reached down and we kissed, hot and heavy. Feeling the clippers was amazing also. Sexy. I think we were freakin' out a few others in the shop.
I've always wondered if I could pull off the shaved head look. Wondered what the shape of my skull was. Wondered which length is actually less maintenance. Wondered if I had the gutts to do it. I'm not a trendy dresser. Never have been. Classic...that's me. Button-flys, t-shirts. Clogs. Big button down shirts. Sneakers. Long black plain cashmere coats back east in the winters. When I would dress up, it's simple and elegant. No flash. My hair, clothes and shoes have never been radical. I've never been into fashion fads. Made it awkward as a teenager, trust me. And it's especially annoying when I walk down the street with someone, and we look into a store window and they say..."but you'd look so good in that. I want to see you in...". Ugh. My response has become "I want to see you in that as well." I try to smile and say nothing. But sometimes it gets wearisome.
But here I stand. Feeling naked. And it is wonderful. The awkwardness I do feel comes from knowing it's a radical look. At the same time, I love it. I have big deep brown eyes, high cheek bones and full lips. The lack of hair brings out these features even more. Especially my eyes. One of my coworkers didn't recognize me this morning at the adoption hearing. The past executive director of our organization responded to that with "I knew it was her...it's her eyes."
TBear mentioned that it will be interesting to see how new folks approach and react to me. Hamster boy said the same thing. They both mentioned differences...and I'm curious as to how that evolves.
Yesterday, walking out of TBear's shop, I was aghast and agog. I felt the wind on my scalp for the first time.
Sir, thank You Sir for giving me the push I needed.
After thinking about it for a few years I finally did it.
I hadn't told anyone about my curiousity and desire...no one except Sir, and hamster boy. Yesterday Sir, hamster boy, geek boy and I were walking around Capitol Hill. We popped into the Tattoed Bear's hair shop to say hi to folks and surprisingly, he was in. Normally he doesn't work on Mondays.
So...Sir pushed me into the TBear's chair and said "shave her". I was excited and a tad leery (which is the one thing that's stopped me all this time).
Sir looked at me and asked "do you trust me?".
"Sir, yes Sir."
I'm femme looking. My hair is incredibly thick. Most of the time it's down to the middle of my back. I don't keep it long for looks, but because I don't have to fuss with it. I would throw it in a scrunchy and there it would stay for a few days..until I washed it. I wouldn't even comb it between washings, unless I'm doing something special.
Then I periodically tire of hair all over the floor and so will cut it to about my shoulders, as I did in June. But, it's work...and I tired again of tending to it.
TBear pulled out his clippers and my hair fell to the floor. While shaving me, we talked about his latest fucking escapades and we talked about fisting. I mentioned how much easier getting pissed on would be without longer hair. Although the thought of really long hair, tangled and drenched in piss also makes me hard. As we talked, TBear would grab my head, and hook his finger in my ear...hanging on. Fuckin' erotic. At one point during the shave he reached down and we kissed, hot and heavy. Feeling the clippers was amazing also. Sexy. I think we were freakin' out a few others in the shop.
I've always wondered if I could pull off the shaved head look. Wondered what the shape of my skull was. Wondered which length is actually less maintenance. Wondered if I had the gutts to do it. I'm not a trendy dresser. Never have been. Classic...that's me. Button-flys, t-shirts. Clogs. Big button down shirts. Sneakers. Long black plain cashmere coats back east in the winters. When I would dress up, it's simple and elegant. No flash. My hair, clothes and shoes have never been radical. I've never been into fashion fads. Made it awkward as a teenager, trust me. And it's especially annoying when I walk down the street with someone, and we look into a store window and they say..."but you'd look so good in that. I want to see you in...". Ugh. My response has become "I want to see you in that as well." I try to smile and say nothing. But sometimes it gets wearisome.
But here I stand. Feeling naked. And it is wonderful. The awkwardness I do feel comes from knowing it's a radical look. At the same time, I love it. I have big deep brown eyes, high cheek bones and full lips. The lack of hair brings out these features even more. Especially my eyes. One of my coworkers didn't recognize me this morning at the adoption hearing. The past executive director of our organization responded to that with "I knew it was her...it's her eyes."
TBear mentioned that it will be interesting to see how new folks approach and react to me. Hamster boy said the same thing. They both mentioned differences...and I'm curious as to how that evolves.
Yesterday, walking out of TBear's shop, I was aghast and agog. I felt the wind on my scalp for the first time.
Sir, thank You Sir for giving me the push I needed.
---------------------------
I have some interesting news...but can't share it right now. I'm at work and am headed to the King County Courthouse. The staff was invited to an adoption hearing and then we are celebrating by doing breakfast together.
I'll write more this afternoon...when I return! See ya.
I have some interesting news...but can't share it right now. I'm at work and am headed to the King County Courthouse. The staff was invited to an adoption hearing and then we are celebrating by doing breakfast together.
I'll write more this afternoon...when I return! See ya.
Monday, September 15, 2003
Sometimes I wonder how open to be in this blog. Originally, my decision for going public was to share my voice, prove my existence. To be heard and claim our space is a basic human need. I wonder if that’s why most if not all begin blogs.
But, as I learn more about myself, I saw this space as a way to chronicle my journey. I hoped to maybe touch others who are like-spirited. My intent is never to turn this place into a poor me space. I try to keep my private self pitying whining for my personal written journal.
My attempt is to be quite mindful of the balance between relaying my journey without immersing all of you in my pain. Yet, I want to share the humanity of my life.
Periodically, I do web searches for others like me. And I’ve yet to find anything…almost. I speak of people who know that gender and sexual orientation aren’t necessarily linked. It’s the queer folks who do not fit in the constructs dictated by society. The gay women who are attracted to gay men, and the gay men who are attracted to gay women. I think of the women who transitioned…because they needed to be men. That felt right for their bodies. Yet their sexual orientation is still dyke. They knew they were male. Transitioning didn’t change their orientation. Their community is lesbian, but because they now carry ‘male’ on their id are no longer allowed at dyke events. I think of one gay man I know who is so into butch dykes. He has found his family, but it’s been a 10 year painful journey.
I’m not saying any of this as a whine. It’s simply an ‘is’, an observation. I know that everyone needs to find their own space. I also know that for some, it is a little more difficult. I also wholeheartedly believe that where there’s one, there’s two. Where there’s two, there’s four. And where there’s four, there’s more. It seems though, that we are dealing with an invisible culture.
Sometimes it feels as if this is one of the dirty little secrets of the gay community. The mad uncle who is kept in the attic for fear of embarrassing the family. We are queer, and yet find our attractions in queer folks of the opposite sex. That doesn’t make us heterosexual but folks are afraid it does.
Searching the web for chats, discussions lists and sites have come up fairly empty. Some amazing people directed me to lists which I have joined. But they don’t go far enough. They are still quite entrenched in sexist roles and ideas that have come from the dominant heterosexist culture. Think about it. Our labels, even as gay folks, were born of this majority. We are still shackled.
My search has resulted in a book which I intend on purchasing. “PoMoSexuals”
I’m intrigued. I wonder if it will confirm my theories I’ve sat with for many years.
And in the meantime, you’ll get me. Hopefully I can continue to communicate how I see the world. Its goods and its bad. Art, my S/M, movies, reactions to the world….people and nature. Hopefully I can continue to share my passion, and share it in a more effective and open manner than I have been.
But, as I learn more about myself, I saw this space as a way to chronicle my journey. I hoped to maybe touch others who are like-spirited. My intent is never to turn this place into a poor me space. I try to keep my private self pitying whining for my personal written journal.
My attempt is to be quite mindful of the balance between relaying my journey without immersing all of you in my pain. Yet, I want to share the humanity of my life.
Periodically, I do web searches for others like me. And I’ve yet to find anything…almost. I speak of people who know that gender and sexual orientation aren’t necessarily linked. It’s the queer folks who do not fit in the constructs dictated by society. The gay women who are attracted to gay men, and the gay men who are attracted to gay women. I think of the women who transitioned…because they needed to be men. That felt right for their bodies. Yet their sexual orientation is still dyke. They knew they were male. Transitioning didn’t change their orientation. Their community is lesbian, but because they now carry ‘male’ on their id are no longer allowed at dyke events. I think of one gay man I know who is so into butch dykes. He has found his family, but it’s been a 10 year painful journey.
I’m not saying any of this as a whine. It’s simply an ‘is’, an observation. I know that everyone needs to find their own space. I also know that for some, it is a little more difficult. I also wholeheartedly believe that where there’s one, there’s two. Where there’s two, there’s four. And where there’s four, there’s more. It seems though, that we are dealing with an invisible culture.
Sometimes it feels as if this is one of the dirty little secrets of the gay community. The mad uncle who is kept in the attic for fear of embarrassing the family. We are queer, and yet find our attractions in queer folks of the opposite sex. That doesn’t make us heterosexual but folks are afraid it does.
Searching the web for chats, discussions lists and sites have come up fairly empty. Some amazing people directed me to lists which I have joined. But they don’t go far enough. They are still quite entrenched in sexist roles and ideas that have come from the dominant heterosexist culture. Think about it. Our labels, even as gay folks, were born of this majority. We are still shackled.
My search has resulted in a book which I intend on purchasing. “PoMoSexuals”
I’m intrigued. I wonder if it will confirm my theories I’ve sat with for many years.
And in the meantime, you’ll get me. Hopefully I can continue to communicate how I see the world. Its goods and its bad. Art, my S/M, movies, reactions to the world….people and nature. Hopefully I can continue to share my passion, and share it in a more effective and open manner than I have been.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
Call me stubborn.
A couple Sundays ago I wasn’t feeling well. Actually, I woke up quite sick, but sucked it in to do a huge catering job that afternoon. My adrenaline got me through it. Since then, I’ve been wickedly exhausted…using all my strength to not fall asleep at my desk in the afternoons. And, I’ve been plagued with severe headaches that wake me in the middle of the night. I’ll have to get up, take something, go back to sleep only to wake again 4 hours later with more pain. So I complain a little to my family yet keep on truckin’.
This weekend is the first weekend since June where I intentionally did not make plans. None except for another catering job yesterday. This morning, again the headaches. They lasted all day and intensified to the point of causing nausea. Ugh.
At that point I said to myself…”you are sick. Give in to it.” Grabbing some energy from who knows where, I ran to the store for chicken soup. I had barely eaten in the last two days…and had nothing simple to fix. Most everything didn’t sound good, except soup. I rented a couple cheesy videos and returned home, curled up in bed and spent the afternoon. You have to understand that even when I admit I’m sick, I won’t lay in bed. I tend to crash on the couch instead. But today…it needed to be my bed. I have an appointment at 8 am tomorrow morning (which I really can’t cancel). And then I plan on once again taking it easy.
Sometimes I really do need to be hit over the head with a two by four.
A couple Sundays ago I wasn’t feeling well. Actually, I woke up quite sick, but sucked it in to do a huge catering job that afternoon. My adrenaline got me through it. Since then, I’ve been wickedly exhausted…using all my strength to not fall asleep at my desk in the afternoons. And, I’ve been plagued with severe headaches that wake me in the middle of the night. I’ll have to get up, take something, go back to sleep only to wake again 4 hours later with more pain. So I complain a little to my family yet keep on truckin’.
This weekend is the first weekend since June where I intentionally did not make plans. None except for another catering job yesterday. This morning, again the headaches. They lasted all day and intensified to the point of causing nausea. Ugh.
At that point I said to myself…”you are sick. Give in to it.” Grabbing some energy from who knows where, I ran to the store for chicken soup. I had barely eaten in the last two days…and had nothing simple to fix. Most everything didn’t sound good, except soup. I rented a couple cheesy videos and returned home, curled up in bed and spent the afternoon. You have to understand that even when I admit I’m sick, I won’t lay in bed. I tend to crash on the couch instead. But today…it needed to be my bed. I have an appointment at 8 am tomorrow morning (which I really can’t cancel). And then I plan on once again taking it easy.
Sometimes I really do need to be hit over the head with a two by four.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Wanna buy a boat?
Today, the Kalakala is up for grabs to the highest bidder. It's an old ferry, built in the 1930's with an absolutely fascinating history. An international sensation, turned into a fish processing plant in Alaska and then refloated and returned to Seattle. Good story. See for yourself. Check out the timeline under the history link.
I would drive past this vessel and dream. Imagine a floating dungeon. Vacation getaways with fun accomodations, great food and innovative places to beat, tie up, or piss on. Imagine a row of slings, set up in the open air, fisting with the motion of the waves. Or...on a more personal note, could you imagine living in such an enviroment? Your home. Yeah, a little much...but why not?
Today, the Kalakala is up for grabs to the highest bidder. It's an old ferry, built in the 1930's with an absolutely fascinating history. An international sensation, turned into a fish processing plant in Alaska and then refloated and returned to Seattle. Good story. See for yourself. Check out the timeline under the history link.
I would drive past this vessel and dream. Imagine a floating dungeon. Vacation getaways with fun accomodations, great food and innovative places to beat, tie up, or piss on. Imagine a row of slings, set up in the open air, fisting with the motion of the waves. Or...on a more personal note, could you imagine living in such an enviroment? Your home. Yeah, a little much...but why not?
------------------------------
Last Sunday, while serving at brunch, I was hit with this huge feeling of being such a freak. So much so that right then and there, I immediately fantasized about disappearing from this world. The thought of no longer existing felt so good.
The kicker is, while feeling this, I was looking at the people gathered. There were other ‘others’, folks who live in the grey. Yet...I felt so friggin' bizarre....like a sideshow. There was this momentary full feeling of isolation. Writing about it now brings tears to my eyes and a pain in my chest. Total freak. That's me.
It seems like I’ve been in a holding pattern for a while. It hasn’t been a huge amount of time, but feels like forever. I think there’s something in the air.
Life has felt…routine, and almost boring. I've been very busy, but...still. I enjoy the times that each day brings. So why do I feel like I’m seeking something? There's a part of me immersed in each individual moment. And then I see myself watching myself interact in the day. The watching part of myself is waiting...and looking. It’s definitely unsettling and not the most comfortable place to be. Guess all I can do is ride this out…like anything else.
Last Sunday, while serving at brunch, I was hit with this huge feeling of being such a freak. So much so that right then and there, I immediately fantasized about disappearing from this world. The thought of no longer existing felt so good.
The kicker is, while feeling this, I was looking at the people gathered. There were other ‘others’, folks who live in the grey. Yet...I felt so friggin' bizarre....like a sideshow. There was this momentary full feeling of isolation. Writing about it now brings tears to my eyes and a pain in my chest. Total freak. That's me.
It seems like I’ve been in a holding pattern for a while. It hasn’t been a huge amount of time, but feels like forever. I think there’s something in the air.
Life has felt…routine, and almost boring. I've been very busy, but...still. I enjoy the times that each day brings. So why do I feel like I’m seeking something? There's a part of me immersed in each individual moment. And then I see myself watching myself interact in the day. The watching part of myself is waiting...and looking. It’s definitely unsettling and not the most comfortable place to be. Guess all I can do is ride this out…like anything else.
Friday, September 12, 2003
This just in from eMac Daily (Apple daily news headlines):
"The Beatles' Apple Corps. record label has sued Steve Jobs and Apple Computer over the creation of the iPod and iTunes."
Try this link for the full story.
Hopefully it works. If it doesn't, please drop me a line at: autre@graffiti.net and I'll see what else I can do.
"The Beatles' Apple Corps. record label has sued Steve Jobs and Apple Computer over the creation of the iPod and iTunes."
Try this link for the full story.
Hopefully it works. If it doesn't, please drop me a line at: autre@graffiti.net and I'll see what else I can do.
----------------------------
While in bed last night, I was thinking about what I wrote yesterday. I'd like to make a few clarifications. First, I do not believe that the men's community as a whole is an open orgy of sexual freedom. That depends on the individuals. Some are very much into playing only with their partners. And that is cool. I was speaking of my community, the one I am expanding.
Another thing is my tone. Sometimes I feel so strongly about a subject and know I need to temper my emotions when communicating my opinions. Unless of course I'm speaking with family or my therapist. They get to hear the full brunt of my ideas. But, if I came across as...too much...I apologize. That wasn't my intent.
And then on the other hand sometimes I do manage to keep down emotions in public and yet because it's boiling inside, I think I haven't. Does that make sense?
So...take it for what you will.
I am quite angry about most of what I see going on in this world. In general, I do feel lots of disdain toward our society. At times, I wouldn't be surprised if I end up as an expatriot later in life...living elsewhere. Sir used to tell me that if I wasn't angry I wasn't paying attention. But I believe there's being angry, and then there's being angry. Some is quite healthy and the rest, debillitating. In addition, it hurts to see how we are as a collective group of humans.
Why is it that we are surprised when we encounter kindness from strangers? Why isn't it the other way around?
I hope that one day I have the opportunity to travel and intermingle with other cultures. I'd really like to see how they live...their beliefs...their basic life ideas.
I was speaking with someone from Amsterdam recently. In his opinion, Americans are primitive in our ideas and treatment of others. That doesn't surprise me. The U.S. is still a brand new country, considering the rest of the world. Sometimes I view our country as an ornery teenager, developmentally. Or...maybe younger. Are Americans going through the terrible two's?
I don't know. What a somber piece this morning.
9-11 yesterday. I knew it and internally acknowledged it, yet couldn't speak about it. I do believe it's affected all of us so deeply, on so many levels.
Is it my imagination or has individual pain and tragedy intensified in the last two years? Has the thick grey smoke, dust and ash that blanketed the city covered our spirits?
While in bed last night, I was thinking about what I wrote yesterday. I'd like to make a few clarifications. First, I do not believe that the men's community as a whole is an open orgy of sexual freedom. That depends on the individuals. Some are very much into playing only with their partners. And that is cool. I was speaking of my community, the one I am expanding.
Another thing is my tone. Sometimes I feel so strongly about a subject and know I need to temper my emotions when communicating my opinions. Unless of course I'm speaking with family or my therapist. They get to hear the full brunt of my ideas. But, if I came across as...too much...I apologize. That wasn't my intent.
And then on the other hand sometimes I do manage to keep down emotions in public and yet because it's boiling inside, I think I haven't. Does that make sense?
So...take it for what you will.
I am quite angry about most of what I see going on in this world. In general, I do feel lots of disdain toward our society. At times, I wouldn't be surprised if I end up as an expatriot later in life...living elsewhere. Sir used to tell me that if I wasn't angry I wasn't paying attention. But I believe there's being angry, and then there's being angry. Some is quite healthy and the rest, debillitating. In addition, it hurts to see how we are as a collective group of humans.
Why is it that we are surprised when we encounter kindness from strangers? Why isn't it the other way around?
I hope that one day I have the opportunity to travel and intermingle with other cultures. I'd really like to see how they live...their beliefs...their basic life ideas.
I was speaking with someone from Amsterdam recently. In his opinion, Americans are primitive in our ideas and treatment of others. That doesn't surprise me. The U.S. is still a brand new country, considering the rest of the world. Sometimes I view our country as an ornery teenager, developmentally. Or...maybe younger. Are Americans going through the terrible two's?
I don't know. What a somber piece this morning.
9-11 yesterday. I knew it and internally acknowledged it, yet couldn't speak about it. I do believe it's affected all of us so deeply, on so many levels.
Is it my imagination or has individual pain and tragedy intensified in the last two years? Has the thick grey smoke, dust and ash that blanketed the city covered our spirits?
Thursday, September 11, 2003
One of my rants that has been banging in my head for a while, needing out.
I don't understand the poly idea. When I was first turned onto this lifestyle, I attempted to do "poly". Failing miserably, I vowed never again. I was feeling guilty, jealous, and hated juggling 4 people at the same time. Switching gears from one relationship to another was exhausting. It didn't work for me.
What I've since discovered is that life became much easier once I threw the word away. I have the impression that when people speak of poly relationships it appears to be based on monogamy...monogamy multiplied. And with that comes the fear that the extra relationships will turn into the primary or have the same expectations that the primary relationships have.
I believe that if you have a primary partner or significant other, and by the way I hate those terms. I detest the primary, secondary, etc way of categorizing people. And as for significant other, then it follows that all others you play with are insignificant. Ugh.
But what to call them? I don't know. For ease of this discussion, I'll just call them partner. Anyway, I think there's a special kind of love, a unique love you may have with a partner (if you choose that route). You do the daily stuff with this person. There's an intimacy that is exclusive to this relationship. You'll have your special secrets and rituals.
Yet, I really have no idea how one person can meet all your needs emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, sexually. I understand that some people appear to have a handle on that. More power to them. But my head just can't comprehend it. So that's where friends and strangers come in. It's okay to have friends to go to the movies with, and dinner with. Your partner may not enjoy the opera and therefore you have an opera buddy. They may detest lectures on scientific studies and so you find someone else to enjoy this with. Or, you simply call a friend to go window shopping with.
I don't understand why people make such a big deal when sex is the activity involved. This society has attached so much weight to sex and I feel it's caused more harm than good. We've thrown sex on this massive pedestal made of gold and judge all by this very thing.
The air is thick with whispers: She has too much sex, therefore she's a slut. Too much sex, can't be around children. He fools around, he's a player. Can't be trusted. He'll cheat on you. Thinks about sex all the time, must be a bad person. Can't commit. Will leave you.
You know the drill.
Afraid of intimacy. The kicker is...someone may enjoy playing and fucking with many, and therefore they are seen as being afraid of intimacy and commitment. Why don't we look at this another way...shall we?
Yes, some may be afraid to be intimate and therefore use sex to keep up walls. I've seen that. Folks can use anything to not reveal their heart.
But what if someone who enjoys sex and playing is actually ultimately becoming intimate with themselves, and therefore can create intimacy with others? It can be a full commitment to self.
Only when we are committed to our own selves can we then show ourselves to the rest of the world...and share in delights together.
One huge thing I cherish from the community I am immersing myself in, the gay men's community, is the sexual freedom. The opportunity to go to a party and fuck with one, such another's dick and then get beat by a third without anyone batting an eye...is heaven. Even if there are couples there who are committed to each other it's still no big deal. Words like poly aren't thrown around. To be able to walk into the Eagle, catch someone's eye and be on your knees with his pole in your mouth is...well, yeah...yum!
I do know that in some instances, the couples may have private negotiated limits. So, being responsible adults, they each know and deal with that accordingly. It's not a long drawn out affair. No drama. There's a fluidity that is as natural as breathing.
No process, no committees, and no bylaws on how it should or should not be done. It's living an open life, and not placing expectations and attachments on natural human desires and activities.
What screws us each and every time is our attachment to an idea or a method. I believe attachment creates an expectation which then creates disappointment. Attachment becomes a mental rulebook. Tragedy strikes when something falls away from the engraved golden page.
One of Sir's mantras to me over the last almost 4 years has been and still is, "Life is simple. Don't make it so complex."
I don't understand the poly idea. When I was first turned onto this lifestyle, I attempted to do "poly". Failing miserably, I vowed never again. I was feeling guilty, jealous, and hated juggling 4 people at the same time. Switching gears from one relationship to another was exhausting. It didn't work for me.
What I've since discovered is that life became much easier once I threw the word away. I have the impression that when people speak of poly relationships it appears to be based on monogamy...monogamy multiplied. And with that comes the fear that the extra relationships will turn into the primary or have the same expectations that the primary relationships have.
I believe that if you have a primary partner or significant other, and by the way I hate those terms. I detest the primary, secondary, etc way of categorizing people. And as for significant other, then it follows that all others you play with are insignificant. Ugh.
But what to call them? I don't know. For ease of this discussion, I'll just call them partner. Anyway, I think there's a special kind of love, a unique love you may have with a partner (if you choose that route). You do the daily stuff with this person. There's an intimacy that is exclusive to this relationship. You'll have your special secrets and rituals.
Yet, I really have no idea how one person can meet all your needs emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, sexually. I understand that some people appear to have a handle on that. More power to them. But my head just can't comprehend it. So that's where friends and strangers come in. It's okay to have friends to go to the movies with, and dinner with. Your partner may not enjoy the opera and therefore you have an opera buddy. They may detest lectures on scientific studies and so you find someone else to enjoy this with. Or, you simply call a friend to go window shopping with.
I don't understand why people make such a big deal when sex is the activity involved. This society has attached so much weight to sex and I feel it's caused more harm than good. We've thrown sex on this massive pedestal made of gold and judge all by this very thing.
The air is thick with whispers: She has too much sex, therefore she's a slut. Too much sex, can't be around children. He fools around, he's a player. Can't be trusted. He'll cheat on you. Thinks about sex all the time, must be a bad person. Can't commit. Will leave you.
You know the drill.
Afraid of intimacy. The kicker is...someone may enjoy playing and fucking with many, and therefore they are seen as being afraid of intimacy and commitment. Why don't we look at this another way...shall we?
Yes, some may be afraid to be intimate and therefore use sex to keep up walls. I've seen that. Folks can use anything to not reveal their heart.
But what if someone who enjoys sex and playing is actually ultimately becoming intimate with themselves, and therefore can create intimacy with others? It can be a full commitment to self.
Only when we are committed to our own selves can we then show ourselves to the rest of the world...and share in delights together.
One huge thing I cherish from the community I am immersing myself in, the gay men's community, is the sexual freedom. The opportunity to go to a party and fuck with one, such another's dick and then get beat by a third without anyone batting an eye...is heaven. Even if there are couples there who are committed to each other it's still no big deal. Words like poly aren't thrown around. To be able to walk into the Eagle, catch someone's eye and be on your knees with his pole in your mouth is...well, yeah...yum!
I do know that in some instances, the couples may have private negotiated limits. So, being responsible adults, they each know and deal with that accordingly. It's not a long drawn out affair. No drama. There's a fluidity that is as natural as breathing.
No process, no committees, and no bylaws on how it should or should not be done. It's living an open life, and not placing expectations and attachments on natural human desires and activities.
What screws us each and every time is our attachment to an idea or a method. I believe attachment creates an expectation which then creates disappointment. Attachment becomes a mental rulebook. Tragedy strikes when something falls away from the engraved golden page.
One of Sir's mantras to me over the last almost 4 years has been and still is, "Life is simple. Don't make it so complex."
------------------------------
My thoughts on inflexibility were sparked by a friend. I've watched this guy for a while. Periodically we'd get together and talk. Increasingly, I'm more and more uncomfortable around him. His view of life has become more rigid and therefore anything that doesn't fit within a 2 inch radius is considered hellish and just plain wrong. As his ideas of how to live shrink, his hatred increases tenfold. With this, his health is declining as well.
Last week, I spent some time with him and became incredibly concerned. Venom spewed from his lips. I've never before been in the presence of such black bitterness.
It's quite sad because we are all complex. I've seen his vulnerability and his kindness. I've seen his heart. Yet in the last few months it appears that anger is consuming the light in him. Sigh. I'm afraid this will kill him and hurt others around him.
My thoughts on inflexibility were sparked by a friend. I've watched this guy for a while. Periodically we'd get together and talk. Increasingly, I'm more and more uncomfortable around him. His view of life has become more rigid and therefore anything that doesn't fit within a 2 inch radius is considered hellish and just plain wrong. As his ideas of how to live shrink, his hatred increases tenfold. With this, his health is declining as well.
Last week, I spent some time with him and became incredibly concerned. Venom spewed from his lips. I've never before been in the presence of such black bitterness.
It's quite sad because we are all complex. I've seen his vulnerability and his kindness. I've seen his heart. Yet in the last few months it appears that anger is consuming the light in him. Sigh. I'm afraid this will kill him and hurt others around him.
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
Are you familiar with Rob Brezsny's horoscopes? His work isn't the traditional, standard astrology stuff. They are published each week in The Stranger and Village Voice. I'm sure it's published in other places as well. They also appear in my box every Wednesday. I personally find them to be a treat, and so do my coworkers (now that I've hooked them onto it) I forward them the email each Wednesday, even if I'm on vacation. And, if I forget...they make sure to let me know!
Here it is for all of you! Freewill Astrology
Here it is for all of you! Freewill Astrology
--------------------------
I'm not going to be very eloquent this morning. As the season is changing, so are my sleeping habits. It's darker later in the morning, and my body is taking advantage of this. Waking is becoming more difficult. I'm groggier and would rather stay in bed. Seems like my body is catching up for the lack of summer sleep caused by the long days of sunlight. Therefore, my thoughts aren't as clear in the a.m.
Wanna know what I've been thinkin' about? More accurately, one of the things that has been working my head.
Yesterday I came to a realization. Inflexibility is death.
It's not hatred, fear, anger, jealousy, pain, fill in the blank, that causes death, it's inflexibility. The others are all emotions and sensations. They don't have that kind of power. But, how we deal with that stuff can create death, a stuck place. I'm talking about the greater sense of death, not only physical but spiritually as well.
I've been trying to think about examples towards others and towards ourselves.
For an extreme example....think of the KKK. Their intense hatred of what they consider "other" may appear to cause death. But being stuck in that feeling is what causes it. We are all free to believe what we'd like. The difference is allowing others to live their lives and have their beliefs. It's remaining open enough and move thru your own stuff to see other options and push past your self created box.
I then thought of the pain that leads to suicide. That too is a stuck place - to hurt so bad that you feel the only way out is death. It is an inflexibility.
Now you may say, "wait a moment." "What about the pain from an illness or accident...a physical pain?" In that case, although our bodies may be evolving into something else...depending how we deal with the pain can cause a death of spirit.
I'm still thinking through all this, but these are my first more hopefully coherent thoughts regarding inflexibility.
Whoa. Just had another thought. It's a vicious circle. Hatred, bitterness etc. can lead to inflexibility which leads to heightening that particular emotion. Hamster wheel.
I'm not going to be very eloquent this morning. As the season is changing, so are my sleeping habits. It's darker later in the morning, and my body is taking advantage of this. Waking is becoming more difficult. I'm groggier and would rather stay in bed. Seems like my body is catching up for the lack of summer sleep caused by the long days of sunlight. Therefore, my thoughts aren't as clear in the a.m.
Wanna know what I've been thinkin' about? More accurately, one of the things that has been working my head.
Yesterday I came to a realization. Inflexibility is death.
It's not hatred, fear, anger, jealousy, pain, fill in the blank, that causes death, it's inflexibility. The others are all emotions and sensations. They don't have that kind of power. But, how we deal with that stuff can create death, a stuck place. I'm talking about the greater sense of death, not only physical but spiritually as well.
I've been trying to think about examples towards others and towards ourselves.
For an extreme example....think of the KKK. Their intense hatred of what they consider "other" may appear to cause death. But being stuck in that feeling is what causes it. We are all free to believe what we'd like. The difference is allowing others to live their lives and have their beliefs. It's remaining open enough and move thru your own stuff to see other options and push past your self created box.
I then thought of the pain that leads to suicide. That too is a stuck place - to hurt so bad that you feel the only way out is death. It is an inflexibility.
Now you may say, "wait a moment." "What about the pain from an illness or accident...a physical pain?" In that case, although our bodies may be evolving into something else...depending how we deal with the pain can cause a death of spirit.
I'm still thinking through all this, but these are my first more hopefully coherent thoughts regarding inflexibility.
Whoa. Just had another thought. It's a vicious circle. Hatred, bitterness etc. can lead to inflexibility which leads to heightening that particular emotion. Hamster wheel.
Monday, September 08, 2003
Fight Club is THE hottest, sexual movie I've seen thus far. I first experienced this lusty delight last year. Sir popped it in the dvd and...man oh man....I was hard throughout the whole, damned thing. I just found out the author released a new book. This sounds as dark and twisted as Fight Club. Check out this CNN article about the author, Chuck Palahniuk, and his new book "Diary".
Here's a quote from the above linked article. "So much of fiction is only concerned with the cognitive 'thoughts' of a character or the emotional 'feelings,' " the author says. "I want my books to involve the reader on a physical level as well. In some of my books, it's through the symptoms of illness. Medical stuff. In some books, it's through the pain of violence or surgery or self-mutilation.
One cliché states: 'If you don't know what to write next, describe the inside of the character's mouth,' " he adds. "I'm never too far from a physical sense in my plot, a smell or a pain or an orgasm."
For me, intense uncomfortable situations make for the best porn. That's why Fight Club did it for me. It was that combined with the rawness and the full physicality. I'm not a violent person. I won't kill a bee, yet will capture it and let it free at an open window. But...those scenes were hot, hot, hot. That kind of play turns me on. And, it's even better when I'm the one getting punched and beat by some big guy.
There's nothing sexier than stepping into dark places. Last week, I read a short story by Fledermaus, "Dance Master", found in the anthology "Tough Guys". Looking at the dance master's sadism, and then viewing an earlier part of his life, where he was a tortured sex slave tweaked me. I relished the incredible discomfort brought about by linking abuse and sexual pleasure. Give me a fantasy situation where my ethics and morals are challenged. Turn me on by fucking with my head and spirit. Reveal to me the violent animal that I inherently am, that we all are.
Here's a quote from the above linked article. "So much of fiction is only concerned with the cognitive 'thoughts' of a character or the emotional 'feelings,' " the author says. "I want my books to involve the reader on a physical level as well. In some of my books, it's through the symptoms of illness. Medical stuff. In some books, it's through the pain of violence or surgery or self-mutilation.
One cliché states: 'If you don't know what to write next, describe the inside of the character's mouth,' " he adds. "I'm never too far from a physical sense in my plot, a smell or a pain or an orgasm."
For me, intense uncomfortable situations make for the best porn. That's why Fight Club did it for me. It was that combined with the rawness and the full physicality. I'm not a violent person. I won't kill a bee, yet will capture it and let it free at an open window. But...those scenes were hot, hot, hot. That kind of play turns me on. And, it's even better when I'm the one getting punched and beat by some big guy.
There's nothing sexier than stepping into dark places. Last week, I read a short story by Fledermaus, "Dance Master", found in the anthology "Tough Guys". Looking at the dance master's sadism, and then viewing an earlier part of his life, where he was a tortured sex slave tweaked me. I relished the incredible discomfort brought about by linking abuse and sexual pleasure. Give me a fantasy situation where my ethics and morals are challenged. Turn me on by fucking with my head and spirit. Reveal to me the violent animal that I inherently am, that we all are.
------------------------------
I'm running out to meet wonderboy but I didn't want to ignore you. It was an intensely busy weekend, with a few more unexpected activities thrown in. Good and frenzied. In the midst of all this I was emotionally hit. That's where I'm at now. I called my therapist this morning to vent and make an appointment for later this week.
I know it's all part of my individual healing. Therefore the crash is ultimately good. But it doesn't make it any easier to go thru. And I am not going to vent about it here. It's too personal.
All of this weekend's service went well. Spent some really nice time with Sir, family and friends. And I want to leave you with something. Here's an article that landed in my inbox this morning. I enjoyed reading it, although I do disagree with a small point or two. More on bootblacking.
I miss writing lengthier entries. There's so much to write about. Now, all I need is time and energy. I do believe it'll come about soon. But beware! When it happens, I fear it may be a mishmash of thoughts, a large string of unconnected ideas and opinions. Enjoy your day!
I'm running out to meet wonderboy but I didn't want to ignore you. It was an intensely busy weekend, with a few more unexpected activities thrown in. Good and frenzied. In the midst of all this I was emotionally hit. That's where I'm at now. I called my therapist this morning to vent and make an appointment for later this week.
I know it's all part of my individual healing. Therefore the crash is ultimately good. But it doesn't make it any easier to go thru. And I am not going to vent about it here. It's too personal.
All of this weekend's service went well. Spent some really nice time with Sir, family and friends. And I want to leave you with something. Here's an article that landed in my inbox this morning. I enjoyed reading it, although I do disagree with a small point or two. More on bootblacking.
I miss writing lengthier entries. There's so much to write about. Now, all I need is time and energy. I do believe it'll come about soon. But beware! When it happens, I fear it may be a mishmash of thoughts, a large string of unconnected ideas and opinions. Enjoy your day!
Friday, September 05, 2003
Whoa...it's Friday already!
The week has flown, and I'm still buzzing. I leave the house about 6 am each morning and haven't been getting home until about 9 pm. It should slow down by next Monday. And I really hope to have time to write between now and then.
I miss you. I haven't meant to be negligent. That's life sometimes.
I'm leaving work early and taking some vacation time again, to help Sir at the house. Then it's bed shopping with a friend. Tomorrow, more service for Sir, and I'm catering tomorrow night. Sunday morning, I'm assisting Sir with a brunch He is holding, to introduce friends to a boy who is currently visiting Sir.
And now, I need to dash out the door and on to the next thing!
Talk with you later!
The week has flown, and I'm still buzzing. I leave the house about 6 am each morning and haven't been getting home until about 9 pm. It should slow down by next Monday. And I really hope to have time to write between now and then.
I miss you. I haven't meant to be negligent. That's life sometimes.
I'm leaving work early and taking some vacation time again, to help Sir at the house. Then it's bed shopping with a friend. Tomorrow, more service for Sir, and I'm catering tomorrow night. Sunday morning, I'm assisting Sir with a brunch He is holding, to introduce friends to a boy who is currently visiting Sir.
And now, I need to dash out the door and on to the next thing!
Talk with you later!
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
I've been so incredibly busy and today is no exception. I'm at work for 3 hours and then need to take vacation time and head out to Sir's to assist with work in His dungeon. It will be slowing down to a manageable pace tomorrow, and I plan on having a more substantial entry at that time. Thursday night I have tickets to a private early screening of "The Fighting Temptations." Haven't a clue if the movie will be good or not, but no matter. It'll be fun to check it out. I'm taking beautiful boy and sweet boy with me.
In the meantime, I'll leave you with some food for thought. I've been thinking a lot in the last week about being radical, sometimes so radical, that we become invisible. For example, when I was a dyke, I could walk down the street with my dyke friends or a girlfriend, and everyone would know we were dykes. Now, as a female gay guy, walking down the street with a gay man leads others to assume I'm straight. I'm more marginalized than before, and yet appear to fit in more cleanly now. I remember going to a leather event with Sir. Leather mind you, not vanilla. And someone came up to me and asked if Sir and I were married. Shit. I wasn't amused. I understand why it happens, but it saddens me. I'd love to see the world be such where all sorts of diverse lifestyles were accepted and therefore it would be more difficult for people to assume one type.
Yesterday morning, my coworkers and I were talking about gay marriage. Two of them so far have gone up to Vancouver BC to marry their longtime partners. I've been quite conflicted about gay marriage for the reason that it seems to me that gays want to take on straight roles. Yet on the other hand, I wholeheartedly believe that we all should be able to access any type of lifestyle we want. And, we should all be entitled to the same legal rights. So, I strongly support gay marriage for that reason. It's a powerful political act.
The world is not meant to be beige. It's all about loads of color and hues, and each being able to claim the life that fits them.
I'm going to stop here, because I have lots more to say and no time to say it. But, last night, in the Village Voice I saw this excellent article regarding gay marriage. It speaks about the very concerns I had. The article is long, but very much worth the read. Check it out. The Radical Case for Gay Marriage
In the meantime, I'll leave you with some food for thought. I've been thinking a lot in the last week about being radical, sometimes so radical, that we become invisible. For example, when I was a dyke, I could walk down the street with my dyke friends or a girlfriend, and everyone would know we were dykes. Now, as a female gay guy, walking down the street with a gay man leads others to assume I'm straight. I'm more marginalized than before, and yet appear to fit in more cleanly now. I remember going to a leather event with Sir. Leather mind you, not vanilla. And someone came up to me and asked if Sir and I were married. Shit. I wasn't amused. I understand why it happens, but it saddens me. I'd love to see the world be such where all sorts of diverse lifestyles were accepted and therefore it would be more difficult for people to assume one type.
Yesterday morning, my coworkers and I were talking about gay marriage. Two of them so far have gone up to Vancouver BC to marry their longtime partners. I've been quite conflicted about gay marriage for the reason that it seems to me that gays want to take on straight roles. Yet on the other hand, I wholeheartedly believe that we all should be able to access any type of lifestyle we want. And, we should all be entitled to the same legal rights. So, I strongly support gay marriage for that reason. It's a powerful political act.
The world is not meant to be beige. It's all about loads of color and hues, and each being able to claim the life that fits them.
I'm going to stop here, because I have lots more to say and no time to say it. But, last night, in the Village Voice I saw this excellent article regarding gay marriage. It speaks about the very concerns I had. The article is long, but very much worth the read. Check it out. The Radical Case for Gay Marriage
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