Yesterday I remembered a particular entry I wrote and realized it was even more relevant one year later after I first wrote it.
Instead of only linking, I've copied the full entry here.
-------
From August 31, 2004 - girlfag
"The radical collapse of all distinction between church and state and the promotion of an angry "Christianity" as the USA's official state religion have grown increasingly apparent as the Bush regime has turned more grandiose and reckless after 9/11. That revolutionary program has gradually come into view despite the press's failure to expose it, and despite the random efforts of the White House to conceal it ("Well, I – first of all, I would never justify – I would never use God to promote policy decisions," Bush said, without conviction, to Brit Hume in an interview on September 22, 2003). A cursory survey of Bush/Cheney's foreign and domestic innovations will make clear that from the start, this regime has been hard at work transforming the United States into a theocratic system, and, globally, at the gradual creation of a nominally Christian New World Order."
- Mark Crispin Miller
(excerpt from Cruel and Unusual: Bush and Cheney's New World Order)
I was just thinking about what I tuned into last night at the RNC and this quote fits the bill.
Turning to PBS I caught the beginnings of an 'entertainment' portion. A choir went through a medley of the themes from the 4 branches of the military. There's a NYC backdrop on the stage with the altered cityscape. During the musical piece there were flashes of military propaganda. It was a moment to strongly capture our so-called patriotism, American pride and to stir full emotions. The choir singing was the 'Christ Tabernacle Choir' for fuck's sake.
What did I do? My heart sank, I got chills and burst into tears. I am not being an extremist when I say Hitler began innocently as well. Pride for the fatherland. Let's give everyone a sense of belonging, family and home. We'll look out for you. We will protect you from the evil that's out there.
What they don't say is not everyone is allowed in those protective arms.
How do the deaths of almost 1,000 U.S. servicepeople and thousands upon thousands of Iraqis help the 9/11 victims? I still have yet to see the connection.
How do the bloodied, mangled bodies help the 44 million who are without health insurance?
How does each dropped bomb increase the chance of a better life for the American multitude who have become the new poor?
How does vengeance solve anything?
Our health care system is in crisis.
Our schools are in danger.
Our natural enviroment is dying.
Children, our future, are in a precarious place.
The actual terrorists are the ones who've decided that our own country isn't worth nurturing. What loving parent would ignore the needs of their own family to go off and deal with a gang war on the other block?
Yes. It makes me sick.
We are in an age of emotionalism and not reason. It terrifies me and this morning I have very little hope for us. I will vote. Actually, I'll take advantage of voting while I still can. Gloom and doom? Not really. Instead, I'm trying to prepare myself for whatever may happen.
In the meantime - Just vote.
----------------
From the website for Mark Crispin Miller's book:
Abraham Lincoln once observed that, if the United States should ever be subverted, "it will be conquered from within." And that is exactly what has happened.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Oh. My. Gawd.
I'm watching the news...Bush speaking live from New Orleans. Did he just say "out of this will come good things?" And then, in his typical "Bush-like no idea of compassion" way, he went on to say that Trent Lott lost his house, to follow that again with how we'll have a fab city in the future?
Oh.
My.
Fuckin'.
God.
When people are devasted, they don't need to hear about a supposed cheery future. Most of these people didn't have a vision of a good future before Katrina. They were already living in massive poverty. Now they are in desperate survival mode and need to be reassured for the present. They need the emphasis on how someone will help feed and house them. How to take care of the ill. Who will pick up the bodies.
Who the fuck cares if Trent Lott lost his home right now? His, umm....oceanfront home. I can't believe Bush said it.
jesusfuckin'christ.
I'm watching the news...Bush speaking live from New Orleans. Did he just say "out of this will come good things?" And then, in his typical "Bush-like no idea of compassion" way, he went on to say that Trent Lott lost his house, to follow that again with how we'll have a fab city in the future?
Oh.
My.
Fuckin'.
God.
When people are devasted, they don't need to hear about a supposed cheery future. Most of these people didn't have a vision of a good future before Katrina. They were already living in massive poverty. Now they are in desperate survival mode and need to be reassured for the present. They need the emphasis on how someone will help feed and house them. How to take care of the ill. Who will pick up the bodies.
Who the fuck cares if Trent Lott lost his home right now? His, umm....oceanfront home. I can't believe Bush said it.
jesusfuckin'christ.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
All sorts of stuff today. From the personal, to politics, monthly horoscopes, art and music. Maybe you'll find something in here that speaks to you.
I have two more shrink sessions before seeing my family of origin. Yeah, it's kinda intense right now. Not only am I working on processing the insights and big feelings that I've stuffed for years but aggressively trying to find my center. You see, I only visit my family about once every year or two.
My past is my past. Shit happens. Life sucks. We are all damaged and broken. I figure, it's my responsibility to deal with my stuff. My parents, having raised us in the best way they knew how, do not need to be burdened with this.
I want to be there for them. Clear, clean and open.
I love them. They love me.
The last couple sessions, as the shrink explained when I questioned it, have been a placeholder of sorts. No digging. Instead I realized I am soaking up as much of the shrink's strength and calm as I can. Less fighting and more dependence upon him. Guess it is part of the process.
I'm not sure if I wrote about this, but in the last few weeks, I've actually felt the massive loneliness and isolation that I could not carry in my child body. When it first hit, I whispered, "this is much too big for a little kid to feel. They'd be consumed." The shrink explained the resilience of the human spirit and said that's why we block when we can't deal. It'll come back when we have the strength.
The vulnerability I feel is huge. It doesn't take much for me to crumble right now.
On to other things...and it's a mixed bag.
First, this week's Rockstar – INXS performance show was wonderful. They are down to the cream of the crop. Six brilliant performers. Check out the video for week 8 performances. Each singer performs with a passion you don't often hear. These kids are hungry. Jordis' "Imagine" brings tears. "Bohemian Rhapsody" is phenomenal. Mig's "Live and Let Die" carries an amazing note at the end. He holds and holds and holds it. Big wow.
It's September. Here are the monthly horoscopes from Eric Francis of Planet Waves. He always has two. First the regular Planet Waves, and then Inner Space.
Seeing I'm a Capricorn, here's mine:
PlanetWaves:
"You are fast approaching your peak professional season of the year, indeed, for many years, and I have the feeling that you'll be collecting on a lot of promises and potential that may have been eluding you for quite a while. The key will be to guide, not to push. Guide yourself with a clear vision; keep your faith in yourself high, without raising your expectations too much. You just need to trust that the right thing will come to you, because it very likely will. There are certain elements of what's unfolding that are not exactly under your control. In a short time, the river of life begins to flow more quickly, and there are two or three key points of decision coming up. These are what you need to focus on. Not, for example, visibility, or convincing people you're something special. They already know that. Your job is to decide -- just when the moment is right."
Inner Space:
"People often think of you as conservative, but typically that's a code word for scared. These days, it would seem you're anything but frightened or intimidated, and part of why you can afford to be so brave is because you've decided to base your judgments on what you see and feel, rather than on what someone else told you was true. It may have been true for them, but you have your own dreams and ambitions, and thus you have no space in your life for everyone else's insecurities."
New Orleans...
The more I read and see, the more heartbroken I become. With that...a rage is also rising. Money was diverted from ongoing levee shoring projects to fight this foolish war.
From Why The Levee Broke?
Washington knew that this day could come at any time, and it knew the things that needed to be done to protect the citizens of New Orleans. But in the tradition of the riverboat gambler, the Bush administration decided to roll the dice on its fool's errand in Iraq, and on a tax cut that mainly benefitted the rich. Now Bush has lost that gamble, big time.
The president told us that we needed to fight in Iraq to save lives here at home. Yet -- after moving billions of domestic dollars to the Persian Gulf -- there are bodies floating through the streets of Louisiana. What does George W. Bush have to say for himself now?
And from The Padacia, Orchid Photography by Barbara Ellison and some tasty paintings by Guy Denning.
I have two more shrink sessions before seeing my family of origin. Yeah, it's kinda intense right now. Not only am I working on processing the insights and big feelings that I've stuffed for years but aggressively trying to find my center. You see, I only visit my family about once every year or two.
My past is my past. Shit happens. Life sucks. We are all damaged and broken. I figure, it's my responsibility to deal with my stuff. My parents, having raised us in the best way they knew how, do not need to be burdened with this.
I want to be there for them. Clear, clean and open.
I love them. They love me.
The last couple sessions, as the shrink explained when I questioned it, have been a placeholder of sorts. No digging. Instead I realized I am soaking up as much of the shrink's strength and calm as I can. Less fighting and more dependence upon him. Guess it is part of the process.
I'm not sure if I wrote about this, but in the last few weeks, I've actually felt the massive loneliness and isolation that I could not carry in my child body. When it first hit, I whispered, "this is much too big for a little kid to feel. They'd be consumed." The shrink explained the resilience of the human spirit and said that's why we block when we can't deal. It'll come back when we have the strength.
The vulnerability I feel is huge. It doesn't take much for me to crumble right now.
On to other things...and it's a mixed bag.
First, this week's Rockstar – INXS performance show was wonderful. They are down to the cream of the crop. Six brilliant performers. Check out the video for week 8 performances. Each singer performs with a passion you don't often hear. These kids are hungry. Jordis' "Imagine" brings tears. "Bohemian Rhapsody" is phenomenal. Mig's "Live and Let Die" carries an amazing note at the end. He holds and holds and holds it. Big wow.
It's September. Here are the monthly horoscopes from Eric Francis of Planet Waves. He always has two. First the regular Planet Waves, and then Inner Space.
Seeing I'm a Capricorn, here's mine:
PlanetWaves:
"You are fast approaching your peak professional season of the year, indeed, for many years, and I have the feeling that you'll be collecting on a lot of promises and potential that may have been eluding you for quite a while. The key will be to guide, not to push. Guide yourself with a clear vision; keep your faith in yourself high, without raising your expectations too much. You just need to trust that the right thing will come to you, because it very likely will. There are certain elements of what's unfolding that are not exactly under your control. In a short time, the river of life begins to flow more quickly, and there are two or three key points of decision coming up. These are what you need to focus on. Not, for example, visibility, or convincing people you're something special. They already know that. Your job is to decide -- just when the moment is right."
Inner Space:
"People often think of you as conservative, but typically that's a code word for scared. These days, it would seem you're anything but frightened or intimidated, and part of why you can afford to be so brave is because you've decided to base your judgments on what you see and feel, rather than on what someone else told you was true. It may have been true for them, but you have your own dreams and ambitions, and thus you have no space in your life for everyone else's insecurities."
New Orleans...
The more I read and see, the more heartbroken I become. With that...a rage is also rising. Money was diverted from ongoing levee shoring projects to fight this foolish war.
From Why The Levee Broke?
Washington knew that this day could come at any time, and it knew the things that needed to be done to protect the citizens of New Orleans. But in the tradition of the riverboat gambler, the Bush administration decided to roll the dice on its fool's errand in Iraq, and on a tax cut that mainly benefitted the rich. Now Bush has lost that gamble, big time.
The president told us that we needed to fight in Iraq to save lives here at home. Yet -- after moving billions of domestic dollars to the Persian Gulf -- there are bodies floating through the streets of Louisiana. What does George W. Bush have to say for himself now?
And from The Padacia, Orchid Photography by Barbara Ellison and some tasty paintings by Guy Denning.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Sobering and almost unbelievable, except that it has become the horrific reality of thousands upon thousands.
Reading through the papers online...
...check out the multimedia feature in this NYTimes article about the storm.
A photo does say a thousand words.
Utter devastation.
Reading through the papers online...
...check out the multimedia feature in this NYTimes article about the storm.
A photo does say a thousand words.
Utter devastation.
Here is this week's Freewill Astrology.
I saw this yesterday and it gave me quite the chuckle. This is what a session looks like between my kinky queer zen buddhist priest shrink and myself.
I saw this yesterday and it gave me quite the chuckle. This is what a session looks like between my kinky queer zen buddhist priest shrink and myself.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
It's been a tough 5 days, interspersed with lots of fun that in all honesty, I have no idea how it manifested itself, considering the space I'm in. During Saturday's volunteering stint, after setting up the stage, the contestants came in for their rehearsals. One boy, who I barely knew but had some contact with a month ago, approached me. He said "I am SO glad you're here. It feels good."
The way he said it calmed me down. His words and energy gave me a boost and lifted me past the broken heart I'd been carrying for almost 24 hours. Later in the evening he made a point to come by and remark again that he was glad I was helping out. He then added that my energy was healing that night.
Yeah...it left me in awe. And, considering the emotional space I was in, it was the best compliment of my year. The next day the MC and a few others pulled me aside to tell me that stage right, where I was situated, was peaceful. A few of them said it was the solace they needed after the freneticism of the stage. They sought it out for that reason.
Again, I took those words to heart and in some way, although feel blessed...am puzzled by them. I didn't feel I had any emotional strength to give anyone. It felt as if I had a hard enough time keeping myself together. Yet within all that pain and confusion, there was something else. I watched myself, before the show began, working the room. I stopped to contact, tease, flirt, connect with so many people. A big old bear came up from behind, spun me around and we sucked face for a while. There were other shared kisses. I ended up with definite dates with 3 different guys for September. Two being play dates and the other...we'll see. In addition, there were a few other tentative dates. Very productive.
During the show, I assisted with a few of the auctions again. Oddly, because it surprised me, audience members were calling out my name. At one point, when I didn't go up, they again called for me. While holding up a quilt for auction, someone shouted out $300 if I'd cum on it. Yeah...it led to an interesting show. The stage manager pulled me aside afterward and said "that crowd really loves you." He had a huge grin on his face. He was a joy to work with. It's not often I meet gentle persons...in manners, demeanor, intelligence and compassion. I'm fortunate to be surrounded by a few, including my friends. And I'm always thrilled to meet others. This man is definitely one.
It was a powerful evening for me. I worked the event with each guy backstage, in mind. I hugged and touched. My hand on each of their hearts, I encouraged them to show their sexiest self and own the stage. Claim it and claim their bodies.
It seems like a huge paradox. The shrink said that because of what I'm dealing with, in my heart, is the very reason why I could give others what they needed. I've yet to understand that statement. It still doesn't make sense to me.
Today was a really rough day. I hadn't slept all night and during the tumultuous dark I became acutely aware of how angry I am. Angry and sad. I've watched my entries become forceful and highly opinionated. It's not a bad thing...but it feels like a lot for me.
Today at work, I lasted all of two hours. I became physically sick, headaches, chills, nausea and knew because I knew the source was the emotional turmoil I'm going through. Placing a call to the shrink, I asked if he could see me today. His office felt like the oasis I needed.
With the anger and sadness, I'm also in a place where my insecurity is heightened. It's raging in an extreme way.
I guess this is what healing looks like. For me, anyway.
(p.s. My heart goes out to all those affected by Katrina. There is extreme devastation. I can't even imagine what it feels like. My thoughts are with you.)
The way he said it calmed me down. His words and energy gave me a boost and lifted me past the broken heart I'd been carrying for almost 24 hours. Later in the evening he made a point to come by and remark again that he was glad I was helping out. He then added that my energy was healing that night.
Yeah...it left me in awe. And, considering the emotional space I was in, it was the best compliment of my year. The next day the MC and a few others pulled me aside to tell me that stage right, where I was situated, was peaceful. A few of them said it was the solace they needed after the freneticism of the stage. They sought it out for that reason.
Again, I took those words to heart and in some way, although feel blessed...am puzzled by them. I didn't feel I had any emotional strength to give anyone. It felt as if I had a hard enough time keeping myself together. Yet within all that pain and confusion, there was something else. I watched myself, before the show began, working the room. I stopped to contact, tease, flirt, connect with so many people. A big old bear came up from behind, spun me around and we sucked face for a while. There were other shared kisses. I ended up with definite dates with 3 different guys for September. Two being play dates and the other...we'll see. In addition, there were a few other tentative dates. Very productive.
During the show, I assisted with a few of the auctions again. Oddly, because it surprised me, audience members were calling out my name. At one point, when I didn't go up, they again called for me. While holding up a quilt for auction, someone shouted out $300 if I'd cum on it. Yeah...it led to an interesting show. The stage manager pulled me aside afterward and said "that crowd really loves you." He had a huge grin on his face. He was a joy to work with. It's not often I meet gentle persons...in manners, demeanor, intelligence and compassion. I'm fortunate to be surrounded by a few, including my friends. And I'm always thrilled to meet others. This man is definitely one.
It was a powerful evening for me. I worked the event with each guy backstage, in mind. I hugged and touched. My hand on each of their hearts, I encouraged them to show their sexiest self and own the stage. Claim it and claim their bodies.
It seems like a huge paradox. The shrink said that because of what I'm dealing with, in my heart, is the very reason why I could give others what they needed. I've yet to understand that statement. It still doesn't make sense to me.
Today was a really rough day. I hadn't slept all night and during the tumultuous dark I became acutely aware of how angry I am. Angry and sad. I've watched my entries become forceful and highly opinionated. It's not a bad thing...but it feels like a lot for me.
Today at work, I lasted all of two hours. I became physically sick, headaches, chills, nausea and knew because I knew the source was the emotional turmoil I'm going through. Placing a call to the shrink, I asked if he could see me today. His office felt like the oasis I needed.
With the anger and sadness, I'm also in a place where my insecurity is heightened. It's raging in an extreme way.
I guess this is what healing looks like. For me, anyway.
(p.s. My heart goes out to all those affected by Katrina. There is extreme devastation. I can't even imagine what it feels like. My thoughts are with you.)
In my entry on Saturday, regarding sex and porn, I want to make sure you know that I am not against the content found in what is called porn. We need more of it! Lots more. What I was saying is...in addition, we need a greater awakening to all the sex that is found in life.
Imagine, what if we had a whole world that exuded thick sexual energy in their daily interactions? A massive movement to fill the world with oozing, sloppy, ecstatic sex. The possibility is there.
For anyone who knows me, I hoped they would know that I'm not an OR person. What I am against is the attempt to categorize sexual material. What I especially abhor is that we allow those who are so sexually repressed to define and legislate our sex. Again, if sex is really so big, where can you begin to draw the line and decide this is good sex and this is smut? Honestly, it terrifies me.
They can do it by calling it porn. We ourselves know what is appropriate in what venue and what isn't. When someone with more supposed power attempts to determine what is best for me, my life and my children (if I chose to have kids), regarding human sexuality, that is a brutal offense. The idea alone is horrific. It offends me in the same way that someone else attempts to realize the mythical standards of their mythical god as the rules and ethics I must live by.
Yes, I understand there is a certain titillation to viewing something supposedly dark and underbelly. Trust me, I'll be one of the first in line to access taboo. What I am asking is...what is more dark and underworld than the muck that resides within us? What is more taboo than what we all fear?
I know this is a very big question.
What prompted this entry is a post I read on Uppity Faggot this morning. By the way, I'm pleased to inform you that Uppity Faggot, Filthy Fiction and Seattle Treefort are up and running again. They had gone black for a bit, but have since, I'm delighted to say, returned to cyberville.
In addition, check out the latest entry in the Feeding Frenzy blog. It had been many months since he'd written, and has a wonderful entry about the eroticism of event food.
Imagine, what if we had a whole world that exuded thick sexual energy in their daily interactions? A massive movement to fill the world with oozing, sloppy, ecstatic sex. The possibility is there.
For anyone who knows me, I hoped they would know that I'm not an OR person. What I am against is the attempt to categorize sexual material. What I especially abhor is that we allow those who are so sexually repressed to define and legislate our sex. Again, if sex is really so big, where can you begin to draw the line and decide this is good sex and this is smut? Honestly, it terrifies me.
They can do it by calling it porn. We ourselves know what is appropriate in what venue and what isn't. When someone with more supposed power attempts to determine what is best for me, my life and my children (if I chose to have kids), regarding human sexuality, that is a brutal offense. The idea alone is horrific. It offends me in the same way that someone else attempts to realize the mythical standards of their mythical god as the rules and ethics I must live by.
Yes, I understand there is a certain titillation to viewing something supposedly dark and underbelly. Trust me, I'll be one of the first in line to access taboo. What I am asking is...what is more dark and underworld than the muck that resides within us? What is more taboo than what we all fear?
I know this is a very big question.
What prompted this entry is a post I read on Uppity Faggot this morning. By the way, I'm pleased to inform you that Uppity Faggot, Filthy Fiction and Seattle Treefort are up and running again. They had gone black for a bit, but have since, I'm delighted to say, returned to cyberville.
In addition, check out the latest entry in the Feeding Frenzy blog. It had been many months since he'd written, and has a wonderful entry about the eroticism of event food.
Some housecleaning.
I had a weird feeling that my autre at graffiti email was flukey. So, if anyone (who doesn't have my "otherthan" email) wants to contact me, please use absque2 at yahoo dot com.
Now, another thing I'd like to check into and so I'm asking for your feedback. How many of you are having problems with my page crashing when you attempt to read? On my Mac I use Safari for a browser, although periodically check with IE and on the PC I use primarily Mozilla but again check in using IE. There hasn't been a problem on my end but I know of one person who has experienced difficulty with the page. I'd like to know if we are dealing with an anomaly or if it's more widespread, in which case I'll figure something out. Could you please drop me an email to absque2 at yahoo dot com and let me know if it's working or not?
Thanks so much.
I had a weird feeling that my autre at graffiti email was flukey. So, if anyone (who doesn't have my "otherthan" email) wants to contact me, please use absque2 at yahoo dot com.
Now, another thing I'd like to check into and so I'm asking for your feedback. How many of you are having problems with my page crashing when you attempt to read? On my Mac I use Safari for a browser, although periodically check with IE and on the PC I use primarily Mozilla but again check in using IE. There hasn't been a problem on my end but I know of one person who has experienced difficulty with the page. I'd like to know if we are dealing with an anomaly or if it's more widespread, in which case I'll figure something out. Could you please drop me an email to absque2 at yahoo dot com and let me know if it's working or not?
Thanks so much.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Kind of a short entry.
Hmmm...or maybe not.
The contest went well...in spite of the typical contest speeches that don't say anything, in spite of all the posturing, egos and attitudes. and in spite of the large group stroke that contests are. If you disregard all that, it was a fun show and a very good time. The fantasies were high caliber, especially one, which was an out of the box, thoughtful piece. So much so that even when I first saw it during rehearsal, I cried. Powerful. Maybe I'll share when I'm feeling better.
Hoss and D were a huge help. At one point I turned around and watched D. assist a drag queen into her hoop skirt and shiny fuschia dress. It gave me such a chuckle, being in full contrast to the others prepping to get on stage.
Right now, I don't have it in me to expound further. I'm still reeling and working through Friday's bomb.
I just finished the statement for the Gender Odyssey show this upcoming weekend. Although needed for many shows, I don't like doing artist's statements, instead prefer the work to speak for itself.
Wanna see?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artist Statement
These paintings are internal self-portraits, created 4 years ago when I chose to challenge myself by stripping away all assumptions of who I am. Those assumptions even included my gender and sexual orientation, which at the time was leatherdyke. I had been out as a lesbian for almost 20 years.
During the process, day after day, week after week, I felt myself slip from the world in an odd way. Each day I would still wake, work, eat, laugh, fuck, cry and be. With this was an overwhelming sense of invisibility that crept over my being, blanketing my body.
I would walk downtown during the workday and felt my transparency. It seemed as if people could pass right through me because I was not there. I had become a ghost who quietly floated through our physical world, a sensation so unusual I feel I shall never forget it.
This period was not an easy one, and lasted the better part of 2 years. I had a mentor, a safe place and much love throughout. The paintings were completed just after some of the most intense, awkward and uncomfortable months of this experience.
I painted a part of the journey. A journey of unfolding and discovery. A journey that began with no expectations. I could not even imagine a destination. The figures, exposed and vulnerable, try to find some peace in a world where everything cries out to be labeled and organized in the tidiest of fashions.
Coming out on the other side of this painful adventure was mind-blowing. Not only was there a new person staring back at me each time I looked in the mirror, but this individual no longer had a label, a name, yet instead, saw a glimpse into a much larger world filled with limitless possibility and magic.
The journey continues.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know it could be better, but I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted. Tomorrow afternoon, I have a big work meeting to get through. Then it should be smoother sailing until I return from the east coast.
Oh, did I fail to mention that? I'm flying out on the 7th until the 13th of September. My brother is getting married. Although it will be good to see the family, right now, in the throes of my therapy work...well...let's just say it'll be interesting.
I am taking 2 days right after the wedding to head to what feels like my other home...on a retreat-like mini stint, to then rush back to western MA where my niece (the 16 year old jazz singer) is giving her first big concert - in a theater rented for the occasion. Other than hearing her sing in latin for a wedding when she was about 12, this is the first chance I'll have to actually hear her perform live. I'm looking forward to it. Because of the wedding, it's going to be a rushed trip as it is. I tried extending it, because I'd hoped to meet some of you while back east, but it will have to wait.
Sweet anticipation.
Anyway, after writing the statement for the show, I had a thought. You see, there is a dilemma. I have no idea what to wear to the wedding. In the past, I've always been able to envision some type of outfit. Whether or not I could find it was a different story. But I'd always have a clear picture. This time I realized I have none. I can't see myself femme'd nor butched out. Neither feels right. It leaves me seriously stumped. Quite unsettling.
I'd feel so much better if the required attire was none.
It shows me that I must be in another phase of serious self-construction.
I'm tired. I'm drained. I feel like crying a lot.
And I know this too shall pass.
Now where's the damned pizza I ordered?
Hmmm...or maybe not.
The contest went well...in spite of the typical contest speeches that don't say anything, in spite of all the posturing, egos and attitudes. and in spite of the large group stroke that contests are. If you disregard all that, it was a fun show and a very good time. The fantasies were high caliber, especially one, which was an out of the box, thoughtful piece. So much so that even when I first saw it during rehearsal, I cried. Powerful. Maybe I'll share when I'm feeling better.
Hoss and D were a huge help. At one point I turned around and watched D. assist a drag queen into her hoop skirt and shiny fuschia dress. It gave me such a chuckle, being in full contrast to the others prepping to get on stage.
Right now, I don't have it in me to expound further. I'm still reeling and working through Friday's bomb.
I just finished the statement for the Gender Odyssey show this upcoming weekend. Although needed for many shows, I don't like doing artist's statements, instead prefer the work to speak for itself.
Wanna see?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artist Statement
These paintings are internal self-portraits, created 4 years ago when I chose to challenge myself by stripping away all assumptions of who I am. Those assumptions even included my gender and sexual orientation, which at the time was leatherdyke. I had been out as a lesbian for almost 20 years.
During the process, day after day, week after week, I felt myself slip from the world in an odd way. Each day I would still wake, work, eat, laugh, fuck, cry and be. With this was an overwhelming sense of invisibility that crept over my being, blanketing my body.
I would walk downtown during the workday and felt my transparency. It seemed as if people could pass right through me because I was not there. I had become a ghost who quietly floated through our physical world, a sensation so unusual I feel I shall never forget it.
This period was not an easy one, and lasted the better part of 2 years. I had a mentor, a safe place and much love throughout. The paintings were completed just after some of the most intense, awkward and uncomfortable months of this experience.
I painted a part of the journey. A journey of unfolding and discovery. A journey that began with no expectations. I could not even imagine a destination. The figures, exposed and vulnerable, try to find some peace in a world where everything cries out to be labeled and organized in the tidiest of fashions.
Coming out on the other side of this painful adventure was mind-blowing. Not only was there a new person staring back at me each time I looked in the mirror, but this individual no longer had a label, a name, yet instead, saw a glimpse into a much larger world filled with limitless possibility and magic.
The journey continues.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know it could be better, but I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted. Tomorrow afternoon, I have a big work meeting to get through. Then it should be smoother sailing until I return from the east coast.
Oh, did I fail to mention that? I'm flying out on the 7th until the 13th of September. My brother is getting married. Although it will be good to see the family, right now, in the throes of my therapy work...well...let's just say it'll be interesting.
I am taking 2 days right after the wedding to head to what feels like my other home...on a retreat-like mini stint, to then rush back to western MA where my niece (the 16 year old jazz singer) is giving her first big concert - in a theater rented for the occasion. Other than hearing her sing in latin for a wedding when she was about 12, this is the first chance I'll have to actually hear her perform live. I'm looking forward to it. Because of the wedding, it's going to be a rushed trip as it is. I tried extending it, because I'd hoped to meet some of you while back east, but it will have to wait.
Sweet anticipation.
Anyway, after writing the statement for the show, I had a thought. You see, there is a dilemma. I have no idea what to wear to the wedding. In the past, I've always been able to envision some type of outfit. Whether or not I could find it was a different story. But I'd always have a clear picture. This time I realized I have none. I can't see myself femme'd nor butched out. Neither feels right. It leaves me seriously stumped. Quite unsettling.
I'd feel so much better if the required attire was none.
It shows me that I must be in another phase of serious self-construction.
I'm tired. I'm drained. I feel like crying a lot.
And I know this too shall pass.
Now where's the damned pizza I ordered?
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Fall is just around the bend.
The bunny called about 7 to see if I wanted to grab a short drink at Septieme. Although I've spent the whole day (after the victory brunch) recuperating from yesterday's event, other than a meeting with the art show coordinator from the upcoming show, Septieme seemed like the perfect place to be for an hour. We could sit...be quiet, and enjoy a nice glass of Portuguese wine.
So, why can I smell autumn?
It is beginning to get dark around 8 pm.
I could sit at the Cafe when they bring the candles to the table. (They don't do it until it gets dark, which means...until I'm there late, I don't see the candles all summer long).
The sky grew cloudy, the wind picked up and yes...it actually, for real began to rain.
I could wear jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, socks and shoes.
I love fall.
The bunny called about 7 to see if I wanted to grab a short drink at Septieme. Although I've spent the whole day (after the victory brunch) recuperating from yesterday's event, other than a meeting with the art show coordinator from the upcoming show, Septieme seemed like the perfect place to be for an hour. We could sit...be quiet, and enjoy a nice glass of Portuguese wine.
So, why can I smell autumn?
It is beginning to get dark around 8 pm.
I could sit at the Cafe when they bring the candles to the table. (They don't do it until it gets dark, which means...until I'm there late, I don't see the candles all summer long).
The sky grew cloudy, the wind picked up and yes...it actually, for real began to rain.
I could wear jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, socks and shoes.
I love fall.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Maybe TMI
The shrink and I dug up a big pile of dirt that is now sitting on my lap. It's filled with slimy creatures...slugs, worms. I have no idea how I'm supposed to manage this whole contest weekend when all I want to do is sit in a corner and cry.
I don't even know what it all means.
Laying in bed last night and this morning...I ached to have someone beside me...just to hold me while I fell asleep and awakened. That's maybe the second time in a very long time I've desired such a thing.
Yesterday a bomb exploded in the office with the shrink. This I know. I don't know if it's the only one or if there are more to follow.
It's vague and clear at the same time.
What I'm sure of.
I was about 3 years old.
I was somehow shamed and isolated for being sexual in that innocent, child, playful way.
This is where the ingrained and what seemed to be unshakeable idea of myself as a monster originated.
I now know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that although pictures are blurry...this is a big reason why I've been so empassioned with the idea of sex being larger than what we think. This is where my frustration comes from when our world, even our "sex positive" community attempts to box in sex and eroticism.
For some odd reason, even as a child...I knew because I knew because I knew that sex is big. It's big and natural and animal. And yes...we too are big and natural and animal. We are sex.
We, if willing, aware and courageous, can live every moment as a radical sexual act.
Sex isn't only fucking. It is not only genital contact. It's not only relegated to the bedroom or dungeon.
Sex has the capacity and ability to be intimate. 2 minute intimate contacts or lifetime relationships. Intimacy is not defined by monogamous, marriage-type relationship. Intimacy happens when we crack our shells and share our soft underbellies, with ourselves and others.
Sex, if we open our eyes and breathe in our world, can be engaged in unlikely places...and so many different ways.
Sex is not this or that. Sex is this and that and that and that. It flows in and out of everything.
Is there any wonder why my brain short circuits when I try to define it? Is there any question why I can't define and relegate eroticism only to the 18+ crowd? Just the idea of attempting to do that makes me cry. It limits, stifles and chokes the sex out of life. Sex is the breath of life. Without sexual energy, we are simply automatons.
People speak of celibacy. I don't even know what that means. Not really. I understand what people think it means. But if sex is so large, one may be abstaining from genital sex, yet it doesn't mean they've lost the ability or stopped engaging in other facets of sex.
It's bad enough that governments and religions have attempted to define sex in order to regulate it. They aren't fools. They know the magic and power that lays in connection, intimacy, orgasms and ecstasy.
What's worse is that we as a society have allowed them to do it, and bought...lock, stock and barrel their definition of what sex it. We are the suckers, the fools.
If I can have a mindblowing orgasm while simply feeling hemp against my body, or standing alone in a Japanese garden admiring the landscape in front of me, or dancing with someone I barely know...not touching, our bodies a foot apart..until he grabs me when I cum so I don't fall and hurt myself...
...or while someone rubs my shoulders
...or watching a hawk swoop
...or pulls my hair...
...or painting a still life
...or as I feel the strike of the singletail
...or, or, or...
these aren't mental orgasms. But full blown belly/cunt orgasms.
Then who dares tell me what sex is?
Who will dare say whether my reaction to life is bad, sinful or detrimental?
Who will dare decide that some of this sex is right and some is wrong?
Who has the right to say that no, this orgasm isn't sex and this one is?
Earlier this week I began a blog entry and left it to the side. Clarke Lane and I were commenting about the question "What's your favorite color?"
I told him that trying to answer that question makes my brain explode. A day later I realized that trying to determine what my favorite color is, is exactly the same as trying to define sex. And...color is a big part of sex for me.
In my unfinished entry, I wrote:
A short commenting session with Clarke Lane last week. It was about color. Now it's been all stuck in my head and has expanded into a great idea. I spent a good part of my shrink session yesterday morning speaking about the relationship of color and sex. I'm exploring what sex really means to me in relation to color, painting and subject matter. I know why I don't or rarely show the work that has what most people consider sexual subject matter. I refuse to be pigeon holed. I refuse to pigeon hole my sex. And I most definitely refuse, with my work, to simply give in to what other people consider sexual. I paint what turns me on. Period.
Don't even ask me what pornography is. I no longer have an answer. I can't even respond "I can't define it but I'll know it when I see it." For my life, it's bullshit. It seems that the longer I live, the more I taste life, the greater my sense of what is sexual and orgasmic.
In my opinion, pornography is a fabricated idea created by governments and organized religions to contain and squelch the vast power and limitless possibility found in our very essence - our most natural selves, as spiritual animals. If a ruling power defined sex, with the intent of corraling sex, yes they hold the power over us. Each time we give into someone else's limited view of what sex is, we are actually allowing ourselves to be fucked up the ass by a large branch from a hawthorne tree. It is that brutal and damaging.
----
As I copied that entry and reread it, I realized I now have a definition for pornography. To me, pornography is nonconsensual behavior.
Everyone cries "but we have to protect the children". Children naturally turn away from something they aren't ready for. It's part of the beauty of children. Adults are the ones who shame children.
Nakedness, sex is not the real issue. We need to protect children from abuse, violence, war, homelessness, hunger, isolation, lack of love. That is what hurts and is damaging to children.
I have so much more to say but can't right now.
All I know is that I'd love to spend the weekend crying in the corner and being held. Instead, I have to figure out how to get it together to exude some open energy because this is the contest weekend I'm volunteering for. In 2 hours, I'm on, and so need to get myself strong.
The shrink and I dug up a big pile of dirt that is now sitting on my lap. It's filled with slimy creatures...slugs, worms. I have no idea how I'm supposed to manage this whole contest weekend when all I want to do is sit in a corner and cry.
I don't even know what it all means.
Laying in bed last night and this morning...I ached to have someone beside me...just to hold me while I fell asleep and awakened. That's maybe the second time in a very long time I've desired such a thing.
Yesterday a bomb exploded in the office with the shrink. This I know. I don't know if it's the only one or if there are more to follow.
It's vague and clear at the same time.
What I'm sure of.
I was about 3 years old.
I was somehow shamed and isolated for being sexual in that innocent, child, playful way.
This is where the ingrained and what seemed to be unshakeable idea of myself as a monster originated.
I now know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that although pictures are blurry...this is a big reason why I've been so empassioned with the idea of sex being larger than what we think. This is where my frustration comes from when our world, even our "sex positive" community attempts to box in sex and eroticism.
For some odd reason, even as a child...I knew because I knew because I knew that sex is big. It's big and natural and animal. And yes...we too are big and natural and animal. We are sex.
We, if willing, aware and courageous, can live every moment as a radical sexual act.
Sex isn't only fucking. It is not only genital contact. It's not only relegated to the bedroom or dungeon.
Sex has the capacity and ability to be intimate. 2 minute intimate contacts or lifetime relationships. Intimacy is not defined by monogamous, marriage-type relationship. Intimacy happens when we crack our shells and share our soft underbellies, with ourselves and others.
Sex, if we open our eyes and breathe in our world, can be engaged in unlikely places...and so many different ways.
Sex is not this or that. Sex is this and that and that and that. It flows in and out of everything.
Is there any wonder why my brain short circuits when I try to define it? Is there any question why I can't define and relegate eroticism only to the 18+ crowd? Just the idea of attempting to do that makes me cry. It limits, stifles and chokes the sex out of life. Sex is the breath of life. Without sexual energy, we are simply automatons.
People speak of celibacy. I don't even know what that means. Not really. I understand what people think it means. But if sex is so large, one may be abstaining from genital sex, yet it doesn't mean they've lost the ability or stopped engaging in other facets of sex.
It's bad enough that governments and religions have attempted to define sex in order to regulate it. They aren't fools. They know the magic and power that lays in connection, intimacy, orgasms and ecstasy.
What's worse is that we as a society have allowed them to do it, and bought...lock, stock and barrel their definition of what sex it. We are the suckers, the fools.
If I can have a mindblowing orgasm while simply feeling hemp against my body, or standing alone in a Japanese garden admiring the landscape in front of me, or dancing with someone I barely know...not touching, our bodies a foot apart..until he grabs me when I cum so I don't fall and hurt myself...
...or while someone rubs my shoulders
...or watching a hawk swoop
...or pulls my hair...
...or painting a still life
...or as I feel the strike of the singletail
...or, or, or...
these aren't mental orgasms. But full blown belly/cunt orgasms.
Then who dares tell me what sex is?
Who will dare say whether my reaction to life is bad, sinful or detrimental?
Who will dare decide that some of this sex is right and some is wrong?
Who has the right to say that no, this orgasm isn't sex and this one is?
Earlier this week I began a blog entry and left it to the side. Clarke Lane and I were commenting about the question "What's your favorite color?"
I told him that trying to answer that question makes my brain explode. A day later I realized that trying to determine what my favorite color is, is exactly the same as trying to define sex. And...color is a big part of sex for me.
In my unfinished entry, I wrote:
A short commenting session with Clarke Lane last week. It was about color. Now it's been all stuck in my head and has expanded into a great idea. I spent a good part of my shrink session yesterday morning speaking about the relationship of color and sex. I'm exploring what sex really means to me in relation to color, painting and subject matter. I know why I don't or rarely show the work that has what most people consider sexual subject matter. I refuse to be pigeon holed. I refuse to pigeon hole my sex. And I most definitely refuse, with my work, to simply give in to what other people consider sexual. I paint what turns me on. Period.
Don't even ask me what pornography is. I no longer have an answer. I can't even respond "I can't define it but I'll know it when I see it." For my life, it's bullshit. It seems that the longer I live, the more I taste life, the greater my sense of what is sexual and orgasmic.
In my opinion, pornography is a fabricated idea created by governments and organized religions to contain and squelch the vast power and limitless possibility found in our very essence - our most natural selves, as spiritual animals. If a ruling power defined sex, with the intent of corraling sex, yes they hold the power over us. Each time we give into someone else's limited view of what sex is, we are actually allowing ourselves to be fucked up the ass by a large branch from a hawthorne tree. It is that brutal and damaging.
----
As I copied that entry and reread it, I realized I now have a definition for pornography. To me, pornography is nonconsensual behavior.
Everyone cries "but we have to protect the children". Children naturally turn away from something they aren't ready for. It's part of the beauty of children. Adults are the ones who shame children.
Nakedness, sex is not the real issue. We need to protect children from abuse, violence, war, homelessness, hunger, isolation, lack of love. That is what hurts and is damaging to children.
I have so much more to say but can't right now.
All I know is that I'd love to spend the weekend crying in the corner and being held. Instead, I have to figure out how to get it together to exude some open energy because this is the contest weekend I'm volunteering for. In 2 hours, I'm on, and so need to get myself strong.
Friday, August 26, 2005
I walked in the door after therapy, raw, bleeding and shocked. The phone rings.
It was the Bear.
I smiled because he was the one person I did want to hear from right now. He wanted to hear what happened, and it felt good to open up. I knew he'd get how huge the insight was.
The Bear and the bunny wanted to know if I was up for dinner (which I was).
After dinner they had a little gift for me. A t-shirt...that I will be wearing to the bar tonight.
From the bondage top extraordinaire and the bondage piglet, I receive a t-shirt that says:
"When I can't sleep, I count the buckles on my straightjacket."
Yes, I will be wearing it to the bar tonight.
It was the Bear.
I smiled because he was the one person I did want to hear from right now. He wanted to hear what happened, and it felt good to open up. I knew he'd get how huge the insight was.
The Bear and the bunny wanted to know if I was up for dinner (which I was).
After dinner they had a little gift for me. A t-shirt...that I will be wearing to the bar tonight.
From the bondage top extraordinaire and the bondage piglet, I receive a t-shirt that says:
"When I can't sleep, I count the buckles on my straightjacket."
Yes, I will be wearing it to the bar tonight.
Another painting.
This one is to celebrate another red letter day in therapy with the shrink.
Celebration.
It's a joyous word, isn't it?
Right now I'm not feeling joyful. But not bad either. Instead, I think I'm still in a small state of shock.
To see beyond what we think we see.
There's a whole world out there when we choose or more accurately, are ready to see it.
I'm stunned, and allowing truth to filter through me. One day, when I'm ready, I'll share.
I chose to show you this particular watercolor because it went beyond what I first saw. It was a cold winter day in Portsmouth, NH. I was sitting in my car, parked in the lot of what, at the time was the Holiday Inn (not even sure if it's still there) overlooking the traffic circle when you get off of I-95 North. It was a grey March day. Being cold and windy, I opted to sit in the car and paint. At first, all I saw was concrete, grey skies, and brown dead grass.
Then I looked again. And looked some more.
This one is to celebrate another red letter day in therapy with the shrink.
Celebration.
It's a joyous word, isn't it?
Right now I'm not feeling joyful. But not bad either. Instead, I think I'm still in a small state of shock.
To see beyond what we think we see.
There's a whole world out there when we choose or more accurately, are ready to see it.
I'm stunned, and allowing truth to filter through me. One day, when I'm ready, I'll share.
I chose to show you this particular watercolor because it went beyond what I first saw. It was a cold winter day in Portsmouth, NH. I was sitting in my car, parked in the lot of what, at the time was the Holiday Inn (not even sure if it's still there) overlooking the traffic circle when you get off of I-95 North. It was a grey March day. Being cold and windy, I opted to sit in the car and paint. At first, all I saw was concrete, grey skies, and brown dead grass.
Then I looked again. And looked some more.
Is there something in the air?
I've noticed a shift in my painting. This morning, while formulating the words in my head, I catch up on some blogs and discover:
Badfaggot wrote:
"I've been trying to take a friend's advice, and writing things that I can't see my way to the end of, where the objective of the act of writing as well as what is produced is unclear."
And then I read Clarke Lane who wrote:
"How shall I live?
While this may seem like a cliche, it is a viable question for me right now. It speaks to the tension that I feel between "becoming and being."
In today's email I found (underline is mine):
Mindfulness versus Concentration-
Some people do not know the difference between "mindfulness" and "concentration." They concentrate on what they're doing, thinking that is being mindful. . . . We can concentrate on what we are doing, but if we are not mindful at the same time, with the ability to reflect on the moment, then if somebody interferes with our concentration, we may blow up, get carried away by anger at being frustrated. If we are mindful, we are aware of the tendency to first concentrate and then to feel anger when something interferes with that concentration. With mindfulness we can concentrate when it is appropriate to do so and not concentrate when it is appropriate not to do so.
-- Ajahn Sumedho
Becoming and being. Creating with or without an objective.
Mindfulness and concentration.
Yesterday I painted. Yesterday I noticed that in this particular time of my life, my painting has changed. I do not have the desire to create an idea yet instead my desire and what I've watched myself do, when I pick up a brush, is continually create.
I'm in love with the act of painting more than ever before.
I've always been empassioned with how the paint feels when I mark the canvas, the smell of the paint, the shapes, the movement of my arm when painting, etc. Attached to that was always a nagging "what am I going to paint and can I make it worthwhile?" translating to "is it showable, is it sellable?"
Or the bigger question:
"Can I create SOMETHING?"
What has shifted since then? Now my mindset is "I don't give a fuck. I'm painting!"
I'm painting to paint.
In this, I've picked up, for me unusual, freeness in the fact it doesn't matter. I stand back and watch my hand move, curious to see what will come off the brush. Color and shapes I'd never dare before use. There is a boldness I didn't know lay within me.
From there, once I'm done painting...I may or may not pick it up again. I may paint over the whole damned thing. It doesn't matter.
I'm not worried about product.
I was thinking this morning about the idea of production. I don't know, but wonder if it's an American construct, influenced by the industrial revolution, or if it's the difference between an eastern way of being versus the western 'becoming'. Or maybe it's something entirely different.
I've never travelled outside of Canada and the U.S. but from what I've heard and read, it seems that other cultures and societies are slower paced. They spend more time enjoying their life than we do. There doesn't seem to be the same pressure to rush and produce.
How can our way of life not affect our creativity, our pressure to become someone, something? The idea of continual production is a cancer to our spirits. Let's learn to be, and in being, becoming naturally happens. We'll know when we need to concentrate and complete something. And we can find joy in the act of doing for the sake of doing.
It's not easy. I don't know why it's flowing smoother for me now. But while it is, I'll relish it. Who knows how long it will last?
After writing this, I set it aside for a spell to read more email.
This discovery, an article entitled Never Enough, came in today's Alternet.
"In his book American Mania, a psychiatrist urges us to stop our endless quest of accumulation -- unless we want to witness a mass psychological and economic meltdown."
Isn't this part of the same drive of having to produce, to attain a finished item, taken to extreme?
I'm sure it's not as simple as I've written. I know that our drive to search, find, explore, create, mark as our own is important. But where is the balance? When does it become detrimental? When can we even stop to enjoy our current exhale of breath with the knowledge that in that very moment, it is perfect for the sole reason it is what it is?
How do we get to a place where being is enough?
Yes, I am disovering that right now with my painting. On some level I feel the fragility of this place. Even in playful painting, there is a lurking fear that one day I won't be able to maintain this freedom. I fear that I'll become lost and consumed in the item I have to create for a show, a commission, or even just for me. I worry that I won't be able to find my balance between the need for play and the need for production.
Notice how mindful I am being to being when even while being, or think I'm being, a small part of my heart is worried about the time when I won't be able to just be. Can we ever stop the madness? The anxiety?
It's crazy, isn't it?
I've noticed a shift in my painting. This morning, while formulating the words in my head, I catch up on some blogs and discover:
Badfaggot wrote:
"I've been trying to take a friend's advice, and writing things that I can't see my way to the end of, where the objective of the act of writing as well as what is produced is unclear."
And then I read Clarke Lane who wrote:
"How shall I live?
While this may seem like a cliche, it is a viable question for me right now. It speaks to the tension that I feel between "becoming and being."
In today's email I found (underline is mine):
Mindfulness versus Concentration-
Some people do not know the difference between "mindfulness" and "concentration." They concentrate on what they're doing, thinking that is being mindful. . . . We can concentrate on what we are doing, but if we are not mindful at the same time, with the ability to reflect on the moment, then if somebody interferes with our concentration, we may blow up, get carried away by anger at being frustrated. If we are mindful, we are aware of the tendency to first concentrate and then to feel anger when something interferes with that concentration. With mindfulness we can concentrate when it is appropriate to do so and not concentrate when it is appropriate not to do so.
-- Ajahn Sumedho
Becoming and being. Creating with or without an objective.
Mindfulness and concentration.
Yesterday I painted. Yesterday I noticed that in this particular time of my life, my painting has changed. I do not have the desire to create an idea yet instead my desire and what I've watched myself do, when I pick up a brush, is continually create.
I'm in love with the act of painting more than ever before.
I've always been empassioned with how the paint feels when I mark the canvas, the smell of the paint, the shapes, the movement of my arm when painting, etc. Attached to that was always a nagging "what am I going to paint and can I make it worthwhile?" translating to "is it showable, is it sellable?"
Or the bigger question:
"Can I create SOMETHING?"
What has shifted since then? Now my mindset is "I don't give a fuck. I'm painting!"
I'm painting to paint.
In this, I've picked up, for me unusual, freeness in the fact it doesn't matter. I stand back and watch my hand move, curious to see what will come off the brush. Color and shapes I'd never dare before use. There is a boldness I didn't know lay within me.
From there, once I'm done painting...I may or may not pick it up again. I may paint over the whole damned thing. It doesn't matter.
I'm not worried about product.
I was thinking this morning about the idea of production. I don't know, but wonder if it's an American construct, influenced by the industrial revolution, or if it's the difference between an eastern way of being versus the western 'becoming'. Or maybe it's something entirely different.
I've never travelled outside of Canada and the U.S. but from what I've heard and read, it seems that other cultures and societies are slower paced. They spend more time enjoying their life than we do. There doesn't seem to be the same pressure to rush and produce.
How can our way of life not affect our creativity, our pressure to become someone, something? The idea of continual production is a cancer to our spirits. Let's learn to be, and in being, becoming naturally happens. We'll know when we need to concentrate and complete something. And we can find joy in the act of doing for the sake of doing.
It's not easy. I don't know why it's flowing smoother for me now. But while it is, I'll relish it. Who knows how long it will last?
After writing this, I set it aside for a spell to read more email.
This discovery, an article entitled Never Enough, came in today's Alternet.
"In his book American Mania, a psychiatrist urges us to stop our endless quest of accumulation -- unless we want to witness a mass psychological and economic meltdown."
Isn't this part of the same drive of having to produce, to attain a finished item, taken to extreme?
I'm sure it's not as simple as I've written. I know that our drive to search, find, explore, create, mark as our own is important. But where is the balance? When does it become detrimental? When can we even stop to enjoy our current exhale of breath with the knowledge that in that very moment, it is perfect for the sole reason it is what it is?
How do we get to a place where being is enough?
Yes, I am disovering that right now with my painting. On some level I feel the fragility of this place. Even in playful painting, there is a lurking fear that one day I won't be able to maintain this freedom. I fear that I'll become lost and consumed in the item I have to create for a show, a commission, or even just for me. I worry that I won't be able to find my balance between the need for play and the need for production.
Notice how mindful I am being to being when even while being, or think I'm being, a small part of my heart is worried about the time when I won't be able to just be. Can we ever stop the madness? The anxiety?
It's crazy, isn't it?
I like today's column by Morford.
"There is this upwelling. There is this delicious rebellion. It is not yet loud and it is not yet conventional and it is certainly not yet dominating the national political dialogue and it is not yet making the headlines and maybe it never will and this is probably a good thing...
...It is this: Whole happy unfettered slews of people, young and old and in between, both genders and all genders and those who have yet to figure out just what gender they are, they are dancing to their own cosmic tune and blaspheming against the quo of status and taking divine matters into their own tingling and luminous hands because, goddammit, it's the right thing to do.
This is what's happening: Millions are defying what many think is the religious norm, giggling in the general direction of all those silly apocalyptic "Left Behind" books and rolling their eyes at the "intelligent design" nontheory and ignoring the syrupy chants rising from all those creepy megachurches across the land -- and they are, instead, defining religion and spirituality for themselves, against all odds and against all baffled militant true believers and against the president's very own bewildered-monkey stare. Imagine."
Read all of What's On Your iGod?
"There is this upwelling. There is this delicious rebellion. It is not yet loud and it is not yet conventional and it is certainly not yet dominating the national political dialogue and it is not yet making the headlines and maybe it never will and this is probably a good thing...
...It is this: Whole happy unfettered slews of people, young and old and in between, both genders and all genders and those who have yet to figure out just what gender they are, they are dancing to their own cosmic tune and blaspheming against the quo of status and taking divine matters into their own tingling and luminous hands because, goddammit, it's the right thing to do.
This is what's happening: Millions are defying what many think is the religious norm, giggling in the general direction of all those silly apocalyptic "Left Behind" books and rolling their eyes at the "intelligent design" nontheory and ignoring the syrupy chants rising from all those creepy megachurches across the land -- and they are, instead, defining religion and spirituality for themselves, against all odds and against all baffled militant true believers and against the president's very own bewildered-monkey stare. Imagine."
Read all of What's On Your iGod?
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Today is a painting day. And it's a day to write a statement, a longer bio for next week's show, and while I'm at it, do the smaller bio for SEAF.
I have a hard time juggling both because I can focus on writing, or focus on painting. It shouldn't be that big a deal. Maybe it is because of the limited amount of energy I have right now.
My desk at work is still clean. It's still a shock but feels so good. The running joke at the office is that when our ED returns from vacation and sees my office, she'll think I'm quitting. So not the case.
I spend a lot of time thinking about sexual outlaws, and what it really means. Maybe I just am not meant to be a part of a big group. It doesn't matter if it's about art, religion, leather or anything else. When a group mentality takes over, it never fails. I smell danger. It feels claustrophobic. And I don't trust it. I can go in and take the jewels from what I see, but cannot grab the whole bundle.
For me, it goes back to always questioning and never being comfortable with the status quo.
I have a hard time juggling both because I can focus on writing, or focus on painting. It shouldn't be that big a deal. Maybe it is because of the limited amount of energy I have right now.
My desk at work is still clean. It's still a shock but feels so good. The running joke at the office is that when our ED returns from vacation and sees my office, she'll think I'm quitting. So not the case.
I spend a lot of time thinking about sexual outlaws, and what it really means. Maybe I just am not meant to be a part of a big group. It doesn't matter if it's about art, religion, leather or anything else. When a group mentality takes over, it never fails. I smell danger. It feels claustrophobic. And I don't trust it. I can go in and take the jewels from what I see, but cannot grab the whole bundle.
For me, it goes back to always questioning and never being comfortable with the status quo.
I have a lot to write about voice. I can see how it's my big lesson these last few weeks. Stepping back and watching the evolution, the connections, the awareness...honestly is so pretty it blows me away. And yeah, still freaks me out.
But right now, before I forget, get too tired or too busy, I want to share one of today's magic moments.
My coworker, as I think I've mentioned, is stepping back into the recording studio next week to finish his cd. He writes all his own music. These last 6 months have seen a storm of creativity that's blown through. Just standing on the side, watching...leaves me in awe.
After he laid down the first 6 or so songs, I had the privilege of listening to the first recording. it grabbed me. His music remained in my head for days. Today, my coworker asked me if I'd go to his home, during lunch, to listen to his latest piece, written (lyrics and music) this weekend. He felt so good about the song and really wanted to throw it on this cd but didn't trust his ears. He asked for mine.
We went into the basement, where his equipment is. He sat at his piano. I closed my eyes because I wanted to focus on the music, not the person. The first notes touched me. As he dug further into the song, tears came to my eyes and flowed until the end. The room was thick with the poignancy of the song, his energy...his heart. It was about pain and the glory that arises from coming through the pain.
When he was through he asked me what I thought, and then looked at my face...wet. His face transformed from a question to a face that shone.
I feel so blessed for having been a part of that time - a most amazing gift.
But right now, before I forget, get too tired or too busy, I want to share one of today's magic moments.
My coworker, as I think I've mentioned, is stepping back into the recording studio next week to finish his cd. He writes all his own music. These last 6 months have seen a storm of creativity that's blown through. Just standing on the side, watching...leaves me in awe.
After he laid down the first 6 or so songs, I had the privilege of listening to the first recording. it grabbed me. His music remained in my head for days. Today, my coworker asked me if I'd go to his home, during lunch, to listen to his latest piece, written (lyrics and music) this weekend. He felt so good about the song and really wanted to throw it on this cd but didn't trust his ears. He asked for mine.
We went into the basement, where his equipment is. He sat at his piano. I closed my eyes because I wanted to focus on the music, not the person. The first notes touched me. As he dug further into the song, tears came to my eyes and flowed until the end. The room was thick with the poignancy of the song, his energy...his heart. It was about pain and the glory that arises from coming through the pain.
When he was through he asked me what I thought, and then looked at my face...wet. His face transformed from a question to a face that shone.
I feel so blessed for having been a part of that time - a most amazing gift.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
(note: I wasn't planning on writing this tonight, actually not for a while...but the words flew off my fingers. So be it. Also, many people have left wonderful comments over the last few days. I'll respond soon. Right now, I'm being somewhat self-indulgent in not putting out. All your words are appreciated and taken to heart. Honest. And thank you. All of you.)
----------------
Tonight is my first night, quiet and alone in...hmmm, quite a while. And it's my last evening alone until Sunday night. Tomorrow night, Hoss is coming by to paint. This weekend, I'm busy with the NW LeatherSir/leather boy contest, as assistant production manager, i.e. stage mom. Although I have strong feelings about the contest scene, I'm in it for the sex. Yeah, I can say it.
Leather contests are the only large public gathering filled with mostly gay men that I'm allowed to attend. It's the only place I can get a massive dose of queer testosterone that is home to me, have some sex and set up play dates. I'm not complaining. It is what it is.
I personally think that contests have run their course. I'd rather see all that energy put into a couple big gala shows...quality shows that would raise money for queer non-profits instead of a little bit of charity and lots of travel funds. Closing my eyes, I can see the powerful impact that could be made if contest energy were funneled differently.
Quite a few of my good friends are current titleholders. Another handful are past sashes. The voice over I went to record last night is for background in a fantasy for Saturday's contest. It was fun, silly, political and edgy.
In addition, I believe that seeing we do have contests, all titleholders should be required to give at least 10 hours of volunteer time for something such as working a homeless shelter. It's a little dose of reality about what community service and role model is about.
When I think of all the so-called community service done by titleholders that remains within the leather community, all I picture is one massive group JO party. It seems to be more about alpha dog positioning.
I guess I just don't get it. Other than the ego-stroking, which I strongly felt (yes it's very seductive) when I was being recruited to run, I really don't get the intrigue.
Watching friends win over the last few years, I've seen how quickly they change. It's always gone one of two ways. Either, winning the title has pushed their potential and they've become more sure of themselves, stronger people. Or they've become arrogant and filled with self-importance.
I look at my Seattle friends, and they've become so busy with committees, brunches, socials and community politics that they don't have the time to play like they used to. I try to remind them what first drew them to s/m. Sex. Not committees.
An interesting conundrum.
I think of Drummer Magazine. It was edgy and radical when it came out. Each issue reprints the quote which at the time, fittingly led to the name of the magazine:
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." - Henry David Thoreau
This amuses me. Isn't that quote now a contradiction? The magazine, clubs, the contest circuit which still, year in and year out, continue to idolize and expect one to fit "the look". I don't have a problem with the look. To each their own. Fetishes are fetishes. But I don't understand how Thoreau, many years later, is still relevant to the Tom of Finland style.
It's another reminder for me of the similarity in people - how we all seek out some sense of family and grab it, sometimes desperately, wherever we can find it.
We weren't meant to be alone. We need each other. We need connection.
----------------
Tonight is my first night, quiet and alone in...hmmm, quite a while. And it's my last evening alone until Sunday night. Tomorrow night, Hoss is coming by to paint. This weekend, I'm busy with the NW LeatherSir/leather boy contest, as assistant production manager, i.e. stage mom. Although I have strong feelings about the contest scene, I'm in it for the sex. Yeah, I can say it.
Leather contests are the only large public gathering filled with mostly gay men that I'm allowed to attend. It's the only place I can get a massive dose of queer testosterone that is home to me, have some sex and set up play dates. I'm not complaining. It is what it is.
I personally think that contests have run their course. I'd rather see all that energy put into a couple big gala shows...quality shows that would raise money for queer non-profits instead of a little bit of charity and lots of travel funds. Closing my eyes, I can see the powerful impact that could be made if contest energy were funneled differently.
Quite a few of my good friends are current titleholders. Another handful are past sashes. The voice over I went to record last night is for background in a fantasy for Saturday's contest. It was fun, silly, political and edgy.
In addition, I believe that seeing we do have contests, all titleholders should be required to give at least 10 hours of volunteer time for something such as working a homeless shelter. It's a little dose of reality about what community service and role model is about.
When I think of all the so-called community service done by titleholders that remains within the leather community, all I picture is one massive group JO party. It seems to be more about alpha dog positioning.
I guess I just don't get it. Other than the ego-stroking, which I strongly felt (yes it's very seductive) when I was being recruited to run, I really don't get the intrigue.
Watching friends win over the last few years, I've seen how quickly they change. It's always gone one of two ways. Either, winning the title has pushed their potential and they've become more sure of themselves, stronger people. Or they've become arrogant and filled with self-importance.
I look at my Seattle friends, and they've become so busy with committees, brunches, socials and community politics that they don't have the time to play like they used to. I try to remind them what first drew them to s/m. Sex. Not committees.
An interesting conundrum.
I think of Drummer Magazine. It was edgy and radical when it came out. Each issue reprints the quote which at the time, fittingly led to the name of the magazine:
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." - Henry David Thoreau
This amuses me. Isn't that quote now a contradiction? The magazine, clubs, the contest circuit which still, year in and year out, continue to idolize and expect one to fit "the look". I don't have a problem with the look. To each their own. Fetishes are fetishes. But I don't understand how Thoreau, many years later, is still relevant to the Tom of Finland style.
It's another reminder for me of the similarity in people - how we all seek out some sense of family and grab it, sometimes desperately, wherever we can find it.
We weren't meant to be alone. We need each other. We need connection.
I have so much to share with you and yet I'm keeping a lot of it tucked to my chest.
Why?
Loads of thoughts are brewing and yet a big part of me has become a coward. It seems that after I was poked by Nayland and indulged in my peeve rant, I am feeling shy. It felt so good to rant. Some of it had been stuffed inside for a while. Why did I feel as if I needed permission to do so?
I am indulging in much self-censorship. The idea irks me but at the same time I know that some thoughts are not meant for a public forum. Some can be shared with a circle I feel safe with. Others, only with my intimates.
Or maybe it's a matter of how I write about it.
I don't know.
This uncertainty has littered my desktop with many half written drafts, never completed because while writing, "I can't post it" comes into my mind. My hands cease typing. I wonder how fucked up I really am. See what happens? I've freaked because I stood in the middle of the square opining.
It's crazy.
Maybe I can't handle all the goodness that's come my way. I know that all the recent opportunities are simply a preview of the possibility of my life. I see my natural tendency to rush back into the cave and hide.
Just in the little bit I've been able to read, I've taken in many meaty entries from others that have spawned massive mental masturbation. In some areas I am actually becoming clear with certain ideas that in the past, I could not articulate.
One big question: How do I communicate my thoughts so that they are perceived not as judgment on the behavior of others, yet instead actually seen as one of my personal truths? We have a big problem in our world. It seems to become more difficult to live with contradiction, when in fact life is filled with it. I can believe one thing and yet support or love a person who lives with a different truth. Why is that so difficult to take in?
The other, the bigger question: Do I trust (believe in, love) myself enough to dare share my voice and include it in the chorus of humanity?
Why?
Loads of thoughts are brewing and yet a big part of me has become a coward. It seems that after I was poked by Nayland and indulged in my peeve rant, I am feeling shy. It felt so good to rant. Some of it had been stuffed inside for a while. Why did I feel as if I needed permission to do so?
I am indulging in much self-censorship. The idea irks me but at the same time I know that some thoughts are not meant for a public forum. Some can be shared with a circle I feel safe with. Others, only with my intimates.
Or maybe it's a matter of how I write about it.
I don't know.
This uncertainty has littered my desktop with many half written drafts, never completed because while writing, "I can't post it" comes into my mind. My hands cease typing. I wonder how fucked up I really am. See what happens? I've freaked because I stood in the middle of the square opining.
It's crazy.
Maybe I can't handle all the goodness that's come my way. I know that all the recent opportunities are simply a preview of the possibility of my life. I see my natural tendency to rush back into the cave and hide.
Just in the little bit I've been able to read, I've taken in many meaty entries from others that have spawned massive mental masturbation. In some areas I am actually becoming clear with certain ideas that in the past, I could not articulate.
One big question: How do I communicate my thoughts so that they are perceived not as judgment on the behavior of others, yet instead actually seen as one of my personal truths? We have a big problem in our world. It seems to become more difficult to live with contradiction, when in fact life is filled with it. I can believe one thing and yet support or love a person who lives with a different truth. Why is that so difficult to take in?
The other, the bigger question: Do I trust (believe in, love) myself enough to dare share my voice and include it in the chorus of humanity?
My 25th high school reunion was in 2002. No, I didn't go. I haven't attended any of them. Oddly enough, yesterday while cleaning my desk at work, I discovered an envelope from my mother that included a form for me to complete to be listed in the alum directory. I filled it out and sent it in. Whatever.
Today, Mark Morford writes about his reunion.
He ends with:
"Ah, there it is. The true Ultimate Point. I feel it now. It is, of course, the hot breath of time, bearing down. This is the dark secret of reunions: They are all about mortality. About aging and the vagaries of the flesh and, you know, death -- how fast you are racing toward it, clinging to the walls of your life like a child being dragged off to bed and you feel compelled to ask yourself, Well, how are you thwarting that feeling? What have you learned? What the hell are you doing about it?
Are you beaten down? Are you singing as you go? Screaming? Have you made the right choices since you were 18? Do you know who you are and why you're here and did it turn out at all like you imagined? Well, why the hell not? Or if so, where are you going from here?"
A couple days ago, Auxugen and I were discussing pain. Good pain, the act of moving through positive pain, requires courage. It doesn't matter if it's s/m or regular life pain, be it emotional, spiritual or physical. Walk through the fire.
This was in today's email. I love how pain is differentiated between wise pain, (born of love) and stupid pain (fearful to move forward and therefore stuck in the same hurtful rotations):
"Let's discuss the differences between dumb, unproductive pain and smart, useful pain. The former is the kind you keep being drawn back to out of habit. It's familiar, and therefore perversely comfortable. The latter is the kind of pain that surprises you with valuable teachings and inspires you to see the world with new eyes. While stupid pain is often born of fear, wise pain is stirred up by love. The dumb, unproductive stuff comes from allowing yourself to be controlled by your early conditioning and from doing things that are out of harmony with your essence. The smart, useful variety arises out of a willingness to live passionately and with a sense of adventure. Can you guess which type I'm urging you to gravitate toward right now, Capricorn?"
Check out your Rob Brezsny 'scope.
Today, Mark Morford writes about his reunion.
He ends with:
"Ah, there it is. The true Ultimate Point. I feel it now. It is, of course, the hot breath of time, bearing down. This is the dark secret of reunions: They are all about mortality. About aging and the vagaries of the flesh and, you know, death -- how fast you are racing toward it, clinging to the walls of your life like a child being dragged off to bed and you feel compelled to ask yourself, Well, how are you thwarting that feeling? What have you learned? What the hell are you doing about it?
Are you beaten down? Are you singing as you go? Screaming? Have you made the right choices since you were 18? Do you know who you are and why you're here and did it turn out at all like you imagined? Well, why the hell not? Or if so, where are you going from here?"
A couple days ago, Auxugen and I were discussing pain. Good pain, the act of moving through positive pain, requires courage. It doesn't matter if it's s/m or regular life pain, be it emotional, spiritual or physical. Walk through the fire.
This was in today's email. I love how pain is differentiated between wise pain, (born of love) and stupid pain (fearful to move forward and therefore stuck in the same hurtful rotations):
"Let's discuss the differences between dumb, unproductive pain and smart, useful pain. The former is the kind you keep being drawn back to out of habit. It's familiar, and therefore perversely comfortable. The latter is the kind of pain that surprises you with valuable teachings and inspires you to see the world with new eyes. While stupid pain is often born of fear, wise pain is stirred up by love. The dumb, unproductive stuff comes from allowing yourself to be controlled by your early conditioning and from doing things that are out of harmony with your essence. The smart, useful variety arises out of a willingness to live passionately and with a sense of adventure. Can you guess which type I'm urging you to gravitate toward right now, Capricorn?"
Check out your Rob Brezsny 'scope.
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