Well...what a day and what an evening!

I have lots of catching up on the journal of others...and will do so this weekend.

Today was my regular therapy day, although it made 4 for this week...and so I did that deal. I know I'll write about it when I'm ready. Not now. I was still pretty bruised from all of this week's insights.

Regarding painting - all I did today was to continually look at the abstract. Yeah, I'm still in love with it. Not only that, but floored. Not in the sense that it's my best painting ever, but instead, I'm crushed out in love with how it's coming together. I am in awe of the process.

It feels like...although I know it's coming from me, from deep inside me...it really seems like the work is being created from something bigger than the me I know. The me I used to know. The old me. Apparently there is a new person within. That is the part that is tripping me out.

So...I'll sit here and relish the honeymoon period with my art.

Sir contacted me about getting together for a drink or something. I mentioned I had just gotten home from the shrink and would call him back later. I was still raw...exhausted and needed to be by myself. We ended up meeting at Septieme's about 8ish tonight. It was a perfect, perfect summer evening. You could wear short sleeves, jeans and boots and feel just right. Not too hot. Not too cold.

The sidewalk was filled with shiny, happy people.

I arrived first, walked into the Cafe and opted out of the booth. It felt hot and much too noisy for my taste. I wasn't in the mood. Instead, we sat at the end of their sidewalk tables. After a good hour of catching up, reading his latest column and discussing it, a mutual friend walked past. That began the parade of people who played musical chairs at our small cafe table. One of the folks, who I rarely see, happened to mention that my name had been tossed about all day in a certain meeting. Of course I pried him for details. And...I'm not going to share. Not yet. Not until it's official. I want to blurt really bad. But for all I know...it may not happen.

I promise, I'll let you know when I know for sure. Thing is...I'm so excited by the possibility!

Yeah, I'm being a tease. All I can say is, it's about art and sex. And in my book, for my life...it's all about art and sex. Everything else stems from that.

Right now I'm flying high. Before I go I have one more thing to say. Regarding this therapy crap...it once again is proving to me how worth it, it is.

As difficult and painful as things get...stirring up the muck is never fun...I have slowly been seeing the fruits of my labor. Slow in the sense that I didn't actively see anything for almost 3 years, only to turn a corner and be in absolute awe with how my world is changing. Tonight, once again, in spite of the raw, bleeding wound I carry inside...I'm almost speechless at the power that I am beginning to honestly believe lies in each one of us to heal ourselves. I am learning that support is crucial. Critical. But unless I am willing to dive into the filth, the support is useless.

Our strength, our potential, our possibility only comes from one place.
Me. You. Each of us, individually.

That is the god I bow before.
That is the only god I see.
I am.

from Wired.com

The Big Gulp
NASA pisses away millions hauling H2O into orbit. But there's a better way - recycle astronaut urine. Just one question: How does it taste?

Hmmm....there are a few of us NASA could ask.

Hoss came by last night to paint. Earlier, on the phone, I said that he was welcome, but I wouldn't be painting myself.

Because of what happened in therapy on Wednesday, I was still reeling. So much so that I had made an extra therapy appointment yesterday. I needed to continue to work through these new insights from old pain. This work meant there was nothing left inside...for painting.

Hoss sat at the easel and painted. I decided to pull out my sketchbook and draw. Copy figures. Working for a bit, I became bored. From there, I delved into my computer. But that wasn't doing it for me either. All I wanted to do was sit.

During the evening, my eyes were continually drawn to the abstract still in progress. I was seriously stuck. No energy to have the courage to be playful with it. I looked.

I've been studyin this particular painting quite a bit in the last week. It fascinates me and weirds me out. I have absolutely no direction. It doesn't scream out at me and say "I need this or that!"

At some point I remembered the words of a prof I'd rarely worked with. Honestly, the words that came into my head are the only thing I recalled of his teaching. This is because I may have only taken one class with him, if even that.

It was 1996. I was working in the studio, saved for senior thesis students. I have so many fond memories of that little space. There was a large painting I was struggling with. Excited, yet stuck. I lost my sense of direction. One particular prof came up, looked at it and we spoke a bit. The paint was fairly dry. He grabbed a large hunk of my charcoal and made lines on the painting. Only a few. It restructured the painting and in doing so, opened it wide.

Now that I think about it, it is no different than being locked in the cage. Sometimes our world feels so big and I can lose my sense of direction. Sir would lock me in the cage. In restricting me with the heavy, rusted bars, I found liberation. Once again my center, my core, would make itself known.

Last night I remembered the scene with the prof.

Although tired and spent, I knew what I had to do. I grabbed my little abstract piece. Then I rummaged in my art closet for my box of drawing materials. I hadn't opened this box in a long time. It had my tools. Old familiar friends, ever patient, simply waiting for me to come to them.

Have I mentioned how much I love charcoal? I mean...LOVE charcoal? Until I placed a stick in my hands and made the first mark, I had forgotten.

Quickly and intuitively, I made six or seven lines. Somehow, my hand just knew where to go. It was fast.

Stepping back, my heart lept. That is what the painting needed. It brought everything together. It gave it a sense of architecture. The marks of color make sense now. I'm enamoured with the piece.

Now, the only thing I'm not sure of is - I've never worked with retaining charcoal over oils. I'm not sure how it works. Or...if it can be done. How will the charcoal interact with oils and medium? If I can keep it, what do I use to fix it? Can anyone offer advice?

So, now I wonder if I go back into the piece with a dark oil line or if I can keep the charcoal. I prefer the latter.
It gave the painting a definite personality. It's no longer mushy and questioning.

From there, I looked down at the plain white butcher paper I had covered my table with. I began drawing on it with the charcoal. It was a quick sketch. I couldn't get enough of the feel of charcoal on paper. It reminded of the days when I'd spend all day on large charcoal drawings. Back then, my hand wouldn't stop moving. A few times, during class, it was so intense that I'd find blood on the paper. It came from the tip of one finger that continually rubbed against the paper and charcoal.

Charcoal is the painter's pencil. To hold its side and block in form and value feels like sculpting. It is not a surface act in the way pencil or pen and ink is for me. Instead it is definitely tangible and three dimensional.

Hoss looked at me and said "Look at that. And you said you weren't up to painting!" He chuckled.

Sometimes, it just happens.

Uh oh...

...Just when I thought it was safe to go back into the water...

Writing to a new friend today, I wrote:

"Speaking of the belly of the beast, I've just hit a new bump myself. Not sure if I'll blog about it. Probably when the pain eases some. It's amazing when we think we've grieved, dealt and moved on, to out of the blue be smacked in the head with more underlying pain. An old relationship, from '97. Strange. Yet I have to trust it is all perfect."

Well...I'm still surrounded by its pain. And yes, it's bizarre. I mean, 1997???? A month or two after it ended, I got my ass into therapy and spent the next year working on that. So WTF?

I'll go into more detail when I'm feeling stronger.

Suffice it to say that I'm blown away. A blip. An important blip in my life, but a blip nonetheless apparently carried more grief than the grief from Sir's stroke. I had no idea...until yesterday. This therapy stuff is either working fabulously, or it's for the birds.

Either way, it's bloody hell.

In today's email:

OPEN CASTING CALL - 2005 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival Trailer

Three Dollar Bill Cinema is seeking twelve Actors of diverse ages, genders, and ethnicity’s to perform in the production of the
2005 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival movie trailer.

This is a one-day shoot, scheduled for either Wednesday, August 17, or Tuesday, August 23, possibly overnight.
All applicants must be available all day on BOTH days/nights to be considered.

Some professional stage or screen acting experience is preferred, but not required. Couples and friends are encouraged to audition together. No pay is offered, but a VHS copy of the completed trailer may be provided. The trailer is scheduled to screen in some local theatres during the month of October and on Comcast cable television.

We are casting for:
· 2 women who are very athletic with strong arms/shoulders
· 2 men dressed in 70's retro clothing (pool players welcome!)
· A lesbian couple: one traditionally butch/ one femme
· 2 "night clubby" men
· An older lesbian couple (50’s or older)
· An older gay couple (50’s or older)

OPEN CASTING CALL DATE: Thursday, August 11, 5:30 - 8:00pm

LOCATION: Three Dollar Bill Cinema
1515 12th Avenue, between Pike & Pine
in Cinema #2 (the small theater)

No headshots required; video will be taken at the audition. No phone calls please.
--
Three Dollar Bill Cinema
Producer of the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival
Email: info@seattlequeerfilm.com

Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival 2005
October 14 - 23, 2005

Now that stopped for lunch, sushi comprised of spicy salmon rolls, a tad annoyed with myself because I didn't grab the soy, which means I'll dose up on the wasabi, I'll give you our Wednesday guys, Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology and Mark Morford's latest column.

Today Morford tackles the right winged question:
"Here it is: Where is your supposed progressive openness? Your liberal generosity of spirit? I thought you Lefties were all mushy and passive and live-and-let-live?

In other words, where is that famous so-called tolerance I thought all you libs were supposed to possess like some sort of gentle polyamorous smiling hug for the world?

To which I reply: You cannot be serious. Does the answer really need to be articulated? Is it not painfully obvious? Can I have a shot of Patrón and a long nap before I answer? Here goes ...",

The Profound In The Plain.

I have wanted to share something that’s been ongoing in my shrink sessions, yet never had the time/energy. T/E is a delicate combination, and when it appears, I have a list of things to grab during that oh so precious window.

Now is a good time.

Back at the end of May, I was becoming more comfortable doing couchwork. I don't know if it will ever get easy, but my resistance had lessened. This was the time I discovered a quiet that was my home.

Sometime after that the shrink was leaving for a 2 week stint and I wasn't anxious about the separation. Our last session before his absence, I calmly laid down on the couch and quietly said "I want to share silence with you, before you leave."

I heard his intake of breath as he settled in for a session of silence.

It was incredibly intimate. I was comfortable. Open.
He in his chair, I on the couch. The thickness and fullness of quiet blanketed us.

The two weeks were fine. Of course when he returned I had an adjustment period. Regrouping. But it was a short one of only a week. He needed to leave the following week, for a week. Within that week, big stuff came up. All good and all painful. I remember emailing him just about every day. He knew it was difficult and I needed the contact because he responded to each email (even when I said no response necessary).

The shrink returned at the end of June. Until now (including now)...I've yet to return to the somewhat ease of opening up and laying on the couch. It may happen. Grudgingly. I can feel myself battling.

Yeah...all the abandonment stuff arose during June. Pushed those buttons.

It makes sense, doesn't it? That one day, where I could freely lay down and just be…the incidences afterward slammed the door. I had just gotten back on the horse to hit a bump, fall off…and it scared me. Once again.

Now, fast forward to the last week of July.

"I don't want to lay down anymore."
"Why?"
"It's ridiculous."
"Really?"
"Yes. Everything's going fine. I’m gaining my footing. Look at all I've accomplished and what's come together without doing lots of couchwork." I continued, "See? It is ridiculous."
"Interesting." (dontcha just hate it when they use THAT word???) He adds, "If you were actually through with couchwork, you wouldn't be saying it was ridiculous. You'd be using other words."

Of course I growled at him.

July 29th. A few days later.

"I looked at the calendar. August is going to be an intense month."
"Why do you say that?” he asked.
"We have 5 solid weeks of 3 day a week appointments. No breaks. Intense."

A slow, sadistic smile appeared on his face.

That was the first time I concretely made the decision to not lay down in that session. It was the first time with the shrink where I consciously, stubbornly went against my gut. Absolute defiance.

Now in that defiance I did make another decision. I would commit myself to long couch sessions every session in August (unless the work on a given day was taking another tack). Jump in.
No excuses. Jump in.

So now it's August. And I'm in.

Last week something profound happened. It's still stuck in my head.
Sometimes, what may appear to be a small thing can have the same impact as a bomb.
It's deceptive really.

Laying on the couch, I was just there. Talking only if words appeared in the front of my eyes.

A tad relaxed…I said "Before his stroke, I used to lay down on Sir's couch all the time."

Whoa.

"I used to lay down on Sir's COUCH all the time."

The impact hit. In between training sessions, whenever I was feeling down, sad, extremely vulnerable, invisible…I’d call Sir and he’d invite me over. I’d spend the time curled up on his couch. Sometimes I’d fall asleep, only to be awoken by a presence. It would be him, covering me with a blanket. Sometimes he’d have some event that wouldn’t be appropriate for me to attend. Yet I was always welcome upstairs. He’d have one of the boys or slaves bring food up to me.

Other than the cage, that little loveseat became a powerful refuge.

"I used to lay down on Sir’s couch all the time."

Tears began to fall. I opened up. "I miss Sir. I miss the him that used to be."
Those words were so difficult to utter. They came out in a hoarse whisper.
More walls began to crack.

I know, from speaking with the shrink, that the technique of laying on the couch is a precarious one. It’s tough for most of us, placing us in a larger state of vulnerability.

What I didn't realize, until last week, is how I had an added demon within that process.
The symbol of couch, with someone close, already carried a greater weight. It was one I unconsciously didn't want to draw near.

Something as simple as the couch represented a safety and intimacy I wasn't prepared to touch again.
Or so I thought.

Who woulda thunk?

Seattle Queer Film

Found in my work email:

Volunteer for the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival
Three Dollar Bill Cinema, producer of the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival, is looking for volunteers for our festival in October, 2005. We need volunteers to help usher, sell tickets, distribute posters, assist with our computers, web, accounting and more!

Volunteering for the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival is a great way to make friends and meet new people. Festival volunteers earn coupons to see free movies, it's fun and you're supporting a good cause.

ALSO! Save the date for our Volunteer Orientation, Saturday, October 1, 2005 at 1515 12th Ave at 12 PM sharp! Between Pike and Pine Streets on Capitol Hill. At the volunteer orientation you will learn all about festival volunteer shifts and sign up for them, for the first time ever, online! So bring your wifi laptop too!

For more information email Cresdan Maite, MPA, Director of Volunteers, at info@seattlequeerfilm.org or call (206) 323-4274 #1.

A little masturbation.
Okay, okay...a lot of masturbation.

Yesterday I mentioned that EBhotbear had a private entry and so you couldn't read the nice things he wrote regarding our meeting. Well he read that and commented in a more public venue. I'll share with you.
His comment:

Miss out on all the nice thing I said about you.. AS IF.
Direct from my entry...

"I don't know where to begin about the aptly named [info]girlfagpnw. She is.. She is... Just...Wow.... We talked.. a lot... About everything. Especially kink.... The minute I met her, I was comfortable..And I wanted to touch her and hug her. Her energy is HAWT, folks. She is FAG.... Bawdy, bodacious, in your-face-oozing-sex-energy that floored me repeatedly over the short time I spent with her... I kind of make it sound like she is some sort of sex fiend, and she may be, or it may just be that the sparks between us were just FLYING. She is also an INFUCKINGCREDIBLE Artist. I not only got the priviledge of seeing her newest painting in progress, which I will not describe except to say that I will be having wet dreams over it for may a night to come, I also had the honor of buying one of her paintings!!

We walked around downtown Seattle today, me, Auxugen and Girlfagpnw, me with my arm around each of them, stroking thier heads, feeling my Daddy energy. I felt like the luckiest guy in the world, walking around with easily the two most beautiful submissives I have ever met."

Yeah...I was...well...pleased, touched, and very surprised with his generous words.

Thanks man.

Look at what I found.

Remember a while back when I wrote about show "Rock Star – INXS"?
This is where you can catch the video performances.

It's separated by week, and within each week you can check out Elimination, Performance or Exclusives.

Some of my favorites, in the performance section, are Week 3 with Mig doing "Lola" and Marty doing "Lithium". (Love that song...and he does a fabulous job with it). And...the exceptional piece is in Week 4 with Jordis singing "The Man Who Sold The World."

Check it out if you like rock.
Overall, these kids have great attitudes and strong talent. Yeah...some fall on their faces...but it's about weedin' out.

I just received an email regarding a quote I used in my previous entry:

The email:

"With all due respect to your Sir, many transfolk hear nontrans
people using the word "tranny" to refer to us as being in the same
category as the n-word. Would he also have pointed over to the
"nigger" corner? If not, I hope he reconsiders his language."

My response to this person:

Thank you for writing.

You bring up a good issue, and so not only will I respond to you in email, but it's a good topic for my blog.

With all due respect, I was quoting another person, who is not my Sir but who happens to be a transman and the producer of the FTM conference. He was pointing to his friends. People he cares about and loves. In my area, it is a common term, affectionally used by some transfolk and some of their allies alike. I do know the word means different things to different people. Just as fag, cunt, nigger and so many others do.

It is all about context. Always about context.
The word was not spoken derogatorily, yet in direct opposite.

I too have been offended when certain words have been used. But, when I took a breath and stopped to think about it, the offense was and is not the word used, yet the intent behind the word. There would be a derogatory edge, hateful and discriminatory. That would be the offense. That will always be the offense.

There are a few friends who I know and love who do not like the term in any context. In direct contact with them, I honor their preference for the sole reason of choosing my battles. It wounds them more to hear it than for me to not say it.

But, in a public blog, I am not going to tie and tangle myself in political correctedness. PC continually changes and evolves. On top of it I don't understand the idea that a person or persons can be crowned as word police - those who decide that this word or that word 'should' not be used.

Cultures and communities change and morph. It not only differs with interests, but in geographical areas. Everyone has their own hot buttons, things that have hurt us in the past. And yes, when heard, seen, smelled or tasted, it brings up the pain or uncomfortableness. At some point we need to look beyond and see that it is not the rock that causes us to bleed but whatever lay in the other person that caused them to throw the rock. And I would go one step deeper and seek out where the original hurt stemmed from and maybe begin to make peace with it.

I am about liberation which involves the awareness to look deeper and see the intent behind words used as well as free speech.

Everyone will have their own opinion about words used and how they are used. I appreciate that. There is no way that my words or my actions will please everyone all of the time. Someone will always take some offense to something.
We would essentially remain speechless for fear of not being what is considered PC somewhere in the world.

I hope this helps to clarify my position. My intent was in sharing a moment of friendship and camaraderie.

warmly,
gf
-------------

This weekend.

How about an update?

I began this entry last night. This morning, I discovered that EBHotBear wrote his version, so I'll link to that in a bit. It'll shorten my entry.

-Friday morning I met with the producer of Gender Odyssey 2005. This was the 1 hr meeting that morphed into 3 because...well...just because. Amazing conversation. He has decided that my work needs to be shown in this particular venue. Not only had he brought an application with him, but on Sunday, he emailed the art coordinator and myself so we could connect.
I'll follow up today.

It was interesting. I didn't think I had anything appropriate for this venue. My paintings, regarding subject matter, are all over the map. Much turns me on and so I do it. The current pieces I'm working on now include, in addition to the still lifes, abstract, self portrait and a masturbation piece, a new little painting of the roof tops I can see from my windows. It goes back to that not boxing myself in. I can't say something like, "I'm concerned about the state of X and so will paint my opinions in protest..." or whatever. I can't push an idea.

It seems to me, as long as I try to live with a sense of integrity, remain open and mindful to the moment, and attempt to be compassionate, no matter what I do...it will be political. Each breath is a political statement. I don't have to force anything.

Regarding my painting, either I feel it inside or not. I will not be pegged as an an "erotic artist" or one who paints the state of queer life. Bluntly, I'm painting my life. It's the way I see, live, taste and feel the world around and within. My tastes are varied and large, being the pig I am...and therefore I'll touch it all. And, my ultimate painting passion continues to be still life painting. I don't know why it intrigues me so much except for the fact that we are all vessels. Filling up, spilling over, empty. I've always seen them as self portraits. Also, on the gut visual level...there is just something about painting jars, pots and bowls that fuckin' turns me on. The shapes. The colors.

They are there. They don't do anything. They aren't anything. And yet they are very important. We need containers. They hold our food. Our water.
It's simple, really.

What I find interesting is, something I encountered a few years back - just because I'm Leather queer, people seemed to expect me to paint that. When I'd show them my landscapes or still lifes, I'd see and hear their disappointment. For me, that would be a very telling sign.

I am not an illustrator. I am a painter.

So, to make a short story a little longer...I didn't think there would be anything of interest for the conference art show.

Apparently, what struck the person were the paintings that came from my task in training. It was the assignment created for me to earn my boots.
"Paint your experience, this (the training) experience."

Considering I was in the middle of dealing with Sir's requirement of having thrown all my self-assumptions out of the window...including gender and
sexuality...there was much discomfort, vulnerability, and feeling invisible. Stripping and rebuilding. The uncomfortableness I lived that wasn't only felt in my skin but with my space in this world.
That is what I attempted to paint. And that is what struck the conf. guy.

So I'll show, if the art coordinator agrees, that is.

Saturday, Hoss and I got together to paint.

Later that night, I was headed to The Cuff. It was not a play night for me, although I did have the opportunity to be man-handled, so to speak. Along with my 16" Chippewa engineer boots, I was wearing my professional queer hat for the evening. ;-)

Being on a personal mission to bridge the two communities, Sir was host for a social he created to introduce the new International Mr. Deaf Leather to the other (and overabundance of) titleholders in the greater Seattle area. Northwest Rainbow Alliance for the Deaf also had a large contingency there. In addition, the conf. producer I met with on Friday showed up. We had a chance to talk until, as I was being pulled away to speak with someone else, he then chuckled, said, "I'm headed for the tranny corner", and pointed to the group that had gathered.

That night, the back patio of The Cuff had an amazing mix of diversity. Unfortunately, I was so very tired, and left after an hour and a half. I knew that Auxugen and EBHotBear were showing up because I had mentioned the event to them and they had agreed to attend. We missed each other by minutes.

This, folks, will lead us into the rest of the weekend, provided by EBHotBear.
Never mind. I just realized that it's a private entry. Linking to it is futile.
Oh well, you're just gonna have to miss out on all the nice things he said about me!

Meeting him was...amazing. Absolutely amazing. None of us wanted to stop talking or being together. It was comfortable, sexy and smooth. His energy is big and good.

And...he bought one of my paintings. Can you believe it??? I was very surprised, thrilled and honored.

I'll grab the image to post it here.

This piece is a very small piece. Size does matter. :-) When I see images of paintings, I'm always curious of size. Some are meant to be large and others small. That's what I like about this one. It's quiet and intimate. It's an oil, an 8" x 10" study. It's one of a few I did before tackling a much larger piece.

The painting that EBhotbear now owns: (thanks for the image EBhotbear!)





Anyway...that's my weekend.

Seriously pooped.
Had a great weekend. Really great.
I'll tell you about it once I find my oomph.

The secret to mental exhaustion.

That's not accurate.

The secret to my mental exhaustion.
As Hoss has said in the past - your mileage may vary. All I can do is relay my experience. A few people have asked me to share any solutions I find, but I am not going to presume it would apply to anyone else. It may. It may not. I have no idea.

On Wednesday I finally had the opportunity to ask the shrink about the overwhelming tiredness that comes upon me without notice. He agreed that I need to keep being mindful of sleep, what I eat, work stress, etc. That is the regular stuff we all need to look out for. I concurred and then said "I fear I'm becoming an extreme introvert. It seems that with each passing month, just the idea of engaging with others kicks my ass. I used to cancel plans often because of the tiredness. That's lessened because now I'm afraid to make the plans."

The shrink explained that years ago, when he was doing the same kind of work I am right now, he had uttered almost those exact words to his shrink. He understood. He knew. He experienced.
I was relieved.

He went on to explain that my rational mind is working in hyperspeed and overdrive trying not to let me go where I am naturally going. Where I need to go. Facing and feeling all I have to. Therefore it (the mind-me) is wearing me out.

"Ohhh....so it's like my being in the river and treading water. It's fine for a bit but then it wears me down. When I'm tired of treading water, I just have to float on my back."

"Exactly. It is a good way to explain it."

I let the words sit with me.

Yesterday, when all the pain came up, I felt the exhaustion hit. It was so heavy that it came with tears. Tears because I'm tired of being tired.
I remembered the shrink's explanation and wondered "how do I let myself just be in what I feel?"
The answer seemed simple enough but it came with uncertainty. Do nothing.

Do nothing.

Do no thing.

Although logical, it didn't feel like enough. I wondered if I should actively and consciously try to rope the pain so I could jump into the fray and didn't know how to do that. It felt as if I had to create an environment which would allow me to do no thing...somehow 'Martha Stewart' (yes, that's a verb) the perfect experience to feel my pain.

While in the midst of my mental dilemma, there was a strong desire to lay down and close my eyes. I listened to it. Not about napping, I reclined, shut my eyes and just was.

It seems that I tend to make things more complex than they are. It was simple. And it worked. Last night I had the energy to expend energy and get replenished at the same time. This morning, right now anyway, I'm alert and awake.

I see how I'm fighting myself trying to protect myself.
Stop struggling fag.
Stop it and breathe.

What do Martin Luther, whose writings ignited the Reformation in the 1500's, 3 margueritas, and a 2' x 3' bed of nails smack dab in the center of the gay ghetto on the corner of Broadway and John have in common?

How about me?
And how about today?

I'm not going to write the back story this minute because that would turn my entry into a much longer piece. The rest will have to wait for another day. Suffice it to say that it's been a very difficult, yet productive week, emotionally speaking.

After a really good morning, I wanted to paint but it was too hot for me. Sorry. Just can't do it when the weather gets over 80 in my apartment. Call me a prima donna. I don't care. The older I get, the less I can handle the heat.

So, I figured I'd watch a movie, chill out...and maybe paint when the temperature dropped, totally forgetting the fact that in Seattle, the hottest part of the day comes at 5 pm. Back east, I remember it was much earlier than that.

Sir loaned me a dvd he's wanted me to watch, knowing my upbringing. Today I popped it in. Luther.

Have you seen it? I had never heard of it until Sir mentioned it to me. The link is to the trailer. Check it out.
It's a beautiful film. And for me...it was tough to take. On so many levels.

Halfway through I stopped to make lunch. Checking my emails, I replied to Sir's. I included a bit that I was in the middle of Luther, and informed him that I thought it was an excellent yet for me, painful film. He responded, saying that if I wanted to talk afterwards...he was here for me.

I returned to the movie, engrossed. Afterwards...I was trashed. Totally trashed. It's not only the fact that he was arguing, rationally, the faults of the Roman Catholic Church at that time...although that was enough to send me. But what I saw in the Church is the same thing that's happening now, in our country, with our government. And it's happened over and over throughout history.

It left me with a massive feeling of despair.

This film also pushed all my buttons of not being seeing or heard as a child and a teen. It brought up all the anger I felt whenever (which was all the time) I tried to question tradition, authority and anything else. I was silenced. Over and over.

"It's about faith. You just have to accept. That's how God wants it."

The reason I broke with the Church at 16 is because my rational mind could not make any sense out of the Church's teaching, doctrines and dogmas. I could no longer, in good conscious, blindly follow.

That is what Luther is all about.

Afterwards, I googled for the film, and read many reviews. It was quite sad because it seemed that no one commented on the bigger picture.All the reviews mentioned it was an excellent film, and gave a good depiction of the break of the Catholic Church and the Empire. No one spoke or alluded to the fact that this is an ongoing problem...in all facets of our lives. Arrrgghh!

So much pain welled up inside. I emailed Sir, "I just finished the movie. It's excellent. Excellent. I'm trashed and need to be alone."

I didn't know what to do with the pain I felt. It seemed my body wasn't big enough to contain it. The pain was a personal and universal pain at the same time. I grieved for myself, my kid, my upbringing...and for our world.

An immense exhaustion came over me. I chose to give into it and laid in my very comfy leather chair. Draping my legs over one arm, I closed my eyes and let myself be. No tv, no computer, no music. (That's a new one....no distractions). I was with my pain. Alone.

About an hour later I felt my energy return. My heart was a little lighter. I was hungry.

And more than anything, I wanted a drink.

So I connected with Sir...and after a cool shower to wash off the sweat and the sorrow, we met at Septieme. You know my max is two drinks. I knew I needed tequila tonight. Sir and I spoke at length about the movie. When our favorite waiter came around again...we opted for a 3rd drink. Unlike both of us but it was perfect. He reminded me that once in a while...we all need something to comfort us after working so hard with our pain. I remembered the shrink has said the same thing to me about a month ago.

It was about 8:30 and we left the Cafe. A perfect, clear and balmy summer evening. We each grabbed a truffle from Dilletante Chocolates and delighted in those while heading over to pick up the weekly gay rag. Sir had another story published this week and he wanted my opinion. I plopped down on the steps of the queer church to finish my chocolate and read his column.

Afterwards...I didn't feel my evening was complete. Normally, I'd head east and he'd head west. I mentioned I wanted to walk some more. He agreed. We walked...and headed back the way we had come.

The corner of Broadway and John, on Friday and Saturday evenings, tends to have someone(s) either doing dance routines or something. I noticed a man juggling 3 very large swords with fat blades. We went over to watch.

There were 4 guys...advertising their Sunday show. They were handing out leaflets...and one was doing the juggling. We stopped to talk with them. I looked down and saw the bed of nails. Yes...that is one item that's always squicked me out. Big time. Even on tv, when I see someone lay on it, I can't watch.

The nails were the large 3 inch nails, fully covering a 2'x3' board.

I have no idea how it began...but I think Sir did it. He asked them if I could try it out. My jaw dropped.
Sir said "do you trust me?"
"Yeah...but they're sharp!"
"Do you trust me?"
"Sir, yes Sir."

I walked over to the bed, laying on the ground.

"I can't do this."
"Why not?"
"I like my shorts."
"Huh???"
"Listen, it took me a while to find these...and the material is thin. I do not want holes poked in them."

Sir and the guys laughed.

"I have a difficult time finding shorts I like (especially when I don't do trendy.) I am not ruining my shorts!"

Hey...we all have our limits.

They laughed some more and then one of the carnival type guys grabbed some padding and put it on the bottom part of the bed where my ass would be.
I laid down on the bed of nails.

What a surprise. I loved it. I could feel the sharp edges poking into my back...and it was turning me on.

After a bit I got up. We hung out...talked...and then one of the guys laid on it on his belly. Someone placed a board on his back, stood on that board and began the juggling.
Now I was quite intrigued.

So...Sir being Sir...pushed me into laying on the nails...on my belly.

This time I jumped at the chance. I got on my knees on the concrete. This is where it cracked me up. One of the guys had me get up so he could place a pair of pants on the concrete. He didn't want my knees to get abraded! Yeah...I saw the irony in that.

He then warned me that being on my belly would be more uncomfortable than laying on my back.

It wasn't. Not for me.
I told him so.
He started to laugh and said "Oh yeah...that's because you don't have a penis. The nails are tough on the dick."
I bet.

Then they asked if I wanted the board on my back and someone on top of that. Sir jumped in and warned them.
"If you do that to her, be prepared to hear her cum all the way down Broadway."

I chuckled. The guys decided they didn't want to take that chance.

We talked with them a while longer...and then continued on walking.

When I arrived home, I peeled off my clothes to take a shower...because, well...it's warm out there.
I happened to catch my reflection in the mirror and noticed my front was filled with little nail welts. Up and down my stomach and chest.

Can you say a very weird, strange day???

It makes me happy.

I'm thrilled I faced some more of my old wounds.
I'm thrilled that I was with my pain, in the quiet.
I'm thrilled that Sir was able to share that with me...and we spoke some more of the healing around his stroke.
I'm thrilled that I tried something that had a major squick factor for me.

And...I didn't tell you about my morning.
I had a meeting with the producer of an annual conference, taking place in September, here in Seattle. We were supposed to meet for an hour, at my place. It ended up being three hours. Neither of us wanted to stop talking. He had an additional agenda. He wants some of my paintings for the show they'll be hanging during the conference. He chose the ones he'd like to see hanging.

It looks as if I'll be showing work in a month.
I'll write more about this later, but tonight I'm tired.

Yeah...it was definitely a full and very bizarre day.
All appearing unrelated yet interconnected in more ways than I can share right now.

Night all.

Before I start my day...


It's amazing when you discover another layer to peel away that allows for deeper vulnerability.
It's amazing when you realize you had no idea how closed up you were in specific aspects of your life...until that nut cracks open.

It's amazing to feel again.

Lots of stuff.

Let's begin with Freewill Astrology.

Mark Morford has returned from vacation with his thoughts on megachurches:

"I mention all this because megachurches are the latest phenomenon, the hottest trend in the Christian godfearin' biz, arena-scaled piety polished up and bloated out and aimed like a giant homophobic cannon straight at the gloomy face of a new and improved God, one who apparently truly loves the fact that these tacky sanitized enormo-domes are raking in an average of $5 million a year each, depending on size and girth and magnetism of their glossy preprogrammed pastors and depending on how many CDs and syrupy self-help books and movie production companies and proselytizing Web sites and recording studios and hateful radio brainwashin' programs and malicious teenage abstinence seminars they have to go along with the nearly naked virgin car-wash fund-raisers they offer up to Jesus on warm summer Sundays."

And now for my stuff.

Yesterday I spoke of how easily the life gets sucks out of me. But late yesterday afternoon I had an experience which did the opposite. I wrote the following last night...

------------

Now this afternoon, after a meeting, I had a very different
experience. It was not about depletion. The person I met with is one who has strongly encouraged me to do something at the conference. We hadn't met in many, many months...until this afternoon. She slid into the booth, with a big
smile on her face and said "so catch me up on all you're up to."

With this person, I can share so much. She listens, and in her
listening, somehow I'm fed. It's so refreshing to dump lots of my
theories and ideas. I periodically stop to check in and listen to
her. But she lets me know that this is my time...for her to hear me.

Meetings drain me big time. Yet today, I was reminded that everytime
she and I meet, I am replenished. I leave on cloud nine. More
buoyant, excited and a little less alone. Although this person isn't
into Leather (as far as I know)...I can and do speak about training with Sir. I
speak about my therapy. I talk about my ideas around discrimination,
the queer community, subcultures, art, the state of my painting,
spirituality...and on...and on.

In just about each meeting, I've had lightbulb moments regarding
things I've struggled to verbalize, and new insights for thoughts
that were previously troubling.

In an odd way, she feels like my champion. Pushing me, encouraging
me and considering extra connections for me.

It is a huge breath of fresh air. I don't have to explain in a way
where I'm defending my viewpoint. It is invigorating. She may or may not agree with my ideas yet it is about acceptance and
eagerness to know more.

Now that I think about it, I don't believe I've ever had such a
thing. Yes...I love the time with my shrink. He too is all about
listening. Yet he and I have a different agenda. Our time together is work. Lots of work. Whereas, this is...I'm not sure what. I do become concerned that I'm not feeding her as she is me. But it must be okay. At the end, she was eager to
continue meeting, and suggested and hoped we connect more frequently than we have in the last year.

---------------

This morning I am still mulling over the idea of what energizes me and what wears me down. Yes, I know actions that help.

Painting.
Sex.
Intense, brutal, raw, not fit for public consumption s/m.
Bondage.

Unfortunately, those aren't accessible each and every day. Wouldn't it be nice though? My coworkers tease me about turning my little office into a cage. Or better yet, placing a cage in the corner of the conference room. When I'm stressed or empty...they'd lock me up. Replenishment.

Time to jump into my Friday for the week.

I just had a thought regarding my earlier entry on exhaustion.

Methinks it is time to begin taking vitamins again, including a good dose of the B's.

I've been busy. It looks like these short workweeks with vacation days thrown in are going to make for very full work days. I am going into hyperfocus-work mode because I don't want to fall behind. The prize is knowing I have 4 days in a row to paint and rest.

Something else I discovered today. The tiredness I frequently feel, which manifests itself in the physical, is actually mental exhaustion. In the last month, I've learned my patterns. X amount of socializing or engaging with folks in most situations requires 2X amount of rest. But today it clicked. The origins of the tiredness are brain tired. When I'm expending a certain amount of energy and not receiving my food via energy returned...it's depleting. And for some reason, mental tiredness hits me harder than simply overdoing it physically. Not only is my body tired, but I can't even do things such as write, paint, read, watch a movie or listen to people. It's a down to the marrow kinda tired and therefore feels fully debilitating. I'm pretty much up to one day a week of that kind of exhaustion. So, I try to plan accordingly now. If I have something planned one day, I try to clear my calendar for the next. Or in reverse. If I want to do something for me...such as paint, then I'm very protective of my energy the day before.

My inbox is currently filled with wonderful emails that I crave to sink my teeth into and spend more time with. Yet, I don't have it in me right now. Sir tried to loan me this new film he watched yesterday. He watched it twice and put it in his top 5 movies. Today in emails, he would rave over and over. I couldn't do it. It's on my "to watch" list now, but I couldn't even fathom watching it before this weekend.

During my session tomorrow, I'll check all this with the shrink. I need to learn how to balance and dole out accordingly. In my gut, I know one solution to replenishing myself. Daily meditation. I've seen how it helps in the little bit I've done it. But I'm not going there. Not now. Maybe later, but not now.

Call me stubborn. It wouldn't be the first time.

So...do you have any suggestions to keep mental exhaustion at bay?

Hit by a truck.

Figuratively, that is.
I worked a catering gig yesterday. I left my house at 1pm, and didn't return until midnight. The job was out in Gold Bar, an hour and a half northeast of Seattle, in the mountains.

It was a beautiful location. Very large wedding. The people were quite pleasant. And...it was hot and very humid. We don't get that kind of humidity in Seattle. This was reminscent of New England summers. By 9 pm all the mosquitos were out. One minute it was fine. I was hauling ass, bussing tables, sweat pouring down my face, and in the next trip out...I could feel my face and neck get bitten, and I couldn't swoosh them away. Heavy load of dishes in my bus tub.

Once the wedding started, we ended up booking it non-stop for 4 hours. With this particular job we didn't even have 5 minutes to sit and grab a bite of food ourselves.

I don't mind the physicality and the rush. Part of me gets off on it. Although, at 45, I don't think I have it in me to do it everyday. I suppose though, with time, I'd build up endurance again.

Normally, these big wedding jobs are on Saturdays and I can crash on Sunday. But today is a work day and seeing I've scheduled myself for 3 10's a week (M-W) for the next 5 weeks, I couldn't take the time today. Also...it's a big day because I have many different lists to pull for folks. Donor listings for our annual report (which is always a challenge), list for NCOA so I can hopefully retrieve new addresses for folks who are tagged as lost, and a couple other lists. I can't remember what they are right now. I'll fish out the notes on my desk.

I have a shrink appointment in an hour. I think my tiredness and low reserves are going to work to our benefit. I don't have the energy to hide and wall up.

Which leads me to something I want to share, but it will wait until I'm more awake. Briefly, I've noticed that the better and calmer I feel inside, the more closed up I get with the shrink. It's an interesting development. With all my talk about shadow walking in yesterday's entry...please don't get the idea that it comes easy to me. Sometimes I can dive in. Many times I drag myself in kicking and screaming. And others...like this last week, a fierce stubborness has brewed up within me and I close off.

Just because I'm aware of where I need to go does not mean I step without resistance.

Talk with ya later...

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
Turn and face the strange - David Bowie

A meandering....


Work is sending me to NGLTF's Creating Change conference this year. It is being held in Oakland, in November and will be my first Creating Change. A few folks have wanted me to attend for the last couple years but it was never budgeted. This year it is. I have been fascinated by this conference because as activist conferences go, it seems to have a greater sense of holism.

Not only that, but this is the conference where a certain someone had an interest in my coming up with a workshop. Yes, I alluded to this last week. Well, yesterday I noticed the deadline for workshop ideas was a couple weeks ago. That's fine with me. I think it first is more important for me to get the lay of the land.

While at Septieme's the other night, I saw Icarus and mentioned all this to him, including the fact that (other than one quick workshop thought), when the idea was first suggested, I really didn't think I had anything to offer and couldn't understand the interest. Trust me. This isn't false humility. I was puzzled...and couldn't put my finger on it. With time, I've learned I do have something to offer. What I do not know is how to offer it up.

Changes. Creating change. Activism.
It seems we see those as big ideas. Public action, focused outward. Reaction.

I see its importance.

For me, my idea of greater activism is personal and internal. So how could I even begin to share that?
It is simple. It is quiet and it is private.

This morning, I responded to a comment with the mention of our shadow selves. Since then, it's been stuck in my head.

I am intrigued and I suppose enamored by shadow. That's why I craved Sir's training above others. Do not misundertand. I am not putting down other forms of training. They simply were not right for me. We each have to follow our own path. I didn't want to put on the layers, the masks and the regalia. Not yet. First I craved to see what lay underneath. Sir's teachings then morphed into psychotherapy which is all about shadow. And...so is Zen. There's an idea that Zen is a device used to seek the calm space and if we don't achieve that particular state of being during meditation then there is something wrong.

Sitting brings up all sorts of ghosts. Never having done a formal sit, I've been told zazen can be a maelstrom. I do know that any type of meditation has the potential and will at some point, immerse us in the chaos of our self. The centeredness and balance comes from not fearing our shadow, accepting it, feeling it and allowing to be what it is. So yes, one can achieve calm with Zen, but mediation isn't all rainbows, happiness and flowers. It is to discover the rock that we are while in the midst of the storm.

Whoa.

Here's an aside.

Last year the shrink and I were speaking of altars and statues. I have a big problem with statues and more so with Buddha statues. I truly and emphatically believe that if Buddha were alive and saw how he was elevated, he'd be absolutely mortified. Our buddha nature? Crap. I understand the use of the word, but again, as humans who need to have someone to look up to, instead of focusing on our own strength, this whole buddha stuff feels it plays right into that weakness. Anyway, a tangent within a tangent.

Altars.
During our conversation the shrink mentioned that one zen group had only one thing on their altar. A rock. Immediately, upon hearing those words, an "ohhhh" sprang from my lips and tears from my eyes. It struck me in the most powerful way. I didn't understand why at the time, but saw truth. Now I know. Focus on the rock that we are. Our own strength.

Double whoa.

End of aside.

When I look at art (subject matter is irrelevant), I gravitate toward work that seeks the shadow space of life. Regardless of technique, the piece has a rawness - a vulnerability which creates a unique integrity. In that, not only do I discover the erotic but it will scream sex.

Mind you, I am speaking of my personal experience and view.

I belong to many discussion lists and read many blogs. I don't engross myself in many topics. Or I may start and then need to stop. It's not because I have nothing to say. Instead, with these passing months, I discover I have much to say and don't know where to begin. It is all so interconnected and not as complex as we've made it. It's simple and it is large. In its simplicity...I have no words. Only a heart knowing.

With all this, I don't engage in life wondering how I'm going to change the world. Instead, my focus is on how I can continue to be present to my own evolution, knowing on some level all my actions, thoughts, words, and each inhale and exhale are a ripple in the universal pond.

Shadow self.
In my opinion, the most substantial change comes from dancing with our shadow. What lays in the bowels of our own personal hell? Why is it there? How do we walk through those flames to rise in phoenix-like fashion?

Discrimination, in all its disguises, is derived from fear. Fear is the substance of shadow.

For some unknown and bizarre reason, I feel and therefore am driven to explore my shadow.

This knowledge seems in direct contradiction with doing a public workshop. But, blogging about my stuff tends to remove some of the privacy which becomes an obvious contradiction that I am comfortable with. Strange.

It is all strange.
Very strange.

I think I'm becoming Padacia's pimp.

Check out this photo.
Really.
It is Michal Chelbin's photography. Gorgeous...on so many levels.

Anniversary.

Tonight, I went to the hospital to pick up my friend and bring him home. I walked in the lobby, into the elevator and got off on the 8th floor. As soon as I stepped out, I smelled it. Hospital smell. Although it doesn't bother me, having worked in a hospital and nursing homes many years ago, it struck me. Hmmm...when was the last time I smelled a hospital? I realized it was when Sir was in for his stroke. We were there every day for a week. Then it dawned on me that today was almost exactly, if not the actual day, the 3rd year anniversary of Sir's stroke. I can't quite remember if it was the 29th or the 30th.

It was a dagger to the heart and a massive belly sink.
When I went to get the car, I wasn't fast enough to beat the tears back to the garage.

We have no idea what life has in store for us. The best laid plans, albeit well-meaning and important, do not prepare us.

Shit.

Yes, it is true. The fag is in love.


I haven't been sleeping well in the last week or so. Normally, I like to crash around 10 because I enjoy being awake around 5. Lately, I see 11 and then midnight. My eyes still first open around 5 and I squeeze them shut hoping to capture another hour or so. The bright sun and Seattle heat are powerful forces working against my extra sleep.

On Monday and Tuesday I clearly saw how my vacation was a vessel that held and revealed all I'm learning from the work with my shrink. It seemed that everywhere I turned, there was something else to show me personal progress.

The tumblers are clicking into place.

Today, other than driving my friend home from the hospital, will be a painting day. Tomorrow afternoon I am working a catering gig, so it's even more important I become a recluse today. Conserve my limited amounts of people energy.

Painting.

I have fallen in love with my current work. Totally giddy, butterflies in my stomach, mushy, gushy, caramel butterscotch sickening sweet, in love.

I'm not going back to check and so don't know if I've written this or not, but I feel I'm coming into my own with my work. In school, I felt a sense of confidence. It was safe because I had a prof to fall back on. When unsure I could lean on them. If I was oblivious and not present to my work, they were right there, reminding me I may get hit by a truck. One of my favorite comments at the beginning of my thesis year came from one prof who looked at what I worked on all summer. "What the fuck is this shit?" I felt a small stab and then knew that he saw I fell into what was safe. No risks taken. I wasn't pushing myself the way I had been during the year. I hold his words with affection because he saw more in me. Two months later, in class, he came up to me and said... "hmmm...now you're getting somewhere." Those words were gold.

After I graduated, I spent the next year painting. A friend and I were painting side by side, sharing work, critiques, comments...and I felt as if I was barely treading water. It seemed as if I didn't know what made a good painting. There was no trust in myself. I felt I was working blind. Unsettling.

Once I moved to Seattle, my painting (when I did paint) still had that uncertainty. Very tentative. Other than a handful of pieces that stand out, it felt like I had no fucking clue. I didn't know what I was doing.

Imagine baking a pie. All the ingredients are in front of you. You have a rolling pin, a pie pan, an oven. Standing there, in your apron, ready to bake...everything looks like foreign objects. If you don't know the measurements...what do you do? How long to cook for? How much flour? Sugar???

That's what it felt like. Not that painting is a measured science for me. I felt I had the tools yet didn't know how to access any of it in a way to allow creation of something edible.

So, why oh why after not painting for over a year, it began to come together? I feel a strength, a sureness. All I can determine is that it seems the more I can tap into the deeper parts of myself, I find the key to connecting what I've learned. I think it's about trust. This doesn't mean I know the answers. Instead, it feels as if I am becoming more comfortable with my painting gut which allows me to be freer with the painting. Looking at my work, I do not have a final vision for any of the works and it doesn't matter.

For the first time in my life I am in love with the painter that is me.

Glimpses.

This afternoon I dropped a friend off at the hospital. Appendicitis. In case he wanted someone around for a bit, I brought my knapsack and reading material. He reassured me a few times he was all set. Didn't need company. Tomorrow I'll play chauffeur again.

~~~~~~~~~~

My first week back at work. It didn't take long to feel the work try to suffocate me. We do so much and plan so big that it can be overwhelming. I'm much more conscious of it this time and won't allow myself to be smothered. Boundaries. Rethinking things. Looking at work from other angles. I do have to say, I'm continually blown away by what we try to achieve. Yesterday's meeting, being another planning and vision meeting, reaffirms that for me each time.

~~~~~~~~~~

I miss writing. It feels like it has been a while since I wrote anything substantial. Yet I'm kinda relaxed inside and have no desire to write. And on the other hand, I want to and some part of me needs this. As Clarke Lane wrote today, regarding not writing in his blog, "LJ is kind of an emotional and expressive anchor for me. A few days can seem like forever."
He said exactly what I've been feeling this week.

So I brought my laptop to Septieme to see if maybe motivation would appear.

~~~~~~~~~~

While sitting in my booth, I noticed a man walk by and stop to speak with someone dining at one of the sidewalk tables. The man's skin was dark and rich. On his head, a red bowler. Cherry red pants, red patent leather belt and a shirt that was a stew concocted of bright yellow, red and lime green completed the look. I couldn't see what kind of shoes he was wearing. Behind him was a young tree with bright, green foliage...bespeckled by the late light. It was the perfect frame for the man in color...his jovial nature matched his attire.

~~~~~~~~~~

Last week I was sitting in the courtyard of my building. On the sidewalk 2 women and what seemed to be 6 small 4 year olds stopped at the gate. They were listening to the sound of the fountain in our pond. I asked if they'd like to come in and see the goldfish. Piling in, they gathered and crouched around the pond for quite a while. Giggling. Pointing. Laughing. Looking. Seriously cute.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two nights ago, Auxugen and I were out walking. We headed over to Volunteer Park, hoping to dabble our toes in whatever wading pool water was left...before it fully drained for the night. We lucked out, kicked off our shoes and refreshed our feet. Why is it that anytime I want to soak my feet, Auxugen is around? What does it say about our relationship? :-)

I noticed it was dad and toddler night at the pool. 3 or 4 dads, each with what appeared to be their own 2 year old...slowly playing in the water. I also observed the latest trend in potty training diapers. They were all naked, except for what seemed to look like Huggie pull-ups (or whatever it's called). All the same.

One dad and his son, both wading in the water, had a whiffle ball. This little boy's hair was almost white. The kind of blond that happens from being kissed by summer sun. Dad would drop the ball in the water and the boy would run and pick it up. At one point the ball floated to the center, where the drain was located. There was a mini whirpool in this 8 or so inches of water. It would suck up the ball and so the ball stayed stuck in the vortex...slightly under the surface. The little boy wandered to the ball and would reach down to pick it up. Seeing the ball wasn't on top of the water, he didn't think he could grab it. He never submerged his hand to pick up the ball. Instead, he'd call to dad and point to the ball. Dad bent down, picked up the ball, and would toss it again. The boy would head over, but not pick it up if it was in the whirlpool.

Dad then came by, and one more time picked up the ball to then drop it near the little whirlpool and pick it up again. The toddler examined this very carefully.

Dad then handed the ball to the boy. The little one mimicked his father's moves, dropping the ball, then stopped, thought a moment, to then bend down and actually pick it up. It was so exciting to watch. Not having children, I normally don't get to see kids make those first aha connections. Seriously cool. That little boy was so proud of himself. Rightly so.

~~~~~~~~~~

While eating dinner tonight, the street filled up with bicyclists, all headed north. Folks on the sidewalk were whoopin' and hollerin'. There were at least 30 or 40 bikers, some all decked out. I wondered what was happening, stopped and studied, smiling. At the end of the group of bikers, I noticed a sign: SeattleCriticalMass.org

Going to my trusty little computer, I looked it up and found this:

"What & Why:
on the last friday of every month in over 100 cities around the world cyclists congregate together to ride in demonstration and in celebration. critical mass has no leaders and no set agenda and people come together to ride for many different reasons.
just a few of those reasons are...
to assert cyclists right to the road, to promote bikes as a fun, healthy, viable alternative to cars, to build a greater sense of community, to get more folks on bikes, or simply to celebrate bike love and ride in solidarity with other like minded individuals and have some fun!
overall the ride is what you make it!"

Fun, eh?

~~~~~~~~~~

On my walk home from the Cafe tonight, Mr. Sax Man was on the corner of Broadway and Republican playing his luscious saxophone. I headed east, up the hill toward home, and his soulful notes serenaded me for the next three blocks.

~~~~~~~~~~

There is so much to see out here in our world. Sometimes, I think about carrying around a microcassette recorder to mark the moments more quickly. But maybe sometimes it is about seeing, enjoying and letting it go.

Trains, planes and automobiles.

Not really. Instead bus, ferry and feet.

Hoppin' the ferry to Bremerton this morning for a day long staff retreat on regional outreach planning. Although I'm really not a meeting person...the saving grace is that we'll be on the water.

Oh yeah...yesterday, I've received confirmation that I'll be in Oakland, CA in November for about 5 days. It will be the first time I step foot in CA. I'm looking forward to it.

Painting, work and rock stars.

Last night, after work, I was going to paint. The only thing that stopped me was that my coworkers wanted a show and tell. They know it's all work in progress but would like peeking priveleges. They were quite sweet yesterday. When I mentioned I'd returned to painting, there were sighs of relief, exclamations of joy and one "I'm so glad and I was afraid to ask!" One of my coworkers even strongly suggested I figure out how to take a week off in August so I don't fully lose the small momentum I have going. This morning, while recalling his advice, I decided I'll split vacation time to give me 4 day weekends. Working three 10 hour days a week right now is feasible. My busy time won't hit again until after I come back from the east coast in September. Then I'll be flat out nutso busy until after the year end tax receipt letters get mailed at the end of January. So it's almost crazy not to take the time now.

And...in an odd way, this is giving me the 30 hour week I sought, while still retaining my full time status. Huh...I may be able to do something with it. In August, I acquire one more vacation week because of my 5 year anniversary.

Wow. I hadn't even considered that until the words flew off the keyboard. It seems I have greater options than previously thought.

Whoa.

So...where do rock stars fit into all this? I've gotten hooked on a certain reality show. It's good. It's very good. 99.9 percent of reality shows suck and I don't even find most of them to be entertaining. Watching bitchiness and ongoing inter-relational dysfunctional drama between people is not my idea of a good time. But I can or could handle a few. The first one that caught me was Survivor, although I became tired of the infighting and did stop watching.

What fascinated me about Survivor were the primal challenges - to find food, create shelter, get water. From a sociological standpoint, it intrigued me. And I do believe that Jeff Proust is one of the sanest reality show hosts around. He would call people on their shit. He'd try to counsel without being overbearing. He saw the greater idea...and attempted to convey that.

The situation that still makes an impact on me was a time when one tribe essentially was out of food and had been for a while. Jeff came up with a large bag of rice. (This incident reminded me a lot of Sir's training and what he'd request. Sir was big on choice and sacrifice.) Anyway, Jeff approached the tribe with the food. He said he needed something in exchange. The item had to be as valuable as the food and so appropriate payment for the rice would be their shelter. The group needed to decide between food and shelter, knowing it not only rained heavily every night but the temperature would drop. I was impressed. He would try to show them larger life lessons.

Yeah...talk about off track.

Back to rock stars. Or more specifically, Rock Star INXS.
This is nothing like American Idol. The judges aren't arrogant bastards, posturing every chance they get. INXS are the judges, and they have something at stake here, considering they are seeking another member for their band.

The talent is amazing. All of these kids can rock. A few are supremely on top of their game. And most do heed the critiques and try to apply that to their next show. It is one hour of listening to covers of some of my favorite music. The Kinks, The Clash, Eric Clapton, The Doors, Nirvana, Stevie Wonder and on and on.

What strikes me in a powerful way, especially with last night's show is how someone can hit every note. On the surface, they're doing it. They may have the drive and the passion yet somehow are disconnected from the stage, the audience, the band and ultimately from themselves. You can see they aren't in their body. It's almost there but not quite. Then there someone like the guy who immersed...absolutely immersed himself in Nirvana's Lithium. His voice was not quite as good as some of his other performances and it didn't matter. That song. That space. That moment in time was perfect. There was such a oneness and energy that flowed. It blew me away. And then, there are the rare few that nail it, all the way around.

I've seen folks do strong performances only to fall flat on their faces for a night.

Apparently INXS holds clinics with them each week – stagecraft, voice. etc. I haven't caught those episodes, but from the snippets I heard last night, it reminds me of some of my profs.

So, I've been really struck by the show because I'm seeing the connections between these hopeful rockers and myself. Their struggle to nail a song and make it their own, the way they are trying to touch their essence and let it out with abandon and integrity. Lots of meat in the show.
And...the music is fierce. I mean, who doesn't love "Lola"?

Mark Morford is on vacation for about a week. Today, Rob Brezsny stands alone.

For Capricorns:

"There are at least 20 different kinds of kisses, and the ancient Indian book Kama Sutra describes ten of them. Loving gazes and caresses come in an almost infinite variety, and the 2600-year-old book identifies a few of each. As for sexual positions, the Kama Sutra provides insight into how to perform 84. In the coming weeks, I suggest you explore the Kama Sutra or a text like it, Capricorn, because your astrological assignment is to be ingenious and experimental as you push past the frontiers of your sexual wisdom."

For nonCapricorns, your horoscope is here.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

National Coalition for Sexual Freedom

Contact:
Susan Wright, NCSF Spokesperson
(917) 848-6544

Communications Decency Act (CDA) Lawsuit

July 26, 2005 - New York, NY
A three judge panel has made a decision in the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom and acclaimed photographer Barbara Nitke's challenge against the Communications Decency Act (CDA) which criminalizes free speech on the Internet. According to the court, the plaintiffs presented "insufficient evidence" to support findings that the variation in community standards is substantial enough that protected speech is inhibited by the CDA.

According to the decision handed down by the Federal District Court for the
Southern District of NY, in case #01 CIV 11476 (RMB): "The plaintiffs have offered
evidence that there are at least 1.4 million Websites that mention "BDSM" (bondage,
discipline, and sadomasochism)... The plaintiffs have submitted images and written
works that represent material posted to a small number of Websites, that they
contend may be considered obscene in some communities but not in others. These
examples provide us with an insufficient basis upon which to make a finding as to
the total amount of speech that is protected in some communities but that is
prohibited by the CDA because it is obscene in other communities."

The court agreed that NCSF members and Barbara Nitke are genuinely at risk of
prosecution under the CDA and that their speech has in fact been inhibited.
According to the decision: "Nitke's fear that the CDA will be enforced against her
is actual and well-founded. She has submitted objective evidence to substantiate
the claim that she has been deterred from exercising her free-speech rights, and
this fear is based on a reasonable interpretation of the CDA... NCSF has submitted
objective evidence that one of its member organizations, TES, has been deterred
from exercising its free-speech rights and that this deterrence is based on a well-
founded fear that the CDA would be enforced against it."

John Wirenius, attorney for the plaintiffs, says, "We are disappointed that the
court did not act on the uncontradicted evidence we presented that artists and
citizens who are sexual minorities are disproportionately censored by the
Government's ability to pick its own forum and standard for obscenity cases. The
government brings obscenity cases where it knows it can get convictions."

"I am appalled by this decision," says co-plaintiff Barbara Nitke, a fine art
photographer who explores sexual relationships in her work. "It is vitally
important to keep the Internet free for education, the arts and open discussion on
sexual topics. This law is a form of unfair censorship that must be stopped. I am
absolutely going to appeal this."

NCSF challenged against the CDA law because personal websites and chat groups that
include discussions and images of SM, swinging or polyamory are at risk of
prosecution. Membership groups that maintain educational websites about adult
sexuality are also at risk.

Under the Bush administration, nearly 40 prosecutors, as well as investigators and
FBI agents are spending millions of dollars to bring anti-obscenity cases to
courthouses across the country for the first time in 10 years. Obscenity is judged
by "local community standards," which means that a religious political extremist in
the Midwest can claim that a website from San Francisco is obscene and therefore
illegal.

NCSF is dedicated to proactively challenging the rise in obscenity and pornography
prosecutions, including filing an Amicus Briefs in support of Extreme Associates,
and supporting the Free Speech Coalition's injunction filed against the expanded
record-keeping provisions of 18 U.S.C. B' 2257.

To contribute to the expenses of the CDA lawsuit, go to:
www.ncsfreedom.org/donations.htm
Every dollar goes directly to ensuring free speech on the Internet.

National Coalition for Sexual Freedom - www.ncsfreedom.org
Barbara Nitke - www.barbaranitke.com

###

A project of NCSF

The National Coalition for Sexual Freedom is a national organization committed to
creating a political, legal, and social environment in the United States that
advances equal rights of consenting adults who practice forms of alternative sexual
expression. NCSF is primarily focused on the rights of consenting adults in the SM-
leather-fetish, swing, and polyamory communities, who often face discrimination
because of their sexual expression.

National Coalition for Sexual Freedom
822 Guilford Avenue, Box 127
Baltimore, MD 21202-3707
410-539-4824
media@ncsfreedom.org
www.ncsfreedom.org

Please cross-post

Just a quickie for now.

Sunday I had my very first, very mini dinner party (one guest). Yeah...you're thinking "big deal". But it is. You see, I haven't cooked for someone in almost 7 years. Another serious sign of my healing.

Busy yesterday. Again I met up with my friend from Body Electric. Picked her up at the hotel...roamed Seattle for 4 hours, and then dropped her off at the airport.

She wanted to see the locks, which I love. While there we checked out the salmon ladder viewing area and saw loads of them. Good fun.

I am now back at work.

There are comments I want to make but it'll have to wait. Emails begun but those too will need to wait.

Possibly some interesting news...and that will also have to wait. What I will say is, someone had been pushing me to do some type of workshop at an annual conference. Yesterday, while with my friend, we were talking about it...began brainstorming...and may have come up with the perfect thing. I remember seeing the call for submissions in my work email before I went on vacation. So I'll check out the details. If it's still viable, I'll contact the board member of this org who encouraged me and run it past them. Keep ya posted.

On that note...I'm looking at my blinking work phone. Time to check messages and then go through emails.

Life hits.

Another nod to Padacia...

...for this good link.
It's a website created for Van Gogh's letters - with sketches.

What I did on my summer vacation.

In these last two weeks I've discovered and lived the life I was born to live. Now to figure out how to do it full time and still pay the bills.
Read. Walk. Drink. Paint. Many slow hours at the Cafe. Some social time. A lot of quiet time. Paint. And paint some more.

Had more healing with my dad.

Learned that I could teach someone how to paint.

With my painting:
~tried something new, which is still in progress. A totally from my head, non-representational painting. I am actually enjoying the process.
~Slowed down with my work to allow myself to play and explore.
~Built up the amount of variety in painting that I am simultaneously working on. To work on two still lifes (one more realistic than the other), the full abstract, a painting of a friend masturbating, and a couple urban landscape views from my window seems to create a synergy. They are feeding each other and creating fuller work because of it.

The first painting, the self-portrait I began, is now asleep. I need more work space to explore this further. It's going to take working with large charcoal drawings at the same time as the paintings. With time...and patience it will happen.

I've realized that as much as I love my day job, it is slowly killing me. While many weeks I only physically work 40 to 45 hours, I now see I am putting in the equivalent of a 60 hour work week in emotional and creative energy. Even while away from work (in a regular nonvacation week), my head is always working on creating solutions for the database needs for the rest of the staff.

This is sucking the juice out of my marrow, and I fear resentment building. The last two mornings I've awakened in anxiety because I don't want to go back to work. It's definitely bittersweet because I can't pay bills without it, I'm extremely passionate about the work we do, and I am so in love with all my coworkers. It is the best job I've ever had.

I think the answer is to figure out how to cut down to part time. I would have a partner shouldering part of the responsibility. If I begin to make this a more concrete goal, something to strive toward in the next couple years, then it should be more emotionally manageable.

Last week I complained to the shrink that I felt lazy and had no drive for painting. This time I think it was his turn to stare at me as if I had three heads. He replied:

"What are you talking about? You have plenty of drive. You're in this office 3 times a week working on your stuff. It is this very stuff that will lead you to a fuller painting life later on. Your drive may not appear to be directly focused on your painting, but ultimately, it is. In spite of your fear, you dig in and keep on going. Stubborn. Passionate."

I've been thinking about what he said. Yeah, I have to concede he's right. I suppose I need to begin to look at this time as learning how to play the scales in my old piano lessons. Foundation courses. Once I'm through, then it will be time to focus on the rest.

But I've become quite impatient. I keep looking ahead, toward that day when I've done most of the therapy work and feel I can pick up my life again. It's incredibly frustrating at times. Many times it feels like I'm sitting back cleaning the chimney while everyone else is partying it up.

I guess, a big lesson for me in this is to realize that this is the perfect time to clean off the soot. Back to that being mindful thing. I guess it's about being patient and try to enjoy the ride. It's my present moment.

That's it for now...

I've been too tired to write or even chat. Until now.

Now, I'm just a specky bit buzzed, thanks to two fairly strong margueritas at the Cafe, and a good dinner with Sir. So you'll hear from me. I think I'm just loose enough to relay something that happened this week.

During dinner, I shared news with Sir that I've only told a few other people thus far: the Bear, Auxugen and Hoss. My shrink's been away until this Monday. Otherwise I would have called him right away.

You see, my father called me on Thursday.

First the back story. I've had this debt I've been carrying since '96. It was from a department store credit card. I had full intent of paying it, but with my move and everything else since, I didn't have the extra money. You know what happens when you don't pay a bill. It goes to a collection agency.

From there, I'd receive regular bills. For the last few years, I could either make payments on the full balance of what was $2,500 or if I wanted to pay $800 all at once, they'd wipe the slate. I planned on saving up for the $800. The odd thing is, when I'd move, they didn't request change of address service from the post office. Instead, it would get mailed to the original address which for some odd reason was my parents' home. Over the last few years, dad would call and let me know I received a letter. I'd have him mail it out and then call the company to give my new address. I wasn't hiding from them. And the debt weighed on me.

Now that my student loan is paid off, my plan was to save from Sept - Nov and then pay off this longtime debt.

Dad called me a few weeks ago, letting me know that they had received the bill. He must have opened it because he told me what it said. (Yeah that felt weird. And it's unlike him.) I told him to send it to me and so found it in my mail last week.

Thursday. Dad called me in the morning to inform me he contacted the company and paid off the debt.
Whoa. He paid it off.

Want to talk about mixed feelings?

On one hand, I'm absolutely grateful. I also feel a big load off my shoulders. I told him so.
On the other, it was a big invasion of boundaries. I told him it didn't feel good to me for that reason. For him to not only open my mail, but after I said and he agreed to send me the bill (which I received)...he decided to pay it off without informing me ahead of time...so not cool.

And it's not like him.

My parents and I may have had many problems in the past. Boundary stepping wasn't one of them, and I'm glad. Kids need to learn about boundaries, and the place they are first taught about good or bad boundaries is from their parents or primary guardians. If they don't learn it at home, there is a good chance they won't have a healthy sense of boundaries in adulthood.

So dad's actions surprised me. That is, until I remembered the shrink's words last week regarding my father's actions of late (paying off my student loan). It seems dad is alleviating his guilt as well as trying to show me, in the only way he feels is accessible to him right now, he loves me.

With that reminder, I worked on letting his actions go. Instead, I focused on the bigger picture.

Although it was a surprising gift, it was something I could take or leave. It was the next thing he did that blew me away.

For those of you who have been reading my blog since the spring, you may remember when I mailed 5 copies of the spring newsletter from the queer foundation I work for to each of my siblings and my parents. It was another step in coming out. The sex scholarship was finally endowed and I was asked to write the article. It included a photo of me surrounded by chosen family and good friends. It spoke of a Leather scholarship.

Granted, my family more than likely have no idea what Leather actually means. If they ask, I will explain. But being a scholarship to further research and study of human sexuality, especially alternative sexuality, was big enough. We are dealing with very conservative, fundamental Catholic people who see sex for procreation only.

On top of it, the final article in the newsletter was a story about a kid from a gay camp we funded. This kid had been carrying around a letter from her pastor that stated homosexuality was evil. It contributed to her guilt and shame. Her family did allow her to go to this one week overnight summer camp for gay youth. By the end of the week, she was beginning to accept herself. On the last night of camp, during the campfire, she pulled this hateful letter from her pocket and threw it in the flames.

Yeah...talk about some button pushing for my family.

Anyway, I sent out the newsletters, along with an identical letter addressed to everyone. It explained that I wanted to share more of myself, including the scholarship project I'd worked so hard on. I was proud that it was finally endowed. It was another coming out for me.

I am learning that life is a series of coming outs. One after the other. All the time. Every time we allow ourselves to be challenged and in spite of our fear, continue to take the next step, we are coming out in some fashion. It's not only about our homosexuality.

Back to the newsletter.
No one responded. Ever. Nothing.
Not even an acknowledgement that the newsletter was received.

Talk about adding to my feelings of invisibility.

Back to my father's phone call.
After he gave me the news about my old debt, we chatted a bit. Before hanging up the phone, Dad said (as best as I can recall):

"Remember that magazine you sent us a few months back?"
"Yes Dad."
"Well, I just wanted you to know I'm really proud of you. I am very proud of you."
(silence on my end)
"You have a heart that wants to give to others...and that's the most important thing of all. I love you."
(silence again on my part, then...)
"I love you too Dad. Thank you. Thank you very much."

Dad didn't need to pay my bills to show me he loved me. Hearing "I'm proud of you" after I sent him our newsletter was huge. More than huge.

I was relaying the story to Sir tonight. Sir said something really wise.

"So did you let your dad know you love him?"
"Yes Sir"
"But you'll need to say it a few times"
(puzzled look on my face)
"Men, especially men who only traditionally know one way to show love, as in feeding and housing their family, REALLY need to hear those words...and often. They need to know that you acknowledge their love as well."

Sir is right. Just because I haven't heard it from him in the way I really needed to, doesn't mean I can't say it back. If he can't say it, it means he really needs to hear it.

Yeah...I know magic happens. I've seen it.
And this was a beaut.
Unexpected and totally perfect.

Here's an interesting review pulled from Americablog on the latest Harry Potter book.

No, I haven't read the new release yet. I still want to read books 4 & 5 first and it will be a while before I tackle them. Then I'll pickup book 6 as a paperback. Although I look forward to them, it will wait. I have 5 other books queued up.

Anyway...Harry Potter and our current political system:

"Harry Potter" -- The Americablog Review
by Michael in New York - 7/22/2005 01:45:00 PM

"HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE"
By J.K. Rowling
**** (out of 4)

By Michael Giltz

NO SPOILERS!!

Okay, I won't discuss the novel at length, to avoid spoiling it for fans who haven't finished it yet. Suffice to say, I think it's a big improvement on the last two (which felt a bit self-indulgent). Briefly, the first book was an unexpected delight. The second and third were good, but felt like Rowling was slipping into formula. The fourth and fifth ended that formula, but you got the impression an editor didn't come within a mile of those doorstoppers -- if Rowling thought of it, she put it in.

"Half-Blood Prince" is much more focused and streamlined. Plus, Harry isn't so teen angsty anymore, so he doesn't speak IN CAPITAL LETTERS any more, which is quite a relief. It's restored my faith in the series and made me painfully eager for the final book.

But why are we discussing this at Americablog? As a number of people have pointed out, it's very much a post 9-11 (and sadly, post 7-7) book, with the government clamping down on rights, people suspicious of one another and fear everywhere.

There's a rather clueless prime minister seen in the very first chapter who is informed by the real powers behind the country about what is going on. It's easy to see him as a mild dig at Bush.

But one element -- that doesn't spoil the plot at all -- involves people thrown into jail by the wizards in power. As Dumbledore and Harry discuss it, some of those people are completely innocent AND THE GOVERNMENT KNOWS IT. But they leave those people to rot in jail because they're desperate to be seen as doing SOMETHING to fight the terrorists...pardon me, I mean the Death Eaters. Harry knows this is wrong and says so.

So think about that. Millions of kids around the world have been reading and respecting Harry Potter. They probably can't imagine anyone in the real world would ever do something like leaving people they KNOW are innocent to rot in jail. And when these young people realize it's actually being done this very moment by their own government, they'll say, quite simply, "That's not right!"

No wonder the far right radicals try to ban "Harry Potter" from school libraries. No wonder Pope Benedict thinks it's dangerous for children to be "seduced" into questioning authority and thinking on their own when making moral decisions, rather than just blindly accepting what they're told.

Thank you, J.K. Rowling.

----

And thank you Michael.

Say it with me...
...Google rocks.

I'm always impressed by their creativity.

Check this out.... (Make sure to zoom all the way in).

And, want a job?

What a long day. And a very busy one.

It began with a moment of grace in the form of light streaming through my blinds and hitting my painting at just the right spot. From there...I realized that my mail server guy, who upgraded my iBook with Tiger yesterday, attempted to email me a couple programs. My mail program took hours downloading, which ended locking everything up.

It was only a small annoyance because I was leaving for the day anyway. I knew I'd tame the cranky computer later. If not, I had friends who could. As you can see, it's working again. And mail appears to be running smoothly as well.

One of the Body Electric folks is in town all weekend and we made plans to hook up today. Maybe Monday as well. I played airport chauffeur and dinner, walks, showing them my apartment and my work. I just got back to the house about a half hour ago. It was a really good time. I do have to say, no one, or very few people, hug like someone who's done lots of Body Electric work. Full body, groin to groin. You can feel the zapping energy that runs through our lower parts when we touch, hold and don't want to let go. It rejuvenates my spirit.

I just received word that I can book some retreat time at the Mountain in September after my brother's wedding. It's all about self care.

There are a few more things, but it'll have to wait. I'm tired now.

Early morning is my favorite time to paint. The world is still. Very few people are up and so the frenetic energy that fills our daily lives hasn't stirred yet.

The other reason, which I had forgotten about until now, is the light.

I've yet to get back into the habit of early morning painting.

I'm sitting in my living room, listening to the news. Glancing over at a large painting I began last week, I see the solution. You see, I was stuck. Not sure where to go. Something was missing. The light drifts in through my blinds and lights my painting from behind. It's coming through in selective spots and has resolved the painting for me.

When I began the painting, there was a specific light source. The subject matter was backlit with late afternoon sun. This morning's light hits the canvas in such a way as to make sense and complete the light direction I first used. It resolves the left hand side as well.

I'm going to block in the light before it shifts any further.

See you later.

Yeah...twice in one night.
How about another painting?

This one is old...painted in '96. Because my palette tends to be quite dark, I decided to see if I could do a lighter painting. I wanted to explore whites. My favorite part of this? The wood piece that was part of an old lobster trap I found laying around. Yeah...I was born to live at the ocean.



My parents didn't want me to sell this one. They were adament. So much so that they purchased it to keep it in the family. Not only that but the family tried to push me into having prints made of the painting. Something about my going commercial. I don't think so. I held out then, and at this time in my life, would still not have prints made of my work.

Anyway, I loved this painting for many years. Looking at it now, it doesn't have the same place in my heart. Maybe I need to see it in person again. Or not.