Very, Very Dirty pictures.
That is Mark Morford's column for today. Screw accepting the small amount of sanitized, homogenized, pasteurized imagery bestowed to us by BushCo of our war on terrorism. According to Morford, and I wholeheartedly agree:
"Maybe this should be the rule: If you can't handle seeing what really goes on in a war, maybe you don't deserve to support it. If you can't stomach the truths of what our soldiers are doing and how brutally and bloodily they're dying and in just what manner they have to kill those innocent Iraqi civilians in the name of BushCo's desperate lurch toward greed and power and Iraqi oil fields and empire, maybe you don't have the right to stick that little flag on your oil-sucking SUV. Clear enough?"
Now go check out his links.
Friday, December 03, 2004
Thursday, December 02, 2004
A day late.
Here is Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology.
Now in America Loves Kinky Sex, Mark Morford wrote:
"Some would say, finally, that the very fact that it's nearly 2005 and we still can't discuss the most basic human sexual mores and juicy behaviors in public -- much less teach them in schools -- without shockingly ignorant religious hand-wringing and neoconservative brow-beating is a true sign that we are laughably lost and divided and as morally misguided as ever. And it's only getting worse.
But look just beneath the headlines. Look behind the moral smoke screen. Progress we have. After all, would such groups be so openly terrified if they didn't feel deeply threatened by the cultural power of gays and sexually empowered women and healthy happy porn? Would they be so frantic if they didn't realize that the human animal is, by nature, deeply sexual and experimental and quite happily perverted and there's not a damn thing they can really do about it? You know the answer."
Here is Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology.
Now in America Loves Kinky Sex, Mark Morford wrote:
"Some would say, finally, that the very fact that it's nearly 2005 and we still can't discuss the most basic human sexual mores and juicy behaviors in public -- much less teach them in schools -- without shockingly ignorant religious hand-wringing and neoconservative brow-beating is a true sign that we are laughably lost and divided and as morally misguided as ever. And it's only getting worse.
But look just beneath the headlines. Look behind the moral smoke screen. Progress we have. After all, would such groups be so openly terrified if they didn't feel deeply threatened by the cultural power of gays and sexually empowered women and healthy happy porn? Would they be so frantic if they didn't realize that the human animal is, by nature, deeply sexual and experimental and quite happily perverted and there's not a damn thing they can really do about it? You know the answer."
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
America was changed when one person made a stand by choosing to not stand up. It was December 1, 1955 and her name was Rosa Parks.
This is the good news I mentioned on Monday.
From Aubrey Hart Sparks:
WE DID IT!
On the morning of Sunday, November 28th, we received a nice donation from the Pride Foundation website which pushed the total over the minimum amount needed to endow the scholarship. This means that the Tony DeBlase Scholarship project has reached the initial goal of $25,000. Congratulations everyone and thank you all for your support!
Since we had already scheduled a December event, there will still be a buzz cut, black boot, BBQ, and random raffle at The Eagle, Sunday, December 5th from 4 - 8 for a celebration. Even though the endowment goal is reached, people are still pledging and checks are still arriving. The Doomed Rabbit/Toys in Babeland project is still going on as well. Don't forget to pick up your cookbooks from the Seattle Toys In Babeland while they last. Anything we raise over $25,000 means that the students get a bigger check for their education.
This was a complex project with grassroots activism around sex education. Sex makes most people nervous. This has also created a public relationship between the Pride Foundation and the leather and alternative communities. I am proud that Pride continues to blur some traditional boundaries and yet still retain their ethics and vision - to acknowledge the equality of all people. As we have been building this trust, I hope that other people will follow beyond the current generation.
There will be a cake at the December event with one candle representing the born child that I may never meet. I hope you will come by for this celebration. A number of people have asked this question, and yes, we will also continue naming the wieners as they are put onto the hot grill.
The Pride Foundation scholarship cycle is currently underway. The deadline to apply for a scholarship is January 14, 2005. For scholarship information, including the Tony DeBlase Scholarship, please go to www.pridefoundation.org and click on: programs.
If you have any questions: http://www.leatherdaddy.com/scholarship. Donations can be sent directly to Pride Foundation, 1122 East Pike Street #1001, Seattle WA 98122-3934. Please make checks or money orders payable to The Pride Foundation and be sure to clearly indicate that your donation is for The Tony DeBlase scholarship. You can also make a gift by phone with your credit card. Simply call the Pride office at: 800-735-7287 or 206-323-3318 and ask for Marie Gagnon in Development. For more information about The Pride Foundation, visit the web site at http://www.pridefoundation.org.
From Aubrey Hart Sparks:
WE DID IT!
On the morning of Sunday, November 28th, we received a nice donation from the Pride Foundation website which pushed the total over the minimum amount needed to endow the scholarship. This means that the Tony DeBlase Scholarship project has reached the initial goal of $25,000. Congratulations everyone and thank you all for your support!
Since we had already scheduled a December event, there will still be a buzz cut, black boot, BBQ, and random raffle at The Eagle, Sunday, December 5th from 4 - 8 for a celebration. Even though the endowment goal is reached, people are still pledging and checks are still arriving. The Doomed Rabbit/Toys in Babeland project is still going on as well. Don't forget to pick up your cookbooks from the Seattle Toys In Babeland while they last. Anything we raise over $25,000 means that the students get a bigger check for their education.
This was a complex project with grassroots activism around sex education. Sex makes most people nervous. This has also created a public relationship between the Pride Foundation and the leather and alternative communities. I am proud that Pride continues to blur some traditional boundaries and yet still retain their ethics and vision - to acknowledge the equality of all people. As we have been building this trust, I hope that other people will follow beyond the current generation.
There will be a cake at the December event with one candle representing the born child that I may never meet. I hope you will come by for this celebration. A number of people have asked this question, and yes, we will also continue naming the wieners as they are put onto the hot grill.
The Pride Foundation scholarship cycle is currently underway. The deadline to apply for a scholarship is January 14, 2005. For scholarship information, including the Tony DeBlase Scholarship, please go to www.pridefoundation.org and click on: programs.
If you have any questions: http://www.leatherdaddy.com/scholarship. Donations can be sent directly to Pride Foundation, 1122 East Pike Street #1001, Seattle WA 98122-3934. Please make checks or money orders payable to The Pride Foundation and be sure to clearly indicate that your donation is for The Tony DeBlase scholarship. You can also make a gift by phone with your credit card. Simply call the Pride office at: 800-735-7287 or 206-323-3318 and ask for Marie Gagnon in Development. For more information about The Pride Foundation, visit the web site at http://www.pridefoundation.org.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
You're supposed to go when you are supposed to go.
Thanks to Uppity Faggot for this story from Kent, WA:
---
Kent man killed by exploding lava lamp
THE NEWS TRIBUNE
Last updated: November 30th, 2004 02:35 AM (PST)
A Kent man died Sunday after being hit by part of an exploding lava lamp, police reported Monday.
Phillip Quinn, 24, was killed by a shard of glass that pierced his chest, according to the King County Medical Examiner’s Office.
Quinn’s parents found him dead in his home in Kent about 8 p.m., police spokesman Paul Petersen said. They went to the residence after their son’s girlfriend called to say she couldn’t reach Quinn by telephone.
Detectives were called to the house to investigate, Petersen said.
They found remnants of a lava lamp in the kitchen. It appeared Quinn had put the lamp on the stove top to heat it up, Petersen said. The fluid inside the lamp exploded, throwing shards of glass throughout the kitchen, he said. Several shards hit Quinn, including the large piece of glass that struck his chest.
The Medical Examiner’s Office ruled the death an accident.
Thanks to Uppity Faggot for this story from Kent, WA:
---
Kent man killed by exploding lava lamp
THE NEWS TRIBUNE
Last updated: November 30th, 2004 02:35 AM (PST)
A Kent man died Sunday after being hit by part of an exploding lava lamp, police reported Monday.
Phillip Quinn, 24, was killed by a shard of glass that pierced his chest, according to the King County Medical Examiner’s Office.
Quinn’s parents found him dead in his home in Kent about 8 p.m., police spokesman Paul Petersen said. They went to the residence after their son’s girlfriend called to say she couldn’t reach Quinn by telephone.
Detectives were called to the house to investigate, Petersen said.
They found remnants of a lava lamp in the kitchen. It appeared Quinn had put the lamp on the stove top to heat it up, Petersen said. The fluid inside the lamp exploded, throwing shards of glass throughout the kitchen, he said. Several shards hit Quinn, including the large piece of glass that struck his chest.
The Medical Examiner’s Office ruled the death an accident.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Another thing...
...The U.S. Supreme court declined to hear the case challenging Massachusetts' same sex marriage law.
Read more about it here.
...The U.S. Supreme court declined to hear the case challenging Massachusetts' same sex marriage law.
Read more about it here.
a few things...
...I received a call from the doctor's office this morning. My appointment is tomorrow morning at 11 am. I'm a tad nervous, but not too. Not sure if I'm really letting it all go until I know more, or if I'm in some type of denial. But I guess that doesn't really matter, eh? The pain has lessened tremendously. Last night I was able to sleep on my left side, have the mattress touch my nipple and there wasn't major discomfort. Maybe it was just some weirdness that will result in nothing.
I do have some really good news but will hold off on sharing until I hear something from a certain someone. Yes, I can be a tease.
Nope, my image didn't make it into sorry everybody.com. Guess it was too political. Although the site alone is a powerful political statement.
Yesterday morning I happened to catch NOW with Bill Moyers on PBS. It was a piece with Judy Collins. Fascinating. She spoke about how we can't get rid of life pain. It's just there. She went on to say something to the effect that she believes healing happens when we can balance pain and joy. Hold them together in your hands...side by side. Makes perfect sense to me.
My coworker just walked past my office and I asked him to pop in because I had to check out his boots. They are brand new Frye's he picked up this weekend.
I purchased my first pair of serious boots when I was 17 years old. It was summer. I was on vacation with my family, touring the country. We ended up in Wyoming or Colorado where I fell in love with a tall shafted pair of Frye's. They were over $100. This was 1977. They became mine. I loved those boots.
Lunch is over and I'm headed back to work. See ya!
...I received a call from the doctor's office this morning. My appointment is tomorrow morning at 11 am. I'm a tad nervous, but not too. Not sure if I'm really letting it all go until I know more, or if I'm in some type of denial. But I guess that doesn't really matter, eh? The pain has lessened tremendously. Last night I was able to sleep on my left side, have the mattress touch my nipple and there wasn't major discomfort. Maybe it was just some weirdness that will result in nothing.
I do have some really good news but will hold off on sharing until I hear something from a certain someone. Yes, I can be a tease.
Nope, my image didn't make it into sorry everybody.com. Guess it was too political. Although the site alone is a powerful political statement.
Yesterday morning I happened to catch NOW with Bill Moyers on PBS. It was a piece with Judy Collins. Fascinating. She spoke about how we can't get rid of life pain. It's just there. She went on to say something to the effect that she believes healing happens when we can balance pain and joy. Hold them together in your hands...side by side. Makes perfect sense to me.
My coworker just walked past my office and I asked him to pop in because I had to check out his boots. They are brand new Frye's he picked up this weekend.
I purchased my first pair of serious boots when I was 17 years old. It was summer. I was on vacation with my family, touring the country. We ended up in Wyoming or Colorado where I fell in love with a tall shafted pair of Frye's. They were over $100. This was 1977. They became mine. I loved those boots.
Lunch is over and I'm headed back to work. See ya!
Let go.
To everything there is a season. And I'm not good at accepting that. In training, Sir told me over and over about seasons. He'd say "look at a garden. It needs the winter as much as summer. Let yourself be where you're at."
The shrink has said "this is the current chapter in your book."
I've been saying, "I miss playing. I miss painting. I miss the energetic me."
They all say "relax." And although I say "yes", I've been living "no."
It's time to let go. I need to rest and not beat up on myself for not being in a place other than here.
This is where I'm at. It's time to accept it.
I'll allow my painting ideas to percolate. I'll trust that images are getting filed somewhere in my head. Last night, at Septieme, I sat in the furthest booth in the back. They've decorated for Christmas. The new owner placed garland and a tree in the nonsmoking room. It doesn't go with the feel of the Cafe. With it's beat up dark red walls, and dark red booths...the large bulb colored lights strung in the bar are what the restaurant is crying for...throughout. Last week I thought about those lights, because that's what they've used each year. This year there are changes. In spite of this, I was sitting in the back, and looked. And looked some more. Each table had a little white candle. The strung up silver garland is tangled with little blue lights. The large overhead lights are ochre colored dishes. There was a rectangular patch of reflected light hitting the red wall. It was coming in from outside. And it was almost a screaming magenta. Not really, but I would have pushed the color and painted it that way.
Sitting in the back of the restaurant, I saw my painting - "Christmas at Septieme". It was about shapes, organic and mechanical. It was about colors that clash. It was about atmospheres that don't sit well together. And yet...yet...it all fit. I want to do that painting.
There is a competition this spring. It's a self portraiture competition at the Seattle Academy of Fine Arts for former and current students. I want to enter a piece. It's the one in my head. This painting isn't fully formulated, but the feeling of the piece is there. It excites me.
I have other portraits to finish including the special portrait series I began a couple years ago. There's a half finished still life calling my name, as well as two dungeon paintings. Looking out my window is a world unto itself. I ache to chomp into an architectural landscape.
Instead, I'll relish and savor the ideas and the images. I'll tuck them away and trust that they'll come in time. And I'll focus on healing.
To everything there is a season. And I'm not good at accepting that. In training, Sir told me over and over about seasons. He'd say "look at a garden. It needs the winter as much as summer. Let yourself be where you're at."
The shrink has said "this is the current chapter in your book."
I've been saying, "I miss playing. I miss painting. I miss the energetic me."
They all say "relax." And although I say "yes", I've been living "no."
It's time to let go. I need to rest and not beat up on myself for not being in a place other than here.
This is where I'm at. It's time to accept it.
I'll allow my painting ideas to percolate. I'll trust that images are getting filed somewhere in my head. Last night, at Septieme, I sat in the furthest booth in the back. They've decorated for Christmas. The new owner placed garland and a tree in the nonsmoking room. It doesn't go with the feel of the Cafe. With it's beat up dark red walls, and dark red booths...the large bulb colored lights strung in the bar are what the restaurant is crying for...throughout. Last week I thought about those lights, because that's what they've used each year. This year there are changes. In spite of this, I was sitting in the back, and looked. And looked some more. Each table had a little white candle. The strung up silver garland is tangled with little blue lights. The large overhead lights are ochre colored dishes. There was a rectangular patch of reflected light hitting the red wall. It was coming in from outside. And it was almost a screaming magenta. Not really, but I would have pushed the color and painted it that way.
Sitting in the back of the restaurant, I saw my painting - "Christmas at Septieme". It was about shapes, organic and mechanical. It was about colors that clash. It was about atmospheres that don't sit well together. And yet...yet...it all fit. I want to do that painting.
There is a competition this spring. It's a self portraiture competition at the Seattle Academy of Fine Arts for former and current students. I want to enter a piece. It's the one in my head. This painting isn't fully formulated, but the feeling of the piece is there. It excites me.
I have other portraits to finish including the special portrait series I began a couple years ago. There's a half finished still life calling my name, as well as two dungeon paintings. Looking out my window is a world unto itself. I ache to chomp into an architectural landscape.
Instead, I'll relish and savor the ideas and the images. I'll tuck them away and trust that they'll come in time. And I'll focus on healing.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Hey there.
I've been craving a quiet evening alone at Cafe Septieme's, and so I grabbed it tonight. I've never been one of those people who felt they had to be out because it's a Saturday night. Instead, I go with my mood.
How about lots of little snippets? I think I can muster something up.
Thanksgiving was great. A good evening of friends and food at Chez Hoss. He's a wonderful host. The pie to person ratio was 1:2. :-)
I was gifted with a couple great sweaters by Hoss' boy. One of them belonged to his former partner. This was the last article of clothing, other than a pair of Dehner's, belonging to D's former partner, now deceased. I was honored to receive the sweater.
Somehow I have become the giftee of a few items, from different men, belonging to their loves, all now passed away. Beautiful boy gave me his partner's silverware, in an awesome wooden case. Sir has given me a few items as well, including the art supplies his boy used to make the powerful drawings I wrote about here. I carry portions of their history with me. Love, pain, life and death.
------
Yesterday wonderboy and I went for a long walk, all over town. We popped into a couple art stores just to look. Normally my heart quickens and my craving comes up. That happened again. But with it came a sadness. It's a faraway feeling, because my painting is so distant. I'm the one who has moved away from it. I know this. I can't touch my painting at this time.
The more I'm hitting old stuff, the harder it's been to paint. I have ideas. Loads of ideas and images in my head. And yet, when I stand near my easel, my feet are in concrete. I can't move them forward. I'm being good about not overworking, saving my strength to paint. I'll even make plans to do it. And nothing happens. I just can't get there.
What's odd about this is the fact that I'm hungry to paint. Normally, when I get this way, I'll dive in. The hunger feels all consuming and I'll stop whatever else I'm doing to go paint. Now...I can't. I'm hungry and I'm starving myself.
I spoke with the shrink about it earlier this week.
me: I can't paint. I crave it and can't do it. That's a first.
shrink: So let's talk about that.
me: Didn't you hear me? I just did.
shrink: Do you know why you can't?
me: If I did, I'd let you know, wouldn't I? I don't know why.
I can feel him keeping his patience. This is how I've been with the shrink in the last month. Testy. Short.
shrink: Would you like me to tell you why?
me: Wait a moment. First I have a question. Is this going to be just an opinion, or something relayed to me as fact?
Because I need to know now whether or not I ought to jump all over you if I don't like the answer.
shrink: (looks at me)
me: If it's just your opinion, I'll allow you that...even if I disagree. But if you spout it off as fact and I disagree, I'll come down on you.
shrink: (smiles) it's just a guess.
me: okay. (settling back on the couch). Shoot.
shrink: I think you can't paint because you don't feel worthy enough to paint.
(silence)
me: wow.
(more silence)
me: (a deep breath) I'll buy that.
The music comes on and our time ends.
me: I know we are done for today but could you answer one more question?
shrink: Yes.
me: if that's true, then why could I spend 3 years immersing myself in painting and drawing? Why could I do it other times, when I hungered for it?
shrink: because you hadn't tapped into the old sores at the time. Now, not only have you touched them, but they are oozing pus.
Intense, eh? I don't feel I'm worthy of painting. One huge passion, and I can't do it.
Later this week I told the shrink that I was allowing that truth to settle in slowly. Yes, I know it's true. I can feel it.
I relayed: Imagine a large white coffee filter over my head. What you said about my not being worthy is sitting in there. All of it. I've noticed that it's slowly dripping in. I can only take it a little at a time.
And it's true. A drop here and a drop there. But each drop touches my heart.
I wanted to cry when I walked into Utrecht's yesterday. It was me and yet...not now. I guess I'll reclaim my painting as I continue to reclaim myself. Makes sense.
---------------
Hair. Sexism.
I think of Clarkelane's entries about his hair and it sparks memories.
Some of you know my hair was down to the middle of my back. Thick and dark. And now it's buzzed. It's been buzzed for over a year now. I wrote about how free I felt. Free from the leers of het men who believed that women should look a certain way. Suddenly I was invisible to those men. Hugely liberating.
But you know, sexism is insidious. Just last week I was speaking with another boy. I mentioned that although buzzing my hair wasn't a conscious political choice, shaving it would be. He said "if you shave your head I want to see you in eye makeup and lipstick, just once." I looked at him. "Would you have asked a man the same question?"
I don't believe he would have.
Walking down the street with another boy. We walked past a store with some dresses. He said, "I'd love to see you in that dress."
"I'd love to see you in that dress as well" I responded. I think he got it.
Whether or not I choose to drag myself out is contingent upon my mood. It's not up to what others think I ought to look like. God that pisses me off.
More sexism.
I went to see Kinsey again this afternoon with Auxugen. Yeah, come next Wednesday it'll make three times I see the movie. But I catch something new each time.
When Kinsey published his findings on male sexuality, there was much upheaval. But, when he published his book on women and sex...it was a different kind of uproar. Hugely sexist. All of a sudden the social idea of woman as pure and madonna-like went out the window. Men freaked out.
Well they can fucking deal.
I hate sexism.
Another example of sexism.
About 3-5 years ago, when I was first getting to know many of the men in my life, we had a conversation about ass play. I mentioned how I loved butt play. Getting my ass fucked and fisted is hotter for me than having my cunt filled. The orgasms are stronger. More potent.
I'll never forget sitting around the table with a couple of these guys. Their expressions relayed shock. They sputtered something about how women didn't seem to like ass play. Inside, I roared.
I know they love me and it was an innocent mistake. But again it showed me how subtle sexism is.
--------
Well, I think that's it for now. One of my favorite waiters just brought a new candle to my table and some chocolate mousse. Talk with you later.
I've been craving a quiet evening alone at Cafe Septieme's, and so I grabbed it tonight. I've never been one of those people who felt they had to be out because it's a Saturday night. Instead, I go with my mood.
How about lots of little snippets? I think I can muster something up.
Thanksgiving was great. A good evening of friends and food at Chez Hoss. He's a wonderful host. The pie to person ratio was 1:2. :-)
I was gifted with a couple great sweaters by Hoss' boy. One of them belonged to his former partner. This was the last article of clothing, other than a pair of Dehner's, belonging to D's former partner, now deceased. I was honored to receive the sweater.
Somehow I have become the giftee of a few items, from different men, belonging to their loves, all now passed away. Beautiful boy gave me his partner's silverware, in an awesome wooden case. Sir has given me a few items as well, including the art supplies his boy used to make the powerful drawings I wrote about here. I carry portions of their history with me. Love, pain, life and death.
------
Yesterday wonderboy and I went for a long walk, all over town. We popped into a couple art stores just to look. Normally my heart quickens and my craving comes up. That happened again. But with it came a sadness. It's a faraway feeling, because my painting is so distant. I'm the one who has moved away from it. I know this. I can't touch my painting at this time.
The more I'm hitting old stuff, the harder it's been to paint. I have ideas. Loads of ideas and images in my head. And yet, when I stand near my easel, my feet are in concrete. I can't move them forward. I'm being good about not overworking, saving my strength to paint. I'll even make plans to do it. And nothing happens. I just can't get there.
What's odd about this is the fact that I'm hungry to paint. Normally, when I get this way, I'll dive in. The hunger feels all consuming and I'll stop whatever else I'm doing to go paint. Now...I can't. I'm hungry and I'm starving myself.
I spoke with the shrink about it earlier this week.
me: I can't paint. I crave it and can't do it. That's a first.
shrink: So let's talk about that.
me: Didn't you hear me? I just did.
shrink: Do you know why you can't?
me: If I did, I'd let you know, wouldn't I? I don't know why.
I can feel him keeping his patience. This is how I've been with the shrink in the last month. Testy. Short.
shrink: Would you like me to tell you why?
me: Wait a moment. First I have a question. Is this going to be just an opinion, or something relayed to me as fact?
Because I need to know now whether or not I ought to jump all over you if I don't like the answer.
shrink: (looks at me)
me: If it's just your opinion, I'll allow you that...even if I disagree. But if you spout it off as fact and I disagree, I'll come down on you.
shrink: (smiles) it's just a guess.
me: okay. (settling back on the couch). Shoot.
shrink: I think you can't paint because you don't feel worthy enough to paint.
(silence)
me: wow.
(more silence)
me: (a deep breath) I'll buy that.
The music comes on and our time ends.
me: I know we are done for today but could you answer one more question?
shrink: Yes.
me: if that's true, then why could I spend 3 years immersing myself in painting and drawing? Why could I do it other times, when I hungered for it?
shrink: because you hadn't tapped into the old sores at the time. Now, not only have you touched them, but they are oozing pus.
Intense, eh? I don't feel I'm worthy of painting. One huge passion, and I can't do it.
Later this week I told the shrink that I was allowing that truth to settle in slowly. Yes, I know it's true. I can feel it.
I relayed: Imagine a large white coffee filter over my head. What you said about my not being worthy is sitting in there. All of it. I've noticed that it's slowly dripping in. I can only take it a little at a time.
And it's true. A drop here and a drop there. But each drop touches my heart.
I wanted to cry when I walked into Utrecht's yesterday. It was me and yet...not now. I guess I'll reclaim my painting as I continue to reclaim myself. Makes sense.
---------------
Hair. Sexism.
I think of Clarkelane's entries about his hair and it sparks memories.
Some of you know my hair was down to the middle of my back. Thick and dark. And now it's buzzed. It's been buzzed for over a year now. I wrote about how free I felt. Free from the leers of het men who believed that women should look a certain way. Suddenly I was invisible to those men. Hugely liberating.
But you know, sexism is insidious. Just last week I was speaking with another boy. I mentioned that although buzzing my hair wasn't a conscious political choice, shaving it would be. He said "if you shave your head I want to see you in eye makeup and lipstick, just once." I looked at him. "Would you have asked a man the same question?"
I don't believe he would have.
Walking down the street with another boy. We walked past a store with some dresses. He said, "I'd love to see you in that dress."
"I'd love to see you in that dress as well" I responded. I think he got it.
Whether or not I choose to drag myself out is contingent upon my mood. It's not up to what others think I ought to look like. God that pisses me off.
More sexism.
I went to see Kinsey again this afternoon with Auxugen. Yeah, come next Wednesday it'll make three times I see the movie. But I catch something new each time.
When Kinsey published his findings on male sexuality, there was much upheaval. But, when he published his book on women and sex...it was a different kind of uproar. Hugely sexist. All of a sudden the social idea of woman as pure and madonna-like went out the window. Men freaked out.
Well they can fucking deal.
I hate sexism.
Another example of sexism.
About 3-5 years ago, when I was first getting to know many of the men in my life, we had a conversation about ass play. I mentioned how I loved butt play. Getting my ass fucked and fisted is hotter for me than having my cunt filled. The orgasms are stronger. More potent.
I'll never forget sitting around the table with a couple of these guys. Their expressions relayed shock. They sputtered something about how women didn't seem to like ass play. Inside, I roared.
I know they love me and it was an innocent mistake. But again it showed me how subtle sexism is.
--------
Well, I think that's it for now. One of my favorite waiters just brought a new candle to my table and some chocolate mousse. Talk with you later.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
I feel weird listing reasons why I'm thankful simply because this is a day people traditionally set aside to do so. I'm aware each day of something that comes up which makes me feel grateful and acknowledge that either within or externally. But I haven't been posting those moments in the way I used to. It's because I've been so involved with my therapy. So...that being that, I might as well take the time now.
I'm thankful for:
The little grey squirrel I saw yesterday while driving. What captivated me about this little guy is that he was happily eating a nut in the middle of the road and I'm the one who had to go around him. It's the first time a squirrel didn't scurry when a car approached. I loved the way he claimed his space and was thoroughly enjoying his food.
My job. As difficult as it gets sometimes, I'm still surprised at what 10 staff members and over 200 volunteers can do. It is an honor to be engaged with these people and assist with touching lives.
My chosen family. In spite of what I wrote the other day, I'm acutely mindful of the people in my life who love and support me even in the midst of the loneliness. It is through their eyes I am seeing a new person. Slowly the image I have of myself, created by my upbringing, is dissipating. And one day, I know I'll be able to feel who I actually am instead of just seeing it through the eyes of these amazing men. Thank you...each of you. I love you. And Hoss...thanks again for your email. It made me cry.
My shrink. I've really been giving him a hard time these last four weeks. Yeah, it means I'm getting closer to something, and through it all, he's remained steadfast.
The apartment kitten who lives outside. Cleo gets fed everyday. She doesn't want to come in. But she runs up for lots of loving as I approach. I'll sit on the stoop and pet and touch. And she walks me out to my car. :-)
All the bloggers I've met, either by reading, emailing or meeting in real time. This medium is a rich source of food and makes the world a smaller place.
My health. Although I woke at 3:30 this morning with a very painful nipple. I couldn't let the blankets lay on my left tit. Still can't touch it without shooting pain. I'm not sure what that's about. It's only the nipple. Yes, I'll call the doctor tomorrow if it continues.
My doctor. She's amazing. Sensitive and brilliant. I love the time she takes with me, whether it's for something physical or senses I need to talk.
Sex. I'm continually delighted, aghast and agog at how big sex is...how it takes on many forms. Its multifacetedness. It's our breath, our senses, our souls. The more we open to ourselves and the world, the more ways we discover we can cum. The more we discover, the more we find sex in the nontraditional. So totally sweet.
I could go on and on. Even in whatever appears to be a negative, I can see the other side. So there are always blessings to be found. Loads and loads of stuff. But now it's time to get ready before heading to dinner with a good table of friends.
I'm thankful for:
The little grey squirrel I saw yesterday while driving. What captivated me about this little guy is that he was happily eating a nut in the middle of the road and I'm the one who had to go around him. It's the first time a squirrel didn't scurry when a car approached. I loved the way he claimed his space and was thoroughly enjoying his food.
My job. As difficult as it gets sometimes, I'm still surprised at what 10 staff members and over 200 volunteers can do. It is an honor to be engaged with these people and assist with touching lives.
My chosen family. In spite of what I wrote the other day, I'm acutely mindful of the people in my life who love and support me even in the midst of the loneliness. It is through their eyes I am seeing a new person. Slowly the image I have of myself, created by my upbringing, is dissipating. And one day, I know I'll be able to feel who I actually am instead of just seeing it through the eyes of these amazing men. Thank you...each of you. I love you. And Hoss...thanks again for your email. It made me cry.
My shrink. I've really been giving him a hard time these last four weeks. Yeah, it means I'm getting closer to something, and through it all, he's remained steadfast.
The apartment kitten who lives outside. Cleo gets fed everyday. She doesn't want to come in. But she runs up for lots of loving as I approach. I'll sit on the stoop and pet and touch. And she walks me out to my car. :-)
All the bloggers I've met, either by reading, emailing or meeting in real time. This medium is a rich source of food and makes the world a smaller place.
My health. Although I woke at 3:30 this morning with a very painful nipple. I couldn't let the blankets lay on my left tit. Still can't touch it without shooting pain. I'm not sure what that's about. It's only the nipple. Yes, I'll call the doctor tomorrow if it continues.
My doctor. She's amazing. Sensitive and brilliant. I love the time she takes with me, whether it's for something physical or senses I need to talk.
Sex. I'm continually delighted, aghast and agog at how big sex is...how it takes on many forms. Its multifacetedness. It's our breath, our senses, our souls. The more we open to ourselves and the world, the more ways we discover we can cum. The more we discover, the more we find sex in the nontraditional. So totally sweet.
I could go on and on. Even in whatever appears to be a negative, I can see the other side. So there are always blessings to be found. Loads and loads of stuff. But now it's time to get ready before heading to dinner with a good table of friends.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Every vote counts.
For those of you who don't know -
The WA. state governor's race has been a long haul. Last week we finally found out that Dino Rossi won over Christine Gregoire by 261 votes. They just finished the first recount today at noon. With the new numbers, which include the discovery of misplaced ballots (how scary is that???), Rossi now is the winner by only 42 votes. Now comes the hand count.
Although I am so not thrilled about having Rossi for governor, I feel Gregoire deserves losing. A few coworkers attended a Lambda Legal event a while back. Gregoire made an appearance and, to a room filled with queers, stated something to the effect of - yes I believe that gays should have SOME rights. Talk about a sure fire way to toss votes over to the libertarian openly gay candidate in what we knew would be a close race between Gregoire and Rossi.
For those of you who don't know -
The WA. state governor's race has been a long haul. Last week we finally found out that Dino Rossi won over Christine Gregoire by 261 votes. They just finished the first recount today at noon. With the new numbers, which include the discovery of misplaced ballots (how scary is that???), Rossi now is the winner by only 42 votes. Now comes the hand count.
Although I am so not thrilled about having Rossi for governor, I feel Gregoire deserves losing. A few coworkers attended a Lambda Legal event a while back. Gregoire made an appearance and, to a room filled with queers, stated something to the effect of - yes I believe that gays should have SOME rights. Talk about a sure fire way to toss votes over to the libertarian openly gay candidate in what we knew would be a close race between Gregoire and Rossi.
Last night I went to the movies again. I had received free passes for an early screening of Franco Zeffirelli's Callas Forever. So I grabbed Auxugen and jumped on it. The film opens this Friday at the Harvard Exit. It ran during Seattle's Gay and Lesbian film festival but I missed the opportunity to view it then. Here is the Seattle Weekly's take on the film.
It was lush. It was dramatic. Fanny Ardant does a sumptuous job as Maria Callas. Jeremy Irons is quite tasty as well. In addition to sitting back, enjoying the story and the music, it leaves a powerful message about the integrity of the artist.
I want to see this movie again.
Speaking of seeing movies again, I mentioned to my coworkers that the whole staff needed to see Kinsey. So I played mom and organized one of our impromptu mini field trips. Surprisingly, it wasn't too difficult this time to coordinate with everyones complex schedules. And the timing is perfect. Next Wednesday, December 1st, our staff will see the matinee show of Kinsey. World AIDS Day.
It's perfect.
It was lush. It was dramatic. Fanny Ardant does a sumptuous job as Maria Callas. Jeremy Irons is quite tasty as well. In addition to sitting back, enjoying the story and the music, it leaves a powerful message about the integrity of the artist.
I want to see this movie again.
Speaking of seeing movies again, I mentioned to my coworkers that the whole staff needed to see Kinsey. So I played mom and organized one of our impromptu mini field trips. Surprisingly, it wasn't too difficult this time to coordinate with everyones complex schedules. And the timing is perfect. Next Wednesday, December 1st, our staff will see the matinee show of Kinsey. World AIDS Day.
It's perfect.
"And for the existence of those devices, well, we make some sort of deal with the devil. We know they're toxic and hurtful and will last 5 million years in a landfill, but we make the trade-off, claiming the value they add is worth the effort and if we're careful and maybe just a little more conscious maybe we can minimize the damage and the karmic toll..."
Those devices are the topic of Mark Morford's latest column.
And Rob Brezsny's latest Freewill Astrology is here.
Those devices are the topic of Mark Morford's latest column.
And Rob Brezsny's latest Freewill Astrology is here.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Why don't we allow ourselves and others to be the total absolute freaks we each are?
I'm not talking about being freaky as in a group of like freaks where there is safety in numbers. I mean each one of us, standing alone, individual, unique and gorgeous. Ultimately, totally freaky, risking that others may not understand you and yet carrying the compassion to allow everyone to be who they are, especially when it doesn't fit within our own paradigm.
Angry? You bet I'm angry.
I've been a boiling pot of anger for over a month now.
Hatred? Yes...loads of it. But I know the hate I feel is only a coverup for the excrutiating loneliness inside. You see, if I hate, then I can't feel the hurt from spending my life being questioned and put down.
I really haven't been able to write about all this until now. And even now, I'm not sure how much I'll write.
What I'm slowly learning is how deep and long the loneliness is. I am getting an idea of how I was born a mouthy, opinionated being who essentially had to question everything, which in turn led to much discomfort in those who are trying to parent and guide you. I mean, how can you keep order in a large family when the oldest is an anarchist? And a stubborn one at that? Defiantly going against the tide because, well, I honestly don't understand most of how life works and why people think it should all be the way it is.
One of my strongest memories while growing up is the loud voice inside me screaming, even as a child, "if god gave us our minds, our intellects, our hearts, why aren't we allowed to use them?" "Why is questioning so wrong?" "Where is the compassion in heaven and hell?"
I remember becoming so frustrated and disheartened. I remember continually doubting myself simply because I couldn't move with the pack. I still struggle with intense self doubt. I remember being punished because over and over I would make the choice to follow my heart instead of a tradition set down in concrete.
And what especially hurts and saddens me is that it doesn't matter where we find ourselves. What group. We could be in a band of sexual outlaws and yet we still hear the "you should..." Sigh.
I am so fucking tired of "You Should".
Now you may wonder why I hate being questioned and in addition hate the silencing of my own questioning.
Two different things. Two different contexts.
I believe that questioning in the general sense is critical to our evolution. What is detrimental is when an individual is being questioned in such a way to continually have to defend themselves. It's a questioning that isn't really about seeking answers yet more about dismantling the individual.
Questions can either open doors or slam them shut.
I'm not talking about being freaky as in a group of like freaks where there is safety in numbers. I mean each one of us, standing alone, individual, unique and gorgeous. Ultimately, totally freaky, risking that others may not understand you and yet carrying the compassion to allow everyone to be who they are, especially when it doesn't fit within our own paradigm.
Angry? You bet I'm angry.
I've been a boiling pot of anger for over a month now.
Hatred? Yes...loads of it. But I know the hate I feel is only a coverup for the excrutiating loneliness inside. You see, if I hate, then I can't feel the hurt from spending my life being questioned and put down.
I really haven't been able to write about all this until now. And even now, I'm not sure how much I'll write.
What I'm slowly learning is how deep and long the loneliness is. I am getting an idea of how I was born a mouthy, opinionated being who essentially had to question everything, which in turn led to much discomfort in those who are trying to parent and guide you. I mean, how can you keep order in a large family when the oldest is an anarchist? And a stubborn one at that? Defiantly going against the tide because, well, I honestly don't understand most of how life works and why people think it should all be the way it is.
One of my strongest memories while growing up is the loud voice inside me screaming, even as a child, "if god gave us our minds, our intellects, our hearts, why aren't we allowed to use them?" "Why is questioning so wrong?" "Where is the compassion in heaven and hell?"
I remember becoming so frustrated and disheartened. I remember continually doubting myself simply because I couldn't move with the pack. I still struggle with intense self doubt. I remember being punished because over and over I would make the choice to follow my heart instead of a tradition set down in concrete.
And what especially hurts and saddens me is that it doesn't matter where we find ourselves. What group. We could be in a band of sexual outlaws and yet we still hear the "you should..." Sigh.
I am so fucking tired of "You Should".
Now you may wonder why I hate being questioned and in addition hate the silencing of my own questioning.
Two different things. Two different contexts.
I believe that questioning in the general sense is critical to our evolution. What is detrimental is when an individual is being questioned in such a way to continually have to defend themselves. It's a questioning that isn't really about seeking answers yet more about dismantling the individual.
Questions can either open doors or slam them shut.
Shit.
Peter from Diary of a Slut kindly informed me that my last post was in fact an urban legend. Sigh...I hate it when I do that. And I try not to do it too often.
Thing is, honestly, considering the climate...I gleefully went where my head wanted to. I'm in an "I hate people because they are all assholes" phase and so I'll grab any little tidbit to substantiate my mood. Sorry folks...
Here's the link to the legend.
Thanks Peter.
Peter from Diary of a Slut kindly informed me that my last post was in fact an urban legend. Sigh...I hate it when I do that. And I try not to do it too often.
Thing is, honestly, considering the climate...I gleefully went where my head wanted to. I'm in an "I hate people because they are all assholes" phase and so I'll grab any little tidbit to substantiate my mood. Sorry folks...
Here's the link to the legend.
Thanks Peter.
Monday, November 22, 2004
How ridiculous can people get???
Congressman of 8th district in Indiana is campaigning to change the name of Interstate 69.
Congressman of 8th district in Indiana is campaigning to change the name of Interstate 69.
Wow. I was just informed that it seems one of my readers from the southeastern part of the country donated $240.00 for the Tony DeBlase Scholarship!!!!
We now only have $1100.00 left to raise.
Thank you so much...!!!
We now only have $1100.00 left to raise.
Thank you so much...!!!
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