Thursday, March 31, 2005

For those of you who work in the queer nonprofit sector, I'm sure you know of Funders for Lesbian and Gay Issues. It's the first study in lgbt grantmaking. You can access the PDF of LGBT Grantmaking by U.S. Foundations (in 2002). It's the first entry under research. This is an interesting and informative work.
Want to know what's been really great this week?

The weather. It rained. It finally rained!

After what seemed like weeks that turned to months of a pittance of preciptation...the skies opened up. For a day or so it dropped buckets. And then we had typical on and off Seattle mist. I love days like those. You see, it's a multi-personality sky. Filled with a variety of changes, only to change again. I cherish the times when the sky is low and grey, then becomes then have the sun comes out and glow. Everything radiates. A green gold light hits everywhere.

We had snowball hail. We had lightening hit the space needle. We even had snow in the mountains.

I love wild, windy and wooly weather. Love it, love it, love it.
Hmmm...Mr. Eric Francis appears to be right on the money.

Want to see what I found while checking out my Planetwaves 'scope? I discovered a new extended spring 2005 horoscope and here's what it had to say -

This is a time of various pressures and necessities adjusting themselves. I don't think you're the one pulling the levers and making the changes; rather, I see a lot of activity in the world around you, including in your home environment, your family and your emotional life. You seem to be settling on your new foundations -- foundations you have built with much work, sacrifice and psychological effort in recent years. The strange revelation may be just how comfortable you feel now that most of this work is done. And in a strange way, the remaining inner projects have the reassuring quality of an agenda. You can, however, ease off on that particular way of life -- of planning and effort. I suggest you allow the energy around you to shift, move, and finally settle into a pattern that you can live with. Feel your bones shift gently into place; feel yourself grow gradually more comfortable with who you are. That sense of comfort is exactly what will lead you to the next stage of your life, so I suggest cultivating your sense that you're truly okay and that you belong in the world. Of course it's impossible to have that feeling if you're in an emotional uproar, or facing any kind of security threat. The thing is, you are not. You really are safe, you just need to feel that way, which is another way of saying it's okay to be alive.

Want yours? Go here.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Here's is this week's Freewill Astrology, a la April Fool.

Now Mark Morford's column for today is about not being a fool.
In Do You Need A Living Will? Keep Congress and rabid Christians off your sad, brain-damaged body -- fill this out today! he writes:

"Do it because we are now in a country where it's OK to vote for brutal unwinnable wars and it's OK to kill over 20,000 innocent Iraqis and it's OK to justify the death of over 1,500 U.S. soldiers over a presidential lie, OK to blindly support environmental devastation and industry deregulation that will lead to all manner of pollution and illness and cancer and death in future generations but oh my God if you should want to follow the law and be allowed to pass from this life with a shred of dignity, you are a monster, or a lightning rod, or a bizarre martyr, not to mention a cash cow for the GOP.

Do it because we are now in a country where you need to protect yourself from hordes of people who insist on praying for you when theirs are the kind of prayers that make God cringe."

It's not as if he has an opinion about any of this.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

You know, I'm not hugely depressed or anything. This therapy stuff is fascinating as all get out. I'm learning so much about myself. And that's the point, isn't it?

Getting down to core issues wasn't easy. Now being here, in this space, where I am beginning to actually look myself in the face and need to make a decision...that's not easy either. It's about acceptance. Acceptance of who I am.

It's not about acceptance of my sex. I am who I am. I've gone through those coming outs. In regards of my noname gender and noname orientation, people can either take it or leave it. I really don't give a shit. Of course, when it's someone I care about and still am rejected, it will hurt and does. A lot. But I've been getting to the point where I'm not changing myself to make someone else comfortable. I refuse to squeeze myself into the little box they've created to live in their little world. And no, I didn't get to this place overnight. That was a lifetime of living and a few years of hard work.'s about the root of me. Do I love myself enough to fully embrace myself?

Something struck me the other day. When the shrink suggested 3 sessions a week, I of course brought up the fee factor. He reminded me that there isn't any better investment in the world than what I'm currently spending on this work. He's right. Yet I was still uncomfortable with spending on myself in such a way. I remember speaking with AE on the phone and we were catching up. He said "Ask your shrink if he'd be willing to fly out to the east coast once a week to do a session with me".

I know he wasn't serious. And I know that AE has limited financial resources. I immediately thought that if he could see someone like my shrink, I would gladly and lovingly go into debt for him. I would pay for his sessions.


Huh. I would joyfully go broke for another and yet am dragging my feet about doing it for me. What the fuck does that say about how I value myself? A helluva lot.

The exciting thing is recognizing that. And I did. Immediately.

That's where I'm at. And painting is at my root. I know.
I know because I know because I know that the day I really accept myself as a painter and begin to paint is the day I truly begin to accept ALL of who I am.

The hesitation lay in fear. I am seeing glimpses of the person lurking in the shadows. Slowly the light emanating from this person is revealing itself. And yet, I don't dare lay my eyes upon the glory that is within me. Me. Not a god. But who I am. A human being with all their faults, weaknesses, fears and strength, love and power. Okay. I'm quite the expert at seeing the down side of this being. But now I need to come to a place where I show my face to the one who waits for me. I need to allow that light to hit me.

I now have to admit that when I was in school, I began seeing the real me. It scared me so much that I slammed the door. It would crack open periodically when I absolutely have to paint. But I wouldn't let myself fall in those waters. Instead, when I get too hot, I'll just dip my toes in the kiddie pool.

Potential. My potential. Each of our own potential. Potent stuff.

And yeah. It fucking terrifies the shit out of me.
Don't listen to me.

Don't listen to me when I say I'm going to paint again. It's a lie.
Don't listen to me when I walk down the hall and see light peeking out from the doors. The blue doors, white walls, the red firebox jutting out from the wall and yellow light glowing from under the doors. It's a Mondrianesque painting waiting to happen. I could take this long expanse of depth and bring all the planes to the surface. I could, you know. But will I?

Probably not.

Don't listen to me when I speak of looking out my window and seeing the rooftops of homes and brick buildings. There's a whole world out there. I can smell it. And when I look, I can see what colors I'll squeeze out on my palette. What shapes will come to the forefront and how I'll distort space. It's in my head. I can see it.

Don't listen to me when I think of all the photos and images and half finished paintings I desire to work on.
The special portrait series.
The dungeon series.
The still lifes.
The landscapes.
Each time I pop in my closet, or open my laptop, or walk into a room, it is there. It's all there.

Yet please don't listen to me. Because no matter how I visualize a piece, its construction and fluidity, it never seems to leave the room behind my eyes. Something else will appear on the toned canvas. It's a battle between what I want and what I have.

And so...I stopped painting.

Don't listen to me when I speak of this.
What's the big deal with painting anyway? It's only a hobby. A silly, little frivolous act to keep me occupied between doing the real stuff that life requires. What is paint? What the hell is color?

We have become experts at sucking the life out of the most soulful and lusty acts.
Example? "What's your favorite color?"
How often do we hear that? One color? How can you choose? Can't you see how they are all connected??? Each pours into the next.
"Oh, could you whip up a little painting to match my bedroom?"
"You know if you made prints, you could make some money off this."

Don't listen to me. Apparently I stopped painting because I'm not worthy of painting. It's the arc of the covenant, the holy grail. Who am I to dare drink of its cup, let alone hold it in my hands, fingers stained with alizarin and ochres? Flagging right with a turp soaked rag...I'll forever bottom to this space I can't seem to access. It is the Top that keeps its distance, forever looming over me. I can see but I can't touch.

It's not important.
I can live just fine without this. Painting.

Bah. Humbug.

Don't listen to me when I talk like this. What do I know?
I know enough to realize how to keep pushing the most intimate part of who I am away from me.
I know enough to see that maybe...just maybe...I'll never fully be happy until I allow this foreboding Top into my life.
Kneel at its feet and submit myself to the One who beckons me during my nights...and my days. Teasing me with images and color and light.
Glorious, fucking light that dances and casts its spell over my visual world.
It creates cages and cells with planes and shapes. I turn in place and find myself surrounded by two dimensional architecture. I can walk through and it keeps evolving and shifting, always showing me new forms and ideas.

I can run but I cannot hide.

Don't listen to me.
I feel immersed and lost in the tangle of what I should be and what I am.

My voice. The voice that needs to scream out in the darkness is the voice of oils.
A cry filled with brushstrokes.

Don't listen to me.

Don't listen to me when I say I'm getting better. Maybe I'm just talking just to talk. Maybe things really aren't going to change. Maybe I'll be stuck in this pit forever. And ever.
Good morning.

I'm healing slowly. Sunday night I slept a solid 8 hours without being awakened by a painful throat or fever. It makes a difference. This week I'm taking it easy. You see, the last time I thought I was healed I spent most of the next week socializing and it was too soon. This damned cold/bug/virus/infection/flu needs to get blasted out of my system.

I haven't really felt like blogging. Although I have a few word docs saved on my laptop with links and thoughts, they just haven't made their way here yet.
Maybe later. I promise....maybe later.

In the meantime, Uppity Faggot is writing again. There's a wonderful poem and a sweet little rant on the foolishness of SSC (the safe, sane and consensual credo). Check it out.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Joe.My.God is at it again. Brilliant writer.

The first reading of his that captivated me was this one. I've just spent a little time catching up on his blog and discovered this gem. It comes in 3 parts. Read it thru man. Read it thru.

The Day I Helped Kill A Baby

The Day I Helped Kill A Baby, Part 2

The Day I Helped Kill A Baby, Conclusion

...I've been really sick. Again.

It's not the typical cold, but a massive sore throat that last for days. The kind of pain that wakes you up during the night when the tylenol wears off. That's what I had two weeks ago as well. Strange. I finally gave in and called my doctor yesterday, because I felt my throat was swollen. Hard to swallow. But doc's on vacation and I didn't want to see her replacement. So if it's not better by Monday, I will call back. Doc should be in then.

I took Wednesday and Thursday afternoon off because, well, I couldn't remain upright anymore. Yesterday morning I returned to work only to have my boss take one look at me and send me packing. She said "I'm saying this out of love. Go home. Now. You look like hell."

The shrink says it's because of what's happening with therapy. He explained that now that I'm muddling around in the bottom of the pit, I'm using all my energy to work through it and therefore my immune system is down. Fiercely.


I've had links, as well as more thoughts, that I've wanted to share but honestly, all I could focus on was the desire to be in bed with fluids and painkillers.

Let's see how today goes, shall we?

Friday, March 25, 2005

Is This A New Dark Age?

Mark Morford writes:
"Because something in you knows. Something in you senses there is more at play right now in the world than mere depressing coincidence, that all the war and disease and brutality has more surrounding it than mere chance or fluke. Do you think? Do you feel it?

Proof? All you have to do is spend five minutes with any true healer or energy worker or divinely connected spiritual teacher in the world right now and they all say the same thing: This is not a good time. This is not the lightest, not the brightest, not the best period to be a human being. In fact, it's one of the darkest. Fiercest. Meanest.

It is, in other words, a low period in human, and especially American, history. And it's only getting lower."

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Where do I begin? This may be a ramble of unconnected thoughts. The thoughts are so big and my head so foggy that I fear I may not articulate it well.

Last week was incredibly full. Last week was a rockin' good time. From different socials, to the meet 'n' greet, the WA State Mr/Ms contest on Saturday night, and the brunch on Sunday...I had loads of fun.

I met lots of new men, played and kissed a bunch, and had my ego, and other parts, stroked. There was that really hot scene I previously wrote about. And then another, where I was in the middle of about 4 people beating on me. One of the boys I played with in the past knows my pain tolerance and at one point, he pulled off my glasses and began slapping my face. He's the one person thus far who isn't afraid to hit me hard in the face. I always end up with a very sore and stiff jaw for the next three days or so. It's a good thing.

Last week I was approached and encouraged to enter the contest. I seriously considered it, for about 10 minutes. Then I laughed and said "you don't want me as a contestant or a titleholder". On Tuesday night, after the history forum, I was approached again, by another guy, to enter for next year. My response was the same.

On Sunday morning, I attended the brunch, winding up the events of the week. 3 different groups, pretty much consisting of all the same people, handed out awards. I heard many spout about 'community'. It wasn't any different than what I heard the night before from the contestants. "We want to help the community"..."we are here to draw the community together" this and community that.

What's that really mean?
What community?

It seems to me it's become a tidy catch phrase for those who sign a membership card and wear the appropriate clothes, which by the way I don't have. I still haven't replaced my leather jacket and am not in a hurry. I miss my old one (which I wore everyday before I even got into s/m) but a new one will show up when it's supposed to. Instead I have a cherry red canvas 'carhart' type jacket. And I love it. I discovered I also really enjoy just wearing what I wear in the midst of a uniform setting. I don't worry about looking the part. Actually, even when I was little, I never worried about it. Other than school uniforms, which I understood, I would dig my feet in if I felt pressure to clothe myself like the others. Dress codes be damned. They say very little about a person. I can't tell if someone is in full leathers because it really gets him off or because he desires to belong.

I have a 16" pair of steel toe engineer Chippewas. I love those boots. And I worked hard for them. But, I only wear them when it turns me on. Or, I'll wear them when I'm going to be doing a scene that I'm really nervous about. I was required to dig in and face my demons to earn those boots. Slipping them on reminds me of the courage I had during that tough period...and reinforces the fact I can do it again. I love my boots and yet I've rarely worn them to leather events. Some. But not most.

During the awards ceremony, I noticed bar politics. Seattle has a few leather bars. The Eagle is the down and dirtier bar. But the Cuff is the one with the clubs, contests and titles. Without going into's interesting stuff. On top of it, as the awards and the speakers were going on...and on...I felt this sense of filth creeping over me. It was getting heavier. As much as I enjoyed the individuals during the week, I was now really seeing the robotic machine that keeps everything rolling and everyone corralled. I felt contaminated. Inside I was screaming "this isn't what sex is about!"

Sir noticed it. He'd look over at me and smile knowingly. When I dropped him off after the event, he suggested I go home and take a really hot shower. Wash all the filth off my body. I did.

We are all alone. Each one of us is ultimately going through this life by ourselves. We also all have a very natural need to fit – to be a part of something greater than ourselves. I do believe (in my stronger moments), that the connection we seek is actually always with us. We are connected to each other on a cellular level. Everything we say, think or do ripples out and touches another.

But we all need a home, don't we? A family. We all want to be reassured that we fit and have just as much right to be in this world as anyone else.

Maybe I should be saying "I" instead of "we".

Spending all that time in the bar last week was seductive because I felt desired. Men, whose names I unfortunately couldn't remember because I'm horrible with names, kept approaching me and telling me they were glad to see me. They enjoyed having me come out of hibernation. I really felt like I belonged to something larger than myself.

We strive to build some type of community. Yet within that, because of our need to fit, we end up creating a limited world inside that community. Instead of coming together and opening up our environment, it shrinks. That's what I really saw on Sunday, at the brunch.

I was in the midst of what is considered an alternative highly sexual community. And in that, I saw so many who didn't know how to open up and be intimate with themselves, let alone others. There's a lot of sadness and awkwardness amidst the laughter and the beer.

It's strange, yanno? I believe there's a need for everything. We each require different things to feed us. Thing is, in my opinion, sometimes we are starving and grab at any food we see. But not all food is nutritious. And therefore we keep eating and eating, never satisfied.

For a really bad analogy...I ate last week. A lot. But I was eating twinkies and ding dongs. Love them. And I crave them every once in a while. But they aren't satisfying. Instead, I need to remind myself that it's a fun treat in addition to my regular diet of vitamins and more substantial food.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005


I do have a lot to write about and it may need to come out in chunks. And it's not going to happen now. I spent a week immersing myself in the Seattle leather organizational and bar culture. It was a decision to really engage in Leather Pride week. I'm still recuperating from the intense outgoing nature I displayed last week.

And last night I attended a forum on Seattle's leather history. A gathering of about 30-40 people, with at least 20 percent of the attendees having been into the scene for the last 15-30 years. One of the originators of the NLA was there. We heard the good, the bad and the ugly. I'll write more about it later but I haven't the time right now.

One thing I will say is I have so many thoughts and feelings about temporarily dipping into this organized queer Leather "community". It's quite seductive and at the same time, although most aren't aware of the goings on, contaminated with not very pretty politics . I do know that the mere fact of being a living, breathing human is a political act, but I have a huge aversion to politicizing sex in a regimented, committee and commercial way. It's too easy to get caught in the exterior trappings and forget the soul beckoning that originally drew us to a dark, down and dirty, sexy way of life.

In the meantime, here is this week's Freewill Astrology.

Also, how about Mark Morford's newest column Why Does God Hate Caribou? Within the article, in addition to his rant, he links to a great essay by Bill Moyers titled Welcome To Doomsday.

I've had to slow down with watching or reading the news. All I can feel is digust at the greed, irrational thinking and especially the hypocrisy permeating our current regime. Not wanting to get down and depressed, I simply need to turn it off for a while. Except for Morford that is.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Okay...being out and about 5 nights out of 7 doesn't work for me. Tonight's the last event. I plan on being home by 10 pm, and I'm not moving until Monday morning.

It's been a busy week. A fun one. And exhausting. I haven't given myself the chance to regroup from a social gathering before gearing up for the next. Helluva way to come out of hibernation. I was home all of Thursday night, and most of yesterday. But I needed one more day. And now I'm off to spend a little time with Hoss and his boy before napping later this afternoon before heading out again tonight.

So...I'll tell ya all about it later. Or tomorrow. Ciao.

Friday, March 18, 2005

Friday thoughts...

...from Mark Morford:

"But this is a time of small hopes and semi-desperate clinging. In a sea of nasty GOP agendas and violent warmongering and quasi-religious nutjobs manning the guns, you grab your dream fragments where you can and you ride them like golden bullets to the end of their trajectories and pray you end up somewhere new, and positive, and maybe even earth-shaking -- or, in this case, soaked in that most rare and disrespected and heartbroken of American values: true love. Is it possible? Let's hope."

Check out the entire column in Could a landmark decision re-empower the state to strike at the heart of BushCo?

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Last night I dreamt I was pregnant. Very pregnant. So much so that I feared I was in the early stages of labor. The anxiety came because I was alone and I needed to get home but I was about 30 miles away and it was rush hour on the highway. I didn't own a cell phone. There was a house by the side of the road where I stopped to catch my breath. Looking out the window I saw the highway turned into a parking lot of cars. I knew I had to get onto that road but didn't want to. What if I began full contractions while behind the the middle of all that metal, stuck out on the concrete?

I felt pressure down inside and reminded myself not to push. Taking a breath I walked back to my car, ready to hit the road.

And then it was morning.

Well...there's nothing mysterious or deep in that dream.

This morning my coworker walked by my office, stopped, backtracked and poked his head in and said,
"You know, there's something very different about you lately."
"How so?"
"Well, you seem calmer. Much calmer."

I smiled. I feel calmer.
About 5 minutes later my other coworker said the same thing.

Huh. Maybe this therapy stuff is finally working, eh?

Last night I went to the Cuff for the annual Daddy Tag Sale. I almost snared a nice pair of 11" steel toe engineer boots, in excellent shape, for $25. Almost, because they were about a ¼" too small!!!! I've been hankering for a pair like that for a very long time.

Instead, like last year, I picked up a half dozen old Drummer magazines ranging between issues 40 & 50. I was incredibly tired and therefore quite content to stand on the landing and just watch the happenings in the bar.

The top I played with on Sunday approached me. He was checking in, about our play, making sure I was okay. Nice touch. He also mentioned a few times that he enjoyed our scene as well. Then he relayed the fact that his boy was concerned how I may have been rough-handled. The top mentioned that the boy noticed there was no negotiation or easing into play. I was essentially pounced on. I laughed and reassured the top that that is how I like to play the best. I was impressed that because there was a question out there, he felt comfortable enough to check in with me. Absolutely no offense taken.

There is always negotiation, but I prefer subtle methods. Meeting someone's eyes or a smile. Body language. Having to fill out a damned negotiation form or a lengthy process is a sure way to turn me off. I've done that in the past and for me, it tends to make for lacklustre scenes. In my opinion, I notice that when I'm reliant upon routine formal negotiating methods for all my play I'm not listening to my intuition.

Granted, contingent upon where I am, and what may go down, I may need to give my limitations. Such as, if I'm slated to do a suspension or serious rough play, I throw out the fact that I have a torn rotator cuff in my right arm. Or...if I sense that I only want to play up to a certain level with someone (less trust but it could be hot)...then I mention that I don't do gags. Whereas when the energy and trust is there...I'll go with the flow.

Please don't think I'm against negotiation. What I'm not into is a standardized preface to play. Negotiation takes place on so many different levels in different ways. Being in tune to the other person, yourself and the context will allow for good negotiation. I know that entering into some relationships may require a more formal and lengthly negotiation. But isn't that the same as some of the negotiating that takes place in our regular lives? Or shouldn't it be? If two people are planning on getting married or even just considering taking up house together, don't they discuss the finances or separation of chores or share what their weaknesses and strengths are? That's all negotiating. We negotiate with our bosses, the car salesman, our partners, our friends and ourselves on a daily basis. In each instant, it takes a unique shape.

Now I understand that some people may feel more comfortable with a more rigid negotiation. If that's what it takes for them to play and have sex, go for it. I don't want to stop anyone from having more fun. But I will put my foot down when I hear the whispers of the s/m police attempting to regulate my play and interactions. Considering I'm dealing with people not machines, I'll stick to the organic process, thank you.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Here's an interesting column by Mark Morford on the corporate structure shelving an artist because they believe there' Morford's words:

"In other words, it was shelved because it's different, unique, a little eccentric, all bells and oompah horns and strings and oddly lovely circuslike arrangements, and you as the co-opted overmarketed oversold listening audience can't really handle anything like that, anything challenging or interesting or distinctive or deeply cool or lacking in prepackaged backbeats that sound just like Kelly Clarkson or maybe "American Idiot," even if it comes from an stupendously talented world-class Grammy-winning artist. Right? Isn't that you? Doesn't matter. This is what they believe.

But now, a hot new twist. The rest of "Extraordinary Machine" has, somehow, been leaked onto this fair Internet. All of it. Every song, some at first sounding not all that complete and some reportedly with only tentative titles, but, then again, a DJ at a radio station up in Seattle (the End 107.7) somehow managed to get his hands on the whole album and has apparently been playing almost every track and it's all much more finished and incredible than anyone thought."

Read the rest of Who Will Free Fiona Apple.

And speaking of about your weekly dose of Freewill Astrology?

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

I'm learning my body. Well...the way my body is now. You see, I've noticed an increasing amount of sheer exhaustion. And it's not only physical, but mental and emotional. It slowly builds and culminates in a day where I can't do anything. Nothing. Saturday, after making a point to get out for a walk with wonderboy, I ended up in bed about 2pm and that's where I stayed until Sunday morning. I would begin to feel a little energized, hop out of bed to simply walk across the apartment and would have to return. Fully depleted.

I'm learning my body. Over the last 6 months or so, I've noticed this trend increasing. And on the worse days I despair with the idea that I'll never have energy again. Those are the bed days. And if, I'm good to myself and stay prone, the next morning will dawn with more energy coursing through me. Sunday I got up, and could do even simple things like water my plants, and empty the final box from the move, go through a drawer of papers and sort the junk from the important ones.

The tiredness, I believe, stems from a number of factors working together, therapy, job stress and lack of proper nutrition. Therapy takes its toll. I believe that's the major one. I'm now up to 3 days a week, in an attempt to push through the pit. I had suggested a break of a couple weeks, to see what it would do. Sometimes you need to change the routine. The shrink suggested another option. He figured we've been building momentum and so let's go with it. When he mentioned 3 times a week, I lost it. I felt like such a failure. But he, and then a good friend who's gone through a similar process, both tried to reassure me that it has nothing to do with failure, yet instead, the opposite.

Sunday night was a kickoff social for Leather Pride week here in WA. The event was being held at The Cuff. It was only 6 blocks away and so not a major energy investment. This was also an additional motivating factor to stay in bed the day before. And the cheap eats would get me out of hibernation.

It was a fun evening. I hooked up with a few guys I hadn't seen in about 5 months. Spent some quality time with two people I'm getting to know better and look forward to continuing that relationship.

I had a surprising and intense experience at the end of the evening. There is a daddy and boy that I've known socially for about a year. Nice guys. Hot. We've always made it a point to greet each other...and chat. Not much more than that. The top walked up to me as he was saying his goodbyes. He hugged me and asked "has anyone hurt you this evening?"

"Not tonight." I hadn't planned on playing because I had been so tired.

"What a shame" he responded. And he began to beat my back and grab the skin. I reacted and he pulled away and made a beeline for my nipples. We played. We played hard.

Although I've played with people I hardly know or total strangers...and it's always been fun and lusty, this was different. Considering we were just acquaintances, the magnet factor was intense. The energy was thick. He'd hurt me, I'd cum, we'd kiss. We'd then begin to part, only to be drawn into playing again. Over and over.

After tough nipple action moments he'd draw me to him and I'd have raging orgasms that filled my entire being. Deep combination belly and cunt cumming. At one point he whispered in my ear that he loved how I was in touch with my body. I mentioned I revel in what I love.

While playing, unless my head was down in his chest, I'd have my eyes glued to his. I felt such a trust that I'd never before felt with an almost stranger. I wanted to give this man my pain. And I could see he was joyfully receiving it.

Seriously good play.

Sir, thank you Sir.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

I've received a few concerned emails. I'm okay. And thank you for your concern. Really.

Looking back, I see that I've been slowly isolating myself over the last 4 months. I still make it a point to connect with people, but in addition, I crave more solitude than ever before. I don't expect that to be a permanent condition, although yes, at times it feels like it will become one.

Yesterday I was thinking about healing. And I caught a whiff of my impatience. In this current society, we seem to have the idea that if it's not instant, it's no good. Not worth having. I remember a time when there was an honored belief that patience and time served would bring up the gold. Now, even though working for it still sits with me, I'm also seduced by the "quick, I want it now" idea. I could feel impatience and shame beginning to build because this process feels interminable. Shame because I fear what folks will think of me. Here I am, with an honest attempt at carrying mindfulness for this holy process. And in the blink of an eye, I can tarnish it with a focus on my perceived opinions of others.


I know in the past I tend to post something almost every single day. Right now, that may or may not be happening. Some days I feel silence. Not only in paint but now in words. I know there's something big brewing when I gag myself because there is nothing I want to say. I'm the person who always has plenty to spout, aching to be heard. And now I choose silence? That says something.

In a similar vein, here is yesterday's column by Mark Morford. Now I want to make it expressly clear that I know, some meds are required. But I do believe in balance. And I do not believe in a magic pill for anything, although god knows, I've prayed, cried, wailed and ripped the walls apart screaming for one.

Back to Morford, I quote:

"It seems obvious but it bears repeating: magic-bullet drugs do nothing. They do nothing to help you change a thing about your addictive tendencies or your attitude or your lifestyle, do nothing to induce any sort of increase in your understanding of how the body works and how the spirit is screaming for attention and just why the hell you might be so easily prone to addiction in the first place. Such prescription drugs don't educate. They don't invoke change. They just numb.

But hell, who cares? Why examine causes? Why try to figure out the reasons behind our toxic tendencies and our weird obsession with things we know are killing us? Simply bomb the problem into submission, and then pretend it's not still right there, simmering just underneath, even nastier and more fanged than before and just aching to manifest itself in some other form. Ain't that America? You're goddamn right it is."

In Dead People Smoke Camels Morford writes about smoking. Or not. It's really only a symptom, isn't it? Pick your poison. I believe it's not about the item chosen. There is very little that is bad for you. What becomes hazardous is our attitude around said item. If we are using X to stifle and suffocate then it may be a good idea to look at that. It's easy to blame cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, sex, food. But what about the relationships we draw to ourselves? What about the old patterns and messages we flood our own beings with? Those can be as toxic as anything else.

People can appear to lead healthy normal lives. I no longer trust it. We all have our secrets. We are all broken in one way or another. How can we not be? We deal with each other, we need each other, we rub off on each other. It can't help but cause bruises and breaks. And yes, there is healing and nurturing from the connections. It's all of it. This is the human condition, isn't it?

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Yesterday was a 12 plus hour work day. I didn't expect it. But about 5 pm (when I thought I'd leave at 4) I knew I was there for another couple hours. By 6 pm, daylight was fading and I turned on my little desk lamp. Warm yellow light hit the piles o' papers strewn across my desk. Little notes, now undecipherable, hint to snippets of ideas and must do's. My goal for the remainder of today and tomorrow is to make sense of this mess. It's been an intense political few years for the glbt community and the desire and willingness of our organization to go with that flow has given rise to spontaneous projects and continual rush deadlines that have left their mark.

I plan on taking the full Friday off without the nagging feeling that there's something that needs to be done...even with the knowledge that it's always ongoing.

Last night I couldn't sleep. At midnight I decided to take a couple benedryl to knock me out. It's a risky move because it cements the fact that I will be groggy until at least 10 am this morning. But my mind was whirling. I hit bottom in therapy and now it seems I need to explore the pit floor. Then I have to work my way out.

There have been two different places in my life that have pushed the buttons which allowed and at times hastened my healing. I'm not going to elaborate on what they are because it's not appropriate for such a public place. But they have led me into the needed fire that purges demons and cauterizes soul wounds. Being in this pit with its high slick walls and small dirt floor leaves me vulnerable to all that appears to shred my heart. There is no place to run or hide. And so I have no choice except to learn how to dissolve their power. Pry loose clutching fingers.

Feelings of hatred and rage are immense. I fear its impact. If I knew, really knew I'd make my way out then I think I could relax in the dark emotions. But the well is deep and all I can see is myself drowning in the thickness of black sensation.

That's where I'm at.

Want something cheerier?

How about this week's Freewill Astrology and Mark Morford's column. Last week, Morford wrote about the death of corporate radio. This week, on the upside, he shares alternatives, showcasing a few indie stations, including one of my favorites, Radio Paradise.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Here is the website to access live video stream of WA State Supreme Court case. The actual link to the case will go up at 1:20 pm PST, with the case beginning at 1:30pm.
Today the WA State Supreme Court will hear oral arguments on two cases regarding same sex marriage.

KOMO-TV, WA, March 7, 2005
Commentary By Ken Schram
Gay Marriage: A Matter Of Dignity

SEATTLE - Defending marriage by refusing to let people get married.

"I don't get it.
And I can't accept it.

As the State Supreme Court hears arguments on whether gay and lesbian couples have the legal right to get married, it's clear to me that this is really about those who want to impose their religious interpretations on society.

To opponents of same-sex unions, it's not really about saving the institution of marriage.

It's about preserving how they get to define it.
It's not about protecting children.
It's about maintaining the stigma they promote of having two mommies, or two daddies.

For gay and lesbian couples, it's about legal legitimacy and some degree of social dignity.

It's about raising children with a measure of acceptance instead of continued scorn.

Marriage - any marriage - is much more than what sexual activity takes place in the privacy of one's bedroom.

It's also about commitment and support; love and respect.

Those who sit in religious judgment of same-sex couples want to continue denying them the legal opportunities and stature that comes with being married.

And they do so under the guise of speaking on behalf of God.

That's not defending marriage.

It's defaming it."

It's a painting kinda morning.

On my way to work I happened to turn east, looking down a street, checking out the sky and the Cascades. The sun was coming up. And the fog was dissipating. Salmon light. Cherry blossoms lined the street and although they weren't fully lit, my eyes caught it. One tree. The edge of one tree. The sun hit one spot and lit up a small band framing part of this tree. I could see a canvas in front of me. The image. The color. The shapes.

One day. One day I'll paint again.

Monday, March 07, 2005

Anti-corporate sneakers?

Have you seen Blackspot Sneakers? Thanks to Draignoeth for the link.

I just...finally...after 5 months...configured my dsl router for wireless!!! Don't even ask me why I didn't do earlier. I tried once, and couldn't find the password I needed to access the site. From there, even small easy things felt difficult. There was no way I'd try some techie geek action on my own. Honestly, that kind of stuff intimidates the shit out of me - only because I haven't a clue what I'm doing.

But I had decided that when dsl finally came up in my apartment, which happened today, I'd grit my teeth and work my way through it. And that's with a stuffy head, cold and feelin' like crap. So now I'm fully wireless inside as well as outside the home. :-)

Okay...back to your regularly scheduled programming...
I've been sick. Still am, and so I haven't had the oomph to blog. Thing is, I was really sick for a few weeks in January. Then February kicked in and so did I. That is, until the last box was moved and unpacked. Last Monday night an intense sore throat flared up which didn't disappear until Saturday. Then of course it morphed to the head/chest cold thing. I could give you graphic images of what is coming out of my nose but won't. You can imagine. :-)

Everyone at work has been sick, each passing it off to the other. Maybe we need to close shop for a week.

To everyone who sent me kind and thoughtful notes about last Thursday's entry...I thank you. I haven't felt well enough to respond individually. One in particular was very thought provoking. "Latency". I'm still thinking about that one. Thank you.

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Who is Henry Darger?

I had never heard of him until yesterday.

This is the first weekend in 5 weeks where I don't have to think about packing or moving (myself or others). At noon, I'm treating myself to some quality Bear and wonderboy time. We are going to an early matinee at the Harvard Exit Theatre.

In The Realms Of The Unreal by Jessica Yu.
I'm intrigued.

The synopsis of the film:

"Filmmaker Jessica Yu's innovative documentary explores the parallel lives of legendary outsider artist Henry Darger. Reclusive janitor by day, visionary artist by night, Darger had virtually no friends but lived a rich imaginary life. Upon his death hundreds of watercolor paintings were discovered, along with a 15,000 page novel (bearing the same title as the film) detailing the exploits of seven angelic sisters who lead a rebellion against godless, child-enslaving men. Employing vivid animation and experimental elements, Yu immerses us in Darger's world and all its strange beauty, showing how he forged magic out of the bleakest of lives."

Read Yu's thoughts about making the film.
And here is a link that along with showcasing some of Darger's work, includes a bio.

Friday, March 04, 2005

"Places where raw honest sexuality is a foreign language and homosexuality is considered a disease and where they lovingly allow sales of Viagra and Cialis and where they inject vats of Prozac and Xanax into their bodies alongside truckloads of deep-fried obesity-happy everything, but the thought of someone using a sex toy to please herself or her lover and to add to the overall positive orgasmic vibe of the planet is considered on par, legally speaking, with pedophilia, or burglary, or being from France."

What places you ask? Read all about it in Mark Morford's latest column, Sweet Home, Alabama Dildos.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

I wrote this on Tuesday evening at Septieme's and saved it to look at it later, not sure if I would even post it. It's time.


Well, well, well.

I popped into Cafe Septieme's to check email, and sit quietly. Sir and a guest from SF may join me later. We picked him up at the airport this afternoon. I then returned to work where I planned on doing more, but my cold took over. Overwhelming tiredness. So I shut down the work computer, came to Septieme for a little TLC, and then planned on being in bed early. I'll make up the time on Friday.

How do I write about the next step in my journey? For those of you who've stuck with me for the last couple years...thank you. Today is March 1st. I began my blog 2 years ago, on the 6th of March. I kept it private until the middle of May, when I grabbed my gutts and went public, thanks to the encouragement of Lthredge and Drew from Singletails.

Today was a red letter day with my shrink. No fireworks. Things happen naturally. First one step, then another. Next thing I know, I'm there. Only to continue onto the next. Today he informed me that we've hit it. The darkest, most miserable, hardest part of this trip. I still have to work my way out of it, but it seems I've touched the bottom. Granted, I know this doesn't mean that life will be a piece of cake from now on. But, this was the biggie.

I've been blurt blogging about not fitting in and being invisible. While doing that, I'm very aware and appreciative of the good things in my life, and how I am not invisible to my chosen family and friends. And then again, at the same time, quite unseen. I couldn't figure out why the invisibility was getting stronger and more tangible. Heavy. So much so that...honestly, I spent the last month considering suicide. Each day. A few times a day. I have been talking with the shrink about it. As I mentioned to him today, I think it's healthy that I openly speak about it. What would be scarier is if I felt the way I did and never shared those thoughts with him. Getting them out in the open diffuses them. And it's refreshing to speak with someone about suicide without the typical comments such as:

"Oh you'll get over it."

"Oh it's not that bad."

Or the worse..."Shhh, don't talk like that!"


Allow me my feelings, okay? Why are we so fucking afraid of death? Some topics make most of us very uncomfortable. Yet what is brutally harmful and disastrous is not talking, remaining silent.

Anyway, I had this overwhelming sense of my birth being the wrongest thing in the world. I've felt like I literally don't fit. I was meant for another planet, another time, another dimension. What a balancing act. That despair sits side by side with all the goodness life is. The love, the caring. I could wail as strongly as love.

So where did the invisibility come from? Why was it growing? What was going on?

The deeper I went in therapy...the closer we got to the core problem. The original wound. And in turn, the bigger the feelings of being nothing.

Something happened today. Even before the session with the shrink, I was making connections. Connections with my heart, not only my head. My sex. I'm all about sex. Life is all sex. I then remembered my mother's last email which stated that they loved me very much. She responded with:

"We thank you for being frank! There is not much that we do not know about you!

Dad and I always had a "kick' watching you! full of surprises, imagination, very colorful personality in all kinds of ways! I see myself in you (so does dad!) plus you do have a heart bigger than most...

Who you are is all of that! our sexual part is only that, just a part of us, certainly not our whole identity!

We do not build our life on our sexual are a wonderful human being who enjoys life and respect people...keep on!

Love you"

It was a very sweet email. I was very touched by "Dad and I always had a "kick' watching you! full of surprises, imagination, very colorful personality in all kinds of ways!"

And yet, there was the kicker. The key to the puzzle.

"There is not much that we do not know about you!"

They have no idea. Therein lay the invisibility. We all only see what we want to see. What we can see.

"our sexual part is only that, just a part of us, certainly not our whole identity!"

That's the ticket. The massive difference. I believe we are all sexual beasts, born as such. We may not be fucking every minute of every day, but the choices we make, how we live our life...all get us off in some way. Maybe not in the traditional, limited cumming sense, but in the greater sense. I think our job with living is to figure out how to return to our erotic nature we were born with. Not only in bed or in the dungeon. Expand our minds, our hearts and our awareness, our ideas of what makes us sexual.

In addition to my painting and my kink, I'm incredibly passionate about enlarging this concept in our world. So much so that it hurts something fierce. When I see sexual repression, someone closed up, or fixed ideas around sex, orientation, leather and gender, I cry. Our world is so big. It's gorgeous and beautiful.

And yes, it's why I don't fit.

Sexy. What is sexy? It seems that many approach sexy with their mind instead of their bodies.

Oh yeah. Back to mom.

Invisible. They think they know all of me. No clue, really.

Sex is only a part of life.
Not so.

I realized that when I'm not seen as the sexual beast I am, there is an immense feeling of nothingness. It doesn't matter how many people love me, care for me, assist me. It doesn't matter that I have a great job, a great apartment, and overall a great life. My bills are slowly getting paid down. I actually see the possibly of cutting back to part time in about 2 or 3 years, so I can pursue painting and sex activism on a greater scale. I'm honored and feel quite privileged. I've been blessed with brilliant mentors and guides. Teachers.

And yet, because my parents, due to their perspective, suppressed sexuality from the time I was born, I felt shamed and therefore valueless. As long as I don't believe in my own worth as a sexual monster, then I'm nothing.

Powerful stuff, eh?

I think so.

The connections aren't linear. It's all tangled and tied, one into the other and flowing out again.

While on the couch, I sobbed silent tears. The grief was heavy. Although loved, the child felt unseen. And yes, it broke me. It broke me big.

Now the shrink is encouraged and knows there is an end to this darkness. Whereas, I am relying on him because honestly, I'm not sure.

Near the end of our session I said "This is strange. I don't feel hope yet at the same time I don't feel despair. I feel dead. Empty. Nothing."

I previously thought there were only two choices. Hope or despair. I have discovered a third. Death.

The shrink left me with a mystery. He said it may feel like death but it is something else. I asked him to expand and he refused. He smiled and said it was for me to discover.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Mark Morford jumps into his latest column, All Hail The Death of Radio with:

"Corporate radio sucketh, whole and large and true.

We know this. Everyone knows this. There is not a single person out there right now who is listening to any of the one zillion lifeless Clear Channel or Infinity-owned rock stations anywhere in the nation who is saying to themselves, gosh this KLOG station is just exceptionally good and clever and smart and plays amazingly fresh music and makes me want to listen all the time and oh my God I am so going to pick up the phone right now and try to be the 157th caller so I can win tickets to go see Dave Matthews live in Portland! Woo!"

And you can dive into Brezsny's Freewill Astrology here.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

From the sublime to the ridiculous.

How about a bunch of links this morning. I'm not sure how much I'm up for writing.
Or...maybe a little writing.

Nayland Blake responded to one of my entries, and in my reply to him I wrote (regarding painting and kink) –
"Kink, for me, is as integral as painting. The two work hand in hand. When one falls off, the other suffers."

In the middle of the night, when I felt a new cold hit full force (ugh, I hate colds), "when one falls off, the other suffers" came to mind.


I'm not painting. I had twisted it to be, first the s/m, then the art. But that's not necessarily true. And considering that all I'm working with in therapy is fucking with my painting big's about my identity, it stands to reason that I wouldn't be playing now either. Double duh.

But...and here's a note for Nayland. For your birthday wishes...I did work on a few watercolors. Black and white. Little. No thinking – just doing. Capture lights and darks...shapes. Not only that, but I left my supplies on the table, and noticed that at odd times, such as waiting for something to come out of the microwave, or walking past to get a drink, I would stop...pick up my brush, make a big mark here, and a small mark there.

It was the first painting since June 2004.

The only reason I stopped is because I moved. There's no reason why I can't pull them out again.

Okay...on to links.

First, Eric Francis' horoscopes for March are out - both Planet Waves and Inner House.
Next. Again thanks to Padacia (and Sam...where in the world do you find these links???), here is a photo gallery on the The Writer's Place by Eder Chiodetto. Lovely, lovely stuff. Check out the images and the text. Really.

A few thoughts from some of the writers' showcased:

"I think my books are always more beautiful than I. I'm always in pursuit of my own book. If I think it's beautiful, I want to be beautiful." - Adelia Prado

"There are writers who write fast. Not me. I write with great difficulty. Those who write easily are orators. Writers always suffer. I spend five hours a day and don't produce more than two pages. When I finish, I go back to the beginning and rewrite. Generally I rewrite from back to front. This way I'm not dominated by the story and I can see where the narrative tempo has gotten the best of me. If I keep my attention focused on the plot; form takes advantage and pickpockets my wallet. A good book has to work like a song that makes sense if you hear it backwards as well. As long as there's noise there's something wrong. You've got to rewrite. When it's finally right all the senses become condensed." - Autran Dourado

"The act of writing depends on a great deal of concentration. Since I cannot always achieve tranquility; I've learned to write in chaos. I like to write like a jazz musician. Someone will send me an e-mail, I'll think it's got something interesting, I'll put it together with something I've heard uttered on the street. I incorporate everything. Jazz musicians work a lot with improvisation. They arrive at a place they're supposed to play and they produce. This syntax, this form of composing, is very present in me."
- Regis Bonvicino

Due to the move, I failed to link to Morford's column for last Friday. From Sex and The Disgruntled Teen:

"And what if said information was designed to be all about natural, respectful, consensual sexuality, as honest and fleshy and complicated and potentially harmful but as ultimately gorgeous and peculiar and raw as human sexuality is so stickily wont to be?

Would that not, as I truly believe it would, be a major step toward curing many of the ailments plaguing our youth, and, by extension, our culture?"

And yes, I promised you the ridiculous. I pulled this link from Uppity Faggot. It's an article from - Legislation Would Protect Gay Fetuses