(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.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
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.
I left work at 3:50 and walked into my house at 3:59pm. Threw off my clothes and put on some comfy sweats. I thought I was in for the evening. Fried. Icarus IM'd me with a request to do a favor. I responded with a maybe, contingent upon how much energy it would take. Well...he needed me to be a voice over for something he was concocting for the weekend and the task not only seemed easy enough, but fun. That was 4 hours ago. From there, one thing led to another, including dinner and strategic planning session for this weekend.
Now, I'm curled up in bed and seriously tired. Other than this...no writing for me.
Maybe tomorrow.
Now, I'm curled up in bed and seriously tired. Other than this...no writing for me.
Maybe tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
One of my periodic snippet posts.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesdays are really busy for me. It makes it difficult to sit and compose blog entries with substantial content. It makes it even harder to really dig in and read others during those few days. I catch up when I can.
~~~~~~~~~~
Something's percolating. Not sure what. I've been waking up around 3 or 4 am, struggling to return to sleep, which has been futile. I give in and simply focus on my breathing instead.
What's strange about this is that it's not one particular thing that is troubling. Instead...it's a sense. I feel a pressure and constriction around my chest – a bubbling inside.
Yesterday I mentioned it to the shrink.
"We've gotta work on this. Let's dig in and figure it out."
~~~~~~~~~~
I'm blown away by how it seems my life has changed in the last 4 weeks. Magic all over the place.
The shrink has been informed he will not be fired. ;-)
~~~~~~~~~~
Today is my 5 year anniversary at my current job. I feel fortunate that I not only work forh a queer foundation but the staff is amazing. Not only do we play nice together yet it expands into a genuine caring and love for each other.
Because I wanted to switch computer monitors, it created a one thing leads to the next kind of scenario. Pull all the piles off the desk which led to cleaning my office. About 20 minutes ago I realized it was a perfect way to celebrate my anniversary. My office will be clean, clutter free and each piece of paper that remains will have been touched by my hand and a conscious decision made as to its future. The second way would be to receive chocolate.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesdays are really busy for me. It makes it difficult to sit and compose blog entries with substantial content. It makes it even harder to really dig in and read others during those few days. I catch up when I can.
~~~~~~~~~~
Something's percolating. Not sure what. I've been waking up around 3 or 4 am, struggling to return to sleep, which has been futile. I give in and simply focus on my breathing instead.
What's strange about this is that it's not one particular thing that is troubling. Instead...it's a sense. I feel a pressure and constriction around my chest – a bubbling inside.
Yesterday I mentioned it to the shrink.
"We've gotta work on this. Let's dig in and figure it out."
~~~~~~~~~~
I'm blown away by how it seems my life has changed in the last 4 weeks. Magic all over the place.
The shrink has been informed he will not be fired. ;-)
~~~~~~~~~~
Today is my 5 year anniversary at my current job. I feel fortunate that I not only work forh a queer foundation but the staff is amazing. Not only do we play nice together yet it expands into a genuine caring and love for each other.
Because I wanted to switch computer monitors, it created a one thing leads to the next kind of scenario. Pull all the piles off the desk which led to cleaning my office. About 20 minutes ago I realized it was a perfect way to celebrate my anniversary. My office will be clean, clutter free and each piece of paper that remains will have been touched by my hand and a conscious decision made as to its future. The second way would be to receive chocolate.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Oh my gawd, oh my gawd, oh my gawd!
I have news for you!!!!
I've been sitting on the possibility of this for a week, and on the reality for over a couple days! Once I was told it was okay to go public, I still sat on my fingers for a bit. Just wanted to keep it to myself a little longer.
I received and accepted an invitation to be a juror for the Seattle Erotic Art Festival!
For two years I've known that this is how I'd want to be involved in the festival. Oh my gawd. It really happened!
I have a week or two to come up with a short bio, include a head shot and was informed that I could include a blog addy or website. Yeah, it's a perfect opening to come out in bigger way.
In addition, in the next day or so I must write a statement for the 5 paintings that will be shown at the Convention Center for the 2005 Gender Odyssey conference. It's a mini two day show and a good, easy way for me to get back into the water again.
Oh my gawd. I can't believe I'm going to be a juror for SEAF.
Yeah...it's still sinking in. I know it may not be a big deal for many people. But, as you can see...it's a big deal to me. :-)
Last year they screened about 1500 images, to select I think a couple hundred. It'll be interesting to see what the numbers are this year and I am very much looking forward to seeing all the work.
I have news for you!!!!
I've been sitting on the possibility of this for a week, and on the reality for over a couple days! Once I was told it was okay to go public, I still sat on my fingers for a bit. Just wanted to keep it to myself a little longer.
I received and accepted an invitation to be a juror for the Seattle Erotic Art Festival!
For two years I've known that this is how I'd want to be involved in the festival. Oh my gawd. It really happened!
I have a week or two to come up with a short bio, include a head shot and was informed that I could include a blog addy or website. Yeah, it's a perfect opening to come out in bigger way.
In addition, in the next day or so I must write a statement for the 5 paintings that will be shown at the Convention Center for the 2005 Gender Odyssey conference. It's a mini two day show and a good, easy way for me to get back into the water again.
Oh my gawd. I can't believe I'm going to be a juror for SEAF.
Yeah...it's still sinking in. I know it may not be a big deal for many people. But, as you can see...it's a big deal to me. :-)
Last year they screened about 1500 images, to select I think a couple hundred. It'll be interesting to see what the numbers are this year and I am very much looking forward to seeing all the work.
Tagged by Clark Lane.
List 5 of your own idiosyncrasies...
id·i·o·syn·cra·sy (n. pl. id·i·o·syn·cra·sies)
- A structural or behavioral characteristic peculiar to an individual or group.
- A physiological or temperamental peculiarity.
- An unusual individual reaction to food or a drug.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
1.When I'm stressed at work, and someone asks for something new, my response is "no". Of course, from there the problem twirls around in my brain for a week or two, I'll figure out the solution, and then give them the completed project. My coworkers know what to expect and even made me aware of it. From this I realized my first no is actually, 'no, not now but I'll figure it out and get back to you with a solution." (I have to change that!)
2. Again at work, when things flow smoothly and I'm on a roll... "la, la, la" slips from my lips. It's sing songy, with the second note a half step down from the first and the third a couple steps down from the second. I am out of practice with music otherwise I would have been able to tell you exactly which notes they are. If I had a guitar or piano in front of me...I'd know.
3. I have an ice cream bowl.
4. Don't mess with my books.
5. I hate goop in hair, be it spray, gel or anything. I have to be able to touch my hair or someone else's, and feel hair, not product.
A few more, just because I can:
6. I am a morning person. It does not matter if I'm in bed at 10 pm or 3 am, guarantee I'll be up between 5-7am (contingent upon the season).
7. I do not have a favorite color. I may use some over and over, but it's always about context.
8. Play devil's advocate. I know it can annoy others. It sure as hell annoys me when I do it to myself. But, I never want to stop seeing all possible sides. It keeps me questioning.
List 5 of your own idiosyncrasies...
id·i·o·syn·cra·sy (n. pl. id·i·o·syn·cra·sies)
- A structural or behavioral characteristic peculiar to an individual or group.
- A physiological or temperamental peculiarity.
- An unusual individual reaction to food or a drug.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
1.When I'm stressed at work, and someone asks for something new, my response is "no". Of course, from there the problem twirls around in my brain for a week or two, I'll figure out the solution, and then give them the completed project. My coworkers know what to expect and even made me aware of it. From this I realized my first no is actually, 'no, not now but I'll figure it out and get back to you with a solution." (I have to change that!)
2. Again at work, when things flow smoothly and I'm on a roll... "la, la, la" slips from my lips. It's sing songy, with the second note a half step down from the first and the third a couple steps down from the second. I am out of practice with music otherwise I would have been able to tell you exactly which notes they are. If I had a guitar or piano in front of me...I'd know.
3. I have an ice cream bowl.
4. Don't mess with my books.
5. I hate goop in hair, be it spray, gel or anything. I have to be able to touch my hair or someone else's, and feel hair, not product.
A few more, just because I can:
6. I am a morning person. It does not matter if I'm in bed at 10 pm or 3 am, guarantee I'll be up between 5-7am (contingent upon the season).
7. I do not have a favorite color. I may use some over and over, but it's always about context.
8. Play devil's advocate. I know it can annoy others. It sure as hell annoys me when I do it to myself. But, I never want to stop seeing all possible sides. It keeps me questioning.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Musical meanderings.
So, want to know why Rock Star INXS speaks to me in such a profound way?
This week, I walked into my coworker's office. He is going back into the studio very soon to finish laying tracks for his second CD. Singer/songwriter he is. He mentioned he watched the show for the first time.
"So what did you think of the show?"
He pointed to the spot just below his heart and above his belly.
"It hit me right here. Throughout the whole show I felt it here."
My eyes became wet. "Ya, me too. Every time."
I met with the shrink a little later and spent a good part of our session casually talking about music and what it means to me. His face showed surprise. He was hearing things that I'd never before uttered in our sessions. Things, such as:
I began piano lessons at 5 years old. I quit about 13. That's when I found 'jesus'. I pretty much quit everything then. Although at about 14, I did try classical voice lessons for a bit. Then quit.
At 16, I desired a guitar. My dad gave me the choice between a high school ring or guitar. No decision. It was a lovely classical guitar. I taught myself. This is when I left the catholic church and joined another church. Being a 'christian', and lovin' music, I immersed myself in christian rock. Petra, Barry McGuire (who wrote "Eve of Destruction" - remember that one?), and a few other bands.
I was playing and singing all the time. I met another guitarist and we began the singing at church, 3 x a week. In addition, we sang in nursing homes 3 x a week. I wrote a few songs. They would be wedding gifts for friends. At both of my sisters' weddings I performed. Played the guitar and sang a song I discovered somewhere, "Que Dieu Protege Notre Amour." Yes, it was all in french.
I remember becoming skillful with singing harmony. It was my personal challenge and it came to a point where I could do it easily.
In '78 or '79 I traded in my classical guitar for a 12 string Takemini. My born again jesus freak friends (mostly all men, 10 years older than me) had slimly escaped the Vietnam war draft years earlier. The war ended just before their numbers came up. They were left-over hippies. Christian hippies. Disco music was popular at the time and I remember they got together to educate me. No disco for me. Instead, I was introduced to Buffalo Springfield, Aztec Two Step, Pure Prairie League, etc. And of course, christian music.
A few years later, I left religion, went to school for painting and brought my guitar. My first woman lover, who I met when I moved into the dorms, also played. Now she could play. And oh could she sing. I don't know too many people who can do Joni Mitchell well. This woman could. We'd get together and play all the time. We held little coffee houses on campus where we'd perform. I wrote a few bizarre songs at the time.
Every time I see a piano my heart hurts.
When I have the opportunity, I try to pluck away. But, I'm embarrassed. It's been a long time. And it's a tease.
My mother came from a family of artists - she, her dad and 3 brothers. They were all into some form of painting and commercial art. Mom also sang. She had such stage fright that she'd force herself into performing on stage, hoping to get over her fear.
Dad's side were all into music. The piano, the guitar, the violin, the accordion, the organ. Only dad's sister could really sing. The others used musical instruments. In addition, they became the doctors, nurses, priests and nuns. No visual art in their bones.
I am the only child who inherited both painting and music.
The INXS show hits me hard because it reminds me of a dream that I never had the courage to pursue. I had forgotten all about it until recently. A couple days ago, I even remembered that while in my teens, I silently and decisively made the choice to pursue painting and not music. I remember being so angry that I couldn't choose both. I felt that I could not give both the energy they each deserved and therefore had to decide. So the music went on the back burner, and became the informal part of me.
I now see how important music was to me.
The other reason I chose art instead of music is paralysis. I was adept. But that is all. When I sang, I knew I couldn't cut loose. There was a fear inside. I figuratively couldn't find my voice. When I played the piano, I felt stilted. My desire was to do jazz. I wanted my fingers to fly across the keys. I wanted to feel the freedom that allowed me to improvise. I was always afraid. It's the same with the guitar.
That knowledge is what made my decision to study painting instead of music. I did not see any way out of the stiffness and fear I felt.
After the session with the shrink, I left and it hit me. Not only did the shrink hear this stuff for the first time, but I had never told anyone else about the intensity of my desire, the fear, or the decision I made to shelf the music, in a studied more professional way. My family never knew how important music was to me. This week was the first time I had verbalized most of this.
My very first Christmas in Seattle was a tough one. I had just broken up with a lover, who happened to be pretty much my only friend at the time (considering I'd only been in Seattle a few months). On the phone with my parents, I told them why I was hurting. It was the first time I had spoken openly with them about a queer relationship I'd had. My mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I didn't have an answer. Dad piped in:
"I know what she needs. I'll pay to ship your guitar out to you. It'll help console you a little."
I was shocked. And pleased. Somehow, he intuitively knew that music would help.
When I received the large box containing my 12 string in its hard shell case, I noticed another surprise. Dad had taken all my teddy bears and used them as packing.
It's one of the fondest memories I have of my father.
So I watch the performance part of the INXS show and I'm in awe of these kids who appear so self-assured on stage, rockin' away, allowing themselves to shine. In addition it reminds me of what I could have become had I not been afraid.
Yes, I am mourning this particular loss of the possibility of what could have been.
So, want to know why Rock Star INXS speaks to me in such a profound way?
This week, I walked into my coworker's office. He is going back into the studio very soon to finish laying tracks for his second CD. Singer/songwriter he is. He mentioned he watched the show for the first time.
"So what did you think of the show?"
He pointed to the spot just below his heart and above his belly.
"It hit me right here. Throughout the whole show I felt it here."
My eyes became wet. "Ya, me too. Every time."
I met with the shrink a little later and spent a good part of our session casually talking about music and what it means to me. His face showed surprise. He was hearing things that I'd never before uttered in our sessions. Things, such as:
I began piano lessons at 5 years old. I quit about 13. That's when I found 'jesus'. I pretty much quit everything then. Although at about 14, I did try classical voice lessons for a bit. Then quit.
At 16, I desired a guitar. My dad gave me the choice between a high school ring or guitar. No decision. It was a lovely classical guitar. I taught myself. This is when I left the catholic church and joined another church. Being a 'christian', and lovin' music, I immersed myself in christian rock. Petra, Barry McGuire (who wrote "Eve of Destruction" - remember that one?), and a few other bands.
I was playing and singing all the time. I met another guitarist and we began the singing at church, 3 x a week. In addition, we sang in nursing homes 3 x a week. I wrote a few songs. They would be wedding gifts for friends. At both of my sisters' weddings I performed. Played the guitar and sang a song I discovered somewhere, "Que Dieu Protege Notre Amour." Yes, it was all in french.
I remember becoming skillful with singing harmony. It was my personal challenge and it came to a point where I could do it easily.
In '78 or '79 I traded in my classical guitar for a 12 string Takemini. My born again jesus freak friends (mostly all men, 10 years older than me) had slimly escaped the Vietnam war draft years earlier. The war ended just before their numbers came up. They were left-over hippies. Christian hippies. Disco music was popular at the time and I remember they got together to educate me. No disco for me. Instead, I was introduced to Buffalo Springfield, Aztec Two Step, Pure Prairie League, etc. And of course, christian music.
A few years later, I left religion, went to school for painting and brought my guitar. My first woman lover, who I met when I moved into the dorms, also played. Now she could play. And oh could she sing. I don't know too many people who can do Joni Mitchell well. This woman could. We'd get together and play all the time. We held little coffee houses on campus where we'd perform. I wrote a few bizarre songs at the time.
Every time I see a piano my heart hurts.
When I have the opportunity, I try to pluck away. But, I'm embarrassed. It's been a long time. And it's a tease.
My mother came from a family of artists - she, her dad and 3 brothers. They were all into some form of painting and commercial art. Mom also sang. She had such stage fright that she'd force herself into performing on stage, hoping to get over her fear.
Dad's side were all into music. The piano, the guitar, the violin, the accordion, the organ. Only dad's sister could really sing. The others used musical instruments. In addition, they became the doctors, nurses, priests and nuns. No visual art in their bones.
I am the only child who inherited both painting and music.
The INXS show hits me hard because it reminds me of a dream that I never had the courage to pursue. I had forgotten all about it until recently. A couple days ago, I even remembered that while in my teens, I silently and decisively made the choice to pursue painting and not music. I remember being so angry that I couldn't choose both. I felt that I could not give both the energy they each deserved and therefore had to decide. So the music went on the back burner, and became the informal part of me.
I now see how important music was to me.
The other reason I chose art instead of music is paralysis. I was adept. But that is all. When I sang, I knew I couldn't cut loose. There was a fear inside. I figuratively couldn't find my voice. When I played the piano, I felt stilted. My desire was to do jazz. I wanted my fingers to fly across the keys. I wanted to feel the freedom that allowed me to improvise. I was always afraid. It's the same with the guitar.
That knowledge is what made my decision to study painting instead of music. I did not see any way out of the stiffness and fear I felt.
After the session with the shrink, I left and it hit me. Not only did the shrink hear this stuff for the first time, but I had never told anyone else about the intensity of my desire, the fear, or the decision I made to shelf the music, in a studied more professional way. My family never knew how important music was to me. This week was the first time I had verbalized most of this.
My very first Christmas in Seattle was a tough one. I had just broken up with a lover, who happened to be pretty much my only friend at the time (considering I'd only been in Seattle a few months). On the phone with my parents, I told them why I was hurting. It was the first time I had spoken openly with them about a queer relationship I'd had. My mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I didn't have an answer. Dad piped in:
"I know what she needs. I'll pay to ship your guitar out to you. It'll help console you a little."
I was shocked. And pleased. Somehow, he intuitively knew that music would help.
When I received the large box containing my 12 string in its hard shell case, I noticed another surprise. Dad had taken all my teddy bears and used them as packing.
It's one of the fondest memories I have of my father.
So I watch the performance part of the INXS show and I'm in awe of these kids who appear so self-assured on stage, rockin' away, allowing themselves to shine. In addition it reminds me of what I could have become had I not been afraid.
Yes, I am mourning this particular loss of the possibility of what could have been.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Mark Morford writes about one of the new kids on the sex toy block.
"All is not lost. This is the good news. All is not dire and hopeless and warmongering and sexless and Bush. I know, it's amazing, but it's true. You see, bright spots exist. Radiant spots. Glimmers of possibility and progress, deep pools of hope and moan and yum. We have but to look. And yearn."
"All is not lost. This is the good news. All is not dire and hopeless and warmongering and sexless and Bush. I know, it's amazing, but it's true. You see, bright spots exist. Radiant spots. Glimmers of possibility and progress, deep pools of hope and moan and yum. We have but to look. And yearn."
One more.
PET peeve that is.
If you are walking your dog, please have a bag to pick up his poop. ESPECIALLY when he takes a dump right on the walking path on Alki Beach.
I was so not amused. Especially when I noticed the delightful shade of ochre, and the consistency of thick pudding which therefore shot up my jeans leg as I stepped in the runny stinky mess with my sandals. Good thing I was near the water, where I could run in and wash my jeans and get most of it off my sandals.
But guess what I'm doing tomorrow morning? Running the soles of my sandals under hot water, and using a toothpick to scrap the rest of the shit out of the treads.
Other than that, it was a nice walk with the Bear and the bunny.
PET peeve that is.
If you are walking your dog, please have a bag to pick up his poop. ESPECIALLY when he takes a dump right on the walking path on Alki Beach.
I was so not amused. Especially when I noticed the delightful shade of ochre, and the consistency of thick pudding which therefore shot up my jeans leg as I stepped in the runny stinky mess with my sandals. Good thing I was near the water, where I could run in and wash my jeans and get most of it off my sandals.
But guess what I'm doing tomorrow morning? Running the soles of my sandals under hot water, and using a toothpick to scrap the rest of the shit out of the treads.
Other than that, it was a nice walk with the Bear and the bunny.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
I've been tagged for the peeved meme.
Nayland requested...I delivered.
List three things that piss you off and then tag six others to do the same.
He asked for it. When something pisses me off, it really pisses me off.
1. Hypocrisy
Folks who have experienced discrimination and yet can turn around and do the same to others. When someone works hard to create their space on the rock...how dare they kick off someone else who's attempting to climb the same rock? I have no patience for it. None. Nada.
Yes I know this is a slippery slope, but it's all about context and intent. When it's someone else's party, be it house, play, bar, website...bluntly put, it is none of your business. If you don't like it - leave. When it is your own created space, you are allowed to choose at will.
Not only do I see it in those places, but I see it happen so often in the nonprofit sector, especially with queer organizations. I understand where the dynamic comes from. We've struggled so hard to achieve a place and then clutch it tightly because any change would be threatening. There is so much in-fighting among people and orgs who are all trying to ultimately do good work. Yet the pettiness and drama from each claiming their turf leads to a greater dismantling of community.
Here's a novel concept. Why can't we peacefully work side by side?
Would you like to know one reason why the extreme fundies have taken a foothold? Regardless of the church they belong to, they are all flying the same banner - god. They have found a way to unite and in that, it makes it easy. Everyone who doesn't believe in that particular god is evil. They have created a perception of safe family and community whereas we, as liberals, spend more time bickering about who does what, processes, what's politically correct, 'no you don't belong in my camp', etc. We have fractured ourselves.
The sad thing is, many of us are the freethinkers, enlightened minds. We can assist with saving our humanity and our planet. Let's fuckin' lighten up.
We need, no we MUST begin to embrace a spirit of prosperity instead of holding onto our impoverished spirit. There really IS enough for everyone. Open up. Share. Unless we change our minds and hearts around this, I feel we are stunting positive human evolution. Instead, we are morphing into embittered people all stooge-ishly whispering "this is mine. No you can't have it."
It's insidious. It flows through everything. Look at our world. How can we complain about what Bush is doing in Iraq if we are doing the same damned thing in our little corner? It really all comes from a similar mindset.
Labeling comes from the same place. Yes, we need them to assist with identification, but don't attach to them so intently. All it does is make one look desperate. Everything shifts and changes. We can't help it. It's more painful when we try to prevent the flow.
All this stuff comes right back to living prosperously instead of choosing poverity.
As you can see, I can't even write cohesively about it. The pages and pages I could write would come out as a sputtering mess. That's how much it riles me. I know it means I'm still too emotionally close to the subject. With time and healing, maybe I can hope for a specky bit of graceful articulation.
2. Responsibility
We have become a people who will not take responsibility. It's always someone else's fault. Look at how litigious we've become as a society. Many times we do actually screw up. Sometimes, yes, someone else may attack, but there are instances where we need to look at the energy we are putting out. I do not believe that most of what we believe to be the responsibility of another actually is. It takes two to tango. Own up to our part for our own actions. It's about choice. We make a choice. Let's deal with the consequences.
Our own actions and basic choices do include going about our daily business. Living, in and of itself, is a dangerous and risky act. Shit happens. It just does. Life really is not the fairy tale where there's an evil stepmother and the only salvation we have is in the charmed prince.
Life is hard. It is about suffering.
The magic happens when we can transform that suffering into moments of bliss.
The third peeve isn't as heavy as the other two, but it's a peeve that hasn't gone away in the almost 30 years I've been driving.
3. Lack of directionals
People who do not use their turn signals while driving. Listen folks, directionals are NOT optional equipment.
And one for the road:
People who can't think for themselves and need our media to do it for them. It doesn't matter if it's political, the latest book, or the most stylin' fashion. It only becomes trendy because some advertising corporation has decided the next thing is the "in" thing. What we are doing when we fall into the whole trendy thing is tipping the advertisers, media, etc. for thinking for us. It irks me to no end.
Tag.
I can't do the tag thing. I've tried. For real. I even wrote out all the code for the links and honestly, while previewing, it made me uncomfortable. I was the fat kid who never got picked for the team. So instead I'm sending out a general tag call to all my friends. I'd love to hear about your pet peeves. Just mention that I asked. ;-)
Nayland requested...I delivered.
List three things that piss you off and then tag six others to do the same.
He asked for it. When something pisses me off, it really pisses me off.
1. Hypocrisy
Folks who have experienced discrimination and yet can turn around and do the same to others. When someone works hard to create their space on the rock...how dare they kick off someone else who's attempting to climb the same rock? I have no patience for it. None. Nada.
Yes I know this is a slippery slope, but it's all about context and intent. When it's someone else's party, be it house, play, bar, website...bluntly put, it is none of your business. If you don't like it - leave. When it is your own created space, you are allowed to choose at will.
Not only do I see it in those places, but I see it happen so often in the nonprofit sector, especially with queer organizations. I understand where the dynamic comes from. We've struggled so hard to achieve a place and then clutch it tightly because any change would be threatening. There is so much in-fighting among people and orgs who are all trying to ultimately do good work. Yet the pettiness and drama from each claiming their turf leads to a greater dismantling of community.
Here's a novel concept. Why can't we peacefully work side by side?
Would you like to know one reason why the extreme fundies have taken a foothold? Regardless of the church they belong to, they are all flying the same banner - god. They have found a way to unite and in that, it makes it easy. Everyone who doesn't believe in that particular god is evil. They have created a perception of safe family and community whereas we, as liberals, spend more time bickering about who does what, processes, what's politically correct, 'no you don't belong in my camp', etc. We have fractured ourselves.
The sad thing is, many of us are the freethinkers, enlightened minds. We can assist with saving our humanity and our planet. Let's fuckin' lighten up.
We need, no we MUST begin to embrace a spirit of prosperity instead of holding onto our impoverished spirit. There really IS enough for everyone. Open up. Share. Unless we change our minds and hearts around this, I feel we are stunting positive human evolution. Instead, we are morphing into embittered people all stooge-ishly whispering "this is mine. No you can't have it."
It's insidious. It flows through everything. Look at our world. How can we complain about what Bush is doing in Iraq if we are doing the same damned thing in our little corner? It really all comes from a similar mindset.
Labeling comes from the same place. Yes, we need them to assist with identification, but don't attach to them so intently. All it does is make one look desperate. Everything shifts and changes. We can't help it. It's more painful when we try to prevent the flow.
All this stuff comes right back to living prosperously instead of choosing poverity.
As you can see, I can't even write cohesively about it. The pages and pages I could write would come out as a sputtering mess. That's how much it riles me. I know it means I'm still too emotionally close to the subject. With time and healing, maybe I can hope for a specky bit of graceful articulation.
2. Responsibility
We have become a people who will not take responsibility. It's always someone else's fault. Look at how litigious we've become as a society. Many times we do actually screw up. Sometimes, yes, someone else may attack, but there are instances where we need to look at the energy we are putting out. I do not believe that most of what we believe to be the responsibility of another actually is. It takes two to tango. Own up to our part for our own actions. It's about choice. We make a choice. Let's deal with the consequences.
Our own actions and basic choices do include going about our daily business. Living, in and of itself, is a dangerous and risky act. Shit happens. It just does. Life really is not the fairy tale where there's an evil stepmother and the only salvation we have is in the charmed prince.
Life is hard. It is about suffering.
The magic happens when we can transform that suffering into moments of bliss.
The third peeve isn't as heavy as the other two, but it's a peeve that hasn't gone away in the almost 30 years I've been driving.
3. Lack of directionals
People who do not use their turn signals while driving. Listen folks, directionals are NOT optional equipment.
And one for the road:
People who can't think for themselves and need our media to do it for them. It doesn't matter if it's political, the latest book, or the most stylin' fashion. It only becomes trendy because some advertising corporation has decided the next thing is the "in" thing. What we are doing when we fall into the whole trendy thing is tipping the advertisers, media, etc. for thinking for us. It irks me to no end.
Tag.
I can't do the tag thing. I've tried. For real. I even wrote out all the code for the links and honestly, while previewing, it made me uncomfortable. I was the fat kid who never got picked for the team. So instead I'm sending out a general tag call to all my friends. I'd love to hear about your pet peeves. Just mention that I asked. ;-)
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Blackened Britney-
Last night was the performance part of INXS' show where they are looking for a new lead singer.
They changed the format a bit and it made for an amazing show. First, the whole show was unplugged. This included a string section. I love unplugged sets. You can't hide.
The other change that impressed me was the song selection. With all the other performances, the candidates choose from a group of songs selected by INXS. So you want to keep in mind all the past critiques and maybe choose something that focuses on something you need to work on. But depending where you end up in the song selection process, the song that would assist may no longer be available.
Last night, the band personally chose the song for each contestant, based upon what they still wanted to hear from the individual regarding vocal range or pushing edges, etc. Apparently each singer was handed an envelope with the song they needed to perform and the reason why that song was chosen.
Here is the link to this week's performances. Make sure you choose 'week 6' and 'performance'. Ty did a rendition of "Maggie May" that had some Motown to it. Jordis sang "Knockin' On Heaven's Door" like I've never heard it sung before. It was gorgeous. She was intimidated by the song. Before singing, they showed a clip where she mentioned that although it's a deceptively easy song, how can she do it the justice previously done?
Mig sang the Frampton tune "Baby I Love Your Way" that blew the band away. Dave Navarro had tears in his eyes at the end of the song. And he gave one of the highest compliments I've ever heard from any teacher/mentor etc. He said something like "normally when hearing the performances, I'm compiling my comments. But this time, all I could think of was how much I love my wife." Yeah...powerful.
What I considered the highlight was one song, intentionally given, as an intense challenge. In a good way. Marty is very talented. I get off on hearing what he's going to do next. When he opened his envelope, he couldn't believe his eyes. He was given "...Baby One More Time" previously sung by Britney Spears. Listen to his rendition. It's brilliance, in a lusciously, painful dark way. That was my favorite for the evening.
Why am I so captivated by this show?
I'm compiling my thoughts on that one. One day...I'll share.
Last night was the performance part of INXS' show where they are looking for a new lead singer.
They changed the format a bit and it made for an amazing show. First, the whole show was unplugged. This included a string section. I love unplugged sets. You can't hide.
The other change that impressed me was the song selection. With all the other performances, the candidates choose from a group of songs selected by INXS. So you want to keep in mind all the past critiques and maybe choose something that focuses on something you need to work on. But depending where you end up in the song selection process, the song that would assist may no longer be available.
Last night, the band personally chose the song for each contestant, based upon what they still wanted to hear from the individual regarding vocal range or pushing edges, etc. Apparently each singer was handed an envelope with the song they needed to perform and the reason why that song was chosen.
Here is the link to this week's performances. Make sure you choose 'week 6' and 'performance'. Ty did a rendition of "Maggie May" that had some Motown to it. Jordis sang "Knockin' On Heaven's Door" like I've never heard it sung before. It was gorgeous. She was intimidated by the song. Before singing, they showed a clip where she mentioned that although it's a deceptively easy song, how can she do it the justice previously done?
Mig sang the Frampton tune "Baby I Love Your Way" that blew the band away. Dave Navarro had tears in his eyes at the end of the song. And he gave one of the highest compliments I've ever heard from any teacher/mentor etc. He said something like "normally when hearing the performances, I'm compiling my comments. But this time, all I could think of was how much I love my wife." Yeah...powerful.
What I considered the highlight was one song, intentionally given, as an intense challenge. In a good way. Marty is very talented. I get off on hearing what he's going to do next. When he opened his envelope, he couldn't believe his eyes. He was given "...Baby One More Time" previously sung by Britney Spears. Listen to his rendition. It's brilliance, in a lusciously, painful dark way. That was my favorite for the evening.
Why am I so captivated by this show?
I'm compiling my thoughts on that one. One day...I'll share.
Guess what I'm doing on Saturday, (in addition to a couple get-togethers)?
Hump-ing. :-)
This summer The Stranger held their first ever amateur porn contest - HUMP. They pull out a call for 2-10 minute films, either something you had laying around, or something created specifically for HUMP. Now, if you wanted to prove it was freshly made, The Stranger suggested you include at least one of the following with extra extra credit given for including all:
(from the extra credit portion of their rules)
~Sandwich cookies (OR CUPCAKE)
~A shopping bag from Toys in Babeland
~Tube socks
~A roll of duct tape
~A photo of Stranger receptionist Mike Nipper
The films are being screened this Saturday at the NW Film Forum. Originally there were two screenings, both of which sold out. They added a 3rd this morning, and then a 4th this afternoon. So I'm hitting the 12:30 pm show with Auxugen (if he's still in town). Djartemis, co-owner of Two Big Meanies (who also created and starred in one of the films with batboymaxx...something about a Pirate and Ninja porn) is going to join us.
I'm psyched. To sit and spend time watching porn short after porn short will be exciting. The reason I say that is, a few years back, I assisted Sir when he was on the jury for the Seattle Erotic Art Festival. After two full days of seeing over 1000 images over and over and over again...the final viewing was a continuous slide show of the almost 500 that were accepted. A few seconds each. At that point, the eroticism was in seeing all the individual images blur together to make a sex quilt. For me, I discovered that whole piece more erotic than any one image on its own. The flood of shifting sex was powerful. I would have loved to see a room set aside at the festival that ran a loop of all the images back to back.
Remembering that experience makes me think that Saturday's viewing may almost be the same.
I'm looking forward to it.
Hump-ing. :-)
This summer The Stranger held their first ever amateur porn contest - HUMP. They pull out a call for 2-10 minute films, either something you had laying around, or something created specifically for HUMP. Now, if you wanted to prove it was freshly made, The Stranger suggested you include at least one of the following with extra extra credit given for including all:
(from the extra credit portion of their rules)
~Sandwich cookies (OR CUPCAKE)
~A shopping bag from Toys in Babeland
~Tube socks
~A roll of duct tape
~A photo of Stranger receptionist Mike Nipper
The films are being screened this Saturday at the NW Film Forum. Originally there were two screenings, both of which sold out. They added a 3rd this morning, and then a 4th this afternoon. So I'm hitting the 12:30 pm show with Auxugen (if he's still in town). Djartemis, co-owner of Two Big Meanies (who also created and starred in one of the films with batboymaxx...something about a Pirate and Ninja porn) is going to join us.
I'm psyched. To sit and spend time watching porn short after porn short will be exciting. The reason I say that is, a few years back, I assisted Sir when he was on the jury for the Seattle Erotic Art Festival. After two full days of seeing over 1000 images over and over and over again...the final viewing was a continuous slide show of the almost 500 that were accepted. A few seconds each. At that point, the eroticism was in seeing all the individual images blur together to make a sex quilt. For me, I discovered that whole piece more erotic than any one image on its own. The flood of shifting sex was powerful. I would have loved to see a room set aside at the festival that ran a loop of all the images back to back.
Remembering that experience makes me think that Saturday's viewing may almost be the same.
I'm looking forward to it.
"Not to kill, but to cherish all life."
~The First Precept
Yesterday, Lydia wrote about the necessary evil of paying taxes to, not her gov't, but THE gov't. Many of us feel that way. Oddly enough, one of the topics of conversation on Monday with my shrink was the frustration I felt with paying taxes knowing that approximately one third goes directly to the military.
It's a big chunk that I cannot justify because I do not support the war let alone other reasons such as the gross amount of the population doesn't have health insurance, people are dying on the streets from drugs and homelessness, crime is up, education is down, art, music and compassion are not seen as critical to our evolution and the collective spirit of our country is slowly being suffocated. Wonder why I get depressed, overwhelmed and angry at times?
A few weeks back I was cruising the Buddhist Peace Fellowship website and saw this. Yes, BPF was part of a grassroots efforts to recognize that conscientious objectors may want alternatives to paying into the the large war fund.
National Campaign for a Peace Tax Fund
On the 25th of May, 2005, Representative John Lewis re-introduced the Religious Freedom Peace Tax Fund Bill. The bill has a new number:
H.R.2631
Title: To affirm the religious freedom of taxpayers who are conscientiously opposed to participation in war, to provide that the income, estate, or gift tax payments of such taxpayers be used for nonmilitary purposes, to create the Religious Freedom Peace Tax Fund to receive such tax payments, to improve revenue collection, and for other purposes.
Here is the list of 37 cosponsors of the bill, which includes Jim McDermott from Seattle. (go Jim!)
Bill Summary & Status for the 109th Congress
The Dharma and the Military
Here is an example of a letter you can send your congressperson in support of the Peace Tax legislation.
~The First Precept
Yesterday, Lydia wrote about the necessary evil of paying taxes to, not her gov't, but THE gov't. Many of us feel that way. Oddly enough, one of the topics of conversation on Monday with my shrink was the frustration I felt with paying taxes knowing that approximately one third goes directly to the military.
It's a big chunk that I cannot justify because I do not support the war let alone other reasons such as the gross amount of the population doesn't have health insurance, people are dying on the streets from drugs and homelessness, crime is up, education is down, art, music and compassion are not seen as critical to our evolution and the collective spirit of our country is slowly being suffocated. Wonder why I get depressed, overwhelmed and angry at times?
A few weeks back I was cruising the Buddhist Peace Fellowship website and saw this. Yes, BPF was part of a grassroots efforts to recognize that conscientious objectors may want alternatives to paying into the the large war fund.
National Campaign for a Peace Tax Fund
On the 25th of May, 2005, Representative John Lewis re-introduced the Religious Freedom Peace Tax Fund Bill. The bill has a new number:
H.R.2631
Title: To affirm the religious freedom of taxpayers who are conscientiously opposed to participation in war, to provide that the income, estate, or gift tax payments of such taxpayers be used for nonmilitary purposes, to create the Religious Freedom Peace Tax Fund to receive such tax payments, to improve revenue collection, and for other purposes.
Here is the list of 37 cosponsors of the bill, which includes Jim McDermott from Seattle. (go Jim!)
Bill Summary & Status for the 109th Congress
The Dharma and the Military
Here is an example of a letter you can send your congressperson in support of the Peace Tax legislation.
"Do you want to know what depresses the American spirit? Do you want to know why it feels like the center cannot hold and the tyranny of mediocrity has been loosed upon our world? Do you want to know what instills more thoughts of suicide and creates a desperate, low-level rage the source of which we cannot quite identify but which we know is right under our noses and which we now inhale Prozac and Xanax and Paxil by the truckload to attempt to mollify?
I have your answer. Here it is. Look."
Yup. That's an excerpt from Mark Morford's latest column.
And now Brezsny speaks to the Capricorns:
"There will come a time when you believe everything is finished," wrote novelist Louis L'Amour. "Yet that will be the beginning." He could have been describing your life in the coming week, Capricorn. Just when you're sure you've gone as far as you can go, worked as hard as you can work, and exhausted all the possibilities, you will find the secret to a sweet, fresh gamble that will awaken your most brilliant innocence.
The other 11 signs are here.
I have your answer. Here it is. Look."
Yup. That's an excerpt from Mark Morford's latest column.
And now Brezsny speaks to the Capricorns:
"There will come a time when you believe everything is finished," wrote novelist Louis L'Amour. "Yet that will be the beginning." He could have been describing your life in the coming week, Capricorn. Just when you're sure you've gone as far as you can go, worked as hard as you can work, and exhausted all the possibilities, you will find the secret to a sweet, fresh gamble that will awaken your most brilliant innocence.
The other 11 signs are here.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Keepin' things in perspective, I received a wonderful little email which said:
".322 percent of the human race is still over 10,000,000 people."
Thanks John. :-)
And speaking of John...I'd like to showcase a letter he wrote to the Seattle PI. As far as I know, it has yet to be published, and I'm sure I know why. When someone compares the similarities between a senior prom and a stripper club..well...you know. It's brilliant.
With his permission, here are his thoughts regarding the mayor's initiative to ban lap dances and set up a foot foot rule in Seattle's stripper clubs (as if we don't have more important issues at hand??).
----------
Although Mayor Nickels’ proposed four foot rule for strip clubs may raise some interesting speculation about the Mayoral Endowment, it is otherwise wretched public policy. This Mickey Mouse legislation will do more harm than good. At best it will be business as usual anyhow. At worst it will drive sex work underground, cost significant tax dollars to pay for the increased health and crime problems, and result in a loss of tax revenue.
Where will the Nickels Anti-Sex League strike next? Gay baths? Adult bookstores? Ballroom dance studios? Or maybe the senior prom? After all the deal at both strip clubs and proms is that females dress provocatively to induce males to spend money on them for a little gettin’ up close and personal. The only difference is that at proms, the females are mostly underage and the males expect more gratifying sexual favors than a little frottage afterwards.
Prohibition has never been a solution to “vice.” If we really want to make sex work obsolete, we need to do a little work on our sex negative culture first. We act as if sex for money is about as yucky as it gets, but we inundate ourselves with messages that say women are sex objects and men are money objects. Hollywood romanticizes “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” Our corporate leaders gleefully parade their trophy wives across the tabloids. De Beers bleats “Give her diamonds and she’ll love you.” The sanctimonious O’Reilly turns out to be a harasser. Playboy teaches men how to look rich enough to bed a babe, even if they aren’t. No wonder many women would rather make $200 an hour playing Pretty Woman at Rick’s for the same guy who would offer them $10 an hour in his office to play Steppin Fetchit.
No ethical, thinking person can approve of the state meddling in the personal lives of consenting adults, whether they be mixed race couples (when my wife and I were married in 1964, our union was illegal in 16 states), gays, or sex workers and their clients. Our tax dollars should not be spent on laws that at best demoralize, and at worst corrupt, our already overworked police officers. If the Mayor truly had Seattle’s best interest at heart, he would initiate a discussion on how to decriminalize sex work and assure that it is safe and consensual. Instead, he seems focused on forcing us into lock step with his Republican buddies in the ‘burbs.
John Ullman (For whom, like Holden Caulfield, a six inch rule would suffice.)
Fremont
".322 percent of the human race is still over 10,000,000 people."
Thanks John. :-)
And speaking of John...I'd like to showcase a letter he wrote to the Seattle PI. As far as I know, it has yet to be published, and I'm sure I know why. When someone compares the similarities between a senior prom and a stripper club..well...you know. It's brilliant.
With his permission, here are his thoughts regarding the mayor's initiative to ban lap dances and set up a foot foot rule in Seattle's stripper clubs (as if we don't have more important issues at hand??).
----------
Although Mayor Nickels’ proposed four foot rule for strip clubs may raise some interesting speculation about the Mayoral Endowment, it is otherwise wretched public policy. This Mickey Mouse legislation will do more harm than good. At best it will be business as usual anyhow. At worst it will drive sex work underground, cost significant tax dollars to pay for the increased health and crime problems, and result in a loss of tax revenue.
Where will the Nickels Anti-Sex League strike next? Gay baths? Adult bookstores? Ballroom dance studios? Or maybe the senior prom? After all the deal at both strip clubs and proms is that females dress provocatively to induce males to spend money on them for a little gettin’ up close and personal. The only difference is that at proms, the females are mostly underage and the males expect more gratifying sexual favors than a little frottage afterwards.
Prohibition has never been a solution to “vice.” If we really want to make sex work obsolete, we need to do a little work on our sex negative culture first. We act as if sex for money is about as yucky as it gets, but we inundate ourselves with messages that say women are sex objects and men are money objects. Hollywood romanticizes “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” Our corporate leaders gleefully parade their trophy wives across the tabloids. De Beers bleats “Give her diamonds and she’ll love you.” The sanctimonious O’Reilly turns out to be a harasser. Playboy teaches men how to look rich enough to bed a babe, even if they aren’t. No wonder many women would rather make $200 an hour playing Pretty Woman at Rick’s for the same guy who would offer them $10 an hour in his office to play Steppin Fetchit.
No ethical, thinking person can approve of the state meddling in the personal lives of consenting adults, whether they be mixed race couples (when my wife and I were married in 1964, our union was illegal in 16 states), gays, or sex workers and their clients. Our tax dollars should not be spent on laws that at best demoralize, and at worst corrupt, our already overworked police officers. If the Mayor truly had Seattle’s best interest at heart, he would initiate a discussion on how to decriminalize sex work and assure that it is safe and consensual. Instead, he seems focused on forcing us into lock step with his Republican buddies in the ‘burbs.
John Ullman (For whom, like Holden Caulfield, a six inch rule would suffice.)
Fremont
Monday, August 15, 2005
I no longer hate 99.778 percent of the population.
And so...I am sharing a drawing.
I knew, when the hate came over me that it wasn't really about the rest of the world and each little thing I could attack. It was about me. I didn't like 99.778 percent of me. More honestly, I despised 99.778 percent of me.
So, I'm calmer and not as hateful toward myself. Yeah, there was a shrink appointment this morning. Can we say pleasant? During the session, I told him to fuck off at least once. Or it may have been "fuck you".
Good thing he's a patient man.
I knew, before walking into his office, that I was feeling extremely lonely. I attack when I'm feeling alone, much in the same way that my arrogance shines through when intimidated.
It's not the alone that comes from longing for an intimate lover relationship, but for someone who can read my mind. I felt like no matter what I read, looked at or heard, I was butting silent heads. I wouldn't want my lover to share my mind fully. It would be boring. If I ever have a lover again, they need to challenge me and allow me to challenge them. It's a big part of the spark.
Instead, I wanted...a clone type. I wanted to be able to have an opinion and have someone say "Yeah...I know" or "I understand." I didn't want to defend or explain. I didn't want to have them question me to death or look at me as if I had two heads.
Sometimes, just sometimes...don't you simply want someone to get it?
Once in a while I do.
It's my big demon. Maybe one day I'll get over it.
Anyway, on to the art.
Seeing I wrote about charcoal drawings last week, here is a charcoal. It's a good size piece, maybe about 3'x4.5'. Of course, it's a still life. Set up by a prof back in '96. But it feels like a whole other world to me. Someplace I want to hang out in sometimes.
Here's my world and welcome to it.
And so...I am sharing a drawing.
I knew, when the hate came over me that it wasn't really about the rest of the world and each little thing I could attack. It was about me. I didn't like 99.778 percent of me. More honestly, I despised 99.778 percent of me.
So, I'm calmer and not as hateful toward myself. Yeah, there was a shrink appointment this morning. Can we say pleasant? During the session, I told him to fuck off at least once. Or it may have been "fuck you".
Good thing he's a patient man.
I knew, before walking into his office, that I was feeling extremely lonely. I attack when I'm feeling alone, much in the same way that my arrogance shines through when intimidated.
It's not the alone that comes from longing for an intimate lover relationship, but for someone who can read my mind. I felt like no matter what I read, looked at or heard, I was butting silent heads. I wouldn't want my lover to share my mind fully. It would be boring. If I ever have a lover again, they need to challenge me and allow me to challenge them. It's a big part of the spark.
Instead, I wanted...a clone type. I wanted to be able to have an opinion and have someone say "Yeah...I know" or "I understand." I didn't want to defend or explain. I didn't want to have them question me to death or look at me as if I had two heads.
Sometimes, just sometimes...don't you simply want someone to get it?
Once in a while I do.
It's my big demon. Maybe one day I'll get over it.
Anyway, on to the art.
Seeing I wrote about charcoal drawings last week, here is a charcoal. It's a good size piece, maybe about 3'x4.5'. Of course, it's a still life. Set up by a prof back in '96. But it feels like a whole other world to me. Someplace I want to hang out in sometimes.
Here's my world and welcome to it.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
It's hot today. I know that the New Englanders' would probably give almost anything for our weather right now, but from my perspective...it's too hot and too bright.
It saps my energy. It leaves me with a floundering feeling...not sure what to do. I would have rented a dvd but it's a little too warm in my apartment to enjoy it. I considered walking to the movies, but nothing sounded enticing. I was going to call a friend, but felt like being alone. Yet not fully alone.
I figured I could be bored at home or be bored at Septieme. At least here, at the Cafe...there's someone to cook for me. :-)
And, my world is a little better with a lot of ice tea and a beet salad with grilled chicken. I brought my laptop, as you can see. Also a notebook and 2 books I'm reading. Settled in for the afternoon.
Yesterday, while waiting for Auxugen, I was sitting outdoors digging into Frankenstein, the book not the movie. I had nightmares last night! Can you believe it? Weird, weird, weird. I haven't had a nightmare in years. This morning, before it was too warm, I popped in Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? I've never seen it. Sir loaned me the dvd a while back and I figured it was a good time. Thing is, although a great movie, and I enjoyed it, in addition it creeped me out in kind of a big way. My sense is because I was still in that shaking off the nightmare space.
I've been fairly silent. There isn't any desire lurking inside to come out with profundities or tales of the strangeness that is my life. So, I'm coasting.
I need to pick up The Artist's Handbook. I have always meant to purchase it yet never did. That will answer my questions about charcoal...and anything else. I'm sure. Maybe I'll stop at the used bookstore on my way home and see if they have a fairly new copy.
Yesterday I began the world's ugliest still life. I noticed I'm immersing myself in small paintings. Nothing too complicated. Simple. The latest one is again an 8x10. Fairly nondescript. It's a portrait of an apple, a banana, the corner of the cobalt blue sushi plate they are laying on...and a partial wine bottle. It's gained the title of ugly still life because of the current color of the foreground and background. I stepped back to look at it, and felt a sense of ugly creepiness. Hoss was checkin' it out at the same time...and verbally said what was in my head. It's eerie.
So, with that, the small challenge I have given myself is to see if I can create and use the color of reflected light in a non-obvious way to evoke a sense of strangeness, darkness and forboding. Not blatant Nightmare on Elm Street stuff. Instead, closer to a Hitchcock type of creepiness. With color of the light.
It saps my energy. It leaves me with a floundering feeling...not sure what to do. I would have rented a dvd but it's a little too warm in my apartment to enjoy it. I considered walking to the movies, but nothing sounded enticing. I was going to call a friend, but felt like being alone. Yet not fully alone.
I figured I could be bored at home or be bored at Septieme. At least here, at the Cafe...there's someone to cook for me. :-)
And, my world is a little better with a lot of ice tea and a beet salad with grilled chicken. I brought my laptop, as you can see. Also a notebook and 2 books I'm reading. Settled in for the afternoon.
Yesterday, while waiting for Auxugen, I was sitting outdoors digging into Frankenstein, the book not the movie. I had nightmares last night! Can you believe it? Weird, weird, weird. I haven't had a nightmare in years. This morning, before it was too warm, I popped in Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? I've never seen it. Sir loaned me the dvd a while back and I figured it was a good time. Thing is, although a great movie, and I enjoyed it, in addition it creeped me out in kind of a big way. My sense is because I was still in that shaking off the nightmare space.
I've been fairly silent. There isn't any desire lurking inside to come out with profundities or tales of the strangeness that is my life. So, I'm coasting.
I need to pick up The Artist's Handbook. I have always meant to purchase it yet never did. That will answer my questions about charcoal...and anything else. I'm sure. Maybe I'll stop at the used bookstore on my way home and see if they have a fairly new copy.
Yesterday I began the world's ugliest still life. I noticed I'm immersing myself in small paintings. Nothing too complicated. Simple. The latest one is again an 8x10. Fairly nondescript. It's a portrait of an apple, a banana, the corner of the cobalt blue sushi plate they are laying on...and a partial wine bottle. It's gained the title of ugly still life because of the current color of the foreground and background. I stepped back to look at it, and felt a sense of ugly creepiness. Hoss was checkin' it out at the same time...and verbally said what was in my head. It's eerie.
So, with that, the small challenge I have given myself is to see if I can create and use the color of reflected light in a non-obvious way to evoke a sense of strangeness, darkness and forboding. Not blatant Nightmare on Elm Street stuff. Instead, closer to a Hitchcock type of creepiness. With color of the light.
Hey there -
I didn't feel like writing yesterday.
For now, let's pass off a few links that were waiting for me in my email. What list did I get on? There seems to be a theme...
How about your very own fried breakfast hat and purse? Instructions included so you can knit your own.
Here is a site devoted to go-go boots, with a tribute to Nancy Sinatra.
For those of you planning weddings, And The Bride Wore... showcases interesting wedding fashion for the bride, the groom, etc.
A couple examples:
This one is titled - That walk down the aisle is going to take a long, long time.
And, Tippi Hedron's wedding dress.
Last, you can create your own spam shirt. Choose size, color and your preferred spam.
I didn't feel like writing yesterday.
For now, let's pass off a few links that were waiting for me in my email. What list did I get on? There seems to be a theme...
How about your very own fried breakfast hat and purse? Instructions included so you can knit your own.
Here is a site devoted to go-go boots, with a tribute to Nancy Sinatra.
For those of you planning weddings, And The Bride Wore... showcases interesting wedding fashion for the bride, the groom, etc.
A couple examples:
This one is titled - That walk down the aisle is going to take a long, long time.
And, Tippi Hedron's wedding dress.
Last, you can create your own spam shirt. Choose size, color and your preferred spam.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, August 12, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
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.
...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.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
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
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 ...",
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 ...",
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, August 08, 2005
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
-------------
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.
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.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Saturday, August 06, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
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.
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'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?
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?
Monday, August 01, 2005
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...
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...
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