Tuesday, August 31, 2004

In Bikerbear's journal he wrote about a book I hadn't heard of before, Zen Therapy: Transcending the Sorrows of the Human Mind.
Googling for more information...I discovered this quote by David Brazier, the author:

"These days . . . we are apt to seek out a therapist to . . . help us get the dragon back into its cave. Therapists of many schools will oblige in this, and we will thus be returned to what Freud called 'ordinary unhappiness.' Zen, by contrast, offers dragon-riding lessons."

Dragon-riding lessons. I like it. It's a succinct way to describe the type of work I'm currently doing with my shrink.
On a totally different tact - look at what was unveiled at the Apple Expo in Paris!

Sexy or what?
"The radical collapse of all distinction between church and state and the promotion of an angry "Christianity" as the USA's official state religion have grown increasingly apparent as the Bush regime has turned more grandiose and reckless after 9/11. That revolutionary program has gradually come into view despite the press's failure to expose it, and despite the random efforts of the White House to conceal it ("Well, I – first of all, I would never justify – I would never use God to promote policy decisions," Bush said, without conviction, to Brit Hume in an interview on September 22, 2003). A cursory survey of Bush/Cheney's foreign and domestic innovations will make clear that from the start, this regime has been hard at work transforming the United States into a theocratic system, and, globally, at the gradual creation of a nominally Christian New World Order."
- Mark Crispin Miller
(excerpt from Cruel and Unusual: Bush and Cheney's New World Order)

I was just thinking about what I tuned into last night at the RNC and this quote fits the bill.

Turning to PBS I caught the beginnings of an 'entertainment' portion. A choir went through a medley of the themes from the 4 branches of the military. There's a NYC backdrop on the stage with the altered cityscape. During the musical piece there were flashes of military propaganda. It was a moment to strongly capture our so-called patriotism, American pride and to stir full emotions. The choir singing was the 'Christ Tabernacle Choir' for fuck's sake.

What did I do? My heart sank, I got chills and burst into tears. I am not being an extremist when I say Hitler began innocently as well. Pride for the fatherland. Let's give everyone a sense of belonging, family and home. We'll look out for you. We will protect you from the evil that's out there.

What they don't say is not everyone is allowed in those protective arms.

How do the deaths of almost 1,000 U.S. servicepeople and thousands upon thousands of Iraqis help the 9/11 victims? I still have yet to see the connection.

How do the bloodied, mangled bodies help the 44 million who are without health insurance?

How does each dropped bomb increase the chance of a better life for the American multitude who have become the new poor?

How does vengeance solve anything?
Our health care system is in crisis.
Our schools are in danger.
Our natural enviroment is dying.
Children, our future, are in a precarious place.
The actual terrorists are the ones who've decided that our own country isn't worth nurturing. What loving parent would ignore the needs of their own family to go off and deal with a gang war on the other block?

Yes. It makes me sick.
We are in an age of emotionalism and not reason. It terrifies me and this morning I have very little hope for us. I will vote. Actually, I'll take advantage of voting while I still can. Gloom and doom? Not really. Instead, I'm trying to prepare myself for whatever may happen.

In the meantime - Just vote.

Monday, August 30, 2004

I wanted to watch some of the Republican National Convention. Yes we've all agreed I'm a masochist. Because I'm so entrenched in my beliefs, at times I fear I may be blinding myself to other points of view. What if I'm missing out on a crucial piece of information? I never want to come to a point wear I turn a deaf ear to another option. I want to be the type of person who can calmly listen to all sides.

But anytime I hear some of the ridiculousness currently being spouting I cringe and become angry. That's all that happens. Anger, frustration and sadness.

In spite of this I may tune into the RNC on PBS tonight. I'll be surprised if I last more than 10 minutes.

Shoot me.
The brand new Trader Joe's, 3 blocks from my office and well...3 blocks from my home, opened today. So 3 coworkers and I walked up at lunchtime. Because it's not their grand opening, yet the soft opening, it wasn't crowded. Although they had a 4 or 5 piece steel band playing outside the store. While entering we were handed raffle tickets for little drawings held every 5 or 10 minutes. I happened to be one of the winners. I was given my choice of bunch flowers. Scanning the buckets I picked a bunch of 5 vivid red sunflowers. They are gracing my office.

Against my sage green office wall, 5 cobalt blue glass bottles each contain one red flower.
A little more about yesterday.

During the brunch, there were a couple very novice leatherdykes, part of a family, being trained in a very traditional way by their dyke top. It's nice to still see that type of training, in a time where protocol is more relaxed. In addition, you can tell that with this family, it is more than outward protocol. There is a strong sense of working on individual selves...more of a wholeness.

They were immediately on their knees during the introductions. After rising, one had many questions about our history and apparently was pumping Sir. He spoke of the Seattle history of gay men and the leatherdykes and what that was like in the 70's and 80's. Oddly enough, during that time, he was invited into some leather lesbian circles during a time when separatism loomed large. Feminism was raging and men were perceived as the enemy. Yet Sir was invited to sit, dine and socialize with a group of leatherdykes.

He was speaking about all this, while reiterating that it wasn't a time where, at least in Seattle, gay men and gay women would mix in play. At that moment Sir looked up and saw the trainer and I so engaged (not more than 10 feet away)...and smiled. noting the juxtaposition of his words next to my actions. Dontcha just love synchronicity?
Are there times when you feel like you have so much to write about? Big ideas clamoring around in your brain that just need to come out and it seems like you can't rest until you purge? At the same time, thoughts continue to pile on top of another, making it difficult sorting ideas, feeling like a massive chore and you don't know where the energy is going to come from to do any of it.

Well that's how it's been. I have a bunch of half done blog entries...sitting in my files. I think I'm like an overtired child. You know the one. The child hasn't slept well in a while and gets to the point where he can't sit still or relax. He doesn't know how tired he really is. Overtired. That's me.

I'm settling in. My mind is clearing (as long as I don't think about all those unfinished entries). But what I mean is the big life stuff is calming down. I come home from work, my schedule no longer frenetic and crazed, sit in my comfy chair, and immediately want to sleep. Then I feel guilty for being so tired, so I make spur in the moment plans and go out. I get home late and fall into bed which means of course, no rest.

I had no definite plans again this weekend. Second weekend in a row - huge treat. But I can't seem to stay home and veg. Not in the way I really need to. I figure if I don't have the energy to paint then I'll socialize. Not too smart, eh? What if I spent time at home relaxing because maybe my body and mind absolutely need to rest? It would be a wiser decision.

Yesterday I was out for most of the day. returning home about 4pm. After sitting for an hour I felt the fidgetiness begin. Last night, I forced myself to stay in. Alone. By myself. Fini. C'est tout. Trust me, it was struggle.

Saturday night I had 3 conflicting engagements. There was a small dinner party, with some people I enjoy but rarely see, Lydia being one. The Bear and wonderboy were invited as well...they being the loving fixtures in my life. At the same time was a house warming party for a coworker that I really wanted to attend and the NW LeatherSir/leatherboy contest. I thought I had it all figured out. Dinner party first, then go to the house warming and although I'd miss the contest I knew I could attend the party at The Cuff after the contest. For me, it wasn't so much about the contest as it was about being in a room of smelly, sweaty leatherclad men.

Considering I've been tired this plan was a tad ambitious. After dinner I could feel myself slipping. All I wanted was to go home and sleep. So I did.
Yesterday morning I opted for the contest victory brunch. There were friends I wanted to see and and grabbed the opportunity. Contacting Sir, I then picked him up and we made our way to the bar for brunch.

There's a boy I hadn't seen since May...at the Eagle. He saw me and made his way over, with a big old hug. Looking at me he said, "I still think about that scene you did at the Eagle last spring. I watched your face during the beating and was envious. I wanted to go where you went. Also I heard later on it was just a teaser for you...is that true?"

My breath caught in my throat. I mean, this little impulsive scene many months ago made an impact on someone else. He went on and on about that beating. Apparently he didn't know about his scene that I saw part of that afternoon.

"Yes, normally it would have been a teaser, but seeing I hadn't really played in over a year my pain pig is out of practice. It was a perfect and surprising way to dive back in." I continued with, "I watched your scene as I was leaving and wished I could have stayed." The energy that permeated around him was so intense that I hadn't forgotten it. I relayed all that to him because I wanted him to get a sense of how beautiful and intense his scene was as well. It too struck someone else.

That was my first high point of the brunch.

On top of it, I managed to get some play in. Somehow...this hard-bodied personal trainer and I ended up tangled, hot and dripping sweat. His hands on my body, my fingers gripping his cock thru his jeans. I was sitting back on his knee while his mouth was on the back of my neck. At one point I turned around and we kissed...deep and wet. Shaking...I came. For a small moment I had forgotten I was in the middle of a brunch...until I looked up and noticed a group of older leathermen just staring at us. Smiling inside I wondered what was going thru their heads.

The trainer and I pulled away from each other and stared at each other. We were both caught off guard by the impetuousness. Totally unexpected. Utterly delightful. I could not keep my eyes off his bulging cock pressing against his jeans. He commented on how animated I was. I laughed inside and said to myself, "you have no idea boy."

My body was drenched in sweat. Someone had just come to the table with a large glass of water and offered me a drink. I grabbed the glass, putting it to my lips and then thought better. Opening my shirt I simply dumped water down my heated body.

It was good. All very good.

Friday, August 27, 2004

It's been cafe week at chez girlfag. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights all at Septieme's. Each a last minute happening. Each with a different man.

Last night while waiting for Sir at Septieme's, I read. I wrote. I folded brochures. I worked on some little drawings. My glass of Moristel, which was brought to me as soon as I sat down, without asking (one reason I love the cafe...service), is immortalized in my sketchbook. As is the small plate holding 3 pieces of bread.

Speaking of the cafe, a few weeks ago, a question came up. I can't remember who I was with. But within the conversation I asked "Is being kinky just being aware of your fetish?"

The words rolled off my tongue and I immediately knew it was a fairly rhetorical question. It's one of those "yeah, of course but really look at what it encompasses" kind of moments.


Next week I meet with the guy Painter (not the Painter I wrote about here). I'll be checking out his space for something I have planned. At the same time there will be a show and tell. He and I haven't spent time together in almost a couple years. So I'll bring 5 paintings he has yet to see.

We are complex beings. Complex in the sense that we have a myriad of passions. Having different people to connect with on each of those levels is so important to me.


Yesterday, as a staff, we went to the movies together. It was fun day part deux. Which explains why I'm in the office today. Anyway, fun day may not be the right word after seeing the movie. We saw Control Room.

From the IMDB website:

'Control Room' gives a human face to Al Jazeera, a TV station unknown to most Americans (it broadcasts only in Arabic) and demonized by shills of the administration like Fouad Ajami in the 'New York Times Magazine' and by administration officials like Donald Rumsfeld. To see that several of Al Jazeera's chief people are reasonable and articulate and not the least wild-eyed or rabidly anti-western or anti-American – one of them, Samir Khader, even says he hopes to send his children to school in the US and would take a job at Fox News in a second if one were offered to him – must be instructive for anyone with an open mind who watches this film. To see the invasion of Iraq briefly through the eyes of an informed Arab, as Lt. Josh Rushing also had occasion to do, must be an eye-opener for American viewers.

One quote from the movie that struck me: Al Jazeera journalist, Hassan Ibrahim, when asked what would stop U.S. imperialism said,

“I have absolute faith in the American Constitution. The American people are going to stop the American empire.”

I left, feeling the heaviness of all that is happening. Walking back to the car with a couple coworkers, I asked "what do you do with all the fear, hatred and ridiculousness you've just seen (speaking of our gov't)?" Everything feels so big. One of the guys responded "I go home and see how many more hugs I can dish out today."



I was telling Sir about the image of my shrink as executioner that woke me yesterday. I did see the humor, albeit dark, because it's a perfect image for this time. What didn't hit me until I relayed the story is why I was feeling nervous and unsettled. It's about trust. Can I trust him with myself...to lay myself on a chopping block and know I won't be devoured by him? Trust. That's the ticket.


Mark Morford is pissed. Angry and bitter. But how can we not go through such spurts? Although I notice I'm holding mine at bay lately. Anyway, he's fed up with the ridiculousness of all that's going on in Repubs pick a fight about Vietnam while Bush ruins America right now? Is the nation drunk?

What I enjoy about Morford, and I feel puts him ahead of other columnists who I refuse to name right now, is he normally tempers his anger with compassion. I tend to always find a line or two, an idea, that allows my soul to take hold while in the darkness of what is our lives. Today it is not the case. I can appreciate it because we all have to go off every once in a while.

And that's all I have for you this morning. Enjoy your day.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

Although I've been posting regularly, I've remained silent. So much is going on inside and I have difficulty articulating any of it.

I woke about 4 am this morning with the image of my shrink as the silent executioner. Black hood covered his face, hand clutching his axe. Distant. Remote. Hired for the dirty deed.

How do I begin to explain how my day to day life is running smoother, flowing nicely? I'm calmer. More focused. And yet...at the same time a part of me feels brutalized. Raped. The work my shrink and I are doing goes so much deeper than before.

In addition to the calm, I fear blandness. I even told my boss this week I was afraid I'd become boring. She laughed and said "fat chance."

Last week, with the shrink-

me: you're not good for me

shrink: (remains silent)

me: I'm turning into mayonnaise. I don't want to be boring. Buddhists are mayonnaise.

shrink: I'm not mayonnaise.

me: It's not a judgement. Mayonnaise isn't good or bad. It's just not me.
I've lost my ability to rant. I've no desire to get angry or riled up. This worries me. I don't want to go through life with a calm smile on my face all the time.

shrink: trust me, it's not gone. this is just a phase. you're too opinionated to have it permanently vanish. Also it's not about serenity, it's about balance. Big difference.

Huh. I get what he's saying. But I'm still discombobbled about where I am right now.

I've gone from regular therapy to psychoanalysis. It's difficult to even write the word. It's feels so...so freudian. Ewwww. There is nothing new. Nothing revealing. The process seems to be about slicing into old stuff more and more. Masochistic? You bet.

another session-

me: Sometimes it's difficult to speak because lightbulb moments are few and far between. I can't see the point of rehashing. (although the more honest reason is because fear is stronger. Of course I don't share that with him right away. I've become intensely ornery in this new development of therapy. I'm making him work for it. But he's having me work harder so I suppose we're even.)

shrink: This is more about "uhuh" moments instead of "aha!" moments.

me: Okay, that's clever. I was supposed to say it, not you.

shrink: (chuckles)

This is part of what's going on lately.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Another foundation in town is having their annual social justice dinner. Normally I don't attend those functions. It's so not me. Thankfully it's not a part of my job either. But I'm chomping at the bit to go. Rather, I don't even need the dinner or the schmoozing. I only want to sit through the keynote address. The topic Democracy under Siege is being given by Angela Davis.
I locked myself out of the office this morning. Actually, I realized it last night when Auxugen and I were out at Septieme's. I happened to look down at my key ring and my heart sank. Yesterday afternoon before heading out to an appointment, for some ridiculous reason, I took off the extra ring that holds my office keys. Then I remembered that the two men who tend to come in about as early as I do weren't in the office today. What a way to start a Wednesday. Getting off the elevator I sat on the floor, in the corner of our lobby for about 45 minutes, at which time one of our sublessors walked in. It's now only 8:30, but if I had my druthers, or preferably my damned keys, I would have been here two hours earlier.

Anyway on to other stuff like our Wednesday regulars, Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology and Mark Morford. Today Mark writes about comic books. Or better yet, it's about the value of memories.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Happy, happy, joy, joy!!!!

After almost a month of dialup, my dsl is finally up and running. No more decisions between the computer and the phone. And the speed doesn't hurt either. Especially when my near and dear ones enjoy sending me files of nasty goodies.

A couple weeks ago, without thinking, I downloaded Apple software updates. 5 updates, including OS 10.whatever and java. A 4 hour process for the whole shebang. It was a night I planned on being in bed early. Instead, I napped until after I could restart the computer.

I'm speedy again!
The boss walked in and we were talking about the dessert. I mentioned the figs on the tart. I love figs. It then reminded me of a killer ravioli dish I used to get at Salumaria on Hudson (now sadly defunct). It was ravioli (I think pumpkin or sweet potato), on a bed of sauteed arugula and tossed with figs and a little olive oil. Heaven. Sheer, unadulterated bliss.
Quick note.

I'm diving into the treat my boss left in the fridge for me. Oh my gawd!!! It's a little tart from Macrina Bakery. There is some type of custard filling. It is topped with fresh strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, a slice of nectarine and even a fig! Then there are white chocolate curls on top of that. Awesome, decadent stuff.

Now back to my tartlet. Mmmmmm......

Monday, August 23, 2004

My boss walked in today singing "happy 4th anniversary to girlfag". :-) I needed to leave early and so checked work email tonight. She emailed me stating there was a small pink box in the refrigerator for me. Sounds like goodies!

Today was the day that I had planned to take Sir to the Seattle Art Museum for the Van Gogh to Mondrian exhibit. Normally closed, the SAM is open each Monday for the duration of this exhibit to members only. There was still quite a bit of people to weave through, but not as bad as during the week.

The whole exhibit is interesting. I'm tired so I can't even begin to do it justice. And if there were some possible way, I'd love to return without the hordes. The Kröller-Müller collection is a nice sample of the history of modern art.

Unfortunately, within the hoopla, Seurat, Leger, Signac and many others are pushed to the background. All you hear is Van Gogh. Not to slight him, I found treasures. Drawings. I was delighted to discover about a dozen drawings by the artist. Works I'd never before seen, including this one. So sweet.

In the past I've mentioned I'm an art snob and that still holds true. Part of that, for me, includes a delight and big desire to see the draughtsman behind the painter. I reveled in these drawings. Even more than the paintings.

Another big treasure is a large Juan Gris painting. Sir and I stood before it and almost simultaneously our breaths caught in our throat. He whispered "Imagine showing this at the time it was created. Imagine the uproar."

Here are a few different links to Juan Gris, although I can't find the painting that grabbed my insides and brought tears to my eyes.

It was a good day.
A tidbit.
Yesterday I pulled out my brushes. All of them. They are now in a canister on my worktable near the easel. It's one more step.
And on a sad art note, two Munch paintings were stolen yesterday. In broad daylight no less. They were simply taken off the walls and out the door. Check out The Padacia for images of both paintings.
Yesterday, Sir handed me a one week pass to his gym. I'm jazzed. Although I'm going to wait a couple weeks when my schedule is lighter because I want to take advantage of every single day. Then, it's a matter of waiting until October, when I return from my vacation to be able to afford to sign up. All in time.


Another journal has a small discussion on Moxie. Any of you remember Moxie?
What is Moxie, you ask?

Well for my Moxie lover readers who can't find it in their area, here's a place we (including me) can order it from!

Sunday, August 22, 2004

My father hangs crucifixes on many walls.
In my house there is one wall with many crosses.

I am my father's daughter.


My paintings are hung.

Hoss and I spent yesterday running errands. Actually they were his errands and I accompanied him. For those of you who've met Hoss, I'm sure you can see how it makes for a jolly time. For those of you who don't know him, you are missing out. :-)

After completing his list we somehow ended up at Ikea with this desire to check out the 'as is' section. We wandered through and looked at everything, our eyes beginning to show the Ikea glaze. Ending up in the 'as is' section and I found it. A comfy chair. Just that morning I made a list of 'must get' and 'want to get' for the apartment. The chair was low on the list because I felt there were other things needed first. Also, I couldn't see how I could fit a chair before removing the big bed.

It is a big chair. I can sit indian style in it. It's deep enough for my long legs. I hate chairs that, when sitting, end near the middle of the thigh instead of closer to the knee. It doesn't have a slip cover...but Hoss told me a mutual friend just bought a new sewing machine. I'm sure I can ask him to help.

This chair, new, was almost $100. The 'as is' price was $67. And...there was a big sign advertising 25% off the 'as is' price. So I scored for $50! It looks like it was simply a return and not defective. Can't find anything wrong with it.

What I like about the chair is the rocker factor. I already have a rocker but it's very rocky. It's perfect for serious rocking. The new chair only rocks slightly. You can sit and remain still, or barely move your body and get a slight rock. Absolutely comforting.

We return to the house and carry the chair upstairs. Once it's reassemble, Hoss gets a fire under his butt and decides to redecorate and reorganize my apartment. I was thrilled.

When I moved in, I placed things so it would be workable. But it wasn't yet fully home. I knew I wanted to move a few items around and still had a couple boxes to unpack. Time hadn't allowed me to do it.

On top of it I'm not a good 3d visualizer. Isn't that a strange thing for an artist to say?
But alas, it is true. Always been so.
Give me a 2d surface and I have no problems in breaking up the space. Also, within a large 3 dimensional space I can create small pleasing moments. I am very particular about color and objects. To the point of emotional. But to deal with the whole thing is another story. It boggles me.

When younger, my mom would have to create setups for the church. You know, like Navity settings and such. She'd ask me if I'd like to help and I'd always freeze. It was her gift, not mine.

I mentioned to Hoss that at some point I wanted to move a dresser in the closet. That's all he needed to hear. Queer eye for girlfag.

He was in major top mode. Especially when it came to my easel. He asked where it was. I mumbled something about the closet. I didn't want to put it out until everything in the apartment was set up. He insisted. Strongly. Out it came.

The bookcase now has fun touches to it. We placed about half the books I don't need to look at in the closet. Still accessible. But with added details, he transformed the bookcase into something special. There is even a small painting of a St. Andrew's cross tucked in, between the edge of the bookcase, acting as a bookend.

Silly me. I thought that when one has x amount of books and x amount of bookcase, you simply crammed it all in. I mean, that's what it's for, right? Ha.

The paintings went up. Three of my other paintings of Sir's St. Andrews crosses with his altar are on one wall. A larger one, still in progress, hangs on another.

Two figurative paintings made it to the top shelf of the bookcase. Another, titled "Lady in Red" by Hoss, is above the green dresser. She's not wearing red, but placed in a large red space. One of her legs is painted almost the exact green of the dresser. One painting of Portsmouth, painted from the top floor of the parking garage, is on another little wall. The unfinished portrait of Sir was placed on my easel. The unfinished still life is in the kitchen.

A little print (about 2x2 inches) of a menorrah-like object that's made up of dildos, penises and buttplugs now has a special place near my door. It's the last thing you see before leaving my home.

I had admired that piece at a queer art show about a 1 1/2 ago. Then it hung at the erotic art show this past January. The Bear had purchased a few framed prints from that artist. Unbeknowst to me, he bought me this little one, knowing I cherished it. It was a fabulous surprise.

I need to mat a few images that were given to me during my last trip to Boston. I'd like to place them near that print.

It is all good.

Last night I had no plans. And I was glad. It was cool and rainy. I curled up in a blanket, tucked into my new chair, sipping a new tea drink discovery. Earl Grey steeped in steamed vanilla soy milk (not water). Stylin' drink! I ran out to the coffee shop because I thought I wanted a chai latte. But the barista steered me on a new path. Earl Grey is too pungent for me. Yet in soy...it's the most amazing thing. It takes the sharpness down a step and allows subtle essences to come through. Shit. It's perfect.

Sipping on my tea, I was checking out the apartment and placement.
In a 200 square foot room, I have a bedroom with a fullsize bed, a conversation area with two rockers and a little table, and a little painting space with my easel and worktable. Also a dresser and a bookcase. Who woulda thunk it all fit...and not in a crowded way?

I was home and nestled.

Hoss...thank you so much.

Friday, August 20, 2004

Honest to whatever. 5 times (at least) I've headed for Blogger to begin a personal post that isn't linking to a column or article. Each time, I've been distracted and worked on something else. The good part is that I've been quite productive. The bad...well no personal post.

I was working on some plans for Keckler's visit. I contacted an artist here in Seattle who I haven't gotten together with in way too long. Spending time with him always juices me. I've finally called a business with a groovy idea for another fundraiser for the scholarship fund I've been working on. I've procrastinated on that call for way too long. I've completed some personal, business calls for Sir. And I can't remember what else. But...I haven't written the entry that's been milling around in my head.

Today's my day off. I've spent it in my office (minus the 1 hour break with Sir). I still don't have dsl at home and needed access to phone and computer for lots of non-work related stuff. Dsl should be up on Monday.

Speaking of stuff...I love that word. All kinds of stuff is stuff. You can have stuff or stuff stuff.

Yeah, that was an aside. An aside from what? Haven't a clue seeing this is a fairly contentless entry.

I did receive my 2 copies of Hogg today. Thank you Thor!

One copy is a very belated birthday gift for The Bear because Samuel Delany is one of his favorite authors, if not his absolute favorite. The other is a gift for me. I think I'm headed to Septieme's this evening where I'll happily sit at an outdoor table, immerse myself in food, red wine and Hogg. My Delany cherry will be busted.

And maybe at some point I'll write a more pointed piece about what I originally wanted to write about. Cuz this ain't it.
From In These Times, August 6, 2004

I Love You, Madame Librarian - by Kurt Vonnegut

I, like probably most of you, have seen Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11. Its title is a parody of the title of Ray Bradbury’s great science fiction novel, Fahrenheit 451. This temperature 451° Fahrenheit, is the combustion point, incidentally, of paper, of which books are composed. The hero of Bradbury’s novel is a municipal worker whose job is burning books.

And on the subject of burning books: I want to congratulate librarians, not famous for their physical strength or their powerful political connections or their great wealth, who, all over this country, have staunchly resisted anti-democratic bullies who have tried to remove certain books from their shelves, and have refused to reveal to thought police the names of persons who have checked out those titles.

So the America I loved still exists, if not in the White House or the Supreme Court or the Senate or the House of Representatives or the media. The America I love still exists at the front desks of our public libraries.

And still on the subject of books: Our daily sources of news, papers and TV, are now so craven, so unvigilant on behalf of the American people, so uninformative, that only in books can we find out what is really going on. I will cite an example: House of Bush, House of Saud by Craig Unger, published near the start of this humiliating, shameful blood-soaked year.

In case you haven’t noticed, and as a result of a shamelessly rigged election in Florida, in which thousands of African Americans were arbitrarily disenfranchised, we now present ourselves to the rest of the world as proud, grinning, jut-jawed, pitiless war lovers, with appallingly powerful weaponry and unopposed.

In case you haven’t noticed, we are now almost as feared and hated all over the world as the Nazis were.

With good reason.

In case you haven’t noticed, our unelected leaders have dehumanized millions and millions of human beings simply because of their religion and race. We wound and kill ’em and torture ’em and imprison ’em all we want.

Piece of cake.

In case you haven’t noticed, we also dehumanize our own soldiers, not because of their religion or race, but because of their low social class.

Send ’em anywhere. Make ’em do anything.

Piece of cake.

The O’Reilly Factor.

So I am a man without a country, except for the librarians and the Chicago-based magazine you are reading, In These Times.

Before we attacked Iraq, the majestic New York Times guaranteed that there were weapons of mass destruction there.

Albert Einstein and Mark Twain gave up on the human race at the end of their lives, even though Twain hadn’t even seen World War I. War is now a form of TV entertainment. And what made WWI so particularly entertaining were two American inventions, barbed wire and the machine gun. Shrapnel was invented by an Englishman of the same name. Don’t you wish you could have something named after you?

Like my distinct betters Einstein and Twain, I now am tempted to give up on people too. And, as some of you may know, this is not the first time I have surrendered to a pitiless war machine.

My last words? “Life is no way to treat an animal, not even a mouse.”

Napalm came from Harvard. Veritas!

Our president is a Christian? So was Adolf Hitler.

What can be said to our young people, now that psychopathic personalities, which is to say persons without consciences, without a sense of pity or shame, have taken all the money in the treasuries of our government and corporations and made it all their own?
Mark Morford goes off on a different path.

He writes:
How good and refreshing and inspiring is it, in these war-drunk, anti-everything, BushCo-ravaged times, to discover a gem of pure unadulterated free-thinking humanity and funkiness and animal tenderness sitting just outside the teeming, reeking city walls?

How life affirming and encouraging is it to stumble, quite randomly, quite unexpectedly, across what is probably the funniest, most caring, most quirky, most unexpected, most hugely popular, intensely local veterinarian in the entire Bay Area even though I can't verify that because I've only been to like, two, but I'm willing to risk saying it anyway?

That is the opening of This Man Touched My Parrot.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

This morning I brought in a 4 lb container of Jelly Belly jellybeans that I picked up last night...at a really good price. It's in the kitchen for all to enjoy.
With 49 flavors, the CFO and I decided to make a personalized recipe for each staff member. They'll find it on their desk tomorrow morning. :-)

I'm not sure who snuck in the new addition to the bathroom an hour ago but I'm thrilled. 3 Doctor Suess books!

Love my job.
Aren't I good to you? Once again, this week's Freewill Astrology.

In "Still Proud To Be In S.F. - Who cares if 4,000 gay marriages went down in CA Supreme Court flames? The gauntlet has been thrown", Mark Morford writes about last week's decision by the CA Supreme Court. I'm in agreement with Mark because I mentioned the same to friends last week, although not as eloquently. From the column...oh wait. Fuck it. Here's the whole damned thing.
Everyone saw it coming.
No one in his/her right mind truly believed that San Francisco's landmark same-sex marriages would stand the test of the scowling California Supreme Court or the white-hot glare of the rabid homophobic war-drunk BushCo Right. It was almost no contest, a leather-clad dove versus an archaic, oily tank from the word go -- or, rather, from the words "I do."

It was a given. Everyone pretty much expected that the intense sweep of love and hope that flooded the City last spring would almost immediately suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous legislation and gnarled conservative sexual dread, and, truth be told, everyone was actually rather stunned that the nuptials lasted as long as they did and that they caused such an enormous national uproar and that the country responded with a dazzling outpouring of deep feeling and flowers and it's about goddamn time.

But lo, the state Supreme Court did what it was hired to do: Wield the sharp sword of bitter, outdated, biased justice, declare Mayor Gavin Newsom's still-astounding initiative out of legal bounds and pronounce all those beautiful marriages, all that astounding love, all that wondrous feeling null and void.

And all the right-wing homophobes and conservative wonks said, ha ha, snicker. And all the liberals and S.F. denizens and same-sex marriage proponents went, sigh. And then, shrug.

Because anyone who was really paying attention also understands this: The court's decision does not really matter. The right-wing sneers and I-told-you-so's do not really matter. The hateful backlash against gays and progressive notions of love does not matter.

Here's why: The die has been cast. The gauntlet has been thrown down. The wheels are in motion. The sea change is under way. The strap-on has been, well, strapped on.

And while it is indeed terribly sad and disheartening that all those who emerged from S.F.'s city hall last February with a glow in their eyes and a spring in their newly married step are now feeling more than a little dejected and smacked down and dispossessed, the fact is that these couples were, as most of them fully realized, martyrs to a cause.

They knew this would probably happen. They knew they were walking straight into the line of homophobic fire, and did so with open eyes and open minds and even more open hearts. They were the vanguard, the committed ones, the calm, sacrificial offerings on the alter of painful national change.

This is the way it had to be. Someone had to do it, after all; someone had to be the divine wrench hurled into the wheels of uptight American dogma and Christian self-righteousness, and the thousands of couples married here were brave enough to make that leap and tie that knot and to hell with the judges and the lawmakers who try to untie it again. It's too late. Some knots are simply not meant to be messed with.

Oh sure, the state and the nation can now backpedal like mad, remove the legality of those marriages, strip away the official declarations and tear up all the documents. Have at it. But they can't touch the newly minted universal law. They cannot touch the deeper change; they have no jurisdiction over the spiritual shift, the energetic bonds, that have taken place. That stuff is permanent, baby.

Look, you cannot get dunked in a river and pretend you didn't get wet. You cannot get the bright red lipstick of progress on your cultural shirt collar and then deny the whole affair. The nation has supped the wine of divine love-drunk revolution, and there is no sobering up.

Swallow this, America: Same-sex marriage is now a pressing and urgent and heartfelt issue, one that is virtually guaranteed to become a foregone conclusion in our generation.

Yes, that's right. Legal, happy, stable same-sex marriages are just a matter of time. They are just a matter of perspectival torque. They are just a matter of knocking the yellowed teeth out of our leader's small-minded ideologies and draining the bile from the sexually terrified and the morally indignant and the tragically ignorant.

Proof? Try this:

"Punishment for marriage: If any white person intermarry with a colored person, or any colored person intermarry with a white person, he shall be guilty of a felony and shall be punished by confinement in the penitentiary for not less than one nor more than five years."

Isn't that sweet? Remember that law? It wasn't all that long ago (1958, to be exact) that this very line, this nasty little bit of legalized hate, was on the books in Virginia. Newsom himself pointed it out during his wonderful, articulate and heartfelt press conference just after the court's ruling came down in San Francisco. Yes, interracial marriages were illegal in many states as recently as 50 years ago.

And guess what? When the now-famous Loving v. Virginia case was in the national spotlight in 1967, polls showed that a whopping 94 percent of white America opposed such marriages.

And the right wingers and the Bible thumpers were screaming and raving then, too, absolutely horrified -- horrified! -- at the thought of blacks marrying whites, given how they were absolutely sure such unions were a slippery slope (always, always a slippery slope) toward ungodly debauchery, and polygamy, and pedophilia, inbreeding, genital warts, hysterical blindness, murder, rape, bunions, floods and locusts and loud mufflers and the imminent advent of rap metal.

And just look. Weren't they so right? Didn't the world just collapse and rivers of blood gush through the streets as the God-given sanctity of smug white-ass 50-percent-divorce-rate marriage just come to a screeching screaming hell-pricked halt the moment the first white woman married a black man? Oh my God, it sure did! Oh wait.

The California court's slap is only a minor setback. Just wait. Wait maybe one little decade, give or take, right until the crusty aging homophobes in the U.S. Senate begin to die off and the gay rights movement gains even more luscious steam and more Republicans come out of the closet.

Wait right until increasing numbers of Americans realize, as they invariably do, that such change, such openness, such a welcoming of love and evolution is absolutely goddamn mandatory for the health and longevity of any self-respecting nation that claims to be the most free thinking and open minded and self-defined on the planet, even if it's not.

Just wait. It won't be long now. What, you're really going to put a stop to a newly polished facet of true love once it's been discovered? You gonna try to ram through your little state constitutional amendments and stroke your Bible in fear and cover your children's eyes from the hideous image of gay people committing to one another in intimate holy matrimony? Hell, knock yourself out.

The rest of us will be looking back at you from the future, waving good-bye.

-Mark Morford, SFGate Columnist

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

I haven't had much to say, therefore the silence. There was the 12 hour catering job on Saturday which led to a crash and burn on Sunday. I enjoy the crew I work with. All queer perverts.

Sometimes while serving the clients...tending to them, watering, feeding...(sounds like caring for animals, doesn't it?), I wonder about the whole gay marriage thing. The thoughts that run through my head go something like "I wonder how many people here are against queers getting married? And of those people, how can they feel comfortable with our service at an event they don't want to see us have ourselves?"

Sometimes I fantasize about what it would be like if every queer in the wedding industry, flowers, cakes, catering, consulting, etc. would simply stop providing service for straight weddings.

Or what if you took every Catholic who does not follow the straight and very narrow dictated by the Pope and each stopped contributing to their church for a couple months? That includes all who use birth control, have had or aren't against abortions, divorce, and so many other things.

And what if every queer person in the military simply dropped their guns and chose to walk away until they were seen as equal?

One better. What if every queer person, for one year, only paid, let's say 50 or 60 percent of their taxes?

What would happen if all gay folk simply rose up and said "wait a minute!".

What if?

Monday, August 16, 2004

Just a quickie before I head out to a meeting. By the way, good morning. :-)

I think I've finally resolved my ISP/DSL problems. Hopefully...hopefully...by next Monday I'll be back in business.

Tickets are now booked for my October trip. Originally I saw $203 round trip for Seattle/Albany (cheap). As I started the online purchase, Travelocity informed me of even cheaper rates. So my tickets are now $175 roundtrip!

I'm heading out very early on October 5 and will return to Seattle on October 13th, late at night. Due to the cheap rates I didn't have lots of flexiblity with days. It seemed the only travel dates were Tuesdays and Wednesdays. So I made do. Yeah, fairly excited. Talk with you later!

Saturday, August 14, 2004

A couple days ago, while commenting on an Edge entry, I saw the possibility of a good rant regarding energy exchange.

Although the ideas are in my head, I need something to fuel the rant. I know I wrote similar ideas about 3 years ago. There was a topic on a discussion list that pissed me off. So I waited. Being too angry I figured it was prudent to slow down a little. I wanted to be on fire, but not irrational and consumed strictly with emotion.

This time I'm dealing with the opposite. It will come. Just have to set me off first. :-)


Hmmm...I'm quiet and relaxed. Listening to live stream of WMVY (yeah, Martha's Vineyard radio). And I have over an hour before heading out. There's a fisting party tonight. One day...I'll have the opportunity to attend.

I suppose it's as good a time as any to share with you my concerns and confusion surrounding the original Body Electric workshop I almost signed up for. Can't remember if I've written about this before.

With BE, there's an intro course. Celebrate the Body Erotic. This first course, understandably so, is separated by bio sex. So, regardless of sexuality, the women go to the women's and the guys to the guys.

I had loads of stuff come up around that. Knowing this, I decided I'd approach it like taking medicine I needed to have. It may not taste good, but I'll do it anyway. What I can't understand is why it feels like that. I'm not misogynistic. I enjoy women. Not all, but some. Then again, I don't enjoy all men either.

But when I'm in all woman space I tend to feel confined. There's a weight that sits on my chest. It's quite odd. I'd seen this build over the last 10 years. Quite the twist for a former lesbian separatist. I would never think too hard about the unsettled feeling. Instead, I'd circulate where it felt better. For example, back east, I'd invite my dyke friends over. At the same time, I made sure there were enough gay men to balance out the act. It was all fairly unconscious.

4 years ago was the first time I was acutely aware of the heaviness. I was at an event for work. We were celebrating the culmination of an amazing program. It was the first year it was funded and it was a hit. This program supported the education of women to empower them to become leaders. I happened to be with BBC top at the time and we were going to play after the event. Yeah, I was in training with Sir, but he made an exception in my training and allowed me one play date. So BBC top came with me to the work function. I walked into the room and realized I was quite edgy. Shrugged it off and worked the room. Time pased and the heaviness got worse. A couple hours into the evening a male board member walked in, to offer his support. I'll never forget my deep exhale. It struck me. A window had been opened, a cool breeze came in and surrounded me.

Yeah...it blew me away. I have no idea, to this day, what that's about. I just know how it feels.

I need that something extra. Simplifying the matter for sake of explanation, I simply say I can't deal with all the estrogen. I don't believe that's fully correct, yet haven't another way to explain it. Something about queer male energy is home.

So can you imagine how I was feeling about spending a weekend in all female company? Tweaked...to say the least. I was going to push myself through it because I have a clue about spirit and energy. How can the idea of that space feel so oppressive? Somehow my reactions didn't sit well with me. And dammit, I am female bodied. I figured there were fears I needed to face and I'd just do it.

Maybe that's my rational self trying to come to some resolution for something that isn't going to make sense intellectually. When I spoke with the guy from San Francisco...out of the blue he suggested the Two Spirit workshop. As he explained it, tears sprang to my eyes and I knew it was for me. While speaking with the coordinator back east...she seemed to feel and understand. She said it was important for me to take this one.

Gender is simple and at the same time it is not black and white. I discover that for me, it's something I feel yet can't explain. All I can do is recognize when someplace feels like home versus not.
Whoa. What a day.

If you notice my entry from about 8ish this morning, I wrote of plans for my October vacation. 2 hours later it changed.

I'm tired so whatever I leave out tonight I'll include hopefully tomorrow morning before brunch with Hoss and his own, followed by a catering gig at 12:30 out on Whidbey Island.

Anyway, today was east coast men day. Keckler and I are wrapping up plans for his trip out here. AE called this morning as I mentioned earlier. After listening to the radio show he was on, I happen to get a phone call. It's Artistdelife! I met him over on the mountain and although we've exchanged a couple emails, I dropped the ball. He was always on my mind, but I was too busy. It was so good to hear his voice. I mentioned my tentative plans for Body Electric and NY. He reminded me to keep him posted so he can possibly meet me on the mountain while I'm there.

Artistdelife said he had just finished calling San Francisco regarding a Body Electric course and figured he might as well call Seattle. We spoke of BE for a bit. After hanging up, I decided it was time to bite the bullet and register for my course.

From speaking with someone in the office I discovered there's another workshop I could take. Not different in scheduling, but different in content. He said it would probably even be better for me. It's also in October. And...it's not in Seattle. So where is it being held? On the very mountain I was planning on heading to after my Seattle body electric course so I could visit with AE. This man kindly hooked me up with the course coordinator. So I called her back east. This workshop is for men and women, instead of the women only event I thought I needed to attend.

This scores all the way around. I haven't even touched upon the conversations I had with the guy from San Francisco or the coordinator back east. But they were powerful and amazing. Good stuff.

What really struck me about today is how I feared taking a step. (Haven't expanded on the 'why' yet). I was quite uncomfortable signing up for Body Electric. But I grabbed my gutts because I just knew it was something I had to do. It went from committing to it, then the discovery that I will be taking a workshop better suited for me. So my anxiety fell. Then I was concerned about the fees because this course is longer and pricier. Yet I kept going and didn't let that stop me. From there, I discover the coordinator is willing to work with me, regarding payment. One step led to another doorway. Although concerns would arise, I allowed myself to walk through and find the issues would drop to the wayside.

Then I receive an email from Keckler asking about more info regarding my October plans. I think it's going to be a good week. Especially if I get to spend time with everyone. The workshop is October 7th-11th. I want to fly in a couple days earlier, and hopefully stay a few days after the workshop ends.
Tonight, AE called me again and shared his excitement about this particular workshop.

Wild day. It was so strange and exciting to be connecting with a few amazing people 3,000 miles away, each not aware that the other was contacting me, all in the span of 6 hours or so. I like seeing this extended community begin to take shape. Honestly, it feels like both coasts are home. What's strange is while I was on vacation back east, I spent time letting go of my old home. In doing so, I am discovering another home on the east. This is good.

Friday, August 13, 2004

From the Washington Post

Julia Child, Famous Cook, Dies at 91
Friday, August 13, 2004; 10:52 AM

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Julia Child, the grande dame of U.S. television cooking shows and books, has died at age 91, her publisher said on Friday.

Alfred A. Knopf said in a statement she died in her sleep on Thursday at her Santa Barbara, California, home.

During World War II, Child served with the Office of Strategic Services in Washington D.C., Sri Lanka and China.

After the war she moved to Paris with her husband, Paul Child, who was working at the American Embassy. There, Child began her culinary career at the Cordon Bleu. In 1961, in collaboration with two French colleagues, she wrote "Mastering the Art of French Cooking."

The book was groundbreaking for introducing French cooking techniques to a country whose cuisine had been best known for dishes like meatloaf and potatoes.

That book spawned the PBS television series "The French Chef" and was followed by several other shows where she brought a simple, American approach to making gourmet dishes.
I almost forgot. Happy Friday the 13th!

And it's a good one. About 5 minutes ago AE called me from the mountain to let me know he'll be on the radio at RPI in about an hour. I'll have a chance to tune in and listen. We also briefly discussed trips. I'm tentatively planning a trip to the mountain in October. I have about 60 hours of vacation time I cannot carry over into the new year. It's use it or lose it. So my current plan is to do Body Electric (seeing AE has gifted me with a credit). Then after spending a weekend in female space I want to be surrounded by the men on the mountain. It'll be a good balance for me. So 3 days of Body Electric, maybe 4 days with AE and then fly home and spend another 4 days or so painting. This sounds like a perfect vacation. Now let's see how it really pans out.

AE also informed me he's flying to Seattle for 2 weeks in December. I'm jazzed. Love that boy.


Mark Morford is back with a beaut.

He ends today's column with:

"Imagine if much of BushCo's current disease of bogus evangelical machismo was drained away like pus from a wound and the nation was not led by a bunch of snickering myopic war hawks and corporate CEOs, each so obviously sexually repressed and so clearly in need of a long string of anal beads and a nice tub of margarine that they absolutely must lead us into war to compensate for not having sex since the Nixon administration.

Can you imagine it? What a country we could be. How much more pliable, amenable, full of satisfied sighs and open-mouthed laughter and free condoms in the streets. What, too utopian? Naive? Too bad. Raise your Hitachis, humble deviants of the world, and see who salutes."

There are tasty treats throughout No Sex, Please, We're Republicans
Quote(s) of the day:

"My truth is that I am a gay American."

"This, the 47th year of my life, is arguably too late to have this discussion. But . . . at a point in every person's life, one has to look deeply into the mirror of one's soul."

-Gov. James E. McGreevey, August 12, 2004
Cafe Septieme saw a bunch of us tonight. Not intentionally. But rarely does anything intentionally happen at Septieme's. That's one of the reasons I like it. I was there with Sir and beautiful boy. Bondage top, his girl and their friends were at another table. The Mistress and a friend walked in and sat in the booth near us. Our favorite waiters were in bloom...the food was good...and conversation always delightful.

Anyway, that's not the reason for this post. This is. Art. Me.

We were talking. You know, talking like you talk. The subject of my art on Septieme's walls came up. Actually, just before that the topic was my supposed fear of hanging my work. Now, maybe...just maybe I'm afraid to hang my work. I will allow for that possibility. But...and here's the big BUT. But I am more inclined not to be bothered. It's a hassle. It's not my job. You see...I painted the stuff. If someone wants it hung, they can hang it.

Okay...the conversation began even before that. It started with the friggin' erotic art show. I'm not going back into my blog, but I think that in December 2003 and January 2004 I wrote about the show. For some odd reason it came up again. I asserted, vehemently, that I did NOT need an erotic art show to tell me my paintings were erotic. And if the public needed the label 'erotic art show' to decide my paintings were erotic then they had no business seeing my work. Plain and simple. It seems to me that everyone is missing a major concept of art. I couldn't believe we were having this conversation again. I'm not going there.

For me, it's a passionate as well as political statement. I did realize tonight that if I do submit work...I now have the PERFECT piece to submit for the jury. It is one of my absolute favorites. One of the best things I've done. It currently hangs in my office so I can look at it all the time. I'd be very surprised if it were accepted. But that's okay. It would give me a reason to do some extra writing.

Anyway...we were rehashing all this. I then mentioned...almost with tears in my eyes, because I am so emphatic about my beliefs, that I was NOT afraid of hanging my work. I just didn't want to be bothered. I haven't had the energy.

You gotta get slides made...to have a portfolio. The last time slides or any photos were shot of my work was 1997. Yeah...long time. It's a pain in the ass. Then you have to go around and sell it.

I haven't a problem if someone else wants to do it. But it isn't my gig.

My second to last show was 5 years ago, back east. A gallery director called me, because he happened to see the work. I agreed to give him 10 new paintings, in addition to a bunch of old ones.
Shipping everything back east...I let go. My family was more excited than I was. They would continually call me. "What titles do you want?"
"I don't care, Mom. You guys can name the work."
"But you must have an opinion."
"It's not that important."
"How do you want to price your work."
"You decide."
"Mom, do me one favor. There are two paintings I do not want sold. They are mine. I've marked those on the back. The others...price them how ever you want."

Honestly, that felt good. I had no desire to go to the opening. The only reason I ended up seeing the show is I happened to be back east for Thanksgiving and it was the last day of the show. A gentleman who bought one of my paintings heard I was in town and wanted to meet me...as the show came down and he could take his new painting home. So I went.

I think that all artists should have managers. Or this painter, anyway. When the business stuff gets in the way it contaminates how I feel about my work. It tries to throw it in a different plane. All of a sudden it's about reviews, showings, price and popularity. Will they like it? Won't they?

How about painting because I like to paint?

Now I know full well I can use the above statement as a cop out.

Trust me, I'm not so pure that I don't get tainted by outside approval. I've saved reviews. I cherish the demographic my buyers come from. And I can easily get stuck in that. I have in the past...and I'll freeze. When I'm not free to just be and paint, I paint garbage.

I don't like getting stuck.

So I throw out the baby with the bath water. I guess I'm not good at doing both. Maybe one day I'll learn. But to prove to Sir and beautiful boy that I wasn't afraid to hang the art...I took the first step tonight to make connections and see about an informal show. Informal is easier.

We'll see what happens.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

Gee, I was just commenting on Lolita's LJ and realized my comment was too long. So I'm throwing the missing part here. This is in reference to today's decision by the California court regarding the 4,000 San Francisco same sex marriages.

In the email I received this morning from Lambda Legal, they wrote:

Just minutes ago the California Supreme Court issued a very disappointing decision, ruling that San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom did not have the authority to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples, and that the licenses issued to more than 4,000 couples are invalid. While this is not the ruling that Lambda Legal fought for, I want to let you know what is and is not at stake in this case, and to fill you in on our other strategies to keep pushing the ball forward in California and across the country.

Today's ruling is important, but it does not resolve whether same-sex couples have the right to marry and be treated equally under the California Constitution. Instead, the court's decision focuses on San Francisco's brave decision to move ahead and issue marriage licenses without a court order on the right of same-sex couples to marry, and whether the mayor had the right to do that. Lambda Legal and our cocounsel NCLR and ACLU fought hard for couples who got married in San Francisco, and this ruling is clearly a painful one for them.

But the California Supreme Court did not rule on whether gay and lesbian couples must be allowed to marry under the state's constitution. Indeed, in its majority opinion, the court said, "To avoid any misunderstanding, we emphasize that the substantive question of the constitutional validity of California's statutory provisions limiting marriage to a union between a man and a woman is not before our court in this proceeding, and our decision in this case is not intended, and should not be interpreted, to reflect any view on that issue." That critical issue will be answered in a lawsuit filed by lead counsel NCLR, Lambda Legal and the ACLU in March; the city and county of San Francisco have filed a separate lawsuit addressing that same fundamental question. These two cases are similar to the victorious Massachusetts marriage case that led to same-sex couples marrying in that state.

While we're hopeful about our California marriage case, we have lots of other irons in the fire for gay and lesbian couples there and all around the country. Earlier this summer, the California Supreme Court agreed to hear Lambda Legal's case against a Southern California country club that is discriminating against a lesbian couple because they don't have a marriage license. We're also helping to defend California's new comprehensive domestic partnership law, which has come under legal attack from right-wing antigay groups based in Florida and Arizona.

And of course, our fight for marriage equality continues all across the country. Our big victory last week in our Washington lawsuit (with the Northwest Women's Law Center) on behalf of couples seeking to marry there was a huge step forward. We're optimistic that we're moving toward victory in our marriage lawsuits in New Jersey and New York. Our public education work is helping more and more Americans to understand why the right to marry the person you love is a basic civil right. And we've got lots more in store!

Today we suffered a temporary setback. But we still have both momentum and justice on our side. And we will continue to move forward to equality."
-Kevin Cathcart, Executive Director of Lambda Legal

Two steps forward - one step back.
Yesterday was fun, although I did put in about 3 hours of work after returning to the office in the late afternoon.

We hiked in a park I'd never been to before. I'm sure going back! The trail let out to the water, following the Sound and it was great. After lunch, we hit the art show "101 Ways to Remove the President From Power". The CoCA is a small gallery. Each individual piece was okay. But standing in the room, surrounded by all this work filled with hurt, anger and frustration was powerful. There was a video loop playing of a child asking their father if they voted. His response repeats every 30 seconds or so. Hearing his "I was too busy to vote" while immersed in the work is intense.

In a couple weeks I'm taking Sir to see the exhibit at the SAM. It's been up all summer yet we haven't had the time, until now. I was going to link to the Seattle Art Museum website, yet it doesn't seem to be functioning. So here is a review of the show.

Yes I enjoy Van Gogh. But no more than other masters. I go with the possibility I may discover new treasures, in lesser known works. Any work of art that has been commercialized and mass-reproduced tends to bore me. One, I'm tired of seeing it, especially out of context. Sunflowers on lunchboxes and bags and postcards etc. Ugh. The second reason is I believe the pieces chosen to be reproduced tend to be the easiest for the public to swallow. To me that means you don't have to work too hard to enjoy it. Not that life needs to be a struggle all the time, but what seems to happen is the more challenging work gets overlooked out of sheer laziness.

We will hit the exhibit on member Mondays, while the museum is closed to the general public. I detest feeling like cattle being herded through an exhibit. It is so the wrong way to see art. That's a reason I prefer smaller galleries, and not on opening night.

I happened to catch PBS a few years back with Sister Wendy. She used to crack me up. in a good way. This particular night she was standing in front of a Rothko. I remember she spoke of how we may not 'get it'. But it's not an intellectual endeavor. She said to sit. Sit with the work. If it doesn't do anything for you, sit with it some more. And even more. Essentially, give it a real shot. See if the piece seeps into your skin. It may or may not. But her point was that we don't give ourselves enough time with the art.

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Seeing I've decided to participate in today's play day...I'm going to spend the next hour indulging myself in writing. Mark Morford is back with How do you know it's time for a major change in American leadership? Let us count the signs.

I was trying to find a quote to highlight for you, but I couldn't decide! Each tickle me. But I'll give you one anyway. According to Morford, one of the signs that proclaim we need Bush out:

"When the professors and other intellectuals and the artists and the social workers and the mystics and the truly spiritual among us are appalled and mournful, and the homophobes and the rednecks and the religious zealots are cheering and shooting their guns in the sky, this is how you know."
I wrote this last night, but am just now getting around to posting it. Don't even ask why!

Hey there.

You know, sometimes small things make a big difference.

That's what happened today. As I wrote to Keckler, I left work early today and somehow relaxed in that. It's been over a month since I've had a small space of time for me. Time that wasn't set aside to catch my breath or catch up on sleep.

I also believe that I've been in the throes of an existential crisis. Therapy is really interesting. I don't know if I'm repeating myself, but it doesn't matter.

We, or I should say I, tend to begin counseling when I'm dealing with a life crisis. Normally a loss of some sort. So after a lot of time and work, things begin to even out. That happened with my last therapist back east as well. The only reason I stopped seeing her was because I moved to Seattle. I was in a good place emotionally and made a major life change. But I wonder what would have happened if I stayed in Portsmouth and continued the appointments.

I think that is what is happening now. I was feeling good and made it through the survival part. And I continued therapy. Now I do believe, and with each day that belief gets stronger, that there's always another layer to peel off. Yes I can handle. Yes I can achieve greater things than before. Yes my awareness has increased. And no, I'm no longer in crisis. But...there's always more skin to rip off.

As I did write a week or two ago, I'm on a new path in therapy. As the shrink called it yesterday, "it's a new chapter."

And it's difficult.

And I wonder where it will lead.

And it's working hand in hand with my spiritual life.

And it's no longer reactive therapy but proactive.

And it's a mystery.

I mean, is there a bottomless pit of layers? Or is it finite? Is it like painting or editing where we can always find something to tweak? I know with painting I can work something to death. Is there a point, with therapy, where enough is enough?

I'm not asking those questions in regards to the now, the present. But instead, I wonder about 6 months from now, or a year later. Right now this feels like the perfect place for me.

What I'm learning about myself, my soul and the universe bluntly scares the shit out of me. And it's intriguing.

I literally feel I'm walking a path that few walk. It's snowing and traffic is so light that the ground is covered with a new layer. I can see my footsteps and no matter how hard I strain or squint I can barely make out the footprints of others gone past.

Therein lay some of the isolation that still sits with me. And the rest, I believe is made up of just stuff. I can be productive. I can smile or laugh with friends and have that be genuine. And the alone still sits in my heart. It hasn't left.

How do I describe or explain what I'm going through? Is there anyone out there that understands?

Maybe we all feel like this at one time or another and yet the reason it's impactful is because while in the midst of it, we feel we are the only one.

Who else out there has felt the black hole that alone feels like? Who else knows that, as I told the shrink, "life is one large void and everything we do or are is simply a stage set." I know full well that I'm not yet aware of the impact of my statement. It comes and it goes. I sense the truth yet it's not fully taken hold in my heart.

I want to know because I need comrades. I need others who can sit for an hour in the silence and not fear or stress the battle with themselves. I need people who can embrace all of life and know it's all connected. Those who feel the pain of segregation of selves. Leather is art is music is sex is food is nature is god is Self. It is all one.

Sunday, when things were so hard, I grabbed a big bath. A deep tub filled with massive bubbles. Immersing my body I breathed and relaxed.

I saw my new want.

Actually it's an old want unveiled. While I was on vacation, the mountain opened up my want. I received a taste of what my soul had craved. Thing is, I want more. Or honestly, I want different.

What I envision is something between the mountain and between a formal buddhist practice. This goes along and adds to my dream from last July.

The community I seek is one of differently aware spiritual perverts. Very gay. Very kinky. There is more of a structure than what is found on the mountain, and yet not bound to the formalities and traditions of old that comes with religion. There is much value in tradition. And there is a time to question tradition and let go.

I see a small group who is committed to awareness and discovering the power of self through daily group sittings. I see an altar that this group has taken to creating, each with their own beliefs. Like the Mountain, it could be a picture of Jesus next to Buddha next to a stone next to whatever. Each member would be required to add or not add something. It would be a mindful choice. Even the choice of adding nothing is powerful. It gives the altar a full, not empty space.

There would be work meditations. The learning that comes with basic simple chores. Yet instead of all doing something for the Temple, we would take turns. Once a month we'd each work at the home of another. And a big part of that would be to ask for the help. Again, as I wrote about need the other day, it's easy to ask for help with special projects like moving. But to say, "I would like to petition the group to assist me with cleaning out my closets next month" or "can we scrub my bathroom, kitchen or walls" is a little tougher. To me, it seems there is more intimacy in that. And it's about learning to ask not only give.

The temple would actually be the dungeon. There's no reason for this group to separate the spiritual meditation space from the play space.

We need a spiritual guide. I think someone a little more learned would help. I mean, stuff comes up. Trust me, it comes up. There needs to be a guide who can also be a mediator if needed.

A group of folks willing to come together and share their own pain with others. Space would need to be earned. Anyone can come and join in the sit. But I could see that there needs to be an earning, which comes with a yearning, to have further access.

If I sound a tad bossy, well I can be. It's my fantasy, right?

So I need a guide, a dungeon and folks with like desires to come forward.

The shrink says the only reason I can't make this dream possible is because I feel I 'want' too much.

He may be right.
Today is a play day. The staff, or those of us not away on vacation, are going hiking this morning, then lunch to be followed by a gallery visit. The exhibit is 101 ways To Remove a President From Power.

From the Seattle Times review: Instead of a benefit for politicians, it's a forum for artists by artists, allowing them to vent anger and express hope, despair, outrage and maybe a little humor.

I am still trying to catch up at work and am torn. Our play days are important. It keeps the staff connected. We are each so busy, working for a common goal, yet all focused on different directions. Normally in the summer we make play dates to insure we can spend time together without the stress of work. Enjoy each other. In the past, we took in a matinee at the cinerama, or last year we went canoeing and then lunch.

So here I sit, trying to wake up, and wonder if I'm going to make the whole day or a part of it.

Screw it. I think I'll indulge in my play day. I'll come in on Friday to catch up for today. There's no catering gig until Saturday, so it'll be fine.


Want Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology for this week?

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

The author of Baghdad Burning returns to write about the latest bombings in 'Clashes and Churches'. Poignant.

An excerpt:
Last week churches were bombed- everyone heard about that. We were all horrified with it. For decades- no centuries- churches and mosques have stood side by side in Iraq. We celebrate Christmas and Easter with our Christian friends and they celebrate our Eids with us. We never categorized eachother as "Christian" and "Muslim"... It never really mattered. We were neighbors and friends and we respected each other's religious customs and holidays. We have many differing beliefs- some of them fundamental- but it never mattered.

It makes me miserable to think that Christians no longer feel safe. I know we're all feeling insecure right now, but there was always that sense of security between differing religions. Many Iraqis have been inside churches to attend weddings, baptisms, and funerals. Christians have been suffering since the end of the war. Some of them are being driven out of their homes in the south and even in some areas in Baghdad and the north. Others are being pressured to dress a certain way or not attend church, etc. So many of them are thinking of leaving abroad and it's such a huge loss. We have famous Christain surgeons, professors, artists, and musicians. It has always been an Iraqi quality in the region- we're famous for the fact that we all get along so well.

Monday, August 09, 2004

I haven't disappeared. Friday and Saturday were extremely busy with catering gigs. Very late nights.

Yesterday and today are tough days. Something happened yesterday that became an external trigger for some internal stuff. Honestly, I'm in a bad place. I feel so wounded that I'm not sure how to write about it. Sometimes the hurt is too big for words.

I'm quite pissed at my shrink. I know it's not his fault but I have to blame someone, right?

This is something that's been building since Thursday. It hit yesterday. What I feel, in addition to hurt, is an intense sense of isolation. Actually, isolation is the first thing I was feeling. While driving to Friday's catering job, I watched isolation blanket me.

One thing led to another and here I am.

Friday, August 06, 2004

Okay I'm on my way out the door. But first, you've GOTTA see these!!!

Great pieces!!! And seeing I haven't shown you any art in a long time...here ya go, compliments of Thor.
A quickie before I dive into some donor advised stuff. I hoped to be here earlier, but couldn't get moving fast enough this morning.

Today's treats: The Blue Angels are back in town practicing for Sunday's show. Last year I wrote about my conflicting feelings around it and you know...it doesn't matter. When I see those long, sleek birds swoop fast and low...how can I not get turned on? They practice Thursday and Friday before the show each year. Working down near the lake offers me a great chance to see them fly past my window. Sexy.

Treat number two: It is raining. Real rain. Not the 10 minutes of mist that occurred twice in the last 3 months. But rain! I can hear the gardens breathe a collective sigh of relief. As does my body.

It's gonna be a long day and I suppose it's time to hop to it. If something interesting comes up, and I have the time, I'll pop back.

See ya.
It's 10pm and I just got home from work. I arrived at work about 6am. As of tonight, I've put in 56 hours this week. Tomorrow's my day off. I'm going in about 7 and will stay until 12:30, at which time I'm meeting a friend to assist with an appointment they have. At 3:30 I need to be at the catering space because I'm working a catering gig tomorrow night. Also another gig late Saturday afternoon into the evening. And as of tonight, it looks like I'll be at my regular job on Saturday morning for 3 or 4 hours.

I don't even want to begin to total up the remaining hours. I'm bushed. And I'm feeling a tad bitter. I love my job. Totally love it. Except for weeks like this when everyone approaches me with a priority. They are all aware of other priorities I'm assisting with, yet it doesn't seem to matter. This is also how I pay for the last few crazy weeks. 3 days off for moving one week, 3 days for meetings outside of the office the week before. In this season it doesn't take long for everything to back up again.

About a month ago I had an incident with Sir and one of his boys. I was receiving conflicting instructions and therefore ended up in the middle attempting to please all. Communication was tough that day. I spoke with my shrink about it afterwards and he responded with "that's good training for a slave."

"What?" I asked.
"It's perfect training for slavery."
"How so? I can't do anything right in times like these. I follow the orders of one, get corrected by another, and back again."

Irritation set in because the shrink remained calm while I'm in the midst of frustration. Don't you just hate that?

Spurting, I respond "but in times like those, it seems I can't do anything right!".


"Huh?" I'm apparently dense because I haven't a clue what he's getting at.

"It's about humility. If you're worried about getting it right, then you aren't focused on the task at hand, in the moment. You are concerned with approval."

Ugh. I get it. It's fucking annoying but I get it.

Today and this week felt like that as well. I worked hard and tried to complete each demand. But in the middle of one task I'm being asked about another on my list. I felt I couldn't please anyone.

And I guess it shouldn't matter. The work is getting done and in a quality way. I do the work because I love the work. An expectation of approval just kinda puts a kink in the works.

Thursday, August 05, 2004

"What, precisely, is so bad about sex between adult siblings, bestiality, and the eating of corpses? Most people insist such acts are morally wrong, but when psychologists ask why, the answers make little sense. For instance, people often say incestuous sex is immoral because it runs the risk of begetting a deformed child, but if this was their real reason, they should be happy if the siblings were to use birth control - and most people are not. One finds what the social psychologist Jonathan Haidt called "moral dumbfounding", a gut feeling that something is wrong combined with an inability to explain why." - Paul Bloom

This is the opening paragraph of a good read on digust. It's something I'd never pieced together but he makes a lot of sense. We use digust as our moral barometer. We aren't born with digust. It matures as we mature.

I know that people can debate an issue to death. And I know that I've rarely seen people change their minds in such debates. And now that I think of it, when a stance is based in irrational thought, forget it. It's like being planted in concrete.

As activists, and I believe we are all activists because we are human, we can take something from this article. What is the most effective way to create change when we are immersed in a battle of opposing moralities?

Paul Bloom writes:

"You cannot talk someone out of disgust. But it can be defeated by other emotions. After Stephen Fry outlines what he sees as the disgusting nature of sexual intimacy - "I would be greatly in the debt of the man who could tell me what would ever be appealing about those damp, dark, foul-smelling and revoltingly tufted areas of the body that constitute the main dishes in the banquet of love" - he notes that sexual arousal can override our civilised reticence: "Once under the influence of the drugs supplied by one's own body, there is no limit to the indignities, indecencies, and bestialities to which the most usually rational and graceful of us will sink."

Love can have a similar effect - consider a parent changing a child's diaper, or the Catholic depictions of saints cleaning the wounds of lepers.

Disgust can also fade as it begins, through association and imagery, through positive depictions of once-reviled objects. In the 1960s, most Americans and Europeans disapproved of interracial marriage, and revulsion at such couplings played no small role. This has changed considerably, as has the reaction to homosexual relationships. It is not abstract argument driving this change in cultural values; it is Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."

Read To Urgh Is Human. Bloom includes some history of disgust. It is an insightful read.

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

A couple Henri Cartier-Bresson quotes:

"In whatever one does, there must be a relationship between the eye and the heart. With the one eye that is closed, one looks within, with the other eye that is open, one looks without."

"There is nothing in this world that does not have its decisive moment."

Henri Cartier-Bresson dies at 95.

From Telegraph.uk:

"Henri Cartier-Bresson, who died on Monday aged 95, was the prime mover in the revolution that in the 20th century transformed photography from a scientific curiosity into a modern art form.

He largely created the natural, observational style that came to govern photojournalism, a profession whose independence of spirit was nurtured in the agency he co-founded, Magnum.

Of equal importance was his elevation of photography to the status of art; he himself brought to the medium the eye of a painter and the temperament of a philosopher."

Further down:

"...Cartier-Bresson's camera is no machine but the eye of someone present, seeking the moments when daily life reveals itself as special. "In photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject," he wrote. "The little human detail can become a leitmotif."

Cartier-Bresson rigidly applied three rules to his work. He never contrived a photograph, used no artificial light and never retouched the results. Some found this a counsel of perfection that left much to chance, but Cartier-Bresson's skill was to thrive on accident, or at least to recognise a situation that held the promise of accident. Most of his pictures were taken on 35 mm rangefinder cameras with an ordinary 50 mm lens - the kind of equipment owned by many amateur photographers.

He was much influenced by Zen philosophy, which taught him to be instinctive and bred in his work a love of geometry and abstraction (and a hatred of colour film). Cartier-Bresson liked to compare photography to the loosing of an arrow, his camera to a sketchbook, and called what became his most celebrated book The Decisive Moment (1952) - the essence of a situation captured in a single photograph, the seizure of "a moment and its eternity".


Foundation Henri Cartier-Bresson


SFGate article on Cartier-Bresson

News Alert:

Judge in Seattle rules in favor of same-sex marriage in Washington state
By Melanthia Mitchell
Associated Press, August 4, 2004

SEATTLE (AP) Gay couples can be married under Washington state law, because
denying their right to do so is a violation of their constitutional rights, a
judge ruled Wednesday.

The denial to the plaintiffs of the right to marry constitutes a denial of
substantive due process," King County Superior Court Judge William L. Downing
said in his ruling.

His decision is stayed until the state Supreme Court reviews the case, meaning
no marriage licenses can be issued until then, said Jennifer Pizer, lead
counsel in the case for Lambda Legal Defense in the case.

"Judge Downing saw the couples in the courtroom and he's recognized that they
are full and equal citizens of Washington. No more and no less," Pizer said.

Washington is one of 38 states with laws defining marriage as a union between a
man and a woman. Under a state high court ruling, Massachusetts has allowed gay
marriage since May.

The Washington state couples challenged the state's Defense of Marriage Act,
which restricts marriage to one man and one woman.

Arguing for the couples, attorney Bradley Bagshaw told Downing at a hearing
last month that the act violates the state constitution by depriving same-sex
couples of the same privileges and immunities as other residents, and by
depriving them of life, liberty or property without due process of law.

Six couples filed the lawsuit in March after King County refused to grant them
marriage licenses, and two other couples later joined the suit.

A second lawsuit was filed in April by the American Civil Liberties Union on
behalf of 11 same-sex couples.

In his ruling, Downing criticized arguments that a ban on same-sex marriage
would protect children from harm that may be caused by being raised in a
nontraditional family.

"Although many may hold strong opinions on the subject, the fact is that there
are no scientifically valid studies tending to establish a negative impact on
the adjustment of children raised by an intact same-sex couple as compared with
those raised by an intact opposite-sex couple," Downing wrote.

He concluded that excluding same-sex partners from civil marriage "is not
rationally related to any legitimate or compelling state interest."

King County Executive Ron Sims, a defendant in the lawsuit, said the ruling was
a powerful affirmation of equal rights.

"I think marriage is an incredibly wonderful institution and that people who
love each other should be allowed to be involved in it," Sims said.

When first urged to issue marriage licenses to gay couples, Sims said he
wouldn't do it because the licenses wouldn't have any legal meaning in a state
that didn't recognize him. But he invited the couples to sue.

Here is a link to Lambda Legal which has the decision in pdf format.
Here is our Wednesday horoscope from Rob Brezsny.

And...good morning.
I just got back from a nice evening at my favorite Cafe with Sir. We had a business meeting, to talk about the scholarship we are working to endow. It was good. And exciting. And...I'm not going into details just yet but I will soon. It means I may be outing myself a little bit more. I suppose that's okay. I hate being anonymous. But that's no surprise to long time readers. I once wrote a post about that very thing.

Anyway, here are some tidbits tonight.


First, I saw a what I consider to be a very bored cop. You see, in Seattle anyway, on many residential streets, you cannot park more that 30 feet in from the curb. The sign specifically says so. I had never seen such a sign until I moved here. As an aside, the other weird signs are "no parking south of here" or "no parking west of here". What the fuck? Granted, once you've lived here long enough you learn to orient yourself by landmarks. The Puget Sound and Elliot Bay are on the west, the Cascade mountain range on the east, and Rainier is to the south. Until then, you're screwed.

Well tonight, and it's a first, on my way to Septieme's to meet Sir, I happened to see a cop near the corner of an intersection. They were bent over with a yellow tape measure. And yes, there was a car parked. It was maybe about 20 feet away from the corner. Uhoh. I knew they'd get ticketed. Thing is...I've never seen tickets on cars for the "30 feet away" deal. People have parked right up to the corner.

So, I don't know if it was a specific corner (like this one, a couple blocks away from the Capitol Hill precinct), or if they are buckling down. But, it's a hint for me to watch it. A cop with a tape measure. Who woulda thunk?


Have I mentioned the bible thing, in regards to my apartment? No? Well let me tell ya. I honestly believe I have the loaves and fishes thing going. Do you know the story of Jesus preaching to crowds all day? It's getting late and people are hungry. They scrounge for food and all they come up with is 2 loaves of bread and 7 fish. Or maybe it's 7 loaves and 2 fish. I can't quite remember. But Jesus says to pass it around. Somehow there's enough to feed everyone...the multitudes. Kinda like the bottomless pit thing. In spite of my feelings about religion, that's the story that came to me as I was moving in. Other than my little kitchen and very little bathroom, my living space is 13x16. It is my bedroom, living room and studio. And it's the loaves and fishes story all over again. I have room. I even have room to spare. What's up with that?

I may not be friendly with organized religion, but I still strongly believe in miracles and magic. That won't change. Growing up, I saw way too many miracles. Maybe I can't even call them miracles because they were not uncommon in my life. One day, I'll tell you stories of some of these events. Powerful stuff.

I know what faith can do. Thing is, people will give different names to the responsible party. Some say it's God. Others say it's Mary. Some may say Padre Pio (look him up). I'm too tired to find a link tonight. Some people call it Buddha. Others say it's nature.

Me? I believe it's all within ourselves. We can call it whatever feels best to us. But that spirit energy lays within each one of us. That's my belief. So I don't doubt miracles. I know faith is critical to a healthy spiritual, emotional, psychological and physical life. But we each have our own way of calling upon that faith. I think that's cool.

My gripe comes when others try to tell me how to live and name that faith. Or they take advantage of the disenfranchised to lead them "their way". And they have the gall to call it the "one, true way". That's balderdash. Bloody bullshit. In my book anyway.

We each need to believe however we are going to believe. And allow others the same.

Enough of that. Feel free to email me with flames, questions, concerns or hugs.


Here's a teaser. Or maybe not. We'll see as I write.

I woke last night, in the middle of the night. Tossing and turning, I couldn't get back to sleep. So I decided to meditate. For me, meditation (or praying as others would call it) involves breathing. It's only breathing. I allow myself the grace to feel whatever I feel in the moment. No guilt or shame. That's the beauty. My thoughts may drift, as they often do. But when I remember to focus on my breathing, I'll return to it. This is a continual exercise in breathing, drifting and mindfulness of breathing.

I remember speaking with my shrink about this...and from what he's said, as well as what I've read, it's all okay. Yeah, if the timing is such, we may go to the land of awareness and utter calm. But we're all human. So it means that most of the time we'll deviate and have to return to breathing. The secret is "be gentle with yourself." In all you do, "be gentle."

Anyway, I was breathing and drifting and breathing again. I had this feeling that because I suddenly woke and couldn't return to sleep, my heart was trying to tell me something. So I again focused on breathing. Taking a deep breath and allow my belly to fill with air. Exhale and feel my belly shrink as the air left. That's how I mindfully breathe.

In a conscious moment I felt my heart. It felt strange and familiar at the same time. I recognized it. I knew it was a space I hadn't felt in a very long time. My heart had a need. A need for another.

I was blown away.

Since Sir's stroke, this was the first time that I felt the pain that came with the knowledge I needed another person to continue. Continue to live. Continue to move forward.


What flipped me out is this. And I guess I'm going to tell you before I tell the shrink. Although I'm definitely going to share this with him.

In that very moment, I needed the shrink. It was all about need. I didn't feel little or weak. I felt strong. I felt vulnerable. I needed him.

I know that my need for him will change with time, so that doesn't wig me out. But simply the idea of feeling my need for another freaks me. And yet, it doesn't.

What excites me is that it means my hard shell is cracking. I need another person.

Most of me wants to share this with him first. It makes sense. He's put up with me while I do the work. But seeing I've had 2 glasses of wine and a delightful evening, you get to be the first recipient. I need another.

It's not the need that says "I need help moving". Or "I need help with this project."

It's a deep, soulful need. The need that say "we can't make it through this world alone, no matter how strong, stubborn or prideful we are."

I need.



And on that note, I'm going to link to a blog entry I read before writing all this. Hoss wrote tonight about how sometimes he writes about feelings and other times about daily stuff.

I know I go thru phases where I do the same. For me, sometimes it's tiredness that prevents me from revealing. Other times, or most of the time, it's a matter of sheltering myself. So it's easier to tell you what I've been up to instead of what I'm into.


I think that's enough for this evening. Sweet dreams.