Friday, June 30, 2006

Very nice~

From a monthly email subscription, here is part of July's column:

"I used to think sunshine was a bit frivolous – now I know it is life.

Changing is good, letting in new sensations, feelings, new ideas, is necessary. I don’t want to slowly calcify, find myself like the inside of a dishwasher pipe – just enough room to let just enough water through. I want to keep the spaces open, and to find a way to make for room for difficult beauty – is beauty ever easy? I have not found it so. I’m not even talking about a person, just openness to everything, and even the small daily things, like going out into the garden, or walking down to the river, are beautiful enough to disturb.

Disturb? Yes, I mean to disturb out of the habit of letting life pass in a blur. Looking, hearing, feeling, is disturbing. But better, I think than a muffled world.

I put up a poem this month that seems to me to be about the essential practicality of the poetic vision. You don’t need to be a poet to have a poetic vision. A poetic vision is prepared to be open, to let things in. The exactness of translation, vision into language, is the job of a poet, but the vision itself is probably the job of all of us.

We are grateful to poets because they put into words what we have felt/are feeling. I can’t say enough how important it is to go on feeling."

~Jeanette Winterson

Winterson's fairly regular emails announce new columns and poem of the month. This morning, because I'm taking it slow and easy, I was flipping through more of the site and found the following. I've yet to download the pdf of her new book.

An excerpt from an older book:

"Every journey conceals another journey within its lines: the path not taken and the forgotten angle. These are journeys I wish to record. Not the ones I made, but the ones I might have made, or perhaps did make in some other place or time. I could tell you the truth as you will find it in diaries and maps and log-books. I could faithfully describe all that I saw and heard and give you a travel book. You could follow it then, tracing those travels with your finger, putting red flags where I went.

For the Greeks, the hidden life demanded invisible ink. They wrote an ordinary letter and in between the lines set out another letter, written in milk. The document looked innocent enough until one who knew better sprinkled coal-dust over it. What the letter had been no longer mattered; what mattered was the life flaring up undetected...

till now.

I discovered that my own life was written invisibly, was squashed between the facts, was flying without me like the Twelve Dancing Princesses who shot from their window every night and returned home every morning with torn dresses and worn-out slippers and remembered nothing.

I resolved to set a watch on myself like a jealous father, trying to catch myself disappearing through a door just noticed in the wall. I knew I was being adulterous; that what I loved was not going on at home. I was giving myself the slip and walking through this world like a shadow. The longer I eluded myself the more obsessed I became with the thought of discovery. Occasionally, in company, someone would snap their fingers in front of my face and ask, 'Where are you?' For a long time I had no idea, but gradually I began to find evidence of the other life and gradually it appeared before me."

-Jeanette Winterson, from Sexing The Cherry
how fun~

What would happen if...

...Mark Morford created a dating service?
Step in and see.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

If I move back east, I'm going to return to the place I left. Portsmouth, Newmarket NH area. Not that I plan on moving any time soon. I'm not done here, still being boiled. ;-)

And, I love Seattle. Love my chosen family here. But, just sayin'.

Guess I miss my ocean.

In Starbucks this morning, getting my "grande drip in a venti cup, please", a tall, thin man, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt stood next to me to fix his coffee as well. He may have been in his early 50's. Relaxed. Easy.

He looked at his cup, and then said:

"Oh, I had this quote a few times already. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"Yeah I do. I like reading them".

He began to read his to me. Then when he finished, he said "what does your cup say?"
I read the quote on my cup to him and then we chatted about the ideas.
What a wonderful way to start the day. It was such a comfortable, familiar moment. An intimacy that felt just right.
All with a stranger.



Today, from Jonathan Cainer:
" In Monty Python's 'Meaning of Life' there is a memorable scene in which an amply proportioned gentleman is visiting a restaurant. Having devoured a ludicrously large meal, he comes under polite but persistent pressure from the waiter to enjoy just one little 'wafer thin mint'. He succumbs with catastrophic consequences. You have a lot on your plate. There is a limit to how much more you can take. Allow yourself a little time, lest one more challenge becomes the last straw."

Yup. That's about right.


I haven't done any drawing this week. I've been too engaged with the rest of life. But...but at noon today, I will be off until Wednesday. There is still time and I'm looking forward to it.


Last night Auxugen met me and we went to the Central Cinema for food and a movie. It's the only theater around where you can watch a movie, and order from a menu at the same time. The waiter will take your order, bring you your food...and wine. Nice.

It was an impulsive decision made quickly after I received a notice of the movie.

Fresa y chocolate.
From the notice I received:
"The first gay-themed movie made in Cuba, Fresa y Chocolate (Strawberry
& Chocolate) was a radical deviation from state-sanctioned homophobia.
When sociology student and Castro supporter David meets long suffering
gay intellectual Diego, the encounter changes both their lives. But
it's the queer writer and artist who imparts the wisdom.

Very good movie. Check it out if you get a chance.

It was another needed distraction.


Upon my return, I found a serious treat in my email. Thank you.


I dealt with the police and insurance company about my car. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for the appointment date for the estimate.
Tomorrow night I bring my paintings to the gallery.

From the announcement for the exhibit:

"Q Arts Seattle is pleased to announce the show for July: “SPIRITUALITY”. This is a group show produced by Jean-Paul Page. This unique show displays works by LGBT artists based on the theme of spirituality. The show explores how spirituality is experienced, perceived and understood through the lens of LGBT culture and thought.

Jean-Paul has brought together the work of twelve artists for this unusual and thought provoking show. Attempting to bring the viewer to an understanding of one’s spiritual truth is a daunting task. Please join these artists as they present us with their answers and prod us with their questions about spirituality from the LGBT point of view.

The show opening and artist’s reception will be held Saturday, July 1 from 6-9 pm. Live music will be provided and a palm reader will be on hand to add to the evening's pleasure


It will be good to get back to drawing. Maybe...maybe today or tomorrow morning. There is an ass that is screaming for touch.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

It comes in threes....

In spite of how trying yesterday was and that there are some big problems I still need to try to fix, here is some goodness pulled from the day~

I recovered my grandmother's dishes. The box was sitting at Post Options, but because the mailing label did not include the name of my organization, nor the box number, the good folks there didn't know who it belonged to.

They've arrived intact and still look fabulous, considering they are over 80 years old.

My painting is now on it's way to a new address, where it is guaranteed that someone will be there to accept the package in a few days.

A fabulous dinner with the Bear and the bunny. They came by, saw my paintings for the show, and then I showed them my new series of drawings, including the most recent which I had yet to compare to the others. The Bear...well, he was somewhat stunned. Yeah, that's a very good sign.

For dinner, he declared "someplace air conditioned and dark." Not too many of those in Seattle. Then the idea of Mamounia came up. I had just noticed the restaurant a few weeks back and was intrigued.

There is no belly dancing early in the week, which is fine with me. It was quiet. The food was amazing. The experience includes eating with your hands. No silverware. It differs from Ethiopian because you really use your hands, not pieces of flat bread to scoop up the food.

The waitress comes by with a large bowl and runs water over your hands, so you can wash them. She hands you a towel to dry and that serves as your napkin as well.

Imagine lamb in a cinnamon onion sauce with prunes and topped with sliced almonds. I'm not a fan of lamb, but this rocked. It was tender. The flavors were amazing. Or sauteed boneless chicken pieces with cinnamon in a mint sauce. Beef Zitoun, morsels of tenderloin with crushed olives. All to die for.

Last week, my over the top, fabulous dining was Pair with Hoss...and this week, Mamounia. I love great food.

Both weeks, each experience was filled with mouthful after mouthful of serious goodness. At Pair, I think I danced in my seat while eating. And last night, in sampling a little from each plate, I remarked "each plate is an orgasm waiting to happen."

Other things...still up in the air.

Now, to Wednesday business.

"You can be innocently sitting there. You can be minding your own business cruising your favorite blogs and your favorite porn sites and reading your favorite newspapers and thinking all is well and good with the world -- relative, of course, to its overall hellbound handbasket plummet -- when wham, your brain recoils and your eyeballs roll back in your skull and you feel as though your colon had been stabbed by a large rusty aircraft fuselage.

It is not as pleasant as it sounds."

That is Morford's opening paragraph of How To Eat Paris Hilton.

And this week's Freewill Astrology can be found here.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

It is a strange, sad time.
Another death. Eric Rofes.
A friend informed me of his passing earlier this morning.

I had the pleasure of meeting him briefly at Creating Change last year, and was very impressed. His demeanor, his intelligence…his grace… wow.

He will be missed.


Edited: when I first posted the press release, the NGLTF website hadn't been updated yet. Now it is.

2nd edit: Eric's website


from the NGLTF press release...
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force mourns death of Eric Rofes, a leader, activist and visionary

WASHINGTON, June 27 — The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force mourns the death of Eric Rofes, a leader, activist, visionary, former board member and dear friend to the Task Force. He died yesterday as the result of a heart attack.

“Words cannot express the loss we all feel. For more than 30 years, Eric was our movement’s visionary. He pushed us to be better, to never lose sight of what our movement for liberation is all about, and to love each other, fight for each other and celebrate our community. He was an organizer without par, a brilliant thinker and writer, and above all else, a wonderful person and friend. Our hearts go out to his partner Crispin Hollings and all the members of his extended family.” — Matt Foreman, executive director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

“Eric Rofes was one of the most extraordinary voices in our community. He spoke — and suffused others — with the joy of being who we are. His leadership in the communities where he lived, and in the national community, contributed enormously to our understanding of the need for honest discussions about the LGBT community and its issues. Eric’s death is a loss to all of us, of a rare voice of truth.” — Task Force board member Loren Ostrow, co-chair of the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center

"Eric fought fiercely and organized tirelessly for our freedoms to love, to live and to thrive. His leadership and energy guided much early organizing in Boston. Eric and other Boston organizers morphed into the famed ‘Boston Mafia,’ a cadre of activists who left the city and assumed leadership positions in LGBT and AIDS organizations in New York, Washington, D.C., San Francisco and Los Angeles. I met Eric at Gay Community News in 1983 when, as a greenhorn from the Midwest, I was honored to learn and grow in his political light and determination to change the social and political space we queerfolk occupy. Eric's circles of friends go far beyond Boston, and he will always be remembered as a world changer who showed us the way. No better memorial can be built to him than to walk his path to freedom, to liberation and to democracy." — Sue Hyde, director of the Task Force’s Creating Change conference

“Eric Rofes was a strong feminist who was never afraid to put his privilege on the line for those around him. He bore witness to every major issue for three decades as he talked about war, homelessness, HIV, violence, health, reframing our families, sex and sexuality. His gentle spirit will be sorely missed.” — Kerry Lobel, former executive director of the Task Force

About Eric Rofes

Eric Rofes started his activism in the 1970s in Boston where he worked on Gay Community News . He was a founder of Boston's first group for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) teachers, two of the first LGBT youth groups in the country and the first Boston-based group focused on organizing gay and lesbian voters (Boston Lesbian and Gay Political Alliance). He was a founding member of the Boston Men's Childcare Collective, which provided childcare at women's music concerts and shelters for battered women. He was an elected delegate to the 1980 White House Conference on the Family.

From 1985 to 1989, Rofes served as executive director of the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Community Services Center, the largest LGBT nonprofit organization in the world. During his tenure, the center initiated some of the nation's first HIV prevention programs, created a shelter for LGBT and homeless youth and opened the first and largest HIV testing site in California. In 1989, he became executive director of Shanti Project, a pioneering AIDS service group in San Francisco.

He served as a member of the Los Angeles AIDS Commission and the San Francisco Ryan White Council, and was a board member of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, the National Lesbian & Gay Health Association and the Funding Exchange's OutFund for Gay Liberation. Rofes co-chaired the Southern California No on LaRouche Committee, which successfully defeated a statewide AIDS quarantine initiative. At the time of his death, he served on the board of the Woodhull Freedom Foundation.

He led the organizing of three national summits focused on the health and wellness of gay male communities, including the most recent summit in October 2005 in Salt Lake City. From 1999 to the time of his death, Rofes was an associate professor of education at Humboldt State University in Arcata, Calif.

He was a major contributor to the Task Force’s Creating Change conference, which he attended annually and where he presented some of the most challenging and stimulating material.

In addition, he published 12 books, including Reviving the Tribe: Regenerating Gay Men's Sexuality and Culture in an Ongoing Epidemic (Haworth, 1996) and Dry Bones Breathe: Gay Men Creating Post-AIDS Identities and Cultures (Haworth, 1998).
Strange times.

What am I supposed to learn from these things…?
Maybe just to keep breathing.

~Someone I know, more from afar, committed suicide. That knowledge shook me up on a few levels. First, it's the second one in 6 months, the first being a friend right after New Year's. When I heard the news of the more recent one….the first thing was shock. The next thing through my head was:
"that should have been me. Why wasn't it me?"
Then…a little voice… "because you have someone to go to."
I cry for people whose hearts are so broken that there is nothing left but bleakness. Desolation.
I cry for this person with the busted heart.

~I went to my car this morning and noticed that someone had backed into it in such a way where there is no dent but the white paint is totally pulled off the driver's side corner of my front bumper. A very large black patch, almost a foot across. I also noticed that someone did leave a note saying "Please call", with a phone number. It's from either the person who did the damage or a witness. I'll call in a bit. Right now, it's too early.

~The painting I shipped out on June 8th has yet to be received. I started tracking it online, and this morning noticed it's back in Oregon. It has gone back and forth cross country. Yes, I'm freaking out big time. I know it's no longer my responsibility…but it still feels like my baby until it's safe and sound in its new home and right now, it feels like it is floating around in the ether.

~I had been given my grandmother's wedding dishes about 12 years ago. It's a set that goes back to the 1920's, a wonderful and simple art deco pattern in green, gold and platinum. When I moved to Seattle, I returned them to my mom's because there was no room in the car. On my last visit home, I packed up the box (with overkill), and a few weeks later my family shipped it UPS. While tracking this morning, it seems the damned box arrived on the 14th…and someone at the Mail place signed for it. But when I called last week looking for it, the person who answered didn't know anything about it. Now that I have the name of who signed…I'll stop over there when they open in a few hours and find out what happened.

Some of these I've been dealing with for a while. Others are fresh.
Today, the culmination of it all is hitting me.


It's not all gloom.
Good things…

~My 3 little paintings have been framed. I'll be picking them up today and drop them off at the gallery space on Friday.
~It was much too hot yesterday, so I didn't do any drawing but plan on it today.
~Kerry and his Papa Bear will be in town for a bit over the weekend…and I'll get to pick them up at the airport on Saturday. It'll be GREAT to see them.
~I'm working on reopening myself to the shrink. It feels good to begin to trust him again.
~There was no humidity with the onslaught of heat.
~Yesterday was the last day of our mini heat wave.
~Last night, in bed, and this morning was the first time in over a week without sharp left arm pain. There is still pain, but it is oh so very manageable now. This I can deal with.
~Tonight I get to see the Bear and his bunny. I'll get some loving.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Tired thoughts~

Sleep was a long time coming last night. Therefore, I'm still groggy and out of it. Therapy in less than an hour…and then dive into work. This is my second week of afternoon vacation time, meaning short work days. Hopefullly…I'll have the energy to paint some more this afternoon. I want to.

When I used to have trouble sleeping, I'd mentally transport myself back to one of my all time favorite places. A private corner of rocks on the Marginal Way in Ogunquit. With my eyes closed I could hear the waves, smell the salt, feel the sea air and the spray. I would keep my breath in time to the crashing of the waves. And in that…I'd sleep.

Last night, as I periodically do, I tried to recapture it again in my mind. It's diminished. I haven't been there in so long that the memory has faded. Yes, there's a vague visual, but I can't taste it as before. Sad. Next time I fly home, I must make a trip back to the shore. But even with that, it won't be the same. When I lived back east, I would be there every week. I need to find another safe spot. Another healing spot here in my area.


Regarding Pride, I am glad the regular parade finally moved off the hill. Marching in the gay ghetto misses the point of Pride marches. But, I always enjoyed the festivities in our neighborhood. So…in reviewing the weekend, I really liked that although much was happening at Seattle Center all weekend, I loved how Saturday on Broadway was full and alive with events at Volunteer park all day - concerts and movies, the dyke march and a smaller version of the parade down Broadway in the late afternoon.

For me, kicking off the weekend in our space and culminating into a big deal downtown on Sunday worked well together. I know the Saturday parade was in reaction to the big one getting moved off the Hill. But after witnessing Saturday's march and then seeing Sunday's on TV, I don't believe it needs to be one or the other.
We can have both. More for us.
Why not?

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Productive day~

In spite of the 90 degree day, let it be known that I did get some work done. Normally, anything over 80 leaves me limp and sluggish. But I was determined to work another piece. I'm not sure what I think of it yet. That will come tomorrow...with space. I am thrilled I worked.

Now, after a handful of ibuprofen and a bag of frozen peas slapped on my shoulder, I'm crashed in my leather chair drinking OJ and watching today's Pride parade...taped earlier and being televised for two hours. Regardless of what anyone thinks of the move off the Hill or the parade in general...watching this on the tube is pretty cool. It wouldn't have happened 5 years ago.

I want a treat for dinner but can't decide what would constitute treat right now. Too hot to decide. Good thing it's not humid.
The Gift~

This morning I received a gift. Unknowingly to the person who shared, it was a wonderful, amazing gift.
The gift, a Rumi poem.

Chickpea to Cook
(translated by Coleman Barks)

A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot
where it's being boiled.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

The cook knocks him down with the ladle.

"Don't you try to jump out.
You think I'm torturing you.
I'm giving you flavor,
so you can mix with spices and rice
and be the lovely vitality of a human being.

Remember when you drank rain in the garden.
That was for this."

Grace first. Sexual pleasure,
then a boiling new life begins,
and the Friend has something good to eat.

Eventually the chickpea
will say to the cook,
"Boil me some more.
Hit me with the skimming spoon.
I can't do this by myself.

I'm like an elephant that dreams of gardens
back in Hindustan and doesn't pay attention
to his driver. You're my cook, my driver,
my way into existence. I love your cooking."

The cook says,
"I was once like you,
fresh from the ground. Then I boiled in time,
and boiled in the body, two fierce boilings.

My animal soul grew powerful.
I controlled it with practices,
and boiled some more, and boiled
once beyond that,
and became your teacher."

Thank you for the poem. I've reread it a few times and realized a certain shrink, master in his own right, is the cook and I the chickpea. I've spent the last few months running and rebelling. All needed of course. But I've worked diligently at not surrendering. The child engages in tantrums.

I am being boiled.

This morning's web cruising has uncovered another gem:

Leonard Cohen's Anthem

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
It's how the light gets in.

It is Pride weekend in Seattle. This year we have two parades, one each day. Yesterday I immersed myself in Pride energy, which never fails to bring up memories of my first Prides...political events. Regardless of controversy, of the corporate and commercial, the parade recaptures what at times feels lost.

Today, I'll bypass the queer celebrations and instead, hole myself up, again in silence.
Engage the Artist. With Pride.

In submitting to the cook, I am ultimately surrendering to myself.
Today, I willingly jump into the pot.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Butt play is powerful and healing.

You access the root of a person when you slam your dick into their ass. As the bottom, it hits your essence...and opens you up, more each time. Vulnerability. That is, if you're aware and present and not strung out on crystal, obliviously and recklessly seeking continual fucks.

As a female, having the immense fortune of having two holes to play with (sorry guys)....I have to say that having my ass fucked or fisted is more intense and fantastic than having my cunt filled. I once had the experience of having a fist up my cunt and ass simultaneously and that....that was mindblowing.

Isn't it an odd thing to speak of after a week of silence?

I don't know how to write about it.

Butt play. Masturbation. I've spent the week in the throes of sex.

Last week, beginning on Thursday, but I really felt it on Friday...reality. Reality. Regardless of what another's reality is...all we can deal with is our own. The reality that was creeping up on me and hit hard by Friday was...I am all alone. There is nothing or no one else in this world but me. I will never be fully understood.

I was alone.
I am alone.

I no longer trusted anyone. Not even my shrink. His office, last Friday, felt unsafe. No longer my haven. I retained my walls and spoke hardly at all in our session.

This past week was one of his away weeks, which suited me fine. I didn't want to return.
I no longer trusted him. I trusted no one.
I was alone.

Saturday morning.

A slowly increasing anxiety began to fill me. I was afraid that this would be my life and I wouldn't be able to work past it. Then, I stopped. I stopped analyzing, stopped asking why and stopped processing. The decision was made to just go through it. If this was my current path, so be it. There was nothing else I could do but be in it, without fear.

I immersed myself in my aloneness. No it wasn't pleasant. It wasn't pretty. It simply was what it was. I chose to not engage with people because it would have felt false. If I felt alone, I needed to really be alone.

After this decision I realized that I wasn't empty in my aloneness and isolation. I knew because I couldn't shake the fact that...I had my art. Regardless what anyone else thinks of me, knowing that I'll never be really understood or no longer mattered because I had one thing that could never be taken away. One thing. I am an artist. I have my art.

A strong sense of power came over me.

For the first time in my life, while immersed in turmoil, I lunged toward my painting instead of away from it.

Saturday morning, I ran to Utrecht's to pick up paper. Watercolor and printmaking paper. I needed something somewhat durable. Because I really can't work well in oils in my little place, I decided to try drawings. Because I knew I'd be working with charcoal, I kept the pieces small, about 15x20. Without getting charcoal dust everywhere, it was a manageable size.

I began with black watercolor and mixed and worked through each piece with watercolor, charcoal and graphite. Wet into dry and back into wet. Working one within the other.
It was painting.

I completed 4 drawings this week.

It's been almost a year since I've painted.
It's been 10 years since I've finished any charcoal pieces.

Normally, I'd rough out in charcoal and jump right into oils because I was antsy to feel the brush spring against the canvas. Now, I have no choice. If I want to paint, it needs to be in charcoal because of space limitations.

This isn't a bad thing.

While my shrink sat in sesshin all week, I stepped into my own. I found a way that is about my culture and my experience.

In these pieces, I see my life.
I see my suffering and my hunger.
I see my sex.
I see my cock.

It is one image. One image I keep replaying. I'm working it over and over again. My meditation. It allows me to really explore. It frees me up in a way that is healing. There is no pressure. There is no expectation.

And...after seeing these four pieces, I know they are the best things I've done thus far.

They show who I am.
Within these black and white pieces, there is so much color.

In the work, in the midst of very adult subject matter, the little kid is screaming:

I will not be dismissed.
I will no longer be ignored.
See my sex, my essence and deal with it.
I exist and will flourish in spite of it all.

These are good. And it is good.

I'm not outwardly excited about this, which is odd for me. Yet it feels so right. Substantial roots are taking hold and I feel it inside. With that, I'm watchful and protective of my new, still being built, foundation.

In my week of mostly silence, I couldn't even write for myself. This is the first time I'm putting anything into words.

My body has rebelled with these new changes. I am left-handed. My left shoulder has been in so much rotator cuff acting up more painfully than ever before. I developed migraines on Tuesday and Wednesday. It's about release. All release. The body will react. will get over it and calm down as my spirit becomes stronger.

When I decided to relax into this aloneness and the feeling of not trusting, I knew it was a necessary step into further healing. Though it is another corner turned, I don't expect an easy road. But it is a new landscape.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Poking out of my cave~

A quick entry only to bring you today's column from Mark Morford. I've had the desire to be very private for the last week and so have pulled back from pretty much everything although while doing a favor for Hoss last night I was treated to one of the most glorious meals I've ever indulged in. It was a surprising indulgence that felt somehow timing, company, food and wine. Thank you Hoss.

I will be back to writing more soon. I can feel it. Much has happened and it'll be nice to share it. But until then, here is today's column - Crazy Healers Enter The World.

What surprised me about this column was that Morford writes about his recent trip to Seattle to attend the commencement ceremony for Bastyr University. I knew Bastyr was a school for holistic, naturopathic medicine. I had no idea how good a school it was, or what it required of its students. My acunpuncturist, who I love, and sadly haven't seen in a few years (majorly overdue) was a part of Bastyr's faculty. Not sure if she still is. Her practice is at One Sky Medicine, which I periodically recommend to a few folks. It's a group practice that combines eastern and western medicine.

Anyway...from the column:

"Bastyr is an alternative medical academy. It is perhaps most famous for cranking out world-class naturopathic doctors who, for the first four years of their studies, work through the exact same basic, intense science material as their Western-trained counterparts, all about cadavers and biology and hard-core physiology and all related labs and testings and the accompanying brutal anxiety and a vicious attrition rate for first- and second-year students who just can't hack the insane pace and staggering workload."

and later on:

"But watching the Bastyr ceremony was different. It was like watching a bucket of very peculiar and incandescent flowers get tossed onto a field of coal. This year, the school pumped over 250 alternative healers out into the pill-popping, surgery-happy, overmedicated world (up from just 35 grads only a dozen years ago) from Chinese medicine practitioners to professional acupuncturists, holistic nutrition experts to spiritually aware alternative psychologists to even a few young 'n' sexy midwives, along with dozens of full NDs who will take their state board exams (just like Western docs) and enter into the teeming world of suffering and pain and actually not offer surgery or Lipitor within the first 10 minutes of your consultation.

These doctors will, instead, spend hours getting to know patients, understanding lives, tapping into ancient ideas of medicinal arts; these are doctors who will harness the formidable power of nature and spirit and time-tested human wisdom to help smack illness upside the head and, hell, after all that if you still need some Prozac and a surgical rearrangement of your spleen, then by all means, they can recommend that, too."


Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Here it is~

Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology for this week.
A placeholder~

I'll be back soon. For now...

...our Wednesday guys guy. Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology hasn't come through yet. I will post it when it does.

In today's Morford, Behold All My Dirty Secrets, he writes:

"I choose freedom from paranoia and embarrassment. I choose to be entirely comfortable with my fetishes. There is nothing on my PowerBook that is not entirely human. Besides, if someone with the right tools and data-recovery know-how and a nasty personal agenda were to unerase all the data from my hard drive after I sell it and see every scrap and every photo and every scandalous thought buried on this machine, would they really know me? Touch the heart of what I'm all about? Not even close.

Look. We are a nation taught to be ashamed of our fantasies and our deviances from the norm, taught that porn is a dirty word and experimenting with ideas of gender and love and Self is morally reprehensible and probably deserving of medication and electroshock therapy. And our technology often serves as a channel and repository of our "shameful" notions. This is why PCs have supposedly become so dangerous. And so fascinating a cultural artifact.

But through it all, there seems to exist this one general rule: If you have that much to hide, if you are living some sort of secret and embarrassing and family-endangering double life, if you are constantly burying images and hiding data or altering your persona to the point of endangering your work, if you cannot let someone, say, cruise through your personal sex-toy box without massive blushing and fainting and humiliation, perhaps you're living the wrong kind of life. You think?"

Friday, June 16, 2006


"This is, after all, how you begin to learn to figure the world out for yourself. This is how you make the soul snap to attention. Fear awakens the mind. The survival instinct learns to French-kiss the Mystery."

It's for moments like this that I love Morford. Here is today's column.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

The horoscopes I check out, Freewill Astrology, Planet Waves and Jonathan Cainer, tend to be an affirmation of where I'm at, instead of a big foretelling. I don't normally see something I don't know,'s a crazy validation.

This week, Cainer's stuff has been scarily right on the money.

For example, today's 'scope:

"You may not be able to lift it, but you've still got the power to shift it. No matter how heavy, hard or seemingly set in stone a situation may be, there's a way to move it on. You won't necessarily be able to make things happen in exactly the way you envisage. You may have to seek assistance, or accept the kind of help you would prefer to reject... but as long as you're neither too proud or nor too pessimistic, you'll find, between now and early next week, that each day brings you nearer to a breakthrough."

And tomorrow's (which he tends to publish the afternoon before:

"You know how the world starts to feel very tense, just before a storm breaks? Well, though life is very difficult right now, it's soon going to get a lot better. Things have been hard for you lately but they have also taken you through a constructive process which you could not have undertaken in any other way. This weekend may not bring thunder, but it will certainly bring a dramatic, decisive development that, though it feels a little intimidating when it first occurs, proves to be of great benefit."

Today is definitely one of those "hot, humid, thick wall of heavy air, can't breathe, just before the thunder rolls in and the skies open up" kinda days.
Reality check.

Why am I distracted?
Because I'm not being honest about what I'm feeling.
Why am I angry?
Because I'm still not being honest about what I'm feeling.
Why am I feeling bitchy?
Again…because I'm really not being honest about what I'm feeling.

As I've written before, this last month, and especially these last few weeks the heat is cranked in my therapy sessions. The shrink has been pushing me. Hard. Pushing me into what feels like the "getting lost, never to return to sanity, black pit of what we know as deep vulnerability" stuff.

So I've stepped into the big bad, knowing it's not a finite destination but an ongoing unfolding and way of living. And I'm unsettled, scared and nervous.

Opening the heart, having peeled off layers...I feel naked.
Very distracted today.

I have over 4 weeks of vacation time, and it keeps accruing monthly. So I've decided to work half days, Monday - Thursday for the next two weeks. I'll be home by 1pm. I may continue that into July. We'll see how it goes. Regarding these shorter days, I'm experimenting with something. Instead of sharing, I'll tease you for a bit. I don’t want to jinx anything. Okay…one clue: it has to do with painting.

In between work tasks, I have tried 5 different entries since 6 am and it is a mess. So much is floating around in my brain and it's gotten all tangled up. There are some fabulous conversations going on in the blogosphere and not only am I thrilled but also think "it's about friggin' time." Attempts were made to add my two cents but I'm still too passionate and now distracted to string thoughts together. I can be quite the bitch and would rather temper myself just a bit more.
It will have to wait.

Now to focus on work...

...have a wonderful, sexy, productive day. All of you.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Tequila Talk~

Just got back from a nice afternoon with Bear. It was a great couple hours. Sometimes, it's nice to have a fresh face. A new perspective. Sometimes, in relaying information, it then gets easier to translate. Given space. Given time.

Bear asked me about my family...something about being surrounded or immersed in the gay men's community.

I am, and I am not. Many men have no desire to have a cunt around. I don't hold it against them. We each are comfortable with what we're comfortable with. Obviously, my chosen family and closest friends happen to be gay men. I didn't seek it out. It wasn't something I chose when I woke one morning. And others are welcome. But it's about the smell. All about the scent.

As I explained over lunch, instead, I once smelled the energy I was looking for, I knew I found home. It surrounded me like home, family, sustenance. Since then, it is that particular smell that I've pulled toward me. It's the smell of sex. Comfortable with bodies, nasty open sexual expression...good sense of self. Sex for sex sake. Knowing it does not need anything else attached to the sex. The more creative the being, the better.

No drama. No having to negotiate or worry about partners. No goddammed excessive cloudy processing. (I do enough of that for myself). People who are self-aware. Sexual. Open. Part of it is a shared experience (although I can't share all of everyone's experience. No one can).

I can't really explain it other than a smell. An energy. Sometimes those are annoying words but the best I can do.

There's a meme on LJ about where did you get your screen name. Girlfag was given to me over for years ago by a chosen family member. I considered getting a domain and didn't know which one. We were in the kitchen one day and Bryan said "". I had never heard the term before that.

"It's perfect for you. You are a fag. You are us. And you're still a girl."

While mulling it over, I met a couple of men from SF. One of them said "oh, you're a girlfag. There are a few of you around."

So girlfag it was.

The domain was open at the time and I snagged it. Since then, especially over the last year I've become annoyed with the term "girlfag". Maybe something about the popularity of it. Maybe because there are different definitions of girlfag. People like me. Or dykes who play like gay men but are attracted to women mostly. Or...people confuse it with faghag.

I'd prefer to have my last name. Only that. You can't make a lot of assumptions from my last name. I like the ambiguity. But, on LJ it's taken. And for Blogger, honestly, I'll keep girlfag. There are many google searches for "fag" that lead here. That's not a bad thing.

Labels suck sometimes, yanno? And at the same time, an important tool. A necessary evil. Like cars. Like taxes. This winter, I opted to not renew the domain. I decided I'd never do anything with it and so let it go. I still have my other one which I'm still not sure what to do with.

Have I told you lately that I'm so excited and can't wait to see the 3 paintings all framed? Yeah. I'm ecstatic. There's a big reason for that. This isn't like the other painting which was already sold. These haven't been purchased yet. I'm investing in the frames because I feel the paintings deserve them. Translated: "I'm worth it."

Yeah, that's a biggie.

Have I told you that I had two margueritas while chatting with Bear and so am a tad bit buzzed? I popped into a coffee shop afterward to sit and write. Didn't want to go home right away. Instead, I'm here with a cup of coffee. From here I'll stop and pick up dinner on my way home and then return to a clean house. Yes...I took more vacation time this afternoon and had over an hour before seeing Bear, along with energy, so I dove into my home. It needed it badly.

Being sad, hurt, stressed, dealing with internal crap is not good for domestic life. Everything falls to pieces. It sucks. It becomes a vicious cycle.
"If my house were clean, I'd feel better. But I don't feel good enough to clean it."


Onto other things:

I've decided to invest in a digital camera. Yes...before a cell phone. I'd use it more often. Thing is, I'm not sure what to get. I'd like to keep it under $250, preferable under $200. I want zoom capability, good quality, easy to use. Any suggestions? When I was really into photography, I LOVED my Pentax K1000. No frills. No gadgetry. At times, after much practice, I wouldn't even need the battery for the light meter. I could determine the aperture and shutterspeed by looking at the quality of the light. If I had the money back then, I would have invested in a Leica. My boss at the lab had one, and I loved it. I stopped taking photos after I stopped processing film. I tried finding labs that met my stringent demands for color quality and was disappointed more often than not. So I chose not to waste any more film. Unless..I shot transparencies. But that's not really practical.

Now, I want a digital. I want to share some of the cool things my eye catches during my walks. I want to quickly record images that give me ideas for future paintings...yes, for when I once again begin painting somewhere down the road. (Shhh...don't tell anyone, but it will probably be sooner than later. One thing. I am NOT obsessively pressuring or "should"-ing myself into this. It's going to happen organically).

Oh my, Queen's "The Game" cd is playing over the speakers here at Victrola Coffee. What a blast from the past. I used to have and loved the LP.

And, I think that's it. I honestly didn't expect to do another entry today but there you have it.
On that note...ciao.
Good morning.

"But you do not have to believe me. You merely need to glance at the latest version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (known to devotees as DSM-IV), the deeply creepy bible of the psychiatric profession, which is roughly a thousand pages long and which lists more sad 'n' disagreeable disorders and conditions and painful permutations of Self than the "Joy of Cooking" lists recipes involving heat.

The DSM, it is like a tumor. It is like a Christian megachurch. It is like a ... a ... something large and invasive and numbing to the soul, and while it has been, I'm sure, hugely helpful and necessary to many, it is churning and growing and seething all the time, swallowing all of humanity in its vortex of new and vaguely quantifiable suffering. To read any part of it is to come away convinced you suffer from at least a dozen happy disorders, most requiring medication or partial lobotomy. It's that kind of joy."

Morford jumps right in with Don't Blame Me, Blame My IED.

Now Brezsny leads me to wonder with:

"In his biography Tallulah!: The Life and Times of a Leading Lady, Joel Lobenthal describes actress Tallulah Bankhead (1902-1968) as a reckless hedonist given to exhibitionism and affairs with hundreds of lovers. He also hints that there was a karmic payback for her excesses. It came in the form of a lengthy hysterectomy that was a last-ditch attempt to save her from the ravages of an advanced case of gonorrhea, reducing her frame to a mere seventy pounds. Bankhead didn't see it as karmic payback, however. Afterwards she told her doctor, "Don't think this has taught me a lesson!" Your own imminent comeuppance won't be even a tiny fraction of what Bankhead's was, Capricorn. But I hope that after it has been offered, you will thankfully say, "This has taught me a valuable lesson!"

You see, yesterday was an...interesting day. I don't know about reckless but yes, hedonistic.

I woke horny. Very horny. And a little angry. I put out a call to friends to send me dirty stories, which they did. I stayed wired and frenzied, managed to get work done, and then, the icing on the cake - one very short email came through and it sent me. Over the edge.

It's a good thing I had just completed a long project. I took vacation time for the rest of the day and went home, sat in my chair, felt my trembling body and hungry holes screaming at me for a couple hours until I couldn't bear it any more. I grabbed one of my favorite toys and fucked. And fucked. And fucked some more. I wasn't quickly satiated. For over an hour I was wrapped in orgasm upon orgasm upon orgasm.

Until spent.

Maybe my lesson is I need to do that more often.

Here is your weekly Brezsny.

One more thing. Today's Brezsny email had this thought right at the top.

"When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself."
--Shunryu Suzuki

Something to remember.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Cool article~

Old Masters

"Archaeologists have discovered what they believe to be a 27,000-year-old drawing of a face, which would make it the oldest in history. Like many other ancient portraits, it is reminiscent of the work of some of the great modern artists, writes Jonathan Jones - and speaks volumes about the way we see ourselves."

To read the whole article.

Fascinating article and an exciting find. But after reading, part of me can fantasize and believe the writer whereas a bigger part of is cynical and feels they are making a ton of assumptions.

"So familiar were these people with the emotional significance of the human face that they didn't need to fill in every detail as they did when they painted animals."

How do they know that?

"Why did the first artists draw like Picasso? It has to be because of their attitude to the face, to their own embodiment and that of the people they lived with - it has to be because of how they saw human beings specifically, because this is very different from the way they painted animals."

Projecting a little?

And, my very first question was "How do we know it was intended to be a face?

Not that I want to fully trash the article. The idea thrills me. I love the discovery. But, no one can say what the intent was or why it was conceived as such except for the person who actually created it. It's all circumstantial.
Not that I have strong opinions or anything...

Fuck the contemporary erotic art scene.
Most of it is incredibly boring.
I'm not contemporary. I'm not modern. I'm not trendy.
And that is one detail I've pretty much always been comfortable with.

I dropped off the three little singletail cross paintings at the frame shop yesterday afternoon…and I'm indulging myself. Grand frames that very much fit the work. Large fancy gilded frames on small paintings. I fell in love with them because well…they actually give each painting an iconic feel. A religious sensibility.
It is so very perfect and the idea titillates me.

This is a definite splurge.

They'll be ready in a couple weeks for the queer spirituality show. I'll try to get photos somehow...

Monday, June 12, 2006

Heart crunches~

It was a quiet weekend. Other than getting out for 2 hours on Saturday afternoon to see the documentary we funded…I was a recluse. I couldn't see anyone. I couldn't talk with anyone. It hurt being out with people.

It was a great weekend, weather-wise, but I desperately wished I had a private deck or porch so I could be outdoors and alone.

It was a challenging weekend. I was acutely aware of my heart all weekend. When it was too much, I'd shut down. There would be moments when I'd feel some internal strength, and in those, I actively worked on opening my heart and letting myself feel whatever was there at the time.

Pain. As a masochist, I was taught to ride through the pain. Therapy pushed that even further. Acknowledge it, don't push it away, go with it.
Anger. I've been learning to do the same with anger and rage. Ride it.
Fear. When I froze on Friday, the shrink said not to push or struggle through my terror. Let it be. Go with it.

Each of those, when I can immerse myself and breathe through it, I do so without attachment of an end result. No expectations.

Now, I'm working on that with caring, with love. To be courageous enough to love and dive into whatever that is, with no goals and no preconceptions.
It's just another feeling. Like all others.

It was a weekend where I exercised my heart and, when I saw an opportunity, would run it through its paces.
I was coaching myself:
"Don't close up."
"If you get a good feeling bubbling up, go with it. Surf it."
"It doesn't mean anything except that it feels exciting."

I was my own personal physical heart trainer.
It was strange, and yet, natural.

When my friend sent me the refrigerator message, he had no idea what I was immersed in, yet the words are true. I need to learn to whisper the dark clotted music of love in spite of fear, and more importantly, with no illusions or presumptions.

It was an exhausting weekend. By last night, I was spent. Drained. Wiped.
And now it's a new week.
The refrigerator magnet version of fortune cookies.

What I found in my email yesterday from the bunny (a smart-assed bunny to be sure)...

..."clotted music". I love that phrase.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

The Ice Queen~

I thought I was open and loving. I thought I was fairly fearless. A risk-taker. A jumper.

Yesterday I discovered that there is a big closed black place in my heart.

The week, in therapy, has been hot. Every minute in that office has been engulfed in flames. Fast and furious.

I thought I was not afraid to love. Yet I fear it.

When the shrink touched upon my past affair with the musician, this time, I froze. It surprised me. I've spoken of it in the past and even shed tears with the memory. I would relay information calmly. Naturally. But now, I felt a fear I never before had felt.

He was poking, prodding...and I froze. A wall immediately appeared. All the words were in my head and I couldn't open my mouth to utter even a sound. There I sat, in silence. Within my bubble of fear, I attempted to reach out with my mind and tell him I was trapped. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. Longer.
I couldn't speak nor move.

Finally crawling through the barbed wire of terror... "I am afraid" slipped from my lips. "Help me."
It broke the ice and slowly I began to explain my fear. Up to a point.


I had no idea how intimidated and closed off I had become to receiving love or even to the possibility of a love that would see me. I mean, it's a one shot deal. That one great love only happens once in a lifetime. Well that was the story I told myself. It may or may not be the case.

The pain isn't in the fact that the relationship didn't last. The problem came with the quickness and severity of the cut. At 37, for the first time, someone didn't think I was too much. They weren't intimidated. And they challenged me as I did them. We lived in a space of lust and creativity. Heated. became too much. Flip the switch, snap your fingers and disappear. Forever. They vanished.

With that, something inside broke.

Afterward, I reigned myself back in, oblivious to how much I shut down. I still opened myself to new challenges and experiences. I continued to explore loving unconditionally, which is something that I began with the musician. Being able to love someone as they are. S/M came into my life a year later. I upped and moved to Seattle. I dove into training. Now into therapy. There is some fearlessness there. But...I was protecting the most cherished part of myself, not share it, nor allow myself the possibility of receiving.

I prided myself on how I lived a courageous life. But it's not.
I'm still closed. And I see how terrified I am.

Yesterday, the shrink held a mirror to my heart.
I opened my eyes and peeked.

Friday, June 09, 2006


Who woulda thunk that a 7 week affair, 9 years ago, that was even dealt with in therapy after it crashed and burned, would rip open and bleed all over again?

Sometimes I hate my shrink...


I know it was a profound experience at the time. But I dealt with it. I did.
I grieved.
I got angry.
I cried.
I mourned some more.
I talked.
I got more angry.
I got shrunk.
I forgave.
I cried.
I cried.
I cried.

I let go.

Or so I thought.

This isn't supposed to happen now. Not again.

I know I'll get over this. I did once before. But right now it's thrown me for a fucking loop. Unexpected. Out of the blue. Annoying. Defintely passe.


Morford's column for today: When all the fanatical Christians disappear, will traffic finally improve?


I slept until 7am this morning. After spending weeks waking around 4, the extra 3 hours makes a huge difference.


The MFA show overall was wonderful. Of course, I was more captivated by the painting, and there were paintings to be enamoured with. This excited me greatly.

This was the first MFA show I've ever seen. Surprising feelings came up while wandering through the show, especially while flipping through the pages of resumes, slides and statements. It brought back my BFA days, and then, the demon screaming "loser" tried to come to the forefront.

"You weren't disciplined enough to continue."
"You don't have the drive."
"This could have been you."
"Look at the life you've wasted."

Sadness filled me.
I wouldn't allow it to take huge hold, but I detest having felt its icy fingers trying to grip my heart.
I can still feel the imprint.

Entering the show, I needed to separate myself from my companions, instead desiring to wander alone...looking, feeling, immersing.


The Maya Lin show, Systematic Landscapes, was filled with grandeur in a beautifully quiet, nonpretentious way. I surrounded myself with the work. I let myself be dwarfed by it as well as be giant to it, taking the opportunity to really engage with it, in silence.


Have I said recently how much I love my neighborhood? Still, everyday, I fall more and more in love with my area. The gardens, the sky, the views, the combination of homes and apartment buildings, the little town-like feel of 15th, and the energy of the Hill. In walking more, it gives me time to immerse myself and fuck all I see in my surroundings.


Unless something spontaneous happens, I'm slowing down on films this weekend. The only one I'm going to attend is Mom's Apple Pie: The Heart of the Lesbian Mother's Custody Movement. We helped with funding, and it is the premiere screening, so I'd like to check it out.

Tonight, is an evening with Captain Smarty Pants

The show: A prom queen swings a bloody axe. Jason accessorizes his hockey mask. Zombies do a dainty minuet. Drama queens go berserk. Captain Smartypants goes mad in Trousers of Terror.
Taking inspiration from B horror films and drive-in cult classics, Captain Smartypants turns the genre on its head (while spinning it around), turning Re-Bar into the Nightclub of the Living Dead!


I'm being heavily recruited to be part of an organization as development director. It seems they've gotten off on some of my fundraising ideas and want me in the fold. It's an all volunteer group...not a paying gig. Although very flattered, I can't expend the energy. As I wrote back in my response, my energy right now is a commodity. First priorities, hand in hand, my job and therapy. After that, focus on my art. If I have any energy left for fundraising, it will be for the Tony DeBlase scholarship which I've put on hold because I don't have enough left over at this time.


I had my annual review a few days ago. Something seriously moved with all this therapy work. I heard things differently. Cleaner. In a good way, it freaked me out. It seems I'm more open to the affection of others in the office because in an instant, I'm seeing and feeling it in a way never before thought possible. And that's on top of the fact that I already knew they loved me. Apparently, that prior knowledge was still tainted by old stuff.


This week has been the biggest week in therapy. Each session was powerful and dramatic. I guess this is what we've been working to. I'm not ready to talk about it, but between that, and connections with others outside of sessions...I'm kind of blown away.


My wanking has shifted from comfort to heated freneticism filled with vivid images. Now that's a change.


That's all for now.
How are you?

Thursday, June 08, 2006

From Matisse's blog, how about a little kitty suspension bondage?

The cat looks quite comfortable.
Art and sex.

Last night I was prepped and ready, in spite of major exhaustion, to go to an open life drawing studio. My friend Michael and I actually showed up only to find....nothing.

Either we misread the announcement or it was cancelled.


Oh well. Next time.

I rec'd some vague details about the queer spirituality group art show at the Seattle LGBT community center in July. I'll drop off my three paintings on Friday, June 30. The opening reception of the show is Saturday evening, July 1st. Nice timing. Rogueboi and his partner are in Seattle that night. I'm going to try and scrape some money together and get the paintings framed. In the past, I never wanted to dish out the extra dough to frame for a show, but after framing the last piece that sold...and seeing what an impact it made on the work, I'll see what I can do.

These three paintings are little, about 9x12, could be considered still lifes, landscapes, interior scenes, or even self-portraits. They are loose painterly renderings of a St. Andrews cross. I've entitled the small series "Not My Father's Crucifix".

Sorry, no digital images yet. All I have are slides and no way to scan them. If I find a way, I'll show you.

Tonight, I'm headed to check out the UW MFA show as well as the Maya Lin exhibit at the Henry Art Gallery.

Want to see something silly?

When I pulled out my little 4x6 sketchbook to carry it around, I was flipping through earlier pages and found some writing, dating back to November 2001. Within an entry of blabbering about hunger, I found a dirty little ditty that had rolled off my fingers onto the page...silly and loose. Still in its original and unedited state:

bodies near and bodies far
all cum together as they are
sex is sex is wild and gritty
raw and animal, all so pretty
moans escape from lips so wet
tongues engorged and dick are set
to poke and prod like fingers near
from fist to ass
take this my dear

-mhg, 11/01

Have a good day.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Weird shit.

"Behold, blessed children, the new and upcoming "Left Behind: Eternal Forces" video game, based on the freakishly best-selling series of apocalyptic trash-lit books. It's an ultraviolent, hilariously inept, wondrously accurate portrayal of what every true right-wing Christian fundamentalist really fantasizes about after they've had one too many pink wine spritzers and have logged a few hours in the gay chat rooms and have sufficiently indoctrinated their happily numb kids with tales of vile homos and scary "progressive" liberals who want to buy them candy and tattoo their sacrums and feed them organic hot dogs."

It's an excerpt from Morford's latest column, Jesus Loves a Machine Gun.

And here is this week's Freewill Astrology.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Wow. It is really happening.

Eyman had until 5pm today to submit the necessary signatures in an attempt to repeal the new gay rights bill by bringing it to a public vote.

He failed.

Tomorrow, after 30 years since its conception by the late Cal Anderson, the law takes effect.
Very good news.

I woke incredibly horny today and although I wank off most mornings, I haven't seen this state of nervous, excited energy in a long time. Each cumming wasn't enough. Over and over. I'm at work and I'm still twitching.

Yesterday was a pivotal therapy session. Huge release.
Not only emotionally, but physically it feels as if I've shed pounds. Overnight even my jeans are loose in a way they haven't been in months.

As I wrote to a friend, my Beast has awakened.

Monday, June 05, 2006

He proves it once again...
...Eyman is an ass.

From the Seattle PI:
Monday, June 5, 2006 · Last updated 1:02 p.m. PT

Eyman dupes press, doesn't turn in signatures as expected

By Rachel La Corte
Associated Press Writer
Olympia, Wash. -- There are no signatures here, Luke.

Tim Eyman, in a stunt that was not wholly unexpected, arrived at the state elections division building Monday dressed as Darth Vader and wielding a plastic light saber. Missing were the petitions full of signatures in support of an effort to overturn the state's new gay civil-rights law.

Eyman, who has previously dressed up as a gorilla and a prison inmate to tout his various initiative efforts, had been expected to turn in the petitions, but his appearance turned out to be nothing more than a ploy for his publicity machine.

Eyman sent out an e-mail Friday saying he would be "bringing down petitions" on Monday. With a Tuesday afternoon deadline for referendum signatures to be turned in, he implied that they would be for Referendum 65, which asks voters whether they want to keep the anti-discrimination law passed this year by the Legislature. The law adds "sexual orientation" to a state law that bans discrimination in housing, employment, insurance and credit.

Nearly 112,500 valid voter signatures are needed to get a referendum on the ballot.

Instead, Eyman brought boxes of signed petitions for an another initiative he is sponsoring for $30 car tabs. The deadline for those signatures isn't until next month, and he wasn't turning any of the signatures in, just bringing them down, as the e-mail promised.

"Feel like you've been duped this morning?" Eyman's sidekick Mike Fagan asked. "Well you have."

Eyman, carrying a stack of Referendum 64 petitions, refused to say how many signatures he actually did have, saying he was awaiting a final batch from Spokane and that he would turn them all in at 4 p.m. Tuesday.

The past few weeks, some churches have been running "Referendum Sunday" in an effort to increase signatures, after Eyman sent out an e-mail in which he said he had received less than 10,000 signatures.

The law takes effect on Wednesday, unless enough valid signatures are turned in, in which case it will be frozen until the election.

It makes Washington the 17th state with laws protecting gays and lesbians, and the seventh to protect transgender people.
For Seattle Folks...

Snagged from bearsir.

Clearly Marked
written and performed by S. Bear Bergman

Sunday, 11 June
Jewel Box Theater at the Rendezvous.
$5-$15 sliding scale

Clearly Marked is a hilarious, high-impact, thought-provoking theater piece that peels back the layers of the labels we all wear and digs in to what's underneath. As Bergman's signature warm and accessible storytelling begins to unfold on the stage, lines between categories start to blur and old labels start to have new lives. Fearless as ever, with Clearly Marked Bergman grapples with religion, body image, gender, sexuality, and the perennial bathroom problem - not to mention life as the Little Jewish Ambassador, how gender is like a highway, being a fat kid, strategic lesbianism, gay marriage, and how to explain it all to your Aunt Petunia in a way that doesn't completely freak her out. No matter what label you wear when you arrive, Clearly Marked will send you home feeling both different from and connected to everyone around you - and you'll like the feeling.

Come, and bring your friends, and I promise we'll have you out by midnight!

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Another full day.
Three more films.
The space to relax and breathe.

Last night, after the last screening, I stopped by friends for margueritas, and then planned on heading home, but went for dinner instead. It made for a fun, and busy 12 hour day.

Yesterday, about an hour before heading to the first show, I received an email from Qnetter who said that he and his husband had purchased tickets for the same films and so they'd meet me at the theater. It was great seeing them and having their company for the afternoon.

This really is pure escapism for me. There hasn't been a free minute to really think about what I'm struggling with. Not since Friday afternoon anyway. I had met a friend for drinks. We hadn't spent time together in about a month and he wanted me to catch him up on my life. He began to encourage me to simply "jump". Just do it. I know the drill. I used to say the same to others all the time. But now, tears welled up and I said:

"You know me. You've mentioned I'm one of the biggest painpigs you know. I don't really shy away from it. You know that although things are difficult I've always worked through it. This time it's different. In addition to allowing myself all this newness, I'm struggling to not allow the guilt to build up because I can't just do it....not in the way I expect. That's not productive either."

I need to keep reminding myself that I am doing it. The steps may be slower but I am moving through. Some days I have the clarity to see to the other side, and other's only black. That is, until it dissipates and my vision returns.

Monday, I get back to work. Not only my day gig, but my inner stuff. Right now, I'm going to jump in the shower and get ready for the 11 am film and enjoy one more day of oblivion.

Friday, June 02, 2006

A tad obsessive?

After leaving work at noon....I ran to an appointment and from there, to the SIFF box office to purchase tickets.
I just added two more films to this weekend's lineup.

Tonight, I am going to see The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros.
"Philippines. A gay pre-teen in a Manila slum falls in love with the handsome cop next door, causing his family of petty criminals no small amount of grief. This dynamic debut transcends its indie budget with humor, gritty drama and charm."

And then on Sunday evening it's Five Days In September.
"An intimate, exciting look at the inner workings of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra as it launches a new season with charismatic maestro Peter Oundjiian. Director Barbara Willis Sweete captures soloists Yo-Yo Ma, Renee Fleming, Emanuel Ax, and the lively backstage lives of the orchestra's musicians and administrators."

Let's recap, shall we? One tonight, two tomorrow and three on Sunday.
I'll fit laundry in there somewhere.
From an email exchange with Bitterlawngnome... responding back to him, I began to more clearly pinpoint my struggle without getting lost in all the emotions.


"...Your email was unexpectedly perfect. And in an odd way, it is reassuring. You said something I had not yet considered, and does help. When I come out of this, allowing others their pain. It's strange, that part of me has been developing but I hadn't fully connected it to this journey. And maybe, if I'm worried about losing compassion, then it's a good sign I won't. Kinda like the "I'm going crazy" thought. My therapist keeps reminding me that if I am worried about going crazy, I am not going crazy.

Regarding my thoughts at the moment...
I am scared. Very scared. I know this process is taking me to a self that's always been tucked deep but has been covered up with old voices and bad habits. I really am afraid of my potential. It was shoved and squelched and I know what I tell my self I believe to make sense of all that's happened before. But, what if I really am intelligent and talented? What if I really am the painter that my therapist sees? Believe it or not, when he attempts to tell me, I literally put my hands to my ears and ask him to shut up. I can't yet hear what he really strength.

What am I feeling?
If I begin to admit and acknowledge who I really am, then I feel I am, in the same breath, saying that my parents were wrong. I'm not prepared to go there. But that is where I need to go. So much so, that yesterday afternoon, the shrink began to turn up the heat. The mild-mannered therapist morphed into the formidable Teacher and at this point is pushing me into a place where I have to face myself.

He's been telling me that we are called to leap at some point. It seems now is my time, because he sees that I've been clutching the edge for a while. And I agree. And yet...I've never in my life been more afraid to jump.

In jumping, I need to accept who I really am....admit that my parents couldn't handle the energy they saw in me and so needed to stifle it, and from there, I'll need to let go and forgive. I am also afraid that once I allow all this hatred and anger that has been building up to be directed where it really needs to...then I won't be able to forgive. I fear that I'll kill them with my anger. I don't want to do that. They didn't know any better.
They love me, and I, them.

Until I do painting pretty much remains frozen. I can feel it."


This is the essence of my fear:
"I am also afraid that once I allow all this hatred and anger that has been building up to be directed where it really needs to...then I won't be able to forgive. I fear that I'll kill them with my anger. I don't want to do that. They didn't know any better.
They love me, and I, them."

It's easy, well easier now than years past, for me to put my anger and hatred in words. It's easy for me to rant and direct it at every injustice I see in the world around me. It feels righteous. Aren't I the good little queer...?

Right now, that anger is contaminated. In a way, it is false.

As I'm working back through the years of my life, I need to place that anger where it originally came from...and trust, truly trust that I will not get lost in it, yet in doing so, it will wash through me and out.

Once I am honest with myself about the source of my anger and hatred, only then will that powerful energy be filtered in a cleaner, more productive way through the rest of my life.

Growing up isn't a lot of fun.
The weekend.
Want to see what drug I'm going to partake in to forget my life for a bit?


Egyptian - 1:30pm
Half Nelson (USA)- 106 minutes
(Yes, I know I'm cutting it close between this film and the Tony Kushner one but the theaters are next door)
An idealistic inner-city teacher attempts to reach out to his students while simultaneously—and none-too-successfully—battling his own inner demons. Ryan Gosling’s terrific central performance sparks this serious minded, light-fingered morality tale.

Broadway Performance Hall - 3:45pm
Wrestling With Angels: Playwright Tony Kushner (USA)
A truly great playwright and a courageous human being, Tony Kushner has given voice to a generation’s outrage against political and social injustices around the world. Freida Lee Mock’s hugely compelling portrait details every facet of Kushner’s career, and the personal history at work in the background.


Harvard Exit - 11 am
The Days (China)
Echoes of Antonioni grace this black-and-white mini-masterpiece, a chronicle of the last days of the deteriorating relationship of two struggling painters in post-Tiananmen Beijing.

Egyptian theater - 1:30 pm
The Line Of Beauty (UK)
Adapted from the Booker Prize-winning novel by Alan Hollinghurst, this richly textured gay coming-of-age story penetrates deep under the skin of ’80s Britain. Amidst the euphoria of first love, sex, champagne and high society parties, a young graduate witnesses political scandal, deception and hypocrisy when he moves in with a wealthy political family.

I'm very much looking forward to The see the filming. I love b&w films and don't take the time to see enough of them.

Also, I am buying tickets today. If anyone wants to join me for any of these, please comment or email me before 12:30 today and I can pick up your tix for you as well...

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Thought of the day...(or evening)

We like cell phones with cameras. The bunny just sent me the latest thought of the day, posted on the refrigerator of Hot Dish.

Just stuff~
Links...on hobbits and other goodies.

A big heartfelt thanks to those who replied via email or comments yesterday. Your thoughts and support mean a lot. And yes, I'm taking your words to heart. Thank you. Things are developing more intensely. When I'm ready...I'll write. All I can say is...this is hard.

Not to wallow too much...I need to pop out other stuff. Linkage.

Not gnomes, but has an article on the possible evidence of hobbits.

Now here is an open high school.

DC Comics is bringing Batwoman back as a lesbian.

A new website, Mapping Our Rights, that ranks states on sexual and reproductive rights. Yesterday, NGLTF sent out an email with the following:

"Mapping Our Rights: Navigating Discrimination Against Women, Men and Families ( ) was launched today at the Center for American Progress in Washington, D.C. The Web site is a unique collaboration between Ipas, an international reproductive health organization based in Chapel Hill, N.C.; the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force; and the SisterSong Women of Color Reproductive Health Collective.

Complete with state-by-state rankings, Mapping Our Rights is an ideal tool for monitoring state policies. A resource that will help activists, journalists and researchers, it's also for people who want to know how their state — or a state they may relocate to — governs their bodies and relationships."

And an article from this week's The Stranger: The Quiet Patron - The Most Amazing Art Space You Aren't Allowed Near Is Owned by the Federal Government and Patrolled by Homeland Security. If the opportunity presented itself, I don't believe I could do it. The idea very much creeps me out. Interesting article.