Wednesday, March 31, 2004

Here is Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology, a la April Fool.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

How are you?

(I've written and now notice a mishmash of ideas. They are quite connected but you may need to take big steps. Some are leaps, and yet I'm too tired to fully explain. That's what you get from me tonight.)
Blackbird asked me yesterday..."so how are you?"
I am excited and sad.  I'm filled with wonder, and much grief. 
I am opening my hand and letting go of hope.  In doing so, I notice I'm tapping into my faith. 
And I'm angry. 
A total mixed bag - it's all of these, all at once. 
Seeing where I've been and the manner in which I now view the world thrills me. 
Over the year I've periodically written how I'm not standing on solid ground and it's unsettling.  My discoveries over the last few months reaffirm the lack of earth beneath my feet.  But, through my mining, I am discovering the bedrock.


A big, fat truth.
Nunsequitur wrote:
"Service is only service when everyone is being served."


This morning I read Singletails and saw another big, basic truth.
He wrote:
"Our need to be known often surpasses our need to be loved."
I believe that much of our desire to be loved is actually a desire to be truly seen.
Seen and understood. 

Thanks Singletails for this gem.

A couple years ago I was speaking with an amazing painter who has a son.
This man said he feared he didn't have the ability to effectively impart the wisdom gained from life experience to his little boy.  And that was the greatest gift he wanted to bestow upon his boy.
I responded, "we are all born with the wisdom of the universe within us.  The best thing you can do is provide a safe, nurturing enviroment for your son.  Allow him to discover who he is, love unconditionally.  Provide the protected field for him to explore and seek.  In that, his all-knowing wisdom will blossom."
Creating a haven where a child can grow without guilt and shame, filled with love, is the best gift we can give them.  
They won't grow up with the need to be known or understood.  They will see it within themselves.
That's the ideal.
What was odd about that encounter is how I had never uttered those words before, let alone consciously had the thought.
This man asked, and out flowed the words.  Afterwards, I was quite taken aback by what I said. 
It felt like a premonition of sorts...for my life.

During my thesis year, I was painting like mad.  If I wasn't painting, I was drawing.  Immersed, obsessed and highly focused.
I always work on many paintings at a time.  My best work tends to lay itself on a canvas rich with a history of my ideas and marks.
There was a particular painting, approximately 14 x 17.  A fierce struggle ensued...for months. I battled the canvas and it was winning.  A wrestling match such as I'd never before experienced with art.
Painting upon painting upon painting.
One day...something happened.  A painting appeared, unlike any I'd ever done before...or any I've yet to do.  It burst forth and spewed off my fingers, colors similar yet different than what I normally use.  The manner, unique as well.  It was hugely abstract, in a time where I'd never painted that way.  I was immersed in realism.
A few months later, the painting sold.  To this day I regret selling because I know it was a window into my future. 
Regret comes from fear. I am afraid I can't achieve that same moment of greatness.
I need to let go of that one, and trust it can happen again.
If we truly believed that every moment is perfect...even our mistakes, it doesn't leave much room for regret, does it?
I see that painting in the way I saw those words to that man.  Prophesy of sorts...for my life. It foreshadowed the possibilities that lay before me. It portrayed a freedom in paint, that resides within me.

I only need to let go of ego and open the goddamed door.

It's been a crazy, busy and not yet over day. I've been focused on pulling a large query of 8,000 names with details for a specific report. Separating it into different categories has been a challenge. And each step of the way I'm afraid I'll forget something, and will have to start again. It's normally a one week process that I'm cramming into 2 days. I just completed it and emailed it off.

In addition...I began a blog entry. I saved it as a draft...but finally emailed it to my home a little while ago. I'll work on that tonight. Then my mind is reeling about another writing piece for something else.

While working on the excel sheet, and thinking about these two things...I'm also mentally working out a third chunk of writing that's due tomorrow. I've put this one off for 2 months because it's complex. Too many thoughts to place in a short space, and cohesively to boot. My heart is racing, and I'm a tad jittery inside. Twice I've left work to get some fresh air, calm down and try to clear my head.

So what do I do? Stop everything to write here and say hi. Ha.
Yeah...the prince of procrastination. That's me.

Monday, March 29, 2004

The latest from Massachusetts:
"Massachusetts Legislatures adopts ban on gay marriage that would legalize civil unions - rather than taking those steps separately. It clarifies that civil unions would not grant federal benefits to gay couples."

Want to see the difference between a civil union and a marriage?

Although I haven't spoken of this in a while, I still read what I can, and am quite curious to see how it all plays out. I'm stll highly supportive of whatever steps our queer family and their allies are taking. No one way is perfect. But I love seeing all the rocks thrown into the much too still pond and dancing around the ripples created.

I personally don't care if it's called union or marriage. But this is what I strongly believe. Everyone, gay and straight, should be entitled to some type of civil partnership, providing full and equal benefits. Then, and only once that step has been achieved, via license, and certification, can they "sanctify" their relationship in the church of their choice, if they so choose.

Taking the civil aspect one step further, I believe that love or romance should not be a factor in a civil partnership. What if you have two best friends who've been together and shared in each others lives? They could have been previously married and now widowed, or chose not to marry. They may not believe in a traditional, monogamous love relationship. They could be strongly committed to each other and should also have access to the same benefits. It's not that far-fetched. Heterosexuals have been engaging in marriages of convenience for years. Arranged marriages, unions to guarantee social standing, an easy access to wealth...or to strengthen a lineage. But when we put it out there, opening it to all, all of a sudden it sounds so scary and radical, doesn't it?

Now..if someone chooses to do the religious thing as well, it would be up to the church to decide whether or not they will recognize a certain union. I don't believe in discrimination, and yet at the same time do believe in private organizations creating their own policies. We absolutely positively need to separate church and state. I for one am extremely offended that Christians attempt to speak for me, create laws based on a morality that stems from their shortsighted and conveniently censored vision and belief system. I don't believe in their God, and I'm not alone. It's not part of my faith and spirituality. But I'm supportive and am intrigued by the multitude of belief systems in our world.

Our government officials have no business whatsoever using the word "sanctity" or "sanctify". It doesn't have a place in our political system. The lines are blurring and it's pissing me off.

As an aside, here is a little history regarding the pledge of allegiance. The term "under God" was not added until the 1950's.

"To paint is to love again. It’s only when we look with eyes of love that we see as a painter sees. His is a love, moreover, which is free of possessiveness. What the painter sees he is duty bound to share. Usually he makes us see and feel what ordinarily we ignore or are immune to. His manner of approaching the world tells us, in effect, that nothing is vile or hideous, nothing is stale, flat and unpalatable unless it be our own power of vision. To see is not merely to look. One must look-see."
--Henry Miller

Yesterday, I stumbled upon that quote for the very first time.
Quite appropriate, wouldn't you say?

Also, I did spend time in my studio.
Painting? Nope. Cleaning? Oh yes....!
What a sense of achievement.
Major fluffing.

Reorganize and redesign. After pulling out trash, putting the frames in the closet, emptying boxes and placing their contents on a large shelving unit, I stood back and breathed. Clean, easy breaths.

I found the very first painting I've ever done. It's painted in acrylics, small, about 9x12. This was from my first painting lesson with my mom.
A small house on a hill. Turning the painting over I discovered I signed, titled and dated the painting.
"The Lone House" - October 1973

Fishing through a pile of art, I saw the notice I created for my first real show after graduation. I consider it a real show because I sent out invitations and had an opening. A month earlier I showed work, but it was a simple hanging in a bakery...not a formal showing.

This 'real' show consisted of works on paper - either charcoal or watercolor, all black and white. A study in contrasts. The charcoals were large, up to over 4 feet. They were juxtaposed with miniature watercolors, some as small as 3 inches, none larger than 8 inches. I asked invitees to wear black and white to the opening (to match the art).

Holding the notice in my hands brought me back to that evening. I titled the series. Reading it...I cried. More memories returned. "The Alteridem Series"
Alteridem - latin for 'other self'

At the time, I was newly introduced to s/m. My very first top, who I met online, came up for the show. She spent a week with me, and had my first in person scene during that visit.

Other Self. Oh yeah.

My second top, who I was collared to, told me my first priority was to paint. I remember taking a week's vacation, because I had a show back east, and needed to complete paintings to be able to ship them out. She would give me a list of things to do in the house, yet I wasn't to begin until I finished painting for the day.

While in training with Sir, we spent a lot of time working on combining my painting with my sex.

The Bear and wonderboy are extremely supportive of my painting. So much so they dream about having the capacity to build me a studio space, near them. We'd be working side by a sense.

Sitting in my clean studio...I was filled with all those thoughts. I looked at the pots and vases on the shelf, my still life collection, and smiled, knowing they all came from Sir. The shelving unit itself came from Always Erect. I touch it and think of him.

It seems that no matter where I look, with my painting, I'm filled with the love of my evolving Leather Family.
I feel P and D are becoming a part of that. We've spoken of beginning a salon of sorts. Getting together and doing show and tell. See what kind of discussion is sparked, and sharing in each other's energy.

This weekend, it dawned on me that I've somehow surrounded myself with incredibly brilliant, imaginative, creative men.

Powerful time in the studio.

Afterwards, I met the Bear and wonderboy. We were headed to a restaurant to hang out, eat, drink and read. In addition to our books, I brought my sketchpad. Relaxing, delightful afternoon. While there, we bumped into Tattoo'd Bear and his partner. Two of my other loves. I informally offered my services to assist with painting rooms in his home. We briefly talked about the possibility.

Yeah, all in all, a fucking good day.

I'll leave you with a repeat of Henry Miller's words:
"His manner of approaching the world tells us, in effect, that nothing is vile or hideous, nothing is stale, flat and unpalatable unless it be our own power of vision. To see is not merely to look. One must look-see."

Saturday, March 27, 2004

Yesterday, I was feeling a tad nervous, knowing I need to deal with my painting somehow. It's one thing to feel, "I paint only when my muse appears." It's quite another to realize that, for my sanity and my life...I NEED to be painting, regardless of what kind of space I'm in. I am becoming aware of the fact that paint is food for me. And even when I don't feel like eating, my body still needs the fuel.

I know I'm bad with that because I literally do it with food as well. I love food. Totally love food. But when I'm tense, depressed and down, I have no appetite. Yet, due to my low blood sugar, I have to force myself to eat...even if it's only a banana or a handful of peanuts. I need to make sure I've put a little something in my mouth every 3 hours or so. Unless of course I'm tucked in a hood and sleepsack. :-) No physically energy being expended...and my soul is feeding off other things at the time.

Well...apparently, painting is the same damned thing. I need to look at it as food for my spirit. S/M nourishes my spirit as well, in a different way. As painting is the nutrition, S/M enhances it. I now understand it's like taking vitamins.
I can't live strictly on vitamins. But they complete my food intake.

Anyway, while feeling anxious about all this, I received an email. I sent someone my long post on my painting insights. They are a writer, and know the pain of art well. They responded with the following:

"So .... X is recording this weekend and I am writing and it is spring (buds, blooms, etc.) and you are the other peg in our artist corner..., so what are you doing this weekend?  Hmmm?

I hope you find some time to get messy.  You don't even have to paint.  You could just play with your brushes."

"You could just play with your brushes."

While at dinner last night, I mentioned the suggestion to the Bear. He thought it was perfect as well. And he added, "you could just go in and fluff up your studio."

It's so not a bad idea. Number one...I can barely walk into my studio. There's a long closet that's essentially empty. And yet, I've somehow collected loads of frames and old canvases of others (to paint over). Everything is stacked against all the walls, and encroaching into the center of the room. Some fluffing, as he put it, is definitely in order.
And, in doing so, not only am I preparing myself...but yes, claiming, (a word used quite a bit this week), my space.

The writer's suggestion of simply holding my brushes is also ideal in a different way. It's a beautiful reintroduction. A gentle step back into the pool.

Friday, March 26, 2004

Congratulations to Edge for achieving his 100 Bloggers!

There were two bloggers needed, and I noticed this morning that Draignoeth became the 99th and Hoss' boy became the 100th Leather blogger.

I've connected with some amazing people through this project. This space has allowed me the contact I wouldn't necessarily have achieved elsewhere.

Today is a day off. It was an incredibly busy week and come yesterday afternoon, I was fried. Wednesday night, I hit the leather tag sale at The Cuff and scored 8 old Drummer Magazines for 25 cents each. I didn't stay long because I was tired. When I have plans in town, I don't go home first. So most of the week found me at my desk from about 6 am to 5 pm, and then attending something on the make it home, crawl into bed about 11pm. Beat. Totally beat.

Tonight, I'm having dinner with Hoss, his boy, the Bear and wonderboy. It'll be fun...I'm looking forward to it. Tomorrow night is the WA State Mr/Ms Leather contest.

Other than plans. My house needs tending to. And yes, I need to poke my energy into my studio.

Tuesday's realization of how critical painting is in my life is settling in. I've been so busy I haven't concretely focused on its impact. Instead, it's slowly washing over me.

Claiming my slave identity during the boy panel, and also needing to claim my painting because I now recognize its brand on my soul, has been huge stuff. In addition to the running around this week, this has heightened my tiredness.

I know I can talk and process my discovery to death. In the end...I will still have to walk in and paint. In some way, I sense I need to step into that space and literally bow to my easel. Why do I feel like this is a huge act of submission? I guess it is. To myself. Fully trusting and handing myself over to the me I am meant to become. Again, in the act of being...I watch myself manifest into this absolutely unknown entity. Bluntly, it scares the shit out of me.

I've spent most of my life fighting. Fighting to be heard, to be seen, to be paid attention to, to be accepted, and to be unconditionally loved.

This week I had a huge realization (yes, along with many others in a short span of 24 hours) that there is no reason for me to fight. I can put down my arms, unclench my fists, and simply allow myself to be. There is no reason to defend myself. I just have to be who I am, and it will all fall into place.

Thursday, March 25, 2004

Morning everyone.
Here is the delayed entry I mentioned on Tuesday.

What happened was...I began writing...and writing...and writing. When I finished, I knew that I had spoken an incredibly deep personal truth in the last couple paragraphs. So much so, I sobbed for a very long time.

This nugget excited me. In addition to being jazzed, there was some fear inside, and so wanted to share it with my shrink first. I called him and we made an appointment for yesterday. I needed to experience this with him in person. Email or phone wouldn't do.

You see, many of my insights don't feel like a big deal to me. I even shared one with him on Monday and negotiated a "no reaction" clause otherwise I wasn't going to spill it. I made him promise that he was not to get excited. It needed to be a matter of fact moment. But this particular one felt big.
Before speaking with him, I told him I expected to see some type of jubilation from him. Nothing less than jumping up and down would do. Bossy, aren't I?

Here you go...

This work I'm doing with my shrink is absolutely fascinating and incredibly difficult at the same time. It's like I make it over a hurdle or through a wall (not quite sure which is the better analogy), to then have the opportunity to smile, breath and relax, until it's time for the next challenge. I know you've heard it before. Stick with me and I'm sure you'll hear it again. I trust that one day...the intense pace of my internal learning will lessen.

I have this bad habit. It's the same thing I do with essay questions - leave stuff out. All the information is in my head...and as I speak or doesn't fully get articulated. Although I know the steps, it can't make the journey from my head to my hand, or to my mouth.

Well...I do the same thing with my shrink. I'll toss something out, and he'll look at me, puzzled...or thrilled, as if it's a new thought.

"No reason to be excited, I've known this all along", I'll say.

Then he reminds me that I need to cue him in.

On Monday, I mentioned having watched "Under the Tuscan Sun" this past weekend, and how I could see myself living there for a portion of the time. 3 months a year in Tuscany...not a bad thing! Then I spoke how in my last year in school, I was in the process of applying for a Fullbright scholarship to study painting in Italy. At the last moment, I realized I needed to know Italian. I can't remember the requirements, but I think it was at least one year of Italian, maybe two. I had none. Instead of pursuing it...I dropped it.

My shrink looked at me.

I then mentioned my almost MFA at Indiana U, in Bloomington. Being chosen as an alternate the first year, it was strongly suggested I reapply the next, seeing there would be a very good chance I'd be granted one of the coveted slots. With my paperwork in order, I went to seek out my slide portfolio. For a few weeks I looked everywhere and couldn't find it. The deadline arrived, and went. The very next day I found my slides..tucked on a bookshelf under a book.

A little self-sabotage? Not.
Instead, how about a lot of self-sabotage?

The shrink says, "well...looks like a pattern."

Ummm...I thought I had mentioned all this to him before, but apparently, once again, left stuff out. I could see new puzzle pieces in his head begin to come together and fit with the information he'd already acquired.

He said it would really help if I actually verbalize this stuff to him. It was a total "duh" moment. I mean, I know this stuff, and thought I spoke of it before, but apparently it never made it out of my brain.

The reason I omit information is beause I feel it's common knowledge. No sense in belaboring the point, right? Although, there is plenty I do belabor. Sounds like a control thing to me.

See how I am?

Monday's session immerses me in thoughts...the past and the big question that is the future.

It took 20 years to complete my degree. Each time I succeeded and began to hit my stride, I would quit.

In my second year, a professor came up to me, watched me paint and then, out of the blue said "you are afraid of succeeding."

During my thesis year...when we would present and defend our work to the faculty, I was pulled aside and told, "we didn't want to beat up our prize race horse." That was in response to my question of why I made it through the first showing unscathed. These sessions were rigorous, and at any point you could be told to begin again, or maybe you needed to drop out of the program.

I'm good. I know I'm very good at what I do. In the last few years I've become acutely aware of that. I never quite believed it before.

What I still need to learn is that I'm worthy of who I am and of the possibility of me. I need to believe I can claim my place in the world.

The summer I received a fellowship to paint, I worked closely with one professor. He became my mentor for my last year. At one point, while watching me paint, he expressed his frustration with my work. He said, "for the life of me I cannot understand how you can be so free in your charcoals and watercolors, and yet you're afraid to do it in your oils. You have the skill and the technique down pat...and you've proven that you can reveal yourself, yet you aren't bringing that same level of expression to your oil paintings."

This prof was always fairly calm and contained. But I could tell he was frustrated, from his words and mannerism. He was sputtering and stumbling over his words...using hand gestures and pacing. He became angry because he could not understand why I seemed more stilted with oils than with other mediums. He's a brilliant artist and teacher, and yet, he was stumped. Absolutely discombobbled.

I took him quite seriously because I could see the steam coming from his ears and watched his face turn red. He saw the pattern, which I'd not noticed until then. It confused me as well, but apparently I quickly forgot about it...until now.

Last week I told my shrink, "I am making a mockery of me by not painting."

The words flowed off my tongue with ease and took me by surprise.
I've never used the word "mockery" in relation to myself before.

Big stuff in there.

It's strange. When things get difficult and my heart hurts something fierce, there is a little voice inside that says, "paint". And yet, I see myself as the happy painter. I've never been able to paint when distressed.

In many ways I'm lost and wandering, always seeking who I am. At the same time I strongly and fiercely know that I can be found in front of a canvas. The real me has hands stained with paint and smell of turpentine. It's the me that can cum from the drama of creation. My creation.

Paint girlfag...paint.
You must paint.

I know because I know because I know that in painting I am whole.
That is where my faith resides. I live in painting.

This is a big statement to make. I feel alive in other ways as well. Simple, quiet times, working on a challenging query, being silly with friends, hands in dirt working the garden, locked in the cage, or standing at the back bloodied from the singletail. But painting is my umbilical cord, connecting me to the source, the common thread in my tapestry.

Within this wholeness, my community evolves. It is in painting I can move forward, achieve and manifest all I desire.

Painting is the key.

Painting is my father and my mother.
Painting is my true family.

It is paint that will not abandon me, in spite of how often I try to push it away. It has and continues to call to me.

It seduces me. My ultimate lover.
It beckons, in deep whispers...

...Paint girlfag...paint.

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

God really does get in the way of common sense at times.

I, for one, wholeheartedly support the idea of having "under God" taken out of the pledge of allegiance.
Last night Hoss' boy and I met for a wonderful evening. We apparently seem to be in the beginnings of a salad, chowder and red wine tradition. This time it was Septieme's, and their soup of the day was a chicken chowder. Our eyes lit up. Amidst good food and drink, we gabbed away. Or maybe...I'm the one who talked like crazy. Hmmm...need to watch that. I don't want to continually talk his ear off.

As we were leaving, my favorite waiter came by for a hi and a hug. He mentioned that he wanted to stop by earlier, but the boy and I were so engrossed in our conversation that favorite waiter didn't want to interrupt.

Afterwards our plans were to head over to The Cuff because there was a boy/boi panel discussion. You know I'm not a boy, nor a girl. But by the end of the evening, what I realized was...sometimes, you need to make your mark from within the system. Otherwise you are a lone warrior...with a lone voice, and there's no one to hear.

At the end, I walked up to one of the boys I know who is a part of Seattle Boys of Leather. He had the list for those who wanted to sign up. Looking at him I said, "you know me...I'm not this nor that. Whatcha think? Would it be appropriate?"
He said, "girlfag, shut up, relax, and give me your email address."

It was a fun evening. I was greeted by one of our former titleholders. He's a really nice man, and the only one thus far who does intentional breath control on me by hugging me. It never fails. In his arms, I cum and then just about pass out from the mini play. Hot, I tell you. I can feel the pressure against my chest and the stress on my ribs. There's always that titillating bit of fear...and then I let go.

Something pretty cool happened during the discussion. Listening to the 4 boys on the panel, I heard satisfactory and at times eloquent explanations and opinions. There were a few I didn't agree with, and others, I wanted further elaboration. At times, the answers felt too pat.

Throughout all this, I look at myself...who I am and how I fit in the greater leather community. My individual identity. Feeling their energy, listening to them, I'm comparing myself. Again, I feel...I'm not a boy (not the gender but the role). But...I'm sure I'm not a slave either.
So an intense game of badminton is going on in my head during the discussion.

At one point, someone asked the panel to discuss the difference between a boy and a slave. One boy, extremely articulate and insighful, was giving his opinion. This boy so impressed me that I approached him afterwards, and introduced myself. But in his boy/slave explanation he said something I really needed to expand upon. His comment was about how he felt he was too much in control in his daily life to be a slave, and how slaves seemed to be people who didn't like making decisions and didn't want to be so responsible. I'm sure I've slaughtered his words, but that's essentially what I understood.

Raising my hand, the moderator smiled, asked me to stand and suggested I speak to the full room, not the panel. Ummm...have I ever mentioned how nervous I get about talking in front of a crowd of people? I do better sitting in my chair and shooting out a question or something.

Taking a breath, I said that although I am still learning, the few slaves I knew were folks who were incredibly decisive and responsible in their own lives. Being a slave was not about being micro-managed. And there aren't too many Masters who can do just that. It's exhausting. Then I mentioned how there was a vast freedom in slavery, just like the liberation found in a cage. There's a responsibility in slavery. It takes intuition and foresight. It's not about being dragged.
I noticed, as I spoke, tears came to my eyes, and my voice cracked. In that moment, I knew...knew because I knew...I was speaking about me.

I heard murmurs of agreement from the audience, and then some clapping as I sat. I was shaking as I fell into my chair. The breath control/hugger Top approached me at the end and mentioned he had intentionally asked that question, because he wanted me to speak up.

The badminton game ceased, and I knew that in describing slavery, I claimed slavery.
This week's Freewill Astrology.

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Well...just to let you know....the entry I teased you with will have to wait until tomorrow evening.

In the meantime, can I say that I've been one big bundle of exposed, raw nerves???

It seems that almost everywhere I turn, I bump into something that feels quite wounding. After blowing up at work this morning and then apologizing to those in proximity of the strike zone, I was somewhat encouraged when speaking with one coworker who has also experienced such rigorous therapy. In his case he was only raw for about 6 months. Fabulous, eh? (note the sarcasm)

It makes it tough in the sense of planning. I try to make plans because I'm feeling okay. Something will later hit me and I'm too much of a mess to make the date. It seems I cancel more than follow through. I've cancelled on one particular person twice in the last 3 days. Please be patient with me?

I have a handful of friends that I feel quite safe with, and can be with...whether or not I am bleeding. It prevents me from remaining too solitary and therefore is a very good thing.

Tonight is one of those times. Hoss' boy and I are getting together this evening. I am really looking forward to it. Last night I had a phone date with blackbird. It was great fun. He's so easy to talk with. We've attempted to connect by phone on various occasions. Tough to do with a 3 hour time difference and busy schedules. They, like a few others, are salve for my spirit.
I just read a very intelligent and well written entry from Gay American. He is much more eloquent than I was in last week's rant. In "The Lie We Fight Is The Obvious One", he begins with:

"It's weird that we actually fight for marriage equality. That we argue over the reasons we should be included in a society of people we're actually no different from. Even the political party we're most aligned with doesn't recognize us as full partners in the human experience, and worse, we've been trained to support them..."

A little further down he writes:

"Mark Twain....speaks of the 'silent assertion', the lie that we all tell when we act as if there's nothing so important that it deserves our attention. It's the only way that society could ever come up with a rational excuse for slavery, or keep same-sex couples from the legal right to marry."

Read the whole damned thing.
Good morning.

I am unapologetically going to be a tease right now. Spending the last hour writing out this morning's entry, I came to a huge, massive realization. Because of this, I've decided to hold off on posting until I can share it with someone first. But I promise, you'll be the next in line.

Talk with you later.

Monday, March 22, 2004

I just found this quote on a friend's email:

"If you removed all of the homosexuals and homosexual influence
from what is generally regarded as American culture, you would
pretty much be left with Let's Make A Deal."
~Fran Lebowitz
Mad World (lyrics by Tears for Fears)

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
’cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very
Mad world

Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy birthday, happy birthday
Made to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
’cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very
Mad world

Listen to Gary Jules' haunting rendition.

Friday, March 19, 2004

Today is the birthday of Georges De La Tour. A follower of Caravaggio's, he too used the power of chiaroscuro in his work.

I'd never thought about it before, but those are the type of paintings that draw me in quickly and smoothly. The impact created by the bold use of lights and create space and depiction excite me. I would paint and paint, and then use my lights as a sword, consciously scarring the canvas. Blocking out the lights and darks would be a fundamental part of my architecture. But one of my favorite parts is when I'd hold off as long as possible, then finally load my brush with paint and lay in the lights within the dark. Definitely an orgasm moment.

My newer paintings have subtler touches of shadows and highlights. While in school, I was crazy about expanding the gulf between light and dark. I haven't had the opportunity to play with dramatic lighting these last few years...although still painting on the darker side of the palette, there is less contrast in my value scale than in the past.

Drama, created with light and the lack thereof...hmmm.
It seems that's how I enjoy life as well. I need the contrast, the action created by light and dark. It gives me something to immerse my flesh in and sink my teeth into. I hunger for the large dark spaces, almost oblivious of detail. It becomes a forest at night, with only a flashlight cutting thru the path. I have no idea what lies in the black void. Intrigue. My heart races and I taste fear.

Now that I think about just like another of my passions.
The singletail.
Last night was a blast. Hoss' boy and I went out for dinner. Good food and conversation that just doesn't stop. We met a year ago and immediately clicked. At the time I was still wearing Sir's training collar and of course that brought up questions. I remember explaining the weirdness that is my life and will never forget when he said "you have forebears."

He was at the Catacombs when only one female would be there, invited and playing in the slutty, cummy, pissy, heavy testosterone charged atmosphere. (sounds like heaven). Listening to him, it was the first time where I felt I wasn't truly alone, but there were other freaks like me. Females whose orientation is gay male, not lesbian or straight, and they aren't going to transition because they know gender and sexual orientation do not always go hand in hand.

I think he kinda gets me. He gets the fact that I'm not a girl and I'm not a boy. I've been invited to become a part of leather women's organizations, and I've needed to decline. It doesn't feel honest for me to join. Yet, although there's a leather boy's group that allows all genders...that hasn't felt right either. I'm both, I'm all, I'm none...I am other.

The last time I identified as a dyke was 3 years ago this spring. I remember as I wrote down "leatherdyke" for a press release...something inside whispered, "uhoh...not sure if I can still use that." Since then, it has been relegated to my box of cherished memories.

I try to remain patient with the questions and assumptions. This week I was at dinner with Sir and others. One boy asked me, "but if you are attracted to men, there are loads of straight guys to play with." He didn't understand. It's more than a dick. It's about queer culture, being marginalized and discriminated against. It's a different way of looking at and being in the world. Bless Beautiful boy. He jumped right in and explained it to the questioning boy. I reassured questioning boy it was not a dumb question, and I'm glad he asked.

But sometimes I do get tired. That's where the loneliness sets in and the sense of isolation expands from. It's such a huge gift when someone sees me...really sees me, by feeling me or looking in my eyes. I can tell they aren't reliant on the paradigms we've all been brought up with. Yet it shows me they are radical and free thinkers. Trust me, I acknowledge those moments and don't let them go by.

Gee, didn't mean to go off on that.

Last night, I enjoyed and relished Hoss' boy's ideas and opinions. We had such a good time. You know how sometimes things are just easy between two people? That's how it is when he and I get together. I also really like his writings, his work. And I look forward to next Tuesday night. Thank you.
I've meant to make you aware of something for quite a while, and have been remiss in doing so. Draignoeth is blogging again. He has a very special place in my heart and I miss him quite a bit. He lives on the east coast.

I was excited when he began blogging in December. He created his blog while on a visit to Seattle. When he returned east, there were internet problems and so couldn't post. Those have since been resolved and he is blogging regularly. Yeah!

I'm asking a favor of any html savvy folks. There's something wrong with Draignoeth's template. See how each older entry shrinks in type size? Could anyone out there give him pointers? Please????
Email him at:
Tell him girlfag sent you. :-)

Thursday, March 18, 2004

Gotta change the laws.

She Served Her Country But Army Vet Can't Get VA Loan Because She's A Lesbian.

I may piss people off but I don't care. I don't understand...simply do not understand how a queer person can be so gung ho on fighting for our country, knowing they will be treated as second class citizens. Don't ask, don't tell. Fuck.

"Yes, you can die for us, but no, we will not legally recognize your partnership as legal with all the benefits het couples receive."

"Yes, you still may get discriminated from your job or apartment and I'm sorry, we can't help you out there."

"No, don't even think of receiving the same vet benefits that the 'sanctified' person can receive. Look, it's in black and white. You are not allowed."

"You are not a person. But, please...come fight with us. We need your much so that we won't even ask if you're queer."

We are accepted as strong backs and arms to hold rifles. Lesbians are fully accepted when it comes to fueling the fantasies of straight men. Gay designers are embraced by those who are inept. We can sing and dance for you. Create and entertain for you. Look, no discrimination there.

And yes, we will be happy with the leftover bones you so graciously and generously throw our way.

So what the fuck are military queers thinking?
Yes, I'm furious. This isn't anything new. But as angry as I'm allowing myself to get (notice, no grace in this entry), I honestly and truly want to understand.

How can we allow ourselves to be as dogs for a segment of humanity?
Good morning everyone.

I've been sick for the last 3 days and refused to acknowledge it...until yesterday. Monday evening, I began sneezing like crazy. Allergies...or so I thought. The downside of spring's blossoming. was a cold. Sigh. I didn't want to give in to it because I've had more than my share of colds this year. The amount of colds has made me feel like a total woose.

Last night...wonderboy came by to take me out to make sure I had some food. I returned home about 6:30...and was in bed 2 hours later. I slept until 7 am this morning, soundly and solidly. That's a first in a week.

So...I have some energy again this morning. My head is clearer, and my coffee even tasted good.

Tonight I am looking forward to spending some time with D. He will be introduced to some good chowdah.

Talk with you later.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Rob Brezsny appears in my inbox each Wednesday morning. In addition to the week's Freewill Astrology, he always includes interesting tidbits. Today's gems are a list of quotes from history.

"Everything that can be invented has been invented."
- Charles H. Duell, Director of US Patent Office, 1899

"Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?"
- Harry M. Warner, Warner Bros Pictures, 1927

"There is no likelihood man can ever tap the power of the atom."
- Robert Miliham, Nobel Prize in Physics, 1923

"Heavier than air flying machines are impossible."
- Lord Kelvin, President, Royal Society, 1895

"The horse is here today, but the automobile is only a novelty - a fad."
- President of Michigan Savings Bank advising against investing in the Ford Motor Company

"Video won't be able to hold on to any market it captures after the first six months. People will soon get tired of staring at a plywood box every night."
- Daryl F. Zanuck, 20th Century Fox, commenting on television in 1946

"Space travel is utter bilge."
- Sir Richard van der Riet Wooley, The Astronomer Royal (1956)

"Rail travel at high speeds is not possible because passengers, unable to breathe, would die of asphyxia."
- Dionysius Lardner, English scientist (1793-1859)

"While theoretically and technically television may be feasible, commercially and financially it is an impossibility."
- Lee DeForest, American inventor (1873-1961)

"Guitar music is on the way out."
- Decca Records turning down the Beatles, 1962.

"If I had thought about it, I wouldn't have done the experiment. The literature was full of examples that said you can't do this."
- Spencer Silver, originator of Post-It Notepads.

"Louis Pasteur's theory of germs is ridiculous fiction."
- Pierre Pachet, Professor of Physiology, 1872.

"This 'telephone' has too many shortcomings to be seriously considered as a means of communication. The device is inherently of no value to us."
- Western Union internal memo, 1876.

"Sensible and responsible women do not want to vote."
- Grover Cleveland, 1905

"Professor Goddard does not know the relation between action and reaction and the need to have something better than a vacuum against which to react. He seems to lack the basic knowledge ladled out daily in high schools."
- 1921 New York Times editorial about Robert Goddard's revolutionary rocket work.

"Stocks have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau."
- Irving Fisher, Professor of Economics, Yale University, 1929.

"Airplanes are interesting toys but of no military value."
- Marechal Ferdinand Foch, Professor of Strategy, Ecole Superieure de Guerre.

"The abdomen, the chest, and the brain will forever be shut from the intrusion of the wise and humane surgeon".
- Sir John Eric Ericksen, British surgeon, appointed Surgeon- Extraordinary to Queen Victoria, 1873.

"640K ought to be enough for anybody."
- Bill Gates, 1981

"Such startling announcements as these should be deprecated as being unworthy of science and mischievous to its true progress."
- Sir William Siemens, electrical enginner, upon hearing Edison's announcement of a successful light bulb.

"There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home."
- Ken Olson, president of Digital Equipment Corp., 1977.

And here is a chilling quote I picked up from Gay American.

"I would like to develop a couple of ideas for you on the question of homosexuality. There are those homosexuals who take the view: what I do is my business, a purely private matter. However, all things which take place in the sexual sphere are not the private affair of the individual, but signify the life and death of the nation..."
—Heinrich Himmler, Speech to the SS Group Commanders, February 18, 1937

Pardon this personal message to a few, but, to kill a bunch at the same time, my calendar has really disappeared. :-(
I need to get down all my previously booked therapy appointments, which I'll do tomorrow when I meet with my shrink. After that, I can contact folks for coffee dates. And blackbird...don't forget! Phone tonight.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

It appears I've lost my calendar...which totally sucks. There are a few people I want to make coffee plans with, but I'm holding off, hoping the calendar turns up. I's gotta be at the house, the office or my car. I've checked all three...but I'm going to do it more time. Then screw it. If I accidentally double book...I double book.
I'm having a hard time concentrating, on work...or even writing an entry.
Can I just say that I've been at work for over 4 hours, and spent most of this looking out the window? My spring fever has been mild for the last few weeks, Doc...but's raging! I got me fevah!

Monday, March 15, 2004

It's been a full and busy day. One of those days where stuff just clicks. It began with tackling a couple projects I'd been procrastinating with. Reports have now been pulled, and spreadsheets emailed out for deduping. Big load off my shoulders.

Then, I had an appointment with my shrink, and asked him to further clarify what he meant by not having choices at times. From there, my mind went off and made some huge connections. A couple hours after that I had an appointment with my acupunturist. It's been a year and a half since I've seen her. I left so incredibly relaxed, and calmly happy. Still riding that wave.

She focused on my chi and my hormones for the night sweats and the migraines. In addition to inserting needles in my feet and knees, she put them on the inside of my wrists. As the needles went into my wrists, there was a tremendous burning. No pain, just heat.

I mentioned it to her. She smiled and said, "it's your lung points. That's where you store grief." She rocks.

So now, I need to get to work on my thoughts around samurais and ronins, connected with choice and choiceless, and being and becoming. It's become much clearer and I'm sure I'll have something in the next few days. I always get excited when something elusive truly takes shape. And it's all so connected! Love that.
I've stumbled across one thing after another that is bringing greater insight into the training I undertook with Sir and more understanding into why I fell apart after He became ill. In addition, it seems that this is a time of filling in the blanks, in many areas.
You know those moments where you wonder if there's a lesson or insight that you are meant to learn. I mean, everywhere you turn, you keep hearing and seeing the same thing over and over...from unlikely sources.
Jigsaw puzzle pieces are flying toward you at hyperspeed rate. So much so that all you can do is grab pieces as they come at you and throw them into one big pile, until such time where you can begin putting them together.

It began with a blog entry from Lthredge a while back. He spoke of samurais and ronins. I've begun an entry regarding his thoughts, but still need to finish it. Since then I've been flooded with information about bravery, choice, and learning. Yesterday, while walking with the boy, we popped into Halfprice books. A book on an endcap jumped out at me, "The Dangerous Friend". It's about a specific master/student relationship and about the "choiceless choice". (Honestly, although I had written about choice last night, I didn't remember the choiceless choice phrase until this morning, when I googled for the book and found a chapter from the book.)

Standing in the store reading blurb after blurb, my face was wet with tears. (Yeah, it seems it doesn't take much lately.) I saw the training relationship with Sir throughout that book. It's a relationship where you fully open yourself, and surrender...for the purpose of being taught and then carrying on tradition. A relationship unlike others...not a traditional love relationship, or d/s relationship, or friend relationship. It's not a familial relationship. It's master and student. Although in the context of Leather, it was about life.

Sir's Leather training is quite unorthodox, yet it was the type of teaching I had hungered for years before I met Sir. I can see how being sliced open has led to where I am now.

My heart, in a nondefinitive way, is gaining more understanding.

I promise I'll write more about this in further detail. Currently, I'm overcome with ideas and substances that desire to make itself more tangible, yet not quite there yet.

But, I'll leave you with a quote from the book. It's the passage that first grabbed me and pushed me to continue reading. It's a passage that has Sir's name all over it.

"The Lama is the ecstatic, wild, and gentle figure who short-circuits your systems of self-referencing. The Lama is the only person in your life who cannot be manipulated. The Lama is the invasion of unpredictability you allow into your life, to enable you to cut through the convolutions of interminable psychological and emotional processes. The Lama is the terrifyingly compassionate gamester who re-shuffles the deck of your carefully arranged rationale.

To enter into vajra commitment is to leap from the perfect precipice. To find yourself in the radiant space of this choiceless choice, is the very heart of Tantra. To leap open-eyed into the shining emptiness of the Lama's wisdom display, and to experience the ecstatic impact of each dynamic gesture of the Lama's method display is the essential luminosity and power of the path."

Sunday, March 14, 2004

A flogging and a puzzle.

After a very late night at the Eagle, I woke much too early this morning. Laying in bed, I had a fantasy about flogging a certain boy with my rubber flogger. Odd for me, because I have never really immersed myself in a fantasy of topping someone in such a way.

The said boy called me this morning, and we made plans for brunch and a walk. He was on his way over, and I mentioned I was headed into the shower, but would leave my house unlocked for him.

Stepping out of the shower, drying off, I walked over to the kitchen table. The boy entered. Coming up to me, he pushed me up against the wall and claimed my mouth. We ended up in the bedroom, and after some hot, sweaty, sticky sex...I pulled out my flogger and proceed to redden his ass, his thighs and left sweet red marks on his back.

Huh. Who woulda thunk.

We later drove to Capitol Hill, indulged in a fabulous brunch at El Greco and a long walk.

I notice I wrote all that quite matter of fact. Not sure why. It was a great way to wake into a Sunday morning. I'm intrigued by the fact that I enjoyed hurting him, and more excited about the possibility of actually learning how to hurt a man well.
Another door opens.

Yes, I will walk through this one.

Last night, before the Eagle, I was at Septieme's, having coffee with a friend I met recently. A really nice, caring person. She was quite curious about my blog, having read my entries for the last month. Shooting off question after question...I almost felt as if I was being interviewed by Barbara Walters. Thought provoking questions. A few almost brought tears. And I remember answering one specific question with a smile. Words would have brought wet eyes. I was flattered by her inquiries. She then said something curious. "I think you are so brave to stake out your place in the world." Not a direct quote but close enough.
I became nervous and said I wasn't brave, yet didn't have a choice.

Uttering the words "I didn't have a choice" unsettled me, because I fully believe our lives are filled with continual choices. It then reminded me of a discussion with my shrink. He said he didn't believe in choice all the time. He feels that the powerless and the powerful do not always have a choice. Choice is for those in the middle. He continued with the fact that because of who I am, my strengths, my insights, I don't always have a choice. I disagreed, saying, "I could choose to curl up and die."
It's still a gray area for me, muddles my mind. I'm not sure about this choice stuff...and yet at the same time I do believe we all choose.

But I think I know what he was saying. When I moved to Seattle, my friends mentioned how courageous I was, to move, not knowing a soul and having never seen the Northwest. I responded with, "I'm not brave. I just cannot imagine staying any longer, in spite of the fact that I love my friends, family and the area I live in."
I know that our minds can imagine anything, yet the concrete fact that I literally could not imagine staying on the east coast made me feel that my move was carved in stone. Non-negotiable. Joyously, I went forth.

Last night, I told my friend a similar thing. "I'm not brave. If I want to live...I need to continue stepping forward, discovering my place, regardless of how uncomfortable it is."

Two nights ago, my oldest friend contacted me. We met back in '86 or so. We had been out of touch for over 2 years...and I had no way of contacting her. She found me.
Catching up on our lives...she too said, "You are so brave for going thru therapy the way you are. I'm afraid to dig deep. I run from it each time it comes up. It's too hard."
I said, "I couldn't imagine continuing to live, repeating the same patterns, and feeling old fears...abandonment stuff always coming up. I have to play out this game and heal."

So...choice. Do we have it or don't we?
Or...maybe we do at times, and not at others?

I detest the thought of saying I don't have a choice. That statement smacks too much of victim mode. In the past, I've caught myself doing that very thing, and each time, it's quite repulsive to me. But why does it seem I've experienced life directions where it feels it wasn't about choice? I simply knew because I knew because I knew that I couldn't do anything other than what I did or do.

This whole idea of choice feels koan-like to me. Puzzling, and somewhat illusive. I fear even my explanation of my quandry about choice is vague, as if I can't comprehend it with my rational mind and therefore can't articulate it.

Life is interesting, isn't it?

Saturday, March 13, 2004

How about some Saturday snippets?
A few thoughts and vignettes from the last few weeks.

I am skinless, absolutely skinless.  So says me.
The shrink says I have small patches of skin regrowing.
I don't believe him.
Sadness sucks.
Actually, it does right now because I've had a good couple weeks.
It's not black.  But I'm grief-stricken.
Yeah, I've been told it will happen over and I heal.
But it doesn't make it right.
We were talking about faith.
The shrink then told me the 3 things required for training in Buddhism.
Doubt, faith, and determination, with doubt being the first.
I shot him a look and said "I am not going to be trained as a buddhist."
He smiled and said, "You already are a buddhist."
I said, "I am so NOT wearing orange robes and being locked into rituals.
My rituals are more organic."
He was totally cool with it.
There's something about being a freak, an intense masochistic service bottom fag with a cunt who gets high on the smell of leather, cigars and queer cock while enveloping a spirit of what some call buddhism. It feels right for me.

As well as being my shrink, I've slowly watched how he is also evolving into my teacher.
I feel honored to be a student of his, albeit informally.
My coworker and I got pissy and snittily snapped at each other a couple days ago.  It was a mutual thing. Although, I think I instigated it, provoked by feeling left out of the loop.
(That's been my hypersensitive thing lately)
As I went to email him an apology, I noticed he had just sent me one.
Replying to his email, I said "Your apology accepted.  I'm really sorry also.  Please forgive me.  I love you so much.... and p.s.,  was this our first fight?"
Cherry blossoms bloom
as does my heart
I'm birthing a watermelon

I was looking forward to celebrating with Hoss and D, toasting their legal union.
An hour before leaving, the familiar pain of a migraine seemed to be making its appearance.
Needing to take care of myself, I didn't make it. Serious bummer.
The pain subsided a couple hours later..and no drugs! Yes!
I am returning to my acupuncturist next week. It's time for her and I to work together on these headaches.

Checking blogs this morning, I found a public demand from Blackbird, and cracked up.
Yes blackbird...I promise...I will call you!
I am looking forward to our conversations.

Sir contacted me and asked, "want to kill something? You will NOT hurt yourself."
I laughed, "of course Sir, I'd love to."
There is witch hazel in His garden with my name all over it.
This morning the bush will meet its demise.

I feel I am living in an altered state. Reality within reality.
Quite odd, and tough to explain. But it's definitely not a negative.
There's something about being....just being present, and within that I watch myself unfold and become.

Friday, March 12, 2004

I think I'm having a blog identity crisis. I'm pushing myself to write this morning, and have no idea how or what will come out. Having spent the last month or so being so revealing has left me feeling quite shy. I don't want to write about what I do during the day, unless something within that inspires me. Working out grief and anger leaves me little energy for political rants. I currently have no desire to go there. So, let's see what will happen, eh?

Portland was wonderful. The Bear, wonderboy and I stayed with friends, outside of Portland. We went into town on Tuesday and Wednesday. It felt so good to get out of Seattle that we crashed, all of us. Major naps on Monday afternoon.
There was a Portland boy the guys wanted to introduce me to. We did dinner and jazz piano on Tuesday night. It was fun watching this great and hot boy open up and become more comfortable with me. By the middle of the evening, he was teasing me as much as wonderboy. I'm always intrigued, how, when I meet new men, I can feel their questions. They check me out, wonder what my connection is and why I'm there. After a bit, their bodies relax...and then most times, by the end of the evening, my presence is no big deal. There have been a few times, and I'm sure there will be again, where I do remain invisible to one or two men. The first time it happened I was pissed. I could tell I wasn't even being seen as a person. But, since then, I don't worry. I figure, it's not my problem. It's simply an is. No big deal. Different strokes, yanno?

We spent a solid couple hours at Powell's books. My oh my! What a bookstore!! The main store is a city block and 4 floors. If you want computer/technical books, you need to go to their other store a few blocks away. And across the river is another location that focuses on cooking and gardening. Heaven? Yes!

I checked out the philosophy and buddhist sections. Wandered over to erotica to discover boredom. Nothing grabbed me there. I was saving the best for last. The top floor. Art books. I hate shopping. As far as window shopping, I can maybe stand it for an hour or so. But, if it involves books about art or sex, I can gleefully lose myself. Sometimes, I think that all life is about art and sex. For me, they are very large categories, not as compartmentalized as many make them out to be. If something doesn't fit into either of those I don't have a lot of interest.

Back to books.
I wandered and lost myself within the stacks. I wished my finances were in better shape. I wanted Caravaggio, Vermeer, and Nevelson. One day I will purchase a large book of Francis Bacon. I'd like another Giacometti as well as an additional, more comprehensive Giorgio Morandi. And...I will someday have a full collection of John Singer Sargent books.
My current selection of art books is over 3 shelves worth. It's nowhere near enough. When I paint, I always seek out an artist that speaks to me. Maybe not in subject matter but in style or light. I look at their work and wonder "how?" "How did they create such space, or depth." "What did they do to capture that energy?"

Learn from the masters.

I did purchase one book. It was an unexpected find. Near the art and architecture books, there is a closed off room, where rare books are kept. I didn't walk in because I feared being too tempted by something juicy. But on a wall just outside of this little room were shelves with other books locked behind glass. Erotica art books. A book caught my eye, and I knew I had to have it.
"Out/Lines - Underground Gay Graphics From Before Stonewall"

Not only did we have to find someone to unlock the case, but they needed to escort me down 4 floors to the cashier. Yes, I found that to be curious. But I didn't care. I had my book, and am enjoying it. In addition to research, most of the book is filled with images. Some silly and others quite lusty. And no, there really is nothing new about sex, or even original depictions. People have been incredibly perverse since the beginning of time.
What intrigues me about the book is seeing new names attached to this genre. It's not all about Tom of Finland and Etienne, although they are in there.

On Wednesday, the guys wanted to wander through stores. After a while of poking through shops with them, I grabbed my sketchbook and would wait outside, working quick studies of whatever caught my eye. It could be the corner of a building or the way the light hits a large vase...or the lines of the sidewalk. The weather was gorgeous and being outdoors was perfect.

My other treat was the Portland Art Museum. It's been some time since I've gone into a museum. I stood in front of the first painting, looked at layers of paint, the color, the marks, and tears fell. It had been much too long. These were part of their permanent collection, some abstract expressionist pieces, which normally don't always do it for me. But, seeing the act of painting on canvas...the physicality of it, moved me.

They have a couple special exhibits right now that were exciting. The Rau Collection, and what I found to be much more precious was a collection of etchings, Sacred and Secular. I was captivated by the smaller pieces, less than 5 inches.

When I look at artwork, I won't look at titles or names until after I've explored the piece. My desire is to have an intimate conversation with the work, without anyone or anything else butting in, trying to shape my opinion. It's a purely selfish moment between myself and the art.

On that note, I've blabbed long enough. It's time to do some work.

Thursday, March 11, 2004

Hey y'all.

Returned from Portland very late last night. Now at work, I am trying to sort through loads of emails and play catch up. So until I have a moment to post, I'll leave you with this week's Freewill Astrology from Rob Brezsny.

Sunday, March 07, 2004

The Last Judgement

Biagio de Cesena, the Vatican’s master of Ceremonies, stated that “it was mostly disgraceful that in so sacred a place there should have been depicted all those nude figures, exposing themselves so shamefully, and that it was no work for a papal chapel but rather for the public baths and taverns.”

Michelangelo's work was on my mind when I woke. More specifically, the controversy surrounding his work on the Sistine Chapel.

I hadn't seen that quote before today. But I then thought of Picasso, and of The Erotic Museum in Los Angeles. While reading about this fairly new museum, I was sickened when I noticed they had Picasso's work in their permanent collection. My stomach dropped. What upset me? You need to be over 18 to enter the museum. Again, art relegated to a place like "the public baths and taverns."

I wondered if Picasso would be angry. But then again, he did say:
"Art is offensive. It ought to be forbidden to ignorant innocents, never allowed into contact with those not sufficiently prepared. Yes, art is dangerous."

When girlfag was created, that was the first quote I included on the sidebar. I am quite fond of this thought because it provokes me. I’m left in a quandry, a tangle of contradictions. It sounds like he approves of censorship. I do believe that art is dangerous. It's dangerous in the sense that, if the viewer is open and the art is good, it leaves the viewer questioning. A questioning mind is the weapon of mass destruction. It upsets the status quo. It won't settle. And it brings about a new world.

But what makes me uncomfortable about Picasso's quote is the fact that I believe art should be accessible to all. I don't agree with "it should be forbidden to ignorant innocents." It's an arrogant statement. Yes, it may be dangerous, but we should be allowed the choice to experience that danger.

Now...stepping into a big mud pit, I think of children. Children are amazing in the way that they will only process what they have the ability to process. I've seen so many examples of children who really don't think something is a big deal, whereas we, the adult, are terrified of their exposure. The frequent comment from the child is, "so?". Or, "cool", and then go off to their routine. Children don't stress and angst the way we do. Before you go off on me half cocked, note that if a child is in a secure, safe and loving enviroment, they have the ability to deal. Their safety net is strong and nurturing.

That being said, although I've spoken of children, I always felt Picasso was speaking of people who can't or won't see other viewpoints. Those who are happy to accept whatever is thrown in front of them, pick it up, or step over it, and continue with their lives unchanged.
Even if that's the case, I feel they too should be allowed access.

What bothers me is where do we draw the line? Picasso's Suite 347 etchings is now only for an audience who is allowed to kill, vote, drink and drive. History is filled with controversy surrounding art. It shifts with the tide. What is truly sacred and profane?
Without interception, Michelangelo would have seen his work garbed in fig leaves. Although, after his death, there was a campaign (midway down page) to cloak genitals.

Oh dear. This is the age old question of whether or not something is pornographic. Maybe the intent of the piece is the defining factor. Or not.
We do come from puritans. Our views on sex is staid and rigid.

Here's another thought. Maybe the question we should be asking is, "why is pornography such a big deal anyway?" What is it about sex that scares us silly? Then again, death does the same thing. As does birth.

All natural, truly primal, and yet, our governments and religions have seen fit to control with a heavy hand.
I wonder if part of the reason is, birth, orgasms and death are similar experiences. I think they are ecstatic moments, times when we are closest to omniscience.

In our living, breathing lives, it's that energy that allows us to move mountains. Powerful spaces of time. Controlling forces are threatened by the gale winds that stem from the individual self.

And maybe…we allow ourselves to be controlled because we also fear our unique strength.

Happy Birthday to girlfag as well. I just now realized I began this blog one year ago...although I kept it private until May. Part of me is quite surprised I've kept it up as long as I have. You see, I tend to jump into something, exhaust it, and then move on to another idea. Here's to a very possible one more year...

Saturday, March 06, 2004

Today is the birthday of Michelangelo Buonarroti.
Here is his rebellious slave and his crouching boy.

Friday, March 05, 2004

A grande americano in hand and life is good.

Now, I'd like to share with you one articulate, passionate voice and his letter to Bush.
This was published in today's Seattle Post-Intelligencer. It's an amazing letter. Whether you believe in civil unions or in marriages, don't understand what the ruckus is about or even see the need for it, whether you want to couple or not, or whether you can't understand why some queers would want to live a lifestyle similar to those who have discriminated against you, this man eloquently and lovingly makes his case for his family. We each need to have the ability to follow our passions. Hmmm...the pursuit of happiness.

Phew...okay...after all that, here is the letter.

Friday, March 5, 2004
Other Voices: Seattle gay tells Bush 'people hate people for silly reasons'

EDITOR'S NOTE: Steve Davis is president and chief executive of Corbis, a Seattle digital media company established and owned by Microsoft Corp. co-founder Bill Gates. He's a member of the Governor's Competitiveness Council, the Council on Foreign Relations and many other organizations. Before joining Corbis in 1993, he practiced law with Preston Gates & Ellis, specializing in intellectual-property issues. Last week while he was traveling on business, Davis, 46, heard about President Bush's support for a constitutional amendment that would ban same-sex marriages. That news prompted him to sit down and write this letter.

Dear Mr. President,

I could not avoid you as your support for a federal constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage blared throughout the airport lounge via CNN.

As I listened to your confusing messages about family and values and politics, I shared sadness with my fellow travelers about your continuing fear-driven approach to leadership. Your defense of traditional marriage rang hollow; rather, it was a poor endorsement for discrimination, ignorance and your conservative political base.

Uncharacteristically, I decided not to be angry, offended or cynical. Rather, I desperately want to understand you and your allies on this issue, and take the high road in that engagement.

So I invite you, Laura and your daughters to spend a day with my family and explain why you are championing such a cause.

Spend a day with my life partner of 24 years who is one of the most remarkable human beings you'll ever have the privilege of meeting. A public school teacher, Bob has spent his life inspiring students and parents alike with his commitment to a values-laden and creative approach to learning, serving as a strong life-changing role model for countless young at-risk city kids over the years.

Spend a day with our energetic and cheerful 7-year-old son, Ben. Ben will treat you to an active day full of homework, piano lessons, LEGO projects, friends, chores, soccer and baseball. Fully steeped in the values of love, sharing, friendship and learning, Ben is immensely proud of his two adoring and engaged parents, and wonderfully enriched by a diverse and supportive neighborhood.

Spend a day with our extraordinary community of friends and neighbors, who reflect the America of today and the future -- mixed in race, language, background, family structures and ideas -- but united in their deep commitment to our children, to creating a better future, to loving our country and to enjoying the richness of life.

Spend a day with our extended family that has supported us with unconditional love through good times and bad. Our parents, aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews spread around the country form the foundation of our world. Over the years we have celebrated countless joyous holidays and celebrations together, as well as helping them in endless ways through illnesses, financial problems, divorces and other family dramas.

Spend a day with us as we engage in our community as a family and as individuals, as we actively volunteer at Ben's school, as we have headed up the local United Way, and as we have worked tirelessly with many community organizations to improve the lives of our less-fortunate neighbors. Come join us as we sing and pray in church together.

Spend the day with me as the CEO of a fast-growing global digital media company who understands the economic interests of supporting stable communities and families, who must create a vibrant 21st century inclusive work force through rigorous recruiting and non-discriminatory practices, and who is forever seeking that elusive family-life-work balance.

Spend the day with us as we explain to our son, his friends and cousins, why the world can be a fragile place where people do bad things out of ignorance and fear, where people hate people for silly reasons, where leaders abuse power for political gain at the expense of innocent folks, and where people waste enormous emotion and energy on side issues when domestic and child abuse, poverty, racism, divorce and inadequate health care -- the issues truly threatening the American family -- go unattended.

Mr. President, please come spend a day with us. And then, over our evening family meal, after we have given our nightly thanks to our loving and hate-free God, explain to this same-sex household just what family values you are defending for the future of America.

Steve Davis
The link for this piece is found here.
Wow. A busy couple days. But, now I'm officially off work until next Thursday. I'm not headed to Portland until there's time to catch up, be domestic and hopefully get out some meaty blogs.

I don't know about you, but in the last couple weeks, I've discovered some bloggers to be quite provocative and it's filling up my head. It's been great, but I haven't had the chance to begin writing out thoughts generated by the words of others. There's good stuff being written out there.

On top of it, there is a lot happening in the world. Politics...the marriage thing and and the issue of semantics. I want definitions, dammit.
Wrap that into the other thoughts and how do I even begin to sort out what I'd like to say?

And...let's take one other thing and throw it in the mix. Yes, another good day. With that, I feel a tad embarrassed about the many entries where I've laid out my gutts. It seems I'm just learning how to open up...really open, knowing I'm taking risks. Yes, I can do it in certain areas. But, there will always be a new way to reveal oneself. So I've discovered that the blogger posting box has become a somewhat intimidating place. I'll get over it. Trust me.

On that note...I'm going to grab an americano. Just had a hankerin'.
Talk with you later!
Mark Morford asks "Where Is My Gay Apocalypse?"

Thursday, March 04, 2004

Guess what?

I found out last night that I'm taking a mini-vacation next week. The Bear and wonderboy asked me to go down to Portland, OR with them for 3 days, 2 nights. In the 5 1/2 years I've been in the Pacific Northwest, I've only been to Portland twice. Once was time for exploring. The other was a Thanksgiving weekend play party, and the only site I saw other than dungeon space was the Japanese garden, which I loved. I have fond memories of a massive orgasm in that very space, while clutching a tree, trying hard to not draw attention to myself.

So, these two men have wanted to show me the city. Due to their jobs, they knew it would be short notice planning.
We will be staying and seeing friends while there. One mandatory stop is Powell's Books. The Bear has wanted to take me there for a long time. Apparently, it's a large independent bookstore...and a Portland fixture.

Yes, I'm thrilled.

Also, you ought to see our office this last week and especially since Multnomah Cty, OR began issuing same sex marriage licenses yesterday. It's a party in here. People are writing politicians and checking the news and passing around information.

Although our organization is a funding source for smaller queer organzations, we are embracing this political arena as part of our larger mission.
We are trying hard to retain balance of our current work while expanding and being supportive of all that is happening on the same sex marriage front. We want to put loads of energy into this. How can we not?

We are living in exciting times! Quite historical.
I know better. But it didn't click at the time.
Earlier today, I wrote about how sensitive I was feeling. It was more than that. I was jittery and anxious, uncomfortable. I remembered the feeling as familiar. When I was in training with Sir, every once in a while, I would strongly get the same feeling. It would always happen the day of my meeting with Him. This sensation would intensify as the day progressed. On those days, something dramatic would always occur while in my session with Sir.

Today was my appointment with my shrink. And, just like those odd times with Sir, where the day was filled with foreboding, it ended up being a powerful meeting.

I'm not going to go into it. But I will say...I believe I'm on the road to recovery. This isn't strictly being said with my head, but it's felt inside as well. I've been sleeping soundly for about a week now. Yesterday, although I woke mourning for one special cat, there wasn't any heaviness. Today, no tears whatsoever greeted me when I woke. I've fallen asleep the last two nights without any sleeping aids. I curled up in bed, read my book, and fell asleep exhausted. Sweet.

Something I haven't mentioned, is the amazing support I've received from my coworkers. I wanted to write about it, but it felt like too much.
We have a staff meeting every other Wednesday morning. The meeting begins with personal check-ins. We've been strongly encouraged to share our personal highlights and lowlights, knowing it would assist the team in understanding where we are at emotionally, because it does affect our work. Granted, they had an idea that I was going thru a rough time. But, all these months, I stayed fairly quiet about most of it. Other than sharing with the two men my office is sandwiched between, I kept the worse to myself. Two weeks ago, as the dark was escalating, I knew I needed to open up to my coworkers.

We were doing check-in. My turn came. I was nervous as hell. I looked around the conference table at 9 faces. Taking a deep breath, I began. Without going into detail, I laid it on the line. I spoke of my fears, the feelings of isolation, my ebbing strength, and why. While talking, I saw tears in their eyes. They asked how they could help, and were there for me.

I found myself spending more time at work, longer days...because I felt their support.

Today I kept my check-in quite short. "I'm okay."
And they stopped and had me check in further.

I haven't said it in a long time...but I do love my job.

Wednesday, March 03, 2004

Some more on the marriage front. This is fascinating, and significant.

Spitzer, New York's Attorney General, says current state laws prohibit same sex marriage. But...

"...Spitzer also said court precedent recognizes gay marriages and civil unions performed outside New York and in compliance with laws in that state or country."

The whole article.
I'm not hugely depressed or anything. But, I believe I need to stay away from all persons as well as printed matter. I discover I'm extremely hyper-sensitive today, and it's not good for the goose, the gander or the globe. Ugh.
Something's been lurking in my head the last couple days. The idea popped in on Sunday afternoon. I think I'm going to throw a party. Now, living in an apartment doesn't lend itself to a healthy, nasty, no holds barred play party. But...I have friends with spaces.

The idea of a party isn't new. What the motivation. This will be my 'coming out' party...specifically, surrounded by the men in my life. Those courageous enough, and not threatened by sharing play space with me. They are quality men. Compassionate, sensitive, brilliant, and delighfully piggish.

At 20, I was approached about another coming out party. Yes, I was actually asked to be a debutante. I'll never forget when my mother mentioned it to me. Egads...I shirked away. I hadn't come out as queer yet, but the idea of being a deb was extremely distasteful. Although well off, we were brought up with our feet on the ground, economically. I cherish that part of my upbringing. Remembering our roots. Dad came from a hard working background. His father worked a few jobs to assist putting 2 boys thru medical school, and a daughter in nursing school - construction and rolling logs down the river to the paper mill.

So, although I turned down one coming out gala, methinks it's time to have my own.
Time to set the wheels in motion.

With all the internal strife of the last many months, I'd set this on the back burner. Allowed it to percolate.

Now, I imagine being covered in the piss of many men. I'll be the urinal. Let me take it in. Piss in my ass...piss in my mouth. Cover me in cum...let me suck your dicks.
I want to feel the heat of your cigars, the burn...feel the pressure of your boot against my face.

Use me.
This week's Freewill Astrology.

Tuesday, March 02, 2004

It's been quite a while since I've shown you any art. See what happens when I'm down? Yeah, the same with my own paintings. It's as if my creative spirit dries up. Although, I've noticed its focus in other areas, such as my day gig. Maybe it just shifts, from one arena to another.

Anyway, here are the paintings of George LeBar. Exhuberant, abstract, passionate. I find these curious, and am quite intrigued. I really want to see them in person, because I'm sure that viewing these on the screen is a pale resemblance.

Portland OR, and all of Multnomah County will begin to issue same sex marriage licenses tomorrow. Cool!
Good morning.

Actually, it really is. This is the first morning, in many months...that I didn't wake with a sinking feeling in my heart. I wasn't overwhelmed with gray or black, muddled thoughts that leave me dragging and in despair. Upon waking, I remembered a cat. The first cat I fell in love with...who loved me. She'd follow me into the garden while I would weed. She'd rub her head against my thigh wanting my attention. I'd give it to her...time and time again.
This is the cat that, while I would nap on the floor, would head butt me, because she needed to be the center of my life in that moment.

I'd never found a more lovey cat. I knew I'd fiercely pay with my allergies for the touches I'd give her. But for her...her...I made an exception.

She hasn't been around for over 6 months. Every once in a while she sneaks into my thoughts, and I cry. I love that cat.

So, although there were tears of mourning for this cat, that was it. Calm.

The weekend before last was the most difficult thus far. I had walked into my shrink's office, sat in the chair and slow, big tears fell. I couldn't talk. Not at first. That's when he told me I was on the edge. As I previously wrote, he was thrilled. What I didn't share with you is that he was also becoming scared for me. My precarious place.
He suggested I meet with a psychiatrist for a med eval. Now, my shrink is extremely conservative with suggesting meds. But when he handed me the name and number of the M.D., I knew I was in trouble.

Sometimes, our minds need some relief so our spirits can continue their work.
Last Monday I called and made an appointment. Yesterday evening, I called to cancel it.

You see, something happened. The day after making the appointment, I noticed a shift. I think I scared myself something huge. That fright helped me find the courage to move more step.

There was a change last week. But, I wanted to get through the weekend before I cancelled. Weekends have been the toughest for me. My demons have free reign for long stretches.

This past weekend, although I could feel hurt and heartbreak, was crystal. No blackberry branches to mess with. I was quite clear. The load I was carrying, although substantial, was manageable.

So I cancelled. If I sink again, I have the phone number and I will use it. But, as long as I can see through this, I don't want to chemically mess with my head. There is enough on my plate without having to deal with whether or not a med helps, or see what side effects come, and have to return and play with it some more.

My wonderful shrink is trusting me with my decision. I in turn, am trusting him. If he disagreed, he'd vehemently let me know.

Hoss wrote, regarding an early childhood disappointment:
"Unbeknownst to me, it had festered all those years. Hidden behind the "yes mom" smile. Behind years of not feeling good enough. Under the certain knowledge that the bullies always win. It was fed by all those messages, all those years, that little queer boys like me can't compete.

Buried down there it had become a fetid, rotting abcess; somehow poisoning my thinking and breaking my spirit. And when I told him about my disappointment, the confession pierced me to the heart of that foul place, and the sadness flowed from me. That long buried hurt poured out from me and I wept uncontrollably; violently; bitterly. And though it's no longer held there - rank and putrid inside me - it still hurts.

It wasn't from cruelty that she denied me, but from ignorance."

It wasn't from cruelty that my parents denied me. It was strictly lack of time. Too many children too fast, and too much to do. As a young 'un, I took it personally. I was too weird to be held and hugged. I must have been a freak, a monster. Repulsive.

As I was older, mom and I spent quality time together. I was 7, and she became my first art teacher. With her guidance, I won poster contests in 3rd grade. She helped me with my very first painting at 10. I still remember some of the basic composition lessons. She sat with me every night while I practiced the piano. In the summer, she took me to the library each Monday morning so I could pull out 5 new books.

Yet, somehow, it was too late to prevent damage. By that point, the demon was not only born, but walking.

It is always on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. Yes, my sexual orientation may be...not common, not comfortable, not a popular place to be. But, it doesn't warrant the demon. My walls are created with his insistence. He hands me the bricks, one by one.

I desire to exorcise the beast. In reality, I fear he's been branded in my heart. Maybe it's a matter of just recognizing his raspy voice and shushing him.

Monday, March 01, 2004

Well...I'm in a crummy mood. I wrote up a long blog, essentially blasting everything in sight. The one smart thing was I had doubts about it. So much so, that I sent it to my shrink, asking, "is this too much?"

I don't think I've really checked with him before posting an entry. So the mere fact of doing that made me realize that it may be best not to put it out there.

Relax girlfag. Methinks it's time to relax and be patient. I know I have been, for a while. But since I stopped and didn't allow these particular words to fly off my fingers publicly, it seems to be a reminder for me to be patient for a little while longer. Step back, breathe...and smell the goddammed fucking roses.