I have very few plans this weekend and am excited about that. It's snippets of things...and I think Sunday is fully open. Breaks like that allow for good drawing time.
Still struggling to get the sleep from my eyes. If I didn't have a car appt at 9am, I would have stayed in bed. After the car, I'm free until happy hour with the bunny. We'll walk down to Utrecht, so I can replenish my paper and then tapas at Tangos.
Today's column from Morford:
"That's it, baby," Windows coos, stroking your calves, working its way up to your hard drive. "Just relax, don't worry about a thing." Then come the magic words, the line Windows knows you secretly want to hear, the one guaranteed to send you into OS orbit: "Baby, I'll do it so good you'll think you're using a new MacBook Pro in a wireless cafe in Paris."
Ummm...a warning. If you're a hardcord Windows user, you probably would be better off not reading Windows Gives No Tongue
Friday, July 14, 2006
Doubt? Fear?
It's been a day.
I popped in my headphones, listened pretty much non-stop to some nasty music, kept my sexual groove, and got a buttload of work done. Swiftly and efficiently. It made for a good day.
Taking a lot of risks lately. It's a really strange feeling putting yourself out on a limb while trying to keep listening to your deepest voice.
Just got back from dinner with a friend. I'm not going to out him because he was confiding in me. We were talking about some of his current struggles. He's not sure about a big decision that he may have to make at some point. Part of him sees it as his passion coming to fruition and the other part...well...you know all the doubts we have.
Some choices we must make. The big question - Are we running toward something or running from something?
Sound familiar?
We all go through it at various times.
I mentioned (which I need to keep reminding myself of) that there is doubt and there is fear. I'm sure the two could coexist. But the wisdom comes in discerning the difference. From the time I was little, I remember hearing "when in doubt, don't." Short, sweet and much truth. If there is doubt, you're better off staying put. That's not true with fear. It could be a step, large or small, which may carry a ton of fear. Fear doesn't mean no. Fear is just fear.
How to tell the difference between doubt and fear?
Dunno.
I know it when immersed in it. My body reacts in a very specific way to doubt. Unfortunately, although it does speak to me, it is a quiet voice. It doesn't scream loud until after I take the step I shouldn't. Then, I can backtrack, step back, or do over.
For me, doubt shows itself in a specific frenetic anxiety that settles in my heart. Fear is felt in my heart as well, but it's another kind of fluttering. Deeper pounding.
Fear doesn't leave until after I've taken the step. Then it falls away in the calmest most beautiful way, leaving an open space where I can take the deepest breaths.
Thing is, no one but ourselves can really tell if it's doubt stopping us or fear.
Life is so strange sometimes.
I'm bushed tonight...and off to bed.
It's been a day.
I popped in my headphones, listened pretty much non-stop to some nasty music, kept my sexual groove, and got a buttload of work done. Swiftly and efficiently. It made for a good day.
Taking a lot of risks lately. It's a really strange feeling putting yourself out on a limb while trying to keep listening to your deepest voice.
Just got back from dinner with a friend. I'm not going to out him because he was confiding in me. We were talking about some of his current struggles. He's not sure about a big decision that he may have to make at some point. Part of him sees it as his passion coming to fruition and the other part...well...you know all the doubts we have.
Some choices we must make. The big question - Are we running toward something or running from something?
Sound familiar?
We all go through it at various times.
I mentioned (which I need to keep reminding myself of) that there is doubt and there is fear. I'm sure the two could coexist. But the wisdom comes in discerning the difference. From the time I was little, I remember hearing "when in doubt, don't." Short, sweet and much truth. If there is doubt, you're better off staying put. That's not true with fear. It could be a step, large or small, which may carry a ton of fear. Fear doesn't mean no. Fear is just fear.
How to tell the difference between doubt and fear?
Dunno.
I know it when immersed in it. My body reacts in a very specific way to doubt. Unfortunately, although it does speak to me, it is a quiet voice. It doesn't scream loud until after I take the step I shouldn't. Then, I can backtrack, step back, or do over.
For me, doubt shows itself in a specific frenetic anxiety that settles in my heart. Fear is felt in my heart as well, but it's another kind of fluttering. Deeper pounding.
Fear doesn't leave until after I've taken the step. Then it falls away in the calmest most beautiful way, leaving an open space where I can take the deepest breaths.
Thing is, no one but ourselves can really tell if it's doubt stopping us or fear.
Life is so strange sometimes.
I'm bushed tonight...and off to bed.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Prix Fixe
Last year I was involved in a performance art piece at the Seattle Erotic Art Festival 2005. Although I tried, I couldn't write about it at the time. Recently there have been discussions about food play. It prompted me to finish my piece.
The premise:
Prix Fixe
From DC McGlothlen, the creator of Prix Fixe:
"About 20 years ago, some friends and I were on our way home to Bellevue from clubbing in Seattle. For reasons that escape me now, we stopped at the Mercer Island Denny’s.
We were seated in a booth against the back wall. In the center of the dining room were a large, even huge man and a slender, even skeletal woman.
The man had a voluptuousness that only a dedication to eating can bring about. The woman had a sensual nature that, it seemed, did not encompass allowing food to pass her lips.
The man ordered plate after plate of food, one at a time. He ordered side-dishes, mainly, and things that, at Denny’s, passed for appetizers.
He took a lovely pleasure in his eating. He paced himself but focused on the task at hand. He was unhurried.
His dinner companion did not eat at all. She never touched her place-setting. She never touched her water glass. She directed her energy to watching her friend eat.
There was a shivery luxury in the way she watched him eat. And a shy happiness in the way the man appreciated her watching him.
And they did not speak to each other at all. Not once. He spoke only to his waitress and then only to order more food or to thank her for food delivered.
His dinner companion mostly smiled. But there was longing in her bony face. And her longing was exultant, transcendent.
They shared a dynamic relationship with his food and with each other. Their experience of the Mercer Island Denny’s seemed to contain only these three elements.
It was like the experience you might have had of kissing a lover with such focus that the rest of the universe collapses down to enfold your impossibly proximal faces.
We left before they did. I’ve never been back. They might still be there.
Prix Fixe is not an attempt to recreate this event but to offer three informal variations upon the theme."
The three variations involved three couples. Each couple, one after the next, would take part in a two hour scene for a total 6 hours. The first were two women, then two men, then DCM and myself. The pairing was mindful, based on body size, one very heavy and one quite thin. That is, except for me. I'm not skinny.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was a small black stage, highlighting a white linen covered table and two chairs. Two elegant place settings. Flowers.
The Bear and I took our seats. We each had menus. The waiter, clad in his white coat, approached the table to take our order and fill water glasses.
Or...should I say, water glass.
Mine remained empty.
Glancing at the menu, I saw about 20 different selections...and I knew some of them well.
Reading the names, I could taste them on my tongue. They are my friends.
And yet, they are not.
One wine glass received a delicious deep red...
I could smell the grapes.
I watched as the Bear made his first selection.
Bread and a saucer of oil/vinegar was brought.
The feasting began.
Except for periodic glances to his plate or his glass, my eyes remained on his.
As he tasted, savoured the first course, I felt a swelling in my belly.
My thighs began to shake...
The Bear has a penetrating stare. He looks into your eyes and his gaze drives him right into your soul. If he wasn’t looking at his food, he was studying me.
The orgasm began. One of those full body releases that escapes every pore and hole. It came again. And again.
I became nervous because I knew our scene had just begun. If I was cumming now, what would the next 2 hours be like? Anxiety and apprehension took over. I needed to calm myself.
The waiter returned, and the Bear ordered another plate. A groan escaped my lips. I know this food. I crave this food. Watching him enjoy and savor every bite, every crumb, began to leave me wanting. How dare he delight in such bounty in front of me! Envy flooded up and turned to rage. I want this too!
I shook with fury.
Time passed. Plate after plate after plate. One glass of wine and then another. More bread.
My hands were on each side of my chair, gripping to keep control between the anger and the sexual tension.
He was getting full. I could see it and feel it. How could he continue to eat? What if his heart stopped from over indulgence? I know this man very well. I know some of his history.
Then memories. I remembered my problems with food. In my early 20’s I spent a few years with anorexic symptoms. Having been overweight in highschool, reaching 200 lbs, I worked hard to take it off.
The first time my heart was broken it was no longer a challenge. Even the idea of eating left me with a lump in my throat. It took all my energy to bite into a pear.
I decided I could only be loved if thin. My 200 lbs dropped to 125. People would stare and whisper I was too skinny.
Fat never felt good on me. Skinny didn’t either. Food is loaded.
In the last few years I’ve learned to love food and be mindful of moderation. Good, fantastic food, when sharing it with people I love became sex. I wanted his food. I needed to dance in his mouth.
I watched him eat.
Near the end I couldn’t take it anymore. My discomfort was great as I worried for his health. He saw my conflict. Tears sprang to my eyes as I expressed my terror with a look and then a slow tear down the right side of my face. A long, caring look. He saw and returned it, his face filled with love. I’ll never forget it.
The full two hours were spent in silence. Other than the moan that would escape from my lips the only sound was sounds of cooking or the Bear engaging with his meal.
To this day I think about that scene. Each time I attempted to write, my words always felt inadequate. Even now. Still.
My body betrays me as I try to share this with you. It is shaking. Prix Fixe was a quilt, pieced together with varied textures and colors - smells, tastes, emotions, memories, sexual pleasure.
Last year I was involved in a performance art piece at the Seattle Erotic Art Festival 2005. Although I tried, I couldn't write about it at the time. Recently there have been discussions about food play. It prompted me to finish my piece.
The premise:
Prix Fixe
From DC McGlothlen, the creator of Prix Fixe:
"About 20 years ago, some friends and I were on our way home to Bellevue from clubbing in Seattle. For reasons that escape me now, we stopped at the Mercer Island Denny’s.
We were seated in a booth against the back wall. In the center of the dining room were a large, even huge man and a slender, even skeletal woman.
The man had a voluptuousness that only a dedication to eating can bring about. The woman had a sensual nature that, it seemed, did not encompass allowing food to pass her lips.
The man ordered plate after plate of food, one at a time. He ordered side-dishes, mainly, and things that, at Denny’s, passed for appetizers.
He took a lovely pleasure in his eating. He paced himself but focused on the task at hand. He was unhurried.
His dinner companion did not eat at all. She never touched her place-setting. She never touched her water glass. She directed her energy to watching her friend eat.
There was a shivery luxury in the way she watched him eat. And a shy happiness in the way the man appreciated her watching him.
And they did not speak to each other at all. Not once. He spoke only to his waitress and then only to order more food or to thank her for food delivered.
His dinner companion mostly smiled. But there was longing in her bony face. And her longing was exultant, transcendent.
They shared a dynamic relationship with his food and with each other. Their experience of the Mercer Island Denny’s seemed to contain only these three elements.
It was like the experience you might have had of kissing a lover with such focus that the rest of the universe collapses down to enfold your impossibly proximal faces.
We left before they did. I’ve never been back. They might still be there.
Prix Fixe is not an attempt to recreate this event but to offer three informal variations upon the theme."
The three variations involved three couples. Each couple, one after the next, would take part in a two hour scene for a total 6 hours. The first were two women, then two men, then DCM and myself. The pairing was mindful, based on body size, one very heavy and one quite thin. That is, except for me. I'm not skinny.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was a small black stage, highlighting a white linen covered table and two chairs. Two elegant place settings. Flowers.
The Bear and I took our seats. We each had menus. The waiter, clad in his white coat, approached the table to take our order and fill water glasses.
Or...should I say, water glass.
Mine remained empty.
Glancing at the menu, I saw about 20 different selections...and I knew some of them well.
Reading the names, I could taste them on my tongue. They are my friends.
And yet, they are not.
One wine glass received a delicious deep red...
I could smell the grapes.
I watched as the Bear made his first selection.
Bread and a saucer of oil/vinegar was brought.
The feasting began.
Except for periodic glances to his plate or his glass, my eyes remained on his.
As he tasted, savoured the first course, I felt a swelling in my belly.
My thighs began to shake...
The Bear has a penetrating stare. He looks into your eyes and his gaze drives him right into your soul. If he wasn’t looking at his food, he was studying me.
The orgasm began. One of those full body releases that escapes every pore and hole. It came again. And again.
I became nervous because I knew our scene had just begun. If I was cumming now, what would the next 2 hours be like? Anxiety and apprehension took over. I needed to calm myself.
The waiter returned, and the Bear ordered another plate. A groan escaped my lips. I know this food. I crave this food. Watching him enjoy and savor every bite, every crumb, began to leave me wanting. How dare he delight in such bounty in front of me! Envy flooded up and turned to rage. I want this too!
I shook with fury.
Time passed. Plate after plate after plate. One glass of wine and then another. More bread.
My hands were on each side of my chair, gripping to keep control between the anger and the sexual tension.
He was getting full. I could see it and feel it. How could he continue to eat? What if his heart stopped from over indulgence? I know this man very well. I know some of his history.
Then memories. I remembered my problems with food. In my early 20’s I spent a few years with anorexic symptoms. Having been overweight in highschool, reaching 200 lbs, I worked hard to take it off.
The first time my heart was broken it was no longer a challenge. Even the idea of eating left me with a lump in my throat. It took all my energy to bite into a pear.
I decided I could only be loved if thin. My 200 lbs dropped to 125. People would stare and whisper I was too skinny.
Fat never felt good on me. Skinny didn’t either. Food is loaded.
In the last few years I’ve learned to love food and be mindful of moderation. Good, fantastic food, when sharing it with people I love became sex. I wanted his food. I needed to dance in his mouth.
I watched him eat.
Near the end I couldn’t take it anymore. My discomfort was great as I worried for his health. He saw my conflict. Tears sprang to my eyes as I expressed my terror with a look and then a slow tear down the right side of my face. A long, caring look. He saw and returned it, his face filled with love. I’ll never forget it.
The full two hours were spent in silence. Other than the moan that would escape from my lips the only sound was sounds of cooking or the Bear engaging with his meal.
To this day I think about that scene. Each time I attempted to write, my words always felt inadequate. Even now. Still.
My body betrays me as I try to share this with you. It is shaking. Prix Fixe was a quilt, pieced together with varied textures and colors - smells, tastes, emotions, memories, sexual pleasure.
Good morning.
I'm running a little behind today. No time to gather thoughts. Maybe later.
But here is this week's Freewill Astrology.
For Seattle folks, Rob Brezsny is in town today. He is doing a book reading at Elliott Bay Books tonight at 6pm. Or you can tune in to a radio interview today at 2:30 on KUOW. They have livestream.
Great quote from the Brezsny weekly email:
"In teaching my students, I try to figure out what questions I can ask that have no right answer. I seek to frame paradoxes, to force students to develop original thought." -Meg Gorman, Waldorf teacher
Morford writes about listening parties:
"You do not bring, say, Nickelback. You do not bring Green Day. Celine Dion will get you shot after the first bar. Someone once played Blink-182 and he has since been happily and relentlessly taunted and shall never live it down. You may very well bring "Stairway to Heaven," but only if it is "Stairway to Heaven" as performed by an all-lesbian country-punk band from Norway who recorded it on a four-track at some obscure festival just before their singer died from an aneurysm bungee jumping from her Harley.
In other words, you bring something interesting, unexpected. It can be a mainstream band, but the song should be sonically fascinating, well recorded, somehow unique, not something you will hear much on KROQ or that you can find all that easily on iTMS. Yes, there is a certain clunky snobbishness to it all. We do not care. It's our party. You may, of course, set your own parameters. Besides, after two drinks and a smoke, it all sounds really, really good."
Click here to read the whole thing.
I'm running a little behind today. No time to gather thoughts. Maybe later.
But here is this week's Freewill Astrology.
For Seattle folks, Rob Brezsny is in town today. He is doing a book reading at Elliott Bay Books tonight at 6pm. Or you can tune in to a radio interview today at 2:30 on KUOW. They have livestream.
Great quote from the Brezsny weekly email:
"In teaching my students, I try to figure out what questions I can ask that have no right answer. I seek to frame paradoxes, to force students to develop original thought." -Meg Gorman, Waldorf teacher
Morford writes about listening parties:
"You do not bring, say, Nickelback. You do not bring Green Day. Celine Dion will get you shot after the first bar. Someone once played Blink-182 and he has since been happily and relentlessly taunted and shall never live it down. You may very well bring "Stairway to Heaven," but only if it is "Stairway to Heaven" as performed by an all-lesbian country-punk band from Norway who recorded it on a four-track at some obscure festival just before their singer died from an aneurysm bungee jumping from her Harley.
In other words, you bring something interesting, unexpected. It can be a mainstream band, but the song should be sonically fascinating, well recorded, somehow unique, not something you will hear much on KROQ or that you can find all that easily on iTMS. Yes, there is a certain clunky snobbishness to it all. We do not care. It's our party. You may, of course, set your own parameters. Besides, after two drinks and a smoke, it all sounds really, really good."
Click here to read the whole thing.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
'Bounty' For Killing Gays At World Pride
by 365Gay.com Newscenter Staff
July 11, 2006 - 11:00 am ET
"(Jerusalem) Hundreds of leaflets distributed to homes in Jerusalem's ultra-Orthodox area and other parts of the city overnight offer 20,000 Israeli new shekels or about $4,500 US to anyone who kills gays marching in next month's World Pride in Jerusalem."
Entire article here.
by 365Gay.com Newscenter Staff
July 11, 2006 - 11:00 am ET
"(Jerusalem) Hundreds of leaflets distributed to homes in Jerusalem's ultra-Orthodox area and other parts of the city overnight offer 20,000 Israeli new shekels or about $4,500 US to anyone who kills gays marching in next month's World Pride in Jerusalem."
Entire article here.
Did it.
I sent out a few emails to see if folks were free...and all have responded. Wheeee!
So, I just booked my flight.
Both flights are nonstop. I arrive at JFK on Wednesday, Sept 20 at 5:30 pm.
And I leave JFK on Wednesday, the 27th at 6pm.
Total: $243.60 with fees and taxes.
We have a few months, so can work out details later on.
Damn.
This very much rocks.
I sent out a few emails to see if folks were free...and all have responded. Wheeee!
So, I just booked my flight.
Both flights are nonstop. I arrive at JFK on Wednesday, Sept 20 at 5:30 pm.
And I leave JFK on Wednesday, the 27th at 6pm.
Total: $243.60 with fees and taxes.
We have a few months, so can work out details later on.
Damn.
This very much rocks.
Well, well, well~
a Travelocity Farewatchers just came through my email.
Seattle to JFK, roundtrip, for $223.
I am tempted.
a Travelocity Farewatchers just came through my email.
Seattle to JFK, roundtrip, for $223.
I am tempted.
Draw instead of shoot.
Thanks to Angie Garner, she shares an article about her mom. How one person captures memories from their
Check out Fetching Sketching.
From the article:
"It slows you down -- and you see things in a different way," she said. "These drawings bring back memories in a very different way than all of those digital pictures."
I took a trip where I did this once. Normally, I carry my little sketchbook, or grab the back of an envelope and just move my hand. But about 20 years ago, on a trip to Disney World in Florida, with my sister and her kids, I purchased one of the Disney autograph books - the small ones that children buy to get autographs by the Disney characters. While waiting in all the lines for all the rides...I'd draw what I saw. The book was full by the end of the trip. I cherished that little book, but apparently not enough. Although it comes to mind periodically, I have no idea what happened to it. Disappeared with life.
This article is a good prod. Maybe I can push myself even further with my small sketches, but balance it out. I don't want to get hung up on creating good work all the time. But, I love my neighborhood. What's stopping me from sketching it...and sharing that with family and friends?
Nothing.
Thanks to Angie Garner, she shares an article about her mom. How one person captures memories from their
Check out Fetching Sketching.
From the article:
"It slows you down -- and you see things in a different way," she said. "These drawings bring back memories in a very different way than all of those digital pictures."
I took a trip where I did this once. Normally, I carry my little sketchbook, or grab the back of an envelope and just move my hand. But about 20 years ago, on a trip to Disney World in Florida, with my sister and her kids, I purchased one of the Disney autograph books - the small ones that children buy to get autographs by the Disney characters. While waiting in all the lines for all the rides...I'd draw what I saw. The book was full by the end of the trip. I cherished that little book, but apparently not enough. Although it comes to mind periodically, I have no idea what happened to it. Disappeared with life.
This article is a good prod. Maybe I can push myself even further with my small sketches, but balance it out. I don't want to get hung up on creating good work all the time. But, I love my neighborhood. What's stopping me from sketching it...and sharing that with family and friends?
Nothing.
Monday, July 10, 2006
I really, really wish...
...I weren't so tired.
You see, I want to dig into another drawing. I only captured about 4 hours of sleep last night, waking at 4:30 this morning. And it was a busy weekend. Yesterday was a fabulous day with everyone. I've decided that all my New Yorkers ought to move to Seattle. Better weather. ;-)
It's hard saying goodbye. It was also difficult in April as well, when I was leaving NYC.
Anyway, I'm trying hard to be mindful of my downtime, and not "should" or guilt myself into drawing. The spirit is definitely willing. Other than dinner plans with Michael on Wednesday, I want to be selfish with some alone time. Hungry to get messy with charcoal. It's as if I can't get enough of it and need to touch it each day, but that hasn't been possible. This is a new change that I'm definitely enjoying.
Yesterday, while going around with rogueboi, his Papabear, and Qnetter, we stumbled upon the last performance by Paper Trail Productions. It seems, for the last few years, they perform Shakespeare on the Fremont Troll. This year it was Romeo and Juliet. We caught the balcony scene. Juliet was literally on the troll's head, and Romeo down near his left hand. A lot of fun.
Maybe if I ask nicely, Rogueboi will post some pix once he's recovered from his trip.
We ended the day around the big ass table at Hoss's. An amazing dinner with great food and even more great people flew by too fast, and then it was time to make a trip to the airport.
Life is good. And tonight will be an early night.
...I weren't so tired.
You see, I want to dig into another drawing. I only captured about 4 hours of sleep last night, waking at 4:30 this morning. And it was a busy weekend. Yesterday was a fabulous day with everyone. I've decided that all my New Yorkers ought to move to Seattle. Better weather. ;-)
It's hard saying goodbye. It was also difficult in April as well, when I was leaving NYC.
Anyway, I'm trying hard to be mindful of my downtime, and not "should" or guilt myself into drawing. The spirit is definitely willing. Other than dinner plans with Michael on Wednesday, I want to be selfish with some alone time. Hungry to get messy with charcoal. It's as if I can't get enough of it and need to touch it each day, but that hasn't been possible. This is a new change that I'm definitely enjoying.
Yesterday, while going around with rogueboi, his Papabear, and Qnetter, we stumbled upon the last performance by Paper Trail Productions. It seems, for the last few years, they perform Shakespeare on the Fremont Troll. This year it was Romeo and Juliet. We caught the balcony scene. Juliet was literally on the troll's head, and Romeo down near his left hand. A lot of fun.
Maybe if I ask nicely, Rogueboi will post some pix once he's recovered from his trip.
We ended the day around the big ass table at Hoss's. An amazing dinner with great food and even more great people flew by too fast, and then it was time to make a trip to the airport.
Life is good. And tonight will be an early night.
Oh my gosh~
Remember the One Red Paperclip guy that I linked to a while back? He wondered if he could get a house by trading. He began with one red paperclip on July 12, 2005, and in June...he got his house!!! He will take possession of it on July 12, 2006, exactly a year from when he began.
On the right side of his blog it lists the progression of the trades. Click on each image to reveal the blog entry.
Dude, you rock!
Remember the One Red Paperclip guy that I linked to a while back? He wondered if he could get a house by trading. He began with one red paperclip on July 12, 2005, and in June...he got his house!!! He will take possession of it on July 12, 2006, exactly a year from when he began.
On the right side of his blog it lists the progression of the trades. Click on each image to reveal the blog entry.
Dude, you rock!
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Today...and this past week.
Got up slow.
Did a load of laundry.
TV surfed for a bit.
Solitaire.
Puzzles.
Walked.
Rested.
It was a slow and easy day. I thought, because I kept a quiet day on Thursday, that today would possibly have more energy.
It did. But not as much as I had hoped. It is what it is.
I considered hitting the bar tonight. There's some leather contest and it would have been fun to see a bunch of the guys. But I realized I wasn't up to socializing, mad flirting and some playing. So, I grabbed a friend and we went to a movie. It is an indy film, locally shot. The filmmaker is a Seattle guy. It's screened at many film fests, and Landmark Theaters seems to be doing the distribution on this one. The director, Rick Stevenson, was there tonight and so we enjoyed a Q & A afterward. Nice, very nice guy. I was impressed with him...
The movie is a sweet film. Dark comedy. Expiration Date.
Killer milk trucks and a narcoleptic dog.
I hoped to be able to do more drawings today, but really didn't have the strength.
I hoped to be able to write today as well.
This is the only writing that happened.
My shrink once told me that as I continue to heal, I will regain more energy. Yes, being an introvert, I need the alone to regroup...because big groups are draining, but he keeps reassuring me that it won't be as extreme as it's been and is.
What I have noticed since I've begun art again is that I need lots of down time away from people to collect the energy to create. Maybe that will balance out as well.
A lot of magic has happened this week. Some I want to share, and some I'm keeping more private.
There's been some letting go, which has manifested itself in a drawing.
Grieving and mourning in a different way than the past.
Cleaner.
Powerful.
I promise. I will write about that soon.
Awareness of a big truth that came to light this week...regarding isolation.
Greater connection with myself.
Quieter mind...very little angst.
Many emotions.
Watching new friendships unfold in a deeper way.
Some warm fuzzies, butterflies and hot lusty thoughts.
Actually, most of the week has been spent in an aroused state.
I feel stronger.
Much stronger.
I also feel so incredibly blessed that my art seems to have returned. Not that it went anywhere. Guess it's more that I am learning to be vulnerable to myself.
I want to write about that in more depth as well.
Trust me, this is still all scary stuff. But there seems to be a determination that is larger than the fear.
Tomorrow is a full day, from picking Kerry and Michael up at the cruise boat in the morning, to showing them Seattle, dim sum with the Seattle crew, more sightseeing...ending with a dinner at Hoss's...and then a trip to the airport.
So...Time for bed.
Got up slow.
Did a load of laundry.
TV surfed for a bit.
Solitaire.
Puzzles.
Walked.
Rested.
It was a slow and easy day. I thought, because I kept a quiet day on Thursday, that today would possibly have more energy.
It did. But not as much as I had hoped. It is what it is.
I considered hitting the bar tonight. There's some leather contest and it would have been fun to see a bunch of the guys. But I realized I wasn't up to socializing, mad flirting and some playing. So, I grabbed a friend and we went to a movie. It is an indy film, locally shot. The filmmaker is a Seattle guy. It's screened at many film fests, and Landmark Theaters seems to be doing the distribution on this one. The director, Rick Stevenson, was there tonight and so we enjoyed a Q & A afterward. Nice, very nice guy. I was impressed with him...
The movie is a sweet film. Dark comedy. Expiration Date.
Killer milk trucks and a narcoleptic dog.
I hoped to be able to do more drawings today, but really didn't have the strength.
I hoped to be able to write today as well.
This is the only writing that happened.
My shrink once told me that as I continue to heal, I will regain more energy. Yes, being an introvert, I need the alone to regroup...because big groups are draining, but he keeps reassuring me that it won't be as extreme as it's been and is.
What I have noticed since I've begun art again is that I need lots of down time away from people to collect the energy to create. Maybe that will balance out as well.
A lot of magic has happened this week. Some I want to share, and some I'm keeping more private.
There's been some letting go, which has manifested itself in a drawing.
Grieving and mourning in a different way than the past.
Cleaner.
Powerful.
I promise. I will write about that soon.
Awareness of a big truth that came to light this week...regarding isolation.
Greater connection with myself.
Quieter mind...very little angst.
Many emotions.
Watching new friendships unfold in a deeper way.
Some warm fuzzies, butterflies and hot lusty thoughts.
Actually, most of the week has been spent in an aroused state.
I feel stronger.
Much stronger.
I also feel so incredibly blessed that my art seems to have returned. Not that it went anywhere. Guess it's more that I am learning to be vulnerable to myself.
I want to write about that in more depth as well.
Trust me, this is still all scary stuff. But there seems to be a determination that is larger than the fear.
Tomorrow is a full day, from picking Kerry and Michael up at the cruise boat in the morning, to showing them Seattle, dim sum with the Seattle crew, more sightseeing...ending with a dinner at Hoss's...and then a trip to the airport.
So...Time for bed.
Friday, July 07, 2006
"...pass the scotch."
"It is like some sort of virus. It is like some sort of weird and painful rash on your face that makes you embarrassed to walk out the door and so you sit there day after day, waiting for it to go away, slathering on ointment and Bactine and scotch. And yet still it lingers.
Some days the pain is so searing and hot you want to cut off your own head with a nail file. Other days it is numb and pain-free and seemingly OK, to the point where you think it might finally be all gone and you allow yourself a hint of a whisper of a positive feeling, right up until you look in the mirror, and scream.
George W. Bush is just like that."
Those are the opening paragraphs of today's column by Mark Morford.
There is more to write about but it will have to wait. I'm headed out the door to pick up my coworker, and then catch a boat.
I will say that in the quiet, yesterday was incredibly powerful. Some additional healing that even led to a new drawing. It was subject matter that I struggled with for 5 years...painted over and over.
Yesterday. Short. Quick. Intense.
Still immersed in sexual energy.
There it was.
"It is like some sort of virus. It is like some sort of weird and painful rash on your face that makes you embarrassed to walk out the door and so you sit there day after day, waiting for it to go away, slathering on ointment and Bactine and scotch. And yet still it lingers.
Some days the pain is so searing and hot you want to cut off your own head with a nail file. Other days it is numb and pain-free and seemingly OK, to the point where you think it might finally be all gone and you allow yourself a hint of a whisper of a positive feeling, right up until you look in the mirror, and scream.
George W. Bush is just like that."
Those are the opening paragraphs of today's column by Mark Morford.
There is more to write about but it will have to wait. I'm headed out the door to pick up my coworker, and then catch a boat.
I will say that in the quiet, yesterday was incredibly powerful. Some additional healing that even led to a new drawing. It was subject matter that I struggled with for 5 years...painted over and over.
Yesterday. Short. Quick. Intense.
Still immersed in sexual energy.
There it was.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Self care~
Tomorrow we are having an all day staff retreat.
I know these are important. From seeing the agenda, we'll be delving into some pretty needed stuff. A donor loaned us his vacation home across the bay, so not only will we ferry over but I'll have water views for the day. I love my coworkers.
And...
...meetings and retreats not only do not feed but suck all the energy out of me.
So how to prep?
I've made plans with the only other introvert in the office. Instead of carpooling with the others, he and I are going together. At least the before and after won't be filled with incessant chatter.
Seeing I'm taking today off because I'm normally off on Fridays, I've opted for quiet day.
In addition to going for a long walk, doing some cleaning, pulling out a piece of writing that I've struggled with in the past...I'm going to catch a matinee in my favorite theater of a movie I've wanted to see. Today is the last day at the Harvard Exit for Peaceful Warrior. I like the during the week matinees at the Harvard because normally there's only a handful of people.
While googling for the movie site I found this. It lists the characteristics of a peaceful warrior, right in tune with buddhist philosophy. The idea of a peaceful warrior, in our space in time, seems paradoxical. But it's not. I can actually envision what our world would be like if we all encompassed the idea of peaceful warrior. So much so it makes me cry.
Today will also be a drawing day. It excites me.
Last night, I worked a few pieces. A surprise email ignited my body. Raging sexual desire dripped from every pore. Instead of wanking off in the traditional sense, I opted to channel it in my art. In doing so, it extended and expanded the energy. Not only did I go to bed in a hot state but was carried through the night into morning. I woke with fantasies and then opted for physical release.
Regardless of whether the final pieces are good or not, combining fiery sexual energy into the act of painting makes me very, very happy. Those are the times I feel most complete and Artist. To flow between my cunt, my belly, my hand and my eye using paper, brushes, charcoal, cocks, toys...whatever...
...that is the life I seek to continually immerse myself in.
It quiets the intellect and the analyst in myself and rips open the door for the Beast.
Tomorrow we are having an all day staff retreat.
I know these are important. From seeing the agenda, we'll be delving into some pretty needed stuff. A donor loaned us his vacation home across the bay, so not only will we ferry over but I'll have water views for the day. I love my coworkers.
And...
...meetings and retreats not only do not feed but suck all the energy out of me.
So how to prep?
I've made plans with the only other introvert in the office. Instead of carpooling with the others, he and I are going together. At least the before and after won't be filled with incessant chatter.
Seeing I'm taking today off because I'm normally off on Fridays, I've opted for quiet day.
In addition to going for a long walk, doing some cleaning, pulling out a piece of writing that I've struggled with in the past...I'm going to catch a matinee in my favorite theater of a movie I've wanted to see. Today is the last day at the Harvard Exit for Peaceful Warrior. I like the during the week matinees at the Harvard because normally there's only a handful of people.
While googling for the movie site I found this. It lists the characteristics of a peaceful warrior, right in tune with buddhist philosophy. The idea of a peaceful warrior, in our space in time, seems paradoxical. But it's not. I can actually envision what our world would be like if we all encompassed the idea of peaceful warrior. So much so it makes me cry.
Today will also be a drawing day. It excites me.
Last night, I worked a few pieces. A surprise email ignited my body. Raging sexual desire dripped from every pore. Instead of wanking off in the traditional sense, I opted to channel it in my art. In doing so, it extended and expanded the energy. Not only did I go to bed in a hot state but was carried through the night into morning. I woke with fantasies and then opted for physical release.
Regardless of whether the final pieces are good or not, combining fiery sexual energy into the act of painting makes me very, very happy. Those are the times I feel most complete and Artist. To flow between my cunt, my belly, my hand and my eye using paper, brushes, charcoal, cocks, toys...whatever...
...that is the life I seek to continually immerse myself in.
It quiets the intellect and the analyst in myself and rips open the door for the Beast.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Today is…
…one of those days where I just want to stay tucked away from the world, under ALL my covers.
For me, our world is a very uncomfortable place to be. I need to feel really strong and brave to step into it. When I'm feeling all discombobbled inside, like today...it seems near impossible to be out there.
…one of those days where I just want to stay tucked away from the world, under ALL my covers.
For me, our world is a very uncomfortable place to be. I need to feel really strong and brave to step into it. When I'm feeling all discombobbled inside, like today...it seems near impossible to be out there.
Good morning.
Here is this week's Freewill Astrology.
Morford writes about the death of the newspaper. Or not.
"Like anyone who works in or around or underneath an ink 'n' grit newspaper these days, I get asked this all the time: Is the newspaper dead? Aren't all the nation's print rags suffering a horrible hemorrhaging of money and readership and cred? How much longer can dead-tree news possibly last in the age of blogs and cell phones and ADD media? Why are you naked? Does this look overly tumescent to you? And so on.
And the answer to most of those questions is, of course, yes. And no. And sort of. And maybe you should quit touching that."
The whole column here.
Here is this week's Freewill Astrology.
Morford writes about the death of the newspaper. Or not.
"Like anyone who works in or around or underneath an ink 'n' grit newspaper these days, I get asked this all the time: Is the newspaper dead? Aren't all the nation's print rags suffering a horrible hemorrhaging of money and readership and cred? How much longer can dead-tree news possibly last in the age of blogs and cell phones and ADD media? Why are you naked? Does this look overly tumescent to you? And so on.
And the answer to most of those questions is, of course, yes. And no. And sort of. And maybe you should quit touching that."
The whole column here.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Notes~
It's almost noon and I've yet to have breakfast. Why?
I slept in until 10. Majorly rare occurrence. Solid 8 hours, then when then sun hit my eyes, I used a pillow to shield me from the rays and it seems I fell back to sleep. Yes!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While walking back with coffee in hand, I sat in the courtyard and enjoyed the morning. The sun disappeared, and it's a great grey day. I took in the quiet of the neighborhood.
Then, sounds of life.
The rhythmic footsteps of runners as they approached my block. A dog began barking and wouldn't stop for a while. Someone across the street began playing the piano. And a woman somewhere was having amazing sex. Orgasm after orgasm. Nice...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Didn't make it to Superman at IMAX yesterday. All sold out. But, walked around Seattle Center for a while, sat near the big fountain and watched the children play in the water. Every once in a while the fountain would stop spraying. Children, like little bugs, would tentatively approach...and then...BAM! Much squealing and laughter.
Picked up tickets for another IMAX film - Greece: Secrets of the Past. Then home to have a bunch of sex. It was impulsive and perfect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Needed food afterward, and so we ended up at Cafe Septieme. Yes, you heard that right.
For the last 3 weeks, I've struggled with the idea of returning to the cafe. What prompted my angst was bumping into one of the waitstaff at that time. They mentioned that they were hoping the regulars who had disappeared would return. They missed us. After much thought and a few shrink sessions, it felt like the right time to return. I personally don't care what others do. It's an individual choice. Do what is right for you.
Last night, I sat at the sidewalk table and one waiter, who I hadn't see in almost a few months, came up behind me and put his arms around me:
"M...what are you doing here?"
"Well a little bird told me that some of you wanted the regulars back. Is that correct?"
"Yes. We're really glad to see you."
While sitting there, a couple of friends walked past, and after speaking with them a bit, they decided to return as well, so popped in and grabbed a table.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I think I mentioned a while back that I was being heavily recruited to be part of a certain leather organization here in town. My energy is limited, and I detest meetings, committees and drama. For me, it's a massive energy suck. If one reason isn't enough, I have a list of them. It just doesn't feel like a good move. But, something is nagging at me, and we haven't formally met...so I am willing to take the time, do a face to face and talk. I'm trying to remain open and not use old behaviors or ideas to limit my world.
It seems they want my mind...my ideas (so they've explained). I kept saying, via email or in passing that they are not going to like my opinions. Recently, I've been included in a group email for a certain idea. Because I developed a very strong opinion and was cc'd, I jumped in. The idea was good, but I was adverse to how it would be achieved. Again, it confirmed to me the fact that I wasn't the right person to be a part of this organization. I am going to say things that folks don't want to hear.
Last night I bumped into the president and another member. They mentioned they really appreciated my thoughts and that is the very reason they want me, in whatever capacity I can tolerate. As little or as much. Pres said "I need someone who is going to tell us like it is wiithout worrying about kissing my ass. I have too many 'yes men' right now."
Huh.
At work, I know I'm seen as the gloom and doom guy because I bring up questions that haven't been looked at. Not that I shoot down ideas normally, but offer potential scenarios. It's more along the lines of "have you thought of this.." or "what if this happens?" or "we can't do it in that way because of audit requirements".
Not that every question needs to be answered, but if questions arise, don't play ostrich and live in a limited fantasy space. At least look at it.
Here is a group that is looking for that very thing from me. Huh.
I'm not quite sure what to do with that. I still have my priorities which are work, therapy and painting. I still don't want to expend energy in a group grope that is disguised as using the "seattle queer leather community" as its beneficiary when I believe our activism is best served when we work outside of the "community".
Don't get me wrong. Group gropes are needed, and important. But be honest about it. Don't use philanthropy as the reason for mutual masturbation.
S/M and Leather really are a luxury. People who struggle for survival (in whatever capacity) can't indulge in workshops, conferences, bar scenes, titles, new hide. I have no desire to spend time catering to a large group when my excess time would be better served one on one, or working for a small organization that is struggling to keep its doors open while offering an invaluable service, such as homeless queer youth, or HIV/AIDS services, etc.
My two cents.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now my belly is screaming for food.
Time to eat.
It's almost noon and I've yet to have breakfast. Why?
I slept in until 10. Majorly rare occurrence. Solid 8 hours, then when then sun hit my eyes, I used a pillow to shield me from the rays and it seems I fell back to sleep. Yes!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While walking back with coffee in hand, I sat in the courtyard and enjoyed the morning. The sun disappeared, and it's a great grey day. I took in the quiet of the neighborhood.
Then, sounds of life.
The rhythmic footsteps of runners as they approached my block. A dog began barking and wouldn't stop for a while. Someone across the street began playing the piano. And a woman somewhere was having amazing sex. Orgasm after orgasm. Nice...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Didn't make it to Superman at IMAX yesterday. All sold out. But, walked around Seattle Center for a while, sat near the big fountain and watched the children play in the water. Every once in a while the fountain would stop spraying. Children, like little bugs, would tentatively approach...and then...BAM! Much squealing and laughter.
Picked up tickets for another IMAX film - Greece: Secrets of the Past. Then home to have a bunch of sex. It was impulsive and perfect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Needed food afterward, and so we ended up at Cafe Septieme. Yes, you heard that right.
For the last 3 weeks, I've struggled with the idea of returning to the cafe. What prompted my angst was bumping into one of the waitstaff at that time. They mentioned that they were hoping the regulars who had disappeared would return. They missed us. After much thought and a few shrink sessions, it felt like the right time to return. I personally don't care what others do. It's an individual choice. Do what is right for you.
Last night, I sat at the sidewalk table and one waiter, who I hadn't see in almost a few months, came up behind me and put his arms around me:
"M...what are you doing here?"
"Well a little bird told me that some of you wanted the regulars back. Is that correct?"
"Yes. We're really glad to see you."
While sitting there, a couple of friends walked past, and after speaking with them a bit, they decided to return as well, so popped in and grabbed a table.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I think I mentioned a while back that I was being heavily recruited to be part of a certain leather organization here in town. My energy is limited, and I detest meetings, committees and drama. For me, it's a massive energy suck. If one reason isn't enough, I have a list of them. It just doesn't feel like a good move. But, something is nagging at me, and we haven't formally met...so I am willing to take the time, do a face to face and talk. I'm trying to remain open and not use old behaviors or ideas to limit my world.
It seems they want my mind...my ideas (so they've explained). I kept saying, via email or in passing that they are not going to like my opinions. Recently, I've been included in a group email for a certain idea. Because I developed a very strong opinion and was cc'd, I jumped in. The idea was good, but I was adverse to how it would be achieved. Again, it confirmed to me the fact that I wasn't the right person to be a part of this organization. I am going to say things that folks don't want to hear.
Last night I bumped into the president and another member. They mentioned they really appreciated my thoughts and that is the very reason they want me, in whatever capacity I can tolerate. As little or as much. Pres said "I need someone who is going to tell us like it is wiithout worrying about kissing my ass. I have too many 'yes men' right now."
Huh.
At work, I know I'm seen as the gloom and doom guy because I bring up questions that haven't been looked at. Not that I shoot down ideas normally, but offer potential scenarios. It's more along the lines of "have you thought of this.." or "what if this happens?" or "we can't do it in that way because of audit requirements".
Not that every question needs to be answered, but if questions arise, don't play ostrich and live in a limited fantasy space. At least look at it.
Here is a group that is looking for that very thing from me. Huh.
I'm not quite sure what to do with that. I still have my priorities which are work, therapy and painting. I still don't want to expend energy in a group grope that is disguised as using the "seattle queer leather community" as its beneficiary when I believe our activism is best served when we work outside of the "community".
Don't get me wrong. Group gropes are needed, and important. But be honest about it. Don't use philanthropy as the reason for mutual masturbation.
S/M and Leather really are a luxury. People who struggle for survival (in whatever capacity) can't indulge in workshops, conferences, bar scenes, titles, new hide. I have no desire to spend time catering to a large group when my excess time would be better served one on one, or working for a small organization that is struggling to keep its doors open while offering an invaluable service, such as homeless queer youth, or HIV/AIDS services, etc.
My two cents.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now my belly is screaming for food.
Time to eat.
Tomorrow (the 4th) is the first day I have nothing planned until 7pm. The idea is luxurious.
I had 5 days off and each day was full. Yes, I am blessed. In spite of my internal struggles and being in the midst of combatting some pretty nasty demons, I know I'm quite fortunate. I may not write about it often, but it's always in my mind...and heart.
I didn't get a chance to work on the ugly, messy drawing today, but took 10 minutes to spend time with it. Distance always helps. Even though I went in last night to rape, pillage and destroy, something happened within. Today, I realized that almost three quarters of the drawing is complete. I don't remember doing what seems to have appeared, but there it is. Tomorrow, I'll work on the last of it. Somehow.
Maybe I can finally get some sleep tonight.
I had 5 days off and each day was full. Yes, I am blessed. In spite of my internal struggles and being in the midst of combatting some pretty nasty demons, I know I'm quite fortunate. I may not write about it often, but it's always in my mind...and heart.
I didn't get a chance to work on the ugly, messy drawing today, but took 10 minutes to spend time with it. Distance always helps. Even though I went in last night to rape, pillage and destroy, something happened within. Today, I realized that almost three quarters of the drawing is complete. I don't remember doing what seems to have appeared, but there it is. Tomorrow, I'll work on the last of it. Somehow.
Maybe I can finally get some sleep tonight.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Helluva few days.
I just returned from therapy and so now it's a little easier to write what has encompassed my heart in heaviness all weekend.
The opening.
It was fun. It's a small gallery in Seattle's LGBT community center. In addition to having my peeps, Hoss, D, Stephen, Gryph, Auxugen, Qnetter, his D, Rogueboi and his partner from Brooklyn, after they left Artstache and his Daddy came in. Two of my coworkers and one's partner dropped by. Then a bit later, 6 more from my posse, sporting their full leathers, title vests, or in the case of G, a one piece full rubber suit. Boots galore.
I loved it.
What was distressing about the opening was the way my paintings were hung. It was the coordinator of the gallery who did the hanging, not the organizer of this particular group show. By the way, the other pieces hanging are pretty cool. Overall, it's a really nice mix.
But, my pieces were hung a little too low, and in such a way that the tops of the frames were hanging a good distance away from the wall. Many folks needed to stoop a little to see them. And...they were the only pieces left unlit. I was mortified. Very embarrassed.
The feeling sat with me until this morning. In spite of the good time I had with the crew...and seeing rogueboi...my heart felt busted. Last night I figured out what was going on. Old buttons pushed.
A few days ago I wrote about my apprehension with showing these particular paintings. They were as old children to me, and I no longer deemed them worthy of exhibition. Replaying what I felt was done to me as a child. I did try to make them new. But in seeing how they were shown, it brought my kidstuff back, full force. Old voices reminding me I wasn't worthy of being seen whispered in my ears and stroked my heart.
I will contact the coordinator in the next few days and offer my assistance with rehanging the paintings. I still have to get a signed contract to him as well.
After a wonderful brunch yesterday, I dropped Rogueboi and his partner off at Pier 66 to catch their boat to Alaska. Then I hightailed it home where I could be alone. With no one around. I could let myself really hurt in private. In that time, I came to the origin of the hurt. Another piece of the puzzle.
Last night, in spite of the pain and isolation feeling, I pulled out paper and began another piece (which I briefly wrote about last night). In the midst of pain, I was pleased with myself that once again, I sought solace in my work. Even though it didn't take away the pain, it provided temporary comfort.
I went to bed in tears. It was late and I couldn't sleep. The only thing that sounded good was to get up and draw some more. I didn't give in to the urge because I really needed sleep. But, I'm thrilled to have felt the desire even at that hour.
Something's moving inside.
I'm really beginning to embrace the deepest part of myself.
I just returned from therapy and so now it's a little easier to write what has encompassed my heart in heaviness all weekend.
The opening.
It was fun. It's a small gallery in Seattle's LGBT community center. In addition to having my peeps, Hoss, D, Stephen, Gryph, Auxugen, Qnetter, his D, Rogueboi and his partner from Brooklyn, after they left Artstache and his Daddy came in. Two of my coworkers and one's partner dropped by. Then a bit later, 6 more from my posse, sporting their full leathers, title vests, or in the case of G, a one piece full rubber suit. Boots galore.
I loved it.
What was distressing about the opening was the way my paintings were hung. It was the coordinator of the gallery who did the hanging, not the organizer of this particular group show. By the way, the other pieces hanging are pretty cool. Overall, it's a really nice mix.
But, my pieces were hung a little too low, and in such a way that the tops of the frames were hanging a good distance away from the wall. Many folks needed to stoop a little to see them. And...they were the only pieces left unlit. I was mortified. Very embarrassed.
The feeling sat with me until this morning. In spite of the good time I had with the crew...and seeing rogueboi...my heart felt busted. Last night I figured out what was going on. Old buttons pushed.
A few days ago I wrote about my apprehension with showing these particular paintings. They were as old children to me, and I no longer deemed them worthy of exhibition. Replaying what I felt was done to me as a child. I did try to make them new. But in seeing how they were shown, it brought my kidstuff back, full force. Old voices reminding me I wasn't worthy of being seen whispered in my ears and stroked my heart.
I will contact the coordinator in the next few days and offer my assistance with rehanging the paintings. I still have to get a signed contract to him as well.
After a wonderful brunch yesterday, I dropped Rogueboi and his partner off at Pier 66 to catch their boat to Alaska. Then I hightailed it home where I could be alone. With no one around. I could let myself really hurt in private. In that time, I came to the origin of the hurt. Another piece of the puzzle.
Last night, in spite of the pain and isolation feeling, I pulled out paper and began another piece (which I briefly wrote about last night). In the midst of pain, I was pleased with myself that once again, I sought solace in my work. Even though it didn't take away the pain, it provided temporary comfort.
I went to bed in tears. It was late and I couldn't sleep. The only thing that sounded good was to get up and draw some more. I didn't give in to the urge because I really needed sleep. But, I'm thrilled to have felt the desire even at that hour.
Something's moving inside.
I'm really beginning to embrace the deepest part of myself.
Production versus creation~
It's scary how quickly one attaches themselves to being perfect...making something beautiful, successful, really excellent.
Well, this one anyway.
Normally I can begin a piece in a carefree manner. But because I've fallen in love with what I've been doing, it happened.
I was working on a drawing this evening. That clutching fear of having it be just right and better than the last came over me. The anxiety that comes with the need to produce. I felt myself freeze. So what did I do? I stepped away...washed my hands of charcoal and took a breather. Regrouped.
Then, after a bit I went back in and made a non-caring big fat mess.
Yeah, it's really ugly and it's fine.
Now back to the drawing board.
It's scary how quickly one attaches themselves to being perfect...making something beautiful, successful, really excellent.
Well, this one anyway.
Normally I can begin a piece in a carefree manner. But because I've fallen in love with what I've been doing, it happened.
I was working on a drawing this evening. That clutching fear of having it be just right and better than the last came over me. The anxiety that comes with the need to produce. I felt myself freeze. So what did I do? I stepped away...washed my hands of charcoal and took a breather. Regrouped.
Then, after a bit I went back in and made a non-caring big fat mess.
Yeah, it's really ugly and it's fine.
Now back to the drawing board.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Creation.
Tonight is the art opening. If you're in the Seattle area, feel free to pop into Q Arts Seattle. The reception is from 6-9pm. The show will hang all month.
I've had an increasing sense of anxiety about the show and wasn't saying anything, to anyone. That is, until yesterday in the shrink's office. I'll share some of that, including a brand new insight that came to me while writing this.
10 or 15 years ago I attended a concert in Ogunquit. It was blues and folk concert. Small venue. Very intimate. It was great. At the end, they opened up for questions. Someone asked "What's your favorite piece?"
The artist immediately responded "My new ones."
Of course. Makes sense, doesn't it? We as consumers become attached to older work. Playing it over and over. We may hang memories off of it. For us, it becomes classic. But as creator, although we still may feel affection for older works, the great adventure resides within the newest.
One reason I was nervous is because although I like these paintings, I'm no longer in love with them. What excites and enthralls me are my new drawings. So much so that I wish that is what I was showing. It's not possible because I'm not done with the series and the exploration. But next to that, everything else feels like old hat. I'm feeling exposed by showing a part of my history which consists of a different level of skill.
Because it's not the most recent expression of who I am, I feared I would remain invisible and unseen.
Last year, for the Gender Odyssey conference, I showed some older paintings. It was an exercise in putting myself out there again. I needed to prove to those around me that it wasn't fear that was keeping me from showing. I will show, in spite of what I feel. The reason I wasn't showing is because I felt there no longer was anything worthy of exhibition. No new work. But the opportunity presented itself and I grabbed it. The paintings went up and then came down. Whatever.
I do have a few very old paintings that I am still in absolute love with. The reason for this is because they were and still are premonition pieces. They unconsciously poured forth and manifested themselves into something I still can't achieve on a conscious level, but can strive toward.
The newest lightbulb moment is, I am the oldest child out of 5. Each new baby born received the attention. I understand why. But, my childhood experience cemented the idea in my heart that old things are forgotten and ignored. My paintings are my babies. I am replaying my history and how I felt I was treated by doing the same with my own children.
This time, I framed the 3 paintings. It added a newness to them that wasn't there before. By yesterday afternoon my nervousness was thick. Finally, 5:30 rolled around and I could gather the work and drop it off. While in the gallery space, we discussed how to hang the work. One of the organizers had an idea. I fell in love with it. Between the frames and the way they'll be hung, it turns 3 tired, simple paintings into a brand new piece...working separately and as one unit.
The ornateness of the frames give the pieces a religious flavor. They will be hung in the appearance of an altarpiece.
This is good. It is very good.
So if you're around tonight...stop in.
Tonight is the art opening. If you're in the Seattle area, feel free to pop into Q Arts Seattle. The reception is from 6-9pm. The show will hang all month.
I've had an increasing sense of anxiety about the show and wasn't saying anything, to anyone. That is, until yesterday in the shrink's office. I'll share some of that, including a brand new insight that came to me while writing this.
10 or 15 years ago I attended a concert in Ogunquit. It was blues and folk concert. Small venue. Very intimate. It was great. At the end, they opened up for questions. Someone asked "What's your favorite piece?"
The artist immediately responded "My new ones."
Of course. Makes sense, doesn't it? We as consumers become attached to older work. Playing it over and over. We may hang memories off of it. For us, it becomes classic. But as creator, although we still may feel affection for older works, the great adventure resides within the newest.
One reason I was nervous is because although I like these paintings, I'm no longer in love with them. What excites and enthralls me are my new drawings. So much so that I wish that is what I was showing. It's not possible because I'm not done with the series and the exploration. But next to that, everything else feels like old hat. I'm feeling exposed by showing a part of my history which consists of a different level of skill.
Because it's not the most recent expression of who I am, I feared I would remain invisible and unseen.
Last year, for the Gender Odyssey conference, I showed some older paintings. It was an exercise in putting myself out there again. I needed to prove to those around me that it wasn't fear that was keeping me from showing. I will show, in spite of what I feel. The reason I wasn't showing is because I felt there no longer was anything worthy of exhibition. No new work. But the opportunity presented itself and I grabbed it. The paintings went up and then came down. Whatever.
I do have a few very old paintings that I am still in absolute love with. The reason for this is because they were and still are premonition pieces. They unconsciously poured forth and manifested themselves into something I still can't achieve on a conscious level, but can strive toward.
The newest lightbulb moment is, I am the oldest child out of 5. Each new baby born received the attention. I understand why. But, my childhood experience cemented the idea in my heart that old things are forgotten and ignored. My paintings are my babies. I am replaying my history and how I felt I was treated by doing the same with my own children.
This time, I framed the 3 paintings. It added a newness to them that wasn't there before. By yesterday afternoon my nervousness was thick. Finally, 5:30 rolled around and I could gather the work and drop it off. While in the gallery space, we discussed how to hang the work. One of the organizers had an idea. I fell in love with it. Between the frames and the way they'll be hung, it turns 3 tired, simple paintings into a brand new piece...working separately and as one unit.
The ornateness of the frames give the pieces a religious flavor. They will be hung in the appearance of an altarpiece.
This is good. It is very good.
So if you're around tonight...stop in.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Very nice~
From a monthly email subscription, here is part of July's column:
"I used to think sunshine was a bit frivolous – now I know it is life.
Changing is good, letting in new sensations, feelings, new ideas, is necessary. I don’t want to slowly calcify, find myself like the inside of a dishwasher pipe – just enough room to let just enough water through. I want to keep the spaces open, and to find a way to make for room for difficult beauty – is beauty ever easy? I have not found it so. I’m not even talking about a person, just openness to everything, and even the small daily things, like going out into the garden, or walking down to the river, are beautiful enough to disturb.
Disturb? Yes, I mean to disturb out of the habit of letting life pass in a blur. Looking, hearing, feeling, is disturbing. But better, I think than a muffled world.
I put up a poem this month that seems to me to be about the essential practicality of the poetic vision. You don’t need to be a poet to have a poetic vision. A poetic vision is prepared to be open, to let things in. The exactness of translation, vision into language, is the job of a poet, but the vision itself is probably the job of all of us.
We are grateful to poets because they put into words what we have felt/are feeling. I can’t say enough how important it is to go on feeling."
~Jeanette Winterson
Winterson's fairly regular emails announce new columns and poem of the month. This morning, because I'm taking it slow and easy, I was flipping through more of the site and found the following. I've yet to download the pdf of her new book.
An excerpt from an older book:
"Every journey conceals another journey within its lines: the path not taken and the forgotten angle. These are journeys I wish to record. Not the ones I made, but the ones I might have made, or perhaps did make in some other place or time. I could tell you the truth as you will find it in diaries and maps and log-books. I could faithfully describe all that I saw and heard and give you a travel book. You could follow it then, tracing those travels with your finger, putting red flags where I went.
For the Greeks, the hidden life demanded invisible ink. They wrote an ordinary letter and in between the lines set out another letter, written in milk. The document looked innocent enough until one who knew better sprinkled coal-dust over it. What the letter had been no longer mattered; what mattered was the life flaring up undetected...
till now.
I discovered that my own life was written invisibly, was squashed between the facts, was flying without me like the Twelve Dancing Princesses who shot from their window every night and returned home every morning with torn dresses and worn-out slippers and remembered nothing.
I resolved to set a watch on myself like a jealous father, trying to catch myself disappearing through a door just noticed in the wall. I knew I was being adulterous; that what I loved was not going on at home. I was giving myself the slip and walking through this world like a shadow. The longer I eluded myself the more obsessed I became with the thought of discovery. Occasionally, in company, someone would snap their fingers in front of my face and ask, 'Where are you?' For a long time I had no idea, but gradually I began to find evidence of the other life and gradually it appeared before me."
-Jeanette Winterson, from Sexing The Cherry
From a monthly email subscription, here is part of July's column:
"I used to think sunshine was a bit frivolous – now I know it is life.
Changing is good, letting in new sensations, feelings, new ideas, is necessary. I don’t want to slowly calcify, find myself like the inside of a dishwasher pipe – just enough room to let just enough water through. I want to keep the spaces open, and to find a way to make for room for difficult beauty – is beauty ever easy? I have not found it so. I’m not even talking about a person, just openness to everything, and even the small daily things, like going out into the garden, or walking down to the river, are beautiful enough to disturb.
Disturb? Yes, I mean to disturb out of the habit of letting life pass in a blur. Looking, hearing, feeling, is disturbing. But better, I think than a muffled world.
I put up a poem this month that seems to me to be about the essential practicality of the poetic vision. You don’t need to be a poet to have a poetic vision. A poetic vision is prepared to be open, to let things in. The exactness of translation, vision into language, is the job of a poet, but the vision itself is probably the job of all of us.
We are grateful to poets because they put into words what we have felt/are feeling. I can’t say enough how important it is to go on feeling."
~Jeanette Winterson
Winterson's fairly regular emails announce new columns and poem of the month. This morning, because I'm taking it slow and easy, I was flipping through more of the site and found the following. I've yet to download the pdf of her new book.
An excerpt from an older book:
"Every journey conceals another journey within its lines: the path not taken and the forgotten angle. These are journeys I wish to record. Not the ones I made, but the ones I might have made, or perhaps did make in some other place or time. I could tell you the truth as you will find it in diaries and maps and log-books. I could faithfully describe all that I saw and heard and give you a travel book. You could follow it then, tracing those travels with your finger, putting red flags where I went.
For the Greeks, the hidden life demanded invisible ink. They wrote an ordinary letter and in between the lines set out another letter, written in milk. The document looked innocent enough until one who knew better sprinkled coal-dust over it. What the letter had been no longer mattered; what mattered was the life flaring up undetected...
till now.
I discovered that my own life was written invisibly, was squashed between the facts, was flying without me like the Twelve Dancing Princesses who shot from their window every night and returned home every morning with torn dresses and worn-out slippers and remembered nothing.
I resolved to set a watch on myself like a jealous father, trying to catch myself disappearing through a door just noticed in the wall. I knew I was being adulterous; that what I loved was not going on at home. I was giving myself the slip and walking through this world like a shadow. The longer I eluded myself the more obsessed I became with the thought of discovery. Occasionally, in company, someone would snap their fingers in front of my face and ask, 'Where are you?' For a long time I had no idea, but gradually I began to find evidence of the other life and gradually it appeared before me."
-Jeanette Winterson, from Sexing The Cherry
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Snippets
In Starbucks this morning, getting my "grande drip in a venti cup, please", a tall, thin man, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt stood next to me to fix his coffee as well. He may have been in his early 50's. Relaxed. Easy.
He looked at his cup, and then said:
"Oh, I had this quote a few times already. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"
"Yeah I do. I like reading them".
He began to read his to me. Then when he finished, he said "what does your cup say?"
I read the quote on my cup to him and then we chatted about the ideas.
What a wonderful way to start the day. It was such a comfortable, familiar moment. An intimacy that felt just right.
All with a stranger.
Perfect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today, from Jonathan Cainer:
" In Monty Python's 'Meaning of Life' there is a memorable scene in which an amply proportioned gentleman is visiting a restaurant. Having devoured a ludicrously large meal, he comes under polite but persistent pressure from the waiter to enjoy just one little 'wafer thin mint'. He succumbs with catastrophic consequences. You have a lot on your plate. There is a limit to how much more you can take. Allow yourself a little time, lest one more challenge becomes the last straw."
Yup. That's about right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I haven't done any drawing this week. I've been too engaged with the rest of life. But...but at noon today, I will be off until Wednesday. There is still time and I'm looking forward to it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night Auxugen met me and we went to the Central Cinema for food and a movie. It's the only theater around where you can watch a movie, and order from a menu at the same time. The waiter will take your order, bring you your food...and wine. Nice.
It was an impulsive decision made quickly after I received a notice of the movie.
Fresa y chocolate.
From the notice I received:
"The first gay-themed movie made in Cuba, Fresa y Chocolate (Strawberry
& Chocolate) was a radical deviation from state-sanctioned homophobia.
When sociology student and Castro supporter David meets long suffering
gay intellectual Diego, the encounter changes both their lives. But
it's the queer writer and artist who imparts the wisdom..
Very good movie. Check it out if you get a chance.
It was another needed distraction.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Upon my return, I found a serious treat in my email. Thank you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I dealt with the police and insurance company about my car. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for the appointment date for the estimate.
Tomorrow night I bring my paintings to the gallery.
From the announcement for the exhibit:
"Q Arts Seattle is pleased to announce the show for July: “SPIRITUALITY”. This is a group show produced by Jean-Paul Page. This unique show displays works by LGBT artists based on the theme of spirituality. The show explores how spirituality is experienced, perceived and understood through the lens of LGBT culture and thought.
Jean-Paul has brought together the work of twelve artists for this unusual and thought provoking show. Attempting to bring the viewer to an understanding of one’s spiritual truth is a daunting task. Please join these artists as they present us with their answers and prod us with their questions about spirituality from the LGBT point of view.
The show opening and artist’s reception will be held Saturday, July 1 from 6-9 pm. Live music will be provided and a palm reader will be on hand to add to the evening's pleasure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It will be good to get back to drawing. Maybe...maybe today or tomorrow morning. There is an ass that is screaming for touch.
In Starbucks this morning, getting my "grande drip in a venti cup, please", a tall, thin man, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt stood next to me to fix his coffee as well. He may have been in his early 50's. Relaxed. Easy.
He looked at his cup, and then said:
"Oh, I had this quote a few times already. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"
"Yeah I do. I like reading them".
He began to read his to me. Then when he finished, he said "what does your cup say?"
I read the quote on my cup to him and then we chatted about the ideas.
What a wonderful way to start the day. It was such a comfortable, familiar moment. An intimacy that felt just right.
All with a stranger.
Perfect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today, from Jonathan Cainer:
" In Monty Python's 'Meaning of Life' there is a memorable scene in which an amply proportioned gentleman is visiting a restaurant. Having devoured a ludicrously large meal, he comes under polite but persistent pressure from the waiter to enjoy just one little 'wafer thin mint'. He succumbs with catastrophic consequences. You have a lot on your plate. There is a limit to how much more you can take. Allow yourself a little time, lest one more challenge becomes the last straw."
Yup. That's about right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I haven't done any drawing this week. I've been too engaged with the rest of life. But...but at noon today, I will be off until Wednesday. There is still time and I'm looking forward to it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night Auxugen met me and we went to the Central Cinema for food and a movie. It's the only theater around where you can watch a movie, and order from a menu at the same time. The waiter will take your order, bring you your food...and wine. Nice.
It was an impulsive decision made quickly after I received a notice of the movie.
Fresa y chocolate.
From the notice I received:
"The first gay-themed movie made in Cuba, Fresa y Chocolate (Strawberry
& Chocolate) was a radical deviation from state-sanctioned homophobia.
When sociology student and Castro supporter David meets long suffering
gay intellectual Diego, the encounter changes both their lives. But
it's the queer writer and artist who imparts the wisdom..
Very good movie. Check it out if you get a chance.
It was another needed distraction.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Upon my return, I found a serious treat in my email. Thank you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I dealt with the police and insurance company about my car. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for the appointment date for the estimate.
Tomorrow night I bring my paintings to the gallery.
From the announcement for the exhibit:
"Q Arts Seattle is pleased to announce the show for July: “SPIRITUALITY”. This is a group show produced by Jean-Paul Page. This unique show displays works by LGBT artists based on the theme of spirituality. The show explores how spirituality is experienced, perceived and understood through the lens of LGBT culture and thought.
Jean-Paul has brought together the work of twelve artists for this unusual and thought provoking show. Attempting to bring the viewer to an understanding of one’s spiritual truth is a daunting task. Please join these artists as they present us with their answers and prod us with their questions about spirituality from the LGBT point of view.
The show opening and artist’s reception will be held Saturday, July 1 from 6-9 pm. Live music will be provided and a palm reader will be on hand to add to the evening's pleasure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It will be good to get back to drawing. Maybe...maybe today or tomorrow morning. There is an ass that is screaming for touch.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
In spite of how trying yesterday was and that there are some big problems I still need to try to fix, here is some goodness pulled from the day~
I recovered my grandmother's dishes. The box was sitting at Post Options, but because the mailing label did not include the name of my organization, nor the box number, the good folks there didn't know who it belonged to.
They've arrived intact and still look fabulous, considering they are over 80 years old.
My painting is now on it's way to a new address, where it is guaranteed that someone will be there to accept the package in a few days.
A fabulous dinner with the Bear and the bunny. They came by, saw my paintings for the show, and then I showed them my new series of drawings, including the most recent which I had yet to compare to the others. The Bear...well, he was somewhat stunned. Yeah, that's a very good sign.
For dinner, he declared "someplace air conditioned and dark." Not too many of those in Seattle. Then the idea of Mamounia came up. I had just noticed the restaurant a few weeks back and was intrigued.
There is no belly dancing early in the week, which is fine with me. It was quiet. The food was amazing. The experience includes eating with your hands. No silverware. It differs from Ethiopian because you really use your hands, not pieces of flat bread to scoop up the food.
The waitress comes by with a large bowl and runs water over your hands, so you can wash them. She hands you a towel to dry and that serves as your napkin as well.
Imagine lamb in a cinnamon onion sauce with prunes and topped with sliced almonds. I'm not a fan of lamb, but this rocked. It was tender. The flavors were amazing. Or sauteed boneless chicken pieces with cinnamon in a mint sauce. Beef Zitoun, morsels of tenderloin with crushed olives. All to die for.
Last week, my over the top, fabulous dining was Pair with Hoss...and this week, Mamounia. I love great food.
Both weeks, each experience was filled with mouthful after mouthful of serious goodness. At Pair, I think I danced in my seat while eating. And last night, in sampling a little from each plate, I remarked "each plate is an orgasm waiting to happen."
Other things...still up in the air.
Now, to Wednesday business.
"You can be innocently sitting there. You can be minding your own business cruising your favorite blogs and your favorite porn sites and reading your favorite newspapers and thinking all is well and good with the world -- relative, of course, to its overall hellbound handbasket plummet -- when wham, your brain recoils and your eyeballs roll back in your skull and you feel as though your colon had been stabbed by a large rusty aircraft fuselage.
It is not as pleasant as it sounds."
That is Morford's opening paragraph of How To Eat Paris Hilton.
And this week's Freewill Astrology can be found here.
I recovered my grandmother's dishes. The box was sitting at Post Options, but because the mailing label did not include the name of my organization, nor the box number, the good folks there didn't know who it belonged to.
They've arrived intact and still look fabulous, considering they are over 80 years old.
My painting is now on it's way to a new address, where it is guaranteed that someone will be there to accept the package in a few days.
A fabulous dinner with the Bear and the bunny. They came by, saw my paintings for the show, and then I showed them my new series of drawings, including the most recent which I had yet to compare to the others. The Bear...well, he was somewhat stunned. Yeah, that's a very good sign.
For dinner, he declared "someplace air conditioned and dark." Not too many of those in Seattle. Then the idea of Mamounia came up. I had just noticed the restaurant a few weeks back and was intrigued.
There is no belly dancing early in the week, which is fine with me. It was quiet. The food was amazing. The experience includes eating with your hands. No silverware. It differs from Ethiopian because you really use your hands, not pieces of flat bread to scoop up the food.
The waitress comes by with a large bowl and runs water over your hands, so you can wash them. She hands you a towel to dry and that serves as your napkin as well.
Imagine lamb in a cinnamon onion sauce with prunes and topped with sliced almonds. I'm not a fan of lamb, but this rocked. It was tender. The flavors were amazing. Or sauteed boneless chicken pieces with cinnamon in a mint sauce. Beef Zitoun, morsels of tenderloin with crushed olives. All to die for.
Last week, my over the top, fabulous dining was Pair with Hoss...and this week, Mamounia. I love great food.
Both weeks, each experience was filled with mouthful after mouthful of serious goodness. At Pair, I think I danced in my seat while eating. And last night, in sampling a little from each plate, I remarked "each plate is an orgasm waiting to happen."
Other things...still up in the air.
Now, to Wednesday business.
"You can be innocently sitting there. You can be minding your own business cruising your favorite blogs and your favorite porn sites and reading your favorite newspapers and thinking all is well and good with the world -- relative, of course, to its overall hellbound handbasket plummet -- when wham, your brain recoils and your eyeballs roll back in your skull and you feel as though your colon had been stabbed by a large rusty aircraft fuselage.
It is not as pleasant as it sounds."
That is Morford's opening paragraph of How To Eat Paris Hilton.
And this week's Freewill Astrology can be found here.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
It is a strange, sad time.
Another death. Eric Rofes.
A friend informed me of his passing earlier this morning.
I had the pleasure of meeting him briefly at Creating Change last year, and was very impressed. His demeanor, his intelligence…his grace… wow.
He will be missed.
-----
Edited: when I first posted the press release, the NGLTF website hadn't been updated yet. Now it is.
2nd edit: Eric's website www.ericrofes.com
-----------------------------------------
from the NGLTF press release...
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force mourns death of Eric Rofes, a leader, activist and visionary
WASHINGTON, June 27 — The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force mourns the death of Eric Rofes, a leader, activist, visionary, former board member and dear friend to the Task Force. He died yesterday as the result of a heart attack.
“Words cannot express the loss we all feel. For more than 30 years, Eric was our movement’s visionary. He pushed us to be better, to never lose sight of what our movement for liberation is all about, and to love each other, fight for each other and celebrate our community. He was an organizer without par, a brilliant thinker and writer, and above all else, a wonderful person and friend. Our hearts go out to his partner Crispin Hollings and all the members of his extended family.” — Matt Foreman, executive director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force
“Eric Rofes was one of the most extraordinary voices in our community. He spoke — and suffused others — with the joy of being who we are. His leadership in the communities where he lived, and in the national community, contributed enormously to our understanding of the need for honest discussions about the LGBT community and its issues. Eric’s death is a loss to all of us, of a rare voice of truth.” — Task Force board member Loren Ostrow, co-chair of the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center
"Eric fought fiercely and organized tirelessly for our freedoms to love, to live and to thrive. His leadership and energy guided much early organizing in Boston. Eric and other Boston organizers morphed into the famed ‘Boston Mafia,’ a cadre of activists who left the city and assumed leadership positions in LGBT and AIDS organizations in New York, Washington, D.C., San Francisco and Los Angeles. I met Eric at Gay Community News in 1983 when, as a greenhorn from the Midwest, I was honored to learn and grow in his political light and determination to change the social and political space we queerfolk occupy. Eric's circles of friends go far beyond Boston, and he will always be remembered as a world changer who showed us the way. No better memorial can be built to him than to walk his path to freedom, to liberation and to democracy." — Sue Hyde, director of the Task Force’s Creating Change conference
“Eric Rofes was a strong feminist who was never afraid to put his privilege on the line for those around him. He bore witness to every major issue for three decades as he talked about war, homelessness, HIV, violence, health, reframing our families, sex and sexuality. His gentle spirit will be sorely missed.” — Kerry Lobel, former executive director of the Task Force
About Eric Rofes
Eric Rofes started his activism in the 1970s in Boston where he worked on Gay Community News . He was a founder of Boston's first group for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) teachers, two of the first LGBT youth groups in the country and the first Boston-based group focused on organizing gay and lesbian voters (Boston Lesbian and Gay Political Alliance). He was a founding member of the Boston Men's Childcare Collective, which provided childcare at women's music concerts and shelters for battered women. He was an elected delegate to the 1980 White House Conference on the Family.
From 1985 to 1989, Rofes served as executive director of the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Community Services Center, the largest LGBT nonprofit organization in the world. During his tenure, the center initiated some of the nation's first HIV prevention programs, created a shelter for LGBT and homeless youth and opened the first and largest HIV testing site in California. In 1989, he became executive director of Shanti Project, a pioneering AIDS service group in San Francisco.
He served as a member of the Los Angeles AIDS Commission and the San Francisco Ryan White Council, and was a board member of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, the National Lesbian & Gay Health Association and the Funding Exchange's OutFund for Gay Liberation. Rofes co-chaired the Southern California No on LaRouche Committee, which successfully defeated a statewide AIDS quarantine initiative. At the time of his death, he served on the board of the Woodhull Freedom Foundation.
He led the organizing of three national summits focused on the health and wellness of gay male communities, including the most recent summit in October 2005 in Salt Lake City. From 1999 to the time of his death, Rofes was an associate professor of education at Humboldt State University in Arcata, Calif.
He was a major contributor to the Task Force’s Creating Change conference, which he attended annually and where he presented some of the most challenging and stimulating material.
In addition, he published 12 books, including Reviving the Tribe: Regenerating Gay Men's Sexuality and Culture in an Ongoing Epidemic (Haworth, 1996) and Dry Bones Breathe: Gay Men Creating Post-AIDS Identities and Cultures (Haworth, 1998).
---------------------
Another death. Eric Rofes.
A friend informed me of his passing earlier this morning.
I had the pleasure of meeting him briefly at Creating Change last year, and was very impressed. His demeanor, his intelligence…his grace… wow.
He will be missed.
-----
Edited: when I first posted the press release, the NGLTF website hadn't been updated yet. Now it is.
2nd edit: Eric's website www.ericrofes.com
-----------------------------------------
from the NGLTF press release...
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force mourns death of Eric Rofes, a leader, activist and visionary
WASHINGTON, June 27 — The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force mourns the death of Eric Rofes, a leader, activist, visionary, former board member and dear friend to the Task Force. He died yesterday as the result of a heart attack.
“Words cannot express the loss we all feel. For more than 30 years, Eric was our movement’s visionary. He pushed us to be better, to never lose sight of what our movement for liberation is all about, and to love each other, fight for each other and celebrate our community. He was an organizer without par, a brilliant thinker and writer, and above all else, a wonderful person and friend. Our hearts go out to his partner Crispin Hollings and all the members of his extended family.” — Matt Foreman, executive director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force
“Eric Rofes was one of the most extraordinary voices in our community. He spoke — and suffused others — with the joy of being who we are. His leadership in the communities where he lived, and in the national community, contributed enormously to our understanding of the need for honest discussions about the LGBT community and its issues. Eric’s death is a loss to all of us, of a rare voice of truth.” — Task Force board member Loren Ostrow, co-chair of the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center
"Eric fought fiercely and organized tirelessly for our freedoms to love, to live and to thrive. His leadership and energy guided much early organizing in Boston. Eric and other Boston organizers morphed into the famed ‘Boston Mafia,’ a cadre of activists who left the city and assumed leadership positions in LGBT and AIDS organizations in New York, Washington, D.C., San Francisco and Los Angeles. I met Eric at Gay Community News in 1983 when, as a greenhorn from the Midwest, I was honored to learn and grow in his political light and determination to change the social and political space we queerfolk occupy. Eric's circles of friends go far beyond Boston, and he will always be remembered as a world changer who showed us the way. No better memorial can be built to him than to walk his path to freedom, to liberation and to democracy." — Sue Hyde, director of the Task Force’s Creating Change conference
“Eric Rofes was a strong feminist who was never afraid to put his privilege on the line for those around him. He bore witness to every major issue for three decades as he talked about war, homelessness, HIV, violence, health, reframing our families, sex and sexuality. His gentle spirit will be sorely missed.” — Kerry Lobel, former executive director of the Task Force
About Eric Rofes
Eric Rofes started his activism in the 1970s in Boston where he worked on Gay Community News . He was a founder of Boston's first group for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) teachers, two of the first LGBT youth groups in the country and the first Boston-based group focused on organizing gay and lesbian voters (Boston Lesbian and Gay Political Alliance). He was a founding member of the Boston Men's Childcare Collective, which provided childcare at women's music concerts and shelters for battered women. He was an elected delegate to the 1980 White House Conference on the Family.
From 1985 to 1989, Rofes served as executive director of the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Community Services Center, the largest LGBT nonprofit organization in the world. During his tenure, the center initiated some of the nation's first HIV prevention programs, created a shelter for LGBT and homeless youth and opened the first and largest HIV testing site in California. In 1989, he became executive director of Shanti Project, a pioneering AIDS service group in San Francisco.
He served as a member of the Los Angeles AIDS Commission and the San Francisco Ryan White Council, and was a board member of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, the National Lesbian & Gay Health Association and the Funding Exchange's OutFund for Gay Liberation. Rofes co-chaired the Southern California No on LaRouche Committee, which successfully defeated a statewide AIDS quarantine initiative. At the time of his death, he served on the board of the Woodhull Freedom Foundation.
He led the organizing of three national summits focused on the health and wellness of gay male communities, including the most recent summit in October 2005 in Salt Lake City. From 1999 to the time of his death, Rofes was an associate professor of education at Humboldt State University in Arcata, Calif.
He was a major contributor to the Task Force’s Creating Change conference, which he attended annually and where he presented some of the most challenging and stimulating material.
In addition, he published 12 books, including Reviving the Tribe: Regenerating Gay Men's Sexuality and Culture in an Ongoing Epidemic (Haworth, 1996) and Dry Bones Breathe: Gay Men Creating Post-AIDS Identities and Cultures (Haworth, 1998).
---------------------
Strange times.
What am I supposed to learn from these things…?
Maybe just to keep breathing.
~Someone I know, more from afar, committed suicide. That knowledge shook me up on a few levels. First, it's the second one in 6 months, the first being a friend right after New Year's. When I heard the news of the more recent one….the first thing was shock. The next thing through my head was:
"that should have been me. Why wasn't it me?"
Then…a little voice… "because you have someone to go to."
I cry for people whose hearts are so broken that there is nothing left but bleakness. Desolation.
I cry for this person with the busted heart.
~I went to my car this morning and noticed that someone had backed into it in such a way where there is no dent but the white paint is totally pulled off the driver's side corner of my front bumper. A very large black patch, almost a foot across. I also noticed that someone did leave a note saying "Please call", with a phone number. It's from either the person who did the damage or a witness. I'll call in a bit. Right now, it's too early.
~The painting I shipped out on June 8th has yet to be received. I started tracking it online, and this morning noticed it's back in Oregon. It has gone back and forth cross country. Yes, I'm freaking out big time. I know it's no longer my responsibility…but it still feels like my baby until it's safe and sound in its new home and right now, it feels like it is floating around in the ether.
~I had been given my grandmother's wedding dishes about 12 years ago. It's a set that goes back to the 1920's, a wonderful and simple art deco pattern in green, gold and platinum. When I moved to Seattle, I returned them to my mom's because there was no room in the car. On my last visit home, I packed up the box (with overkill), and a few weeks later my family shipped it UPS. While tracking this morning, it seems the damned box arrived on the 14th…and someone at the Mail place signed for it. But when I called last week looking for it, the person who answered didn't know anything about it. Now that I have the name of who signed…I'll stop over there when they open in a few hours and find out what happened.
Some of these I've been dealing with for a while. Others are fresh.
Today, the culmination of it all is hitting me.
Breathe.
Breathe.
It's not all gloom.
Good things…
~My 3 little paintings have been framed. I'll be picking them up today and drop them off at the gallery space on Friday.
~It was much too hot yesterday, so I didn't do any drawing but plan on it today.
~Kerry and his Papa Bear will be in town for a bit over the weekend…and I'll get to pick them up at the airport on Saturday. It'll be GREAT to see them.
~I'm working on reopening myself to the shrink. It feels good to begin to trust him again.
~There was no humidity with the onslaught of heat.
~Yesterday was the last day of our mini heat wave.
~Last night, in bed, and this morning was the first time in over a week without sharp left arm pain. There is still pain, but it is oh so very manageable now. This I can deal with.
~Tonight I get to see the Bear and his bunny. I'll get some loving.
What am I supposed to learn from these things…?
Maybe just to keep breathing.
~Someone I know, more from afar, committed suicide. That knowledge shook me up on a few levels. First, it's the second one in 6 months, the first being a friend right after New Year's. When I heard the news of the more recent one….the first thing was shock. The next thing through my head was:
"that should have been me. Why wasn't it me?"
Then…a little voice… "because you have someone to go to."
I cry for people whose hearts are so broken that there is nothing left but bleakness. Desolation.
I cry for this person with the busted heart.
~I went to my car this morning and noticed that someone had backed into it in such a way where there is no dent but the white paint is totally pulled off the driver's side corner of my front bumper. A very large black patch, almost a foot across. I also noticed that someone did leave a note saying "Please call", with a phone number. It's from either the person who did the damage or a witness. I'll call in a bit. Right now, it's too early.
~The painting I shipped out on June 8th has yet to be received. I started tracking it online, and this morning noticed it's back in Oregon. It has gone back and forth cross country. Yes, I'm freaking out big time. I know it's no longer my responsibility…but it still feels like my baby until it's safe and sound in its new home and right now, it feels like it is floating around in the ether.
~I had been given my grandmother's wedding dishes about 12 years ago. It's a set that goes back to the 1920's, a wonderful and simple art deco pattern in green, gold and platinum. When I moved to Seattle, I returned them to my mom's because there was no room in the car. On my last visit home, I packed up the box (with overkill), and a few weeks later my family shipped it UPS. While tracking this morning, it seems the damned box arrived on the 14th…and someone at the Mail place signed for it. But when I called last week looking for it, the person who answered didn't know anything about it. Now that I have the name of who signed…I'll stop over there when they open in a few hours and find out what happened.
Some of these I've been dealing with for a while. Others are fresh.
Today, the culmination of it all is hitting me.
Breathe.
Breathe.
It's not all gloom.
Good things…
~My 3 little paintings have been framed. I'll be picking them up today and drop them off at the gallery space on Friday.
~It was much too hot yesterday, so I didn't do any drawing but plan on it today.
~Kerry and his Papa Bear will be in town for a bit over the weekend…and I'll get to pick them up at the airport on Saturday. It'll be GREAT to see them.
~I'm working on reopening myself to the shrink. It feels good to begin to trust him again.
~There was no humidity with the onslaught of heat.
~Yesterday was the last day of our mini heat wave.
~Last night, in bed, and this morning was the first time in over a week without sharp left arm pain. There is still pain, but it is oh so very manageable now. This I can deal with.
~Tonight I get to see the Bear and his bunny. I'll get some loving.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Tired thoughts~
Sleep was a long time coming last night. Therefore, I'm still groggy and out of it. Therapy in less than an hour…and then dive into work. This is my second week of afternoon vacation time, meaning short work days. Hopefullly…I'll have the energy to paint some more this afternoon. I want to.
When I used to have trouble sleeping, I'd mentally transport myself back to one of my all time favorite places. A private corner of rocks on the Marginal Way in Ogunquit. With my eyes closed I could hear the waves, smell the salt, feel the sea air and the spray. I would keep my breath in time to the crashing of the waves. And in that…I'd sleep.
Last night, as I periodically do, I tried to recapture it again in my mind. It's diminished. I haven't been there in so long that the memory has faded. Yes, there's a vague visual, but I can't taste it as before. Sad. Next time I fly home, I must make a trip back to the shore. But even with that, it won't be the same. When I lived back east, I would be there every week. I need to find another safe spot. Another healing spot here in my area.
-------
Regarding Pride, I am glad the regular parade finally moved off the hill. Marching in the gay ghetto misses the point of Pride marches. But, I always enjoyed the festivities in our neighborhood. So…in reviewing the weekend, I really liked that although much was happening at Seattle Center all weekend, I loved how Saturday on Broadway was full and alive with events at Volunteer park all day - concerts and movies, the dyke march and a smaller version of the parade down Broadway in the late afternoon.
For me, kicking off the weekend in our space and culminating into a big deal downtown on Sunday worked well together. I know the Saturday parade was in reaction to the big one getting moved off the Hill. But after witnessing Saturday's march and then seeing Sunday's on TV, I don't believe it needs to be one or the other.
We can have both. More for us.
Why not?
Sleep was a long time coming last night. Therefore, I'm still groggy and out of it. Therapy in less than an hour…and then dive into work. This is my second week of afternoon vacation time, meaning short work days. Hopefullly…I'll have the energy to paint some more this afternoon. I want to.
When I used to have trouble sleeping, I'd mentally transport myself back to one of my all time favorite places. A private corner of rocks on the Marginal Way in Ogunquit. With my eyes closed I could hear the waves, smell the salt, feel the sea air and the spray. I would keep my breath in time to the crashing of the waves. And in that…I'd sleep.
Last night, as I periodically do, I tried to recapture it again in my mind. It's diminished. I haven't been there in so long that the memory has faded. Yes, there's a vague visual, but I can't taste it as before. Sad. Next time I fly home, I must make a trip back to the shore. But even with that, it won't be the same. When I lived back east, I would be there every week. I need to find another safe spot. Another healing spot here in my area.
-------
Regarding Pride, I am glad the regular parade finally moved off the hill. Marching in the gay ghetto misses the point of Pride marches. But, I always enjoyed the festivities in our neighborhood. So…in reviewing the weekend, I really liked that although much was happening at Seattle Center all weekend, I loved how Saturday on Broadway was full and alive with events at Volunteer park all day - concerts and movies, the dyke march and a smaller version of the parade down Broadway in the late afternoon.
For me, kicking off the weekend in our space and culminating into a big deal downtown on Sunday worked well together. I know the Saturday parade was in reaction to the big one getting moved off the Hill. But after witnessing Saturday's march and then seeing Sunday's on TV, I don't believe it needs to be one or the other.
We can have both. More for us.
Why not?
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Productive day~
In spite of the 90 degree day, let it be known that I did get some work done. Normally, anything over 80 leaves me limp and sluggish. But I was determined to work another piece. I'm not sure what I think of it yet. That will come tomorrow...with space. I am thrilled I worked.
Now, after a handful of ibuprofen and a bag of frozen peas slapped on my shoulder, I'm crashed in my leather chair drinking OJ and watching today's Pride parade...taped earlier and being televised for two hours. Regardless of what anyone thinks of the move off the Hill or the parade in general...watching this on the tube is pretty cool. It wouldn't have happened 5 years ago.
I want a treat for dinner but can't decide what would constitute treat right now. Too hot to decide. Good thing it's not humid.
In spite of the 90 degree day, let it be known that I did get some work done. Normally, anything over 80 leaves me limp and sluggish. But I was determined to work another piece. I'm not sure what I think of it yet. That will come tomorrow...with space. I am thrilled I worked.
Now, after a handful of ibuprofen and a bag of frozen peas slapped on my shoulder, I'm crashed in my leather chair drinking OJ and watching today's Pride parade...taped earlier and being televised for two hours. Regardless of what anyone thinks of the move off the Hill or the parade in general...watching this on the tube is pretty cool. It wouldn't have happened 5 years ago.
I want a treat for dinner but can't decide what would constitute treat right now. Too hot to decide. Good thing it's not humid.
The Gift~
This morning I received a gift. Unknowingly to the person who shared, it was a wonderful, amazing gift.
The gift, a Rumi poem.
Chickpea to Cook
(translated by Coleman Barks)
A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot
where it's being boiled.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
The cook knocks him down with the ladle.
"Don't you try to jump out.
You think I'm torturing you.
I'm giving you flavor,
so you can mix with spices and rice
and be the lovely vitality of a human being.
Remember when you drank rain in the garden.
That was for this."
Grace first. Sexual pleasure,
then a boiling new life begins,
and the Friend has something good to eat.
Eventually the chickpea
will say to the cook,
"Boil me some more.
Hit me with the skimming spoon.
I can't do this by myself.
I'm like an elephant that dreams of gardens
back in Hindustan and doesn't pay attention
to his driver. You're my cook, my driver,
my way into existence. I love your cooking."
The cook says,
"I was once like you,
fresh from the ground. Then I boiled in time,
and boiled in the body, two fierce boilings.
My animal soul grew powerful.
I controlled it with practices,
and boiled some more, and boiled
once beyond that,
and became your teacher."
Thank you for the poem. I've reread it a few times and realized a certain shrink, master in his own right, is the cook and I the chickpea. I've spent the last few months running and rebelling. All needed of course. But I've worked diligently at not surrendering. The child engages in tantrums.
I am being boiled.
This morning's web cruising has uncovered another gem:
Leonard Cohen's Anthem
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
It's how the light gets in.
It is Pride weekend in Seattle. This year we have two parades, one each day. Yesterday I immersed myself in Pride energy, which never fails to bring up memories of my first Prides...political events. Regardless of controversy, of the corporate and commercial, the parade recaptures what at times feels lost.
Today, I'll bypass the queer celebrations and instead, hole myself up, again in silence.
Engage the Artist. With Pride.
In submitting to the cook, I am ultimately surrendering to myself.
Today, I willingly jump into the pot.
This morning I received a gift. Unknowingly to the person who shared, it was a wonderful, amazing gift.
The gift, a Rumi poem.
Chickpea to Cook
(translated by Coleman Barks)
A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot
where it's being boiled.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
The cook knocks him down with the ladle.
"Don't you try to jump out.
You think I'm torturing you.
I'm giving you flavor,
so you can mix with spices and rice
and be the lovely vitality of a human being.
Remember when you drank rain in the garden.
That was for this."
Grace first. Sexual pleasure,
then a boiling new life begins,
and the Friend has something good to eat.
Eventually the chickpea
will say to the cook,
"Boil me some more.
Hit me with the skimming spoon.
I can't do this by myself.
I'm like an elephant that dreams of gardens
back in Hindustan and doesn't pay attention
to his driver. You're my cook, my driver,
my way into existence. I love your cooking."
The cook says,
"I was once like you,
fresh from the ground. Then I boiled in time,
and boiled in the body, two fierce boilings.
My animal soul grew powerful.
I controlled it with practices,
and boiled some more, and boiled
once beyond that,
and became your teacher."
Thank you for the poem. I've reread it a few times and realized a certain shrink, master in his own right, is the cook and I the chickpea. I've spent the last few months running and rebelling. All needed of course. But I've worked diligently at not surrendering. The child engages in tantrums.
I am being boiled.
This morning's web cruising has uncovered another gem:
Leonard Cohen's Anthem
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
It's how the light gets in.
It is Pride weekend in Seattle. This year we have two parades, one each day. Yesterday I immersed myself in Pride energy, which never fails to bring up memories of my first Prides...political events. Regardless of controversy, of the corporate and commercial, the parade recaptures what at times feels lost.
Today, I'll bypass the queer celebrations and instead, hole myself up, again in silence.
Engage the Artist. With Pride.
In submitting to the cook, I am ultimately surrendering to myself.
Today, I willingly jump into the pot.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Butt play is powerful and healing.
You access the root of a person when you slam your dick into their ass. As the bottom, it hits your essence...and opens you up, more each time. Vulnerability. That is, if you're aware and present and not strung out on crystal, obliviously and recklessly seeking continual fucks.
As a female, having the immense fortune of having two holes to play with (sorry guys)....I have to say that having my ass fucked or fisted is more intense and fantastic than having my cunt filled. I once had the experience of having a fist up my cunt and ass simultaneously and that....that was mindblowing.
Isn't it an odd thing to speak of after a week of silence?
I don't know how to write about it.
Butt play. Masturbation. I've spent the week in the throes of sex.
Last week, beginning on Thursday, but I really felt it on Friday...reality. Reality. Regardless of what another's reality is...all we can deal with is our own. The reality that was creeping up on me and hit hard by Friday was...I am all alone. There is nothing or no one else in this world but me. I will never be fully understood.
I was alone.
I am alone.
I no longer trusted anyone. Not even my shrink. His office, last Friday, felt unsafe. No longer my haven. I retained my walls and spoke hardly at all in our session.
This past week was one of his away weeks, which suited me fine. I didn't want to return.
I no longer trusted him. I trusted no one.
I was alone.
Saturday morning.
A slowly increasing anxiety began to fill me. I was afraid that this would be my life and I wouldn't be able to work past it. Then, I stopped. I stopped analyzing, stopped asking why and stopped processing. The decision was made to just go through it. If this was my current path, so be it. There was nothing else I could do but be in it, without fear.
I immersed myself in my aloneness. No it wasn't pleasant. It wasn't pretty. It simply was what it was. I chose to not engage with people because it would have felt false. If I felt alone, I needed to really be alone.
After this decision I realized that I wasn't empty in my aloneness and isolation. I knew because I couldn't shake the fact that...I had my art. Regardless what anyone else thinks of me, knowing that I'll never be really understood or seen...it no longer mattered because I had one thing that could never be taken away. One thing. I am an artist. I have my art.
A strong sense of power came over me.
For the first time in my life, while immersed in turmoil, I lunged toward my painting instead of away from it.
Saturday morning, I ran to Utrecht's to pick up paper. Watercolor and printmaking paper. I needed something somewhat durable. Because I really can't work well in oils in my little place, I decided to try drawings. Because I knew I'd be working with charcoal, I kept the pieces small, about 15x20. Without getting charcoal dust everywhere, it was a manageable size.
I began with black watercolor and mixed and worked through each piece with watercolor, charcoal and graphite. Wet into dry and back into wet. Working one within the other.
It was painting.
I completed 4 drawings this week.
It's been almost a year since I've painted.
It's been 10 years since I've finished any charcoal pieces.
Normally, I'd rough out in charcoal and jump right into oils because I was antsy to feel the brush spring against the canvas. Now, I have no choice. If I want to paint, it needs to be in charcoal because of space limitations.
This isn't a bad thing.
While my shrink sat in sesshin all week, I stepped into my own. I found a way that is about my culture and my experience.
In these pieces, I see my life.
I see my suffering and my hunger.
I see my sex.
I see my cock.
It is one image. One image I keep replaying. I'm working it over and over again. My meditation. It allows me to really explore. It frees me up in a way that is healing. There is no pressure. There is no expectation.
And...after seeing these four pieces, I know they are the best things I've done thus far.
They show who I am.
Within these black and white pieces, there is so much color.
In the work, in the midst of very adult subject matter, the little kid is screaming:
I will not be dismissed.
I will no longer be ignored.
See my sex, my essence and deal with it.
I exist and will flourish in spite of it all.
These are good. And it is good.
I'm not outwardly excited about this, which is odd for me. Yet it feels so right. Substantial roots are taking hold and I feel it inside. With that, I'm watchful and protective of my new, still being built, foundation.
In my week of mostly silence, I couldn't even write for myself. This is the first time I'm putting anything into words.
My body has rebelled with these new changes. I am left-handed. My left shoulder has been in so much pain...my rotator cuff acting up more painfully than ever before. I developed migraines on Tuesday and Wednesday. It's about release. All release. The body will react. And...it will get over it and calm down as my spirit becomes stronger.
When I decided to relax into this aloneness and the feeling of not trusting, I knew it was a necessary step into further healing. Though it is another corner turned, I don't expect an easy road. But it is a new landscape.
You access the root of a person when you slam your dick into their ass. As the bottom, it hits your essence...and opens you up, more each time. Vulnerability. That is, if you're aware and present and not strung out on crystal, obliviously and recklessly seeking continual fucks.
As a female, having the immense fortune of having two holes to play with (sorry guys)....I have to say that having my ass fucked or fisted is more intense and fantastic than having my cunt filled. I once had the experience of having a fist up my cunt and ass simultaneously and that....that was mindblowing.
Isn't it an odd thing to speak of after a week of silence?
I don't know how to write about it.
Butt play. Masturbation. I've spent the week in the throes of sex.
Last week, beginning on Thursday, but I really felt it on Friday...reality. Reality. Regardless of what another's reality is...all we can deal with is our own. The reality that was creeping up on me and hit hard by Friday was...I am all alone. There is nothing or no one else in this world but me. I will never be fully understood.
I was alone.
I am alone.
I no longer trusted anyone. Not even my shrink. His office, last Friday, felt unsafe. No longer my haven. I retained my walls and spoke hardly at all in our session.
This past week was one of his away weeks, which suited me fine. I didn't want to return.
I no longer trusted him. I trusted no one.
I was alone.
Saturday morning.
A slowly increasing anxiety began to fill me. I was afraid that this would be my life and I wouldn't be able to work past it. Then, I stopped. I stopped analyzing, stopped asking why and stopped processing. The decision was made to just go through it. If this was my current path, so be it. There was nothing else I could do but be in it, without fear.
I immersed myself in my aloneness. No it wasn't pleasant. It wasn't pretty. It simply was what it was. I chose to not engage with people because it would have felt false. If I felt alone, I needed to really be alone.
After this decision I realized that I wasn't empty in my aloneness and isolation. I knew because I couldn't shake the fact that...I had my art. Regardless what anyone else thinks of me, knowing that I'll never be really understood or seen...it no longer mattered because I had one thing that could never be taken away. One thing. I am an artist. I have my art.
A strong sense of power came over me.
For the first time in my life, while immersed in turmoil, I lunged toward my painting instead of away from it.
Saturday morning, I ran to Utrecht's to pick up paper. Watercolor and printmaking paper. I needed something somewhat durable. Because I really can't work well in oils in my little place, I decided to try drawings. Because I knew I'd be working with charcoal, I kept the pieces small, about 15x20. Without getting charcoal dust everywhere, it was a manageable size.
I began with black watercolor and mixed and worked through each piece with watercolor, charcoal and graphite. Wet into dry and back into wet. Working one within the other.
It was painting.
I completed 4 drawings this week.
It's been almost a year since I've painted.
It's been 10 years since I've finished any charcoal pieces.
Normally, I'd rough out in charcoal and jump right into oils because I was antsy to feel the brush spring against the canvas. Now, I have no choice. If I want to paint, it needs to be in charcoal because of space limitations.
This isn't a bad thing.
While my shrink sat in sesshin all week, I stepped into my own. I found a way that is about my culture and my experience.
In these pieces, I see my life.
I see my suffering and my hunger.
I see my sex.
I see my cock.
It is one image. One image I keep replaying. I'm working it over and over again. My meditation. It allows me to really explore. It frees me up in a way that is healing. There is no pressure. There is no expectation.
And...after seeing these four pieces, I know they are the best things I've done thus far.
They show who I am.
Within these black and white pieces, there is so much color.
In the work, in the midst of very adult subject matter, the little kid is screaming:
I will not be dismissed.
I will no longer be ignored.
See my sex, my essence and deal with it.
I exist and will flourish in spite of it all.
These are good. And it is good.
I'm not outwardly excited about this, which is odd for me. Yet it feels so right. Substantial roots are taking hold and I feel it inside. With that, I'm watchful and protective of my new, still being built, foundation.
In my week of mostly silence, I couldn't even write for myself. This is the first time I'm putting anything into words.
My body has rebelled with these new changes. I am left-handed. My left shoulder has been in so much pain...my rotator cuff acting up more painfully than ever before. I developed migraines on Tuesday and Wednesday. It's about release. All release. The body will react. And...it will get over it and calm down as my spirit becomes stronger.
When I decided to relax into this aloneness and the feeling of not trusting, I knew it was a necessary step into further healing. Though it is another corner turned, I don't expect an easy road. But it is a new landscape.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Poking out of my cave~
A quick entry only to bring you today's column from Mark Morford. I've had the desire to be very private for the last week and so have pulled back from pretty much everything although while doing a favor for Hoss last night I was treated to one of the most glorious meals I've ever indulged in. It was a surprising indulgence that felt somehow perfect...in timing, company, food and wine. Thank you Hoss.
I will be back to writing more soon. I can feel it. Much has happened and it'll be nice to share it. But until then, here is today's column - Crazy Healers Enter The World.
What surprised me about this column was that Morford writes about his recent trip to Seattle to attend the commencement ceremony for Bastyr University. I knew Bastyr was a school for holistic, naturopathic medicine. I had no idea how good a school it was, or what it required of its students. My acunpuncturist, who I love, and sadly haven't seen in a few years (majorly overdue) was a part of Bastyr's faculty. Not sure if she still is. Her practice is at One Sky Medicine, which I periodically recommend to a few folks. It's a group practice that combines eastern and western medicine.
Anyway...from the column:
"Bastyr is an alternative medical academy. It is perhaps most famous for cranking out world-class naturopathic doctors who, for the first four years of their studies, work through the exact same basic, intense science material as their Western-trained counterparts, all about cadavers and biology and hard-core physiology and all related labs and testings and the accompanying brutal anxiety and a vicious attrition rate for first- and second-year students who just can't hack the insane pace and staggering workload."
and later on:
"But watching the Bastyr ceremony was different. It was like watching a bucket of very peculiar and incandescent flowers get tossed onto a field of coal. This year, the school pumped over 250 alternative healers out into the pill-popping, surgery-happy, overmedicated world (up from just 35 grads only a dozen years ago) from Chinese medicine practitioners to professional acupuncturists, holistic nutrition experts to spiritually aware alternative psychologists to even a few young 'n' sexy midwives, along with dozens of full NDs who will take their state board exams (just like Western docs) and enter into the teeming world of suffering and pain and actually not offer surgery or Lipitor within the first 10 minutes of your consultation.
These doctors will, instead, spend hours getting to know patients, understanding lives, tapping into ancient ideas of medicinal arts; these are doctors who will harness the formidable power of nature and spirit and time-tested human wisdom to help smack illness upside the head and, hell, after all that if you still need some Prozac and a surgical rearrangement of your spleen, then by all means, they can recommend that, too."
Nice...
A quick entry only to bring you today's column from Mark Morford. I've had the desire to be very private for the last week and so have pulled back from pretty much everything although while doing a favor for Hoss last night I was treated to one of the most glorious meals I've ever indulged in. It was a surprising indulgence that felt somehow perfect...in timing, company, food and wine. Thank you Hoss.
I will be back to writing more soon. I can feel it. Much has happened and it'll be nice to share it. But until then, here is today's column - Crazy Healers Enter The World.
What surprised me about this column was that Morford writes about his recent trip to Seattle to attend the commencement ceremony for Bastyr University. I knew Bastyr was a school for holistic, naturopathic medicine. I had no idea how good a school it was, or what it required of its students. My acunpuncturist, who I love, and sadly haven't seen in a few years (majorly overdue) was a part of Bastyr's faculty. Not sure if she still is. Her practice is at One Sky Medicine, which I periodically recommend to a few folks. It's a group practice that combines eastern and western medicine.
Anyway...from the column:
"Bastyr is an alternative medical academy. It is perhaps most famous for cranking out world-class naturopathic doctors who, for the first four years of their studies, work through the exact same basic, intense science material as their Western-trained counterparts, all about cadavers and biology and hard-core physiology and all related labs and testings and the accompanying brutal anxiety and a vicious attrition rate for first- and second-year students who just can't hack the insane pace and staggering workload."
and later on:
"But watching the Bastyr ceremony was different. It was like watching a bucket of very peculiar and incandescent flowers get tossed onto a field of coal. This year, the school pumped over 250 alternative healers out into the pill-popping, surgery-happy, overmedicated world (up from just 35 grads only a dozen years ago) from Chinese medicine practitioners to professional acupuncturists, holistic nutrition experts to spiritually aware alternative psychologists to even a few young 'n' sexy midwives, along with dozens of full NDs who will take their state board exams (just like Western docs) and enter into the teeming world of suffering and pain and actually not offer surgery or Lipitor within the first 10 minutes of your consultation.
These doctors will, instead, spend hours getting to know patients, understanding lives, tapping into ancient ideas of medicinal arts; these are doctors who will harness the formidable power of nature and spirit and time-tested human wisdom to help smack illness upside the head and, hell, after all that if you still need some Prozac and a surgical rearrangement of your spleen, then by all means, they can recommend that, too."
Nice...
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
A placeholder~
I'll be back soon. For now...
...our Wednesdayguys guy. Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology hasn't come through yet. I will post it when it does.
In today's Morford, Behold All My Dirty Secrets, he writes:
"I choose freedom from paranoia and embarrassment. I choose to be entirely comfortable with my fetishes. There is nothing on my PowerBook that is not entirely human. Besides, if someone with the right tools and data-recovery know-how and a nasty personal agenda were to unerase all the data from my hard drive after I sell it and see every scrap and every photo and every scandalous thought buried on this machine, would they really know me? Touch the heart of what I'm all about? Not even close.
Look. We are a nation taught to be ashamed of our fantasies and our deviances from the norm, taught that porn is a dirty word and experimenting with ideas of gender and love and Self is morally reprehensible and probably deserving of medication and electroshock therapy. And our technology often serves as a channel and repository of our "shameful" notions. This is why PCs have supposedly become so dangerous. And so fascinating a cultural artifact.
But through it all, there seems to exist this one general rule: If you have that much to hide, if you are living some sort of secret and embarrassing and family-endangering double life, if you are constantly burying images and hiding data or altering your persona to the point of endangering your work, if you cannot let someone, say, cruise through your personal sex-toy box without massive blushing and fainting and humiliation, perhaps you're living the wrong kind of life. You think?"
I'll be back soon. For now...
...our Wednesday
In today's Morford, Behold All My Dirty Secrets, he writes:
"I choose freedom from paranoia and embarrassment. I choose to be entirely comfortable with my fetishes. There is nothing on my PowerBook that is not entirely human. Besides, if someone with the right tools and data-recovery know-how and a nasty personal agenda were to unerase all the data from my hard drive after I sell it and see every scrap and every photo and every scandalous thought buried on this machine, would they really know me? Touch the heart of what I'm all about? Not even close.
Look. We are a nation taught to be ashamed of our fantasies and our deviances from the norm, taught that porn is a dirty word and experimenting with ideas of gender and love and Self is morally reprehensible and probably deserving of medication and electroshock therapy. And our technology often serves as a channel and repository of our "shameful" notions. This is why PCs have supposedly become so dangerous. And so fascinating a cultural artifact.
But through it all, there seems to exist this one general rule: If you have that much to hide, if you are living some sort of secret and embarrassing and family-endangering double life, if you are constantly burying images and hiding data or altering your persona to the point of endangering your work, if you cannot let someone, say, cruise through your personal sex-toy box without massive blushing and fainting and humiliation, perhaps you're living the wrong kind of life. You think?"
Friday, June 16, 2006
Words.
"This is, after all, how you begin to learn to figure the world out for yourself. This is how you make the soul snap to attention. Fear awakens the mind. The survival instinct learns to French-kiss the Mystery."
It's for moments like this that I love Morford. Here is today's column.
"This is, after all, how you begin to learn to figure the world out for yourself. This is how you make the soul snap to attention. Fear awakens the mind. The survival instinct learns to French-kiss the Mystery."
It's for moments like this that I love Morford. Here is today's column.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The horoscopes I check out, Freewill Astrology, Planet Waves and Jonathan Cainer, tend to be an affirmation of where I'm at, instead of a big foretelling. I don't normally see something I don't know, instead...it's a crazy validation.
This week, Cainer's stuff has been scarily right on the money.
For example, today's 'scope:
"You may not be able to lift it, but you've still got the power to shift it. No matter how heavy, hard or seemingly set in stone a situation may be, there's a way to move it on. You won't necessarily be able to make things happen in exactly the way you envisage. You may have to seek assistance, or accept the kind of help you would prefer to reject... but as long as you're neither too proud or nor too pessimistic, you'll find, between now and early next week, that each day brings you nearer to a breakthrough."
And tomorrow's (which he tends to publish the afternoon before:
"You know how the world starts to feel very tense, just before a storm breaks? Well, though life is very difficult right now, it's soon going to get a lot better. Things have been hard for you lately but they have also taken you through a constructive process which you could not have undertaken in any other way. This weekend may not bring thunder, but it will certainly bring a dramatic, decisive development that, though it feels a little intimidating when it first occurs, proves to be of great benefit."
Today is definitely one of those "hot, humid, thick wall of heavy air, can't breathe, just before the thunder rolls in and the skies open up" kinda days.
This week, Cainer's stuff has been scarily right on the money.
For example, today's 'scope:
"You may not be able to lift it, but you've still got the power to shift it. No matter how heavy, hard or seemingly set in stone a situation may be, there's a way to move it on. You won't necessarily be able to make things happen in exactly the way you envisage. You may have to seek assistance, or accept the kind of help you would prefer to reject... but as long as you're neither too proud or nor too pessimistic, you'll find, between now and early next week, that each day brings you nearer to a breakthrough."
And tomorrow's (which he tends to publish the afternoon before:
"You know how the world starts to feel very tense, just before a storm breaks? Well, though life is very difficult right now, it's soon going to get a lot better. Things have been hard for you lately but they have also taken you through a constructive process which you could not have undertaken in any other way. This weekend may not bring thunder, but it will certainly bring a dramatic, decisive development that, though it feels a little intimidating when it first occurs, proves to be of great benefit."
Today is definitely one of those "hot, humid, thick wall of heavy air, can't breathe, just before the thunder rolls in and the skies open up" kinda days.
Reality check.
Why am I distracted?
Because I'm not being honest about what I'm feeling.
Why am I angry?
Because I'm still not being honest about what I'm feeling.
Why am I feeling bitchy?
Again…because I'm really not being honest about what I'm feeling.
As I've written before, this last month, and especially these last few weeks the heat is cranked in my therapy sessions. The shrink has been pushing me. Hard. Pushing me into what feels like the "getting lost, never to return to sanity, black pit of what we know as deep vulnerability" stuff.
So I've stepped into the big bad, knowing it's not a finite destination but an ongoing unfolding and way of living. And I'm unsettled, scared and nervous.
Opening the heart, having peeled off layers...I feel naked.
Why am I distracted?
Because I'm not being honest about what I'm feeling.
Why am I angry?
Because I'm still not being honest about what I'm feeling.
Why am I feeling bitchy?
Again…because I'm really not being honest about what I'm feeling.
As I've written before, this last month, and especially these last few weeks the heat is cranked in my therapy sessions. The shrink has been pushing me. Hard. Pushing me into what feels like the "getting lost, never to return to sanity, black pit of what we know as deep vulnerability" stuff.
So I've stepped into the big bad, knowing it's not a finite destination but an ongoing unfolding and way of living. And I'm unsettled, scared and nervous.
Opening the heart, having peeled off layers...I feel naked.
Very distracted today.
I have over 4 weeks of vacation time, and it keeps accruing monthly. So I've decided to work half days, Monday - Thursday for the next two weeks. I'll be home by 1pm. I may continue that into July. We'll see how it goes. Regarding these shorter days, I'm experimenting with something. Instead of sharing, I'll tease you for a bit. I don’t want to jinx anything. Okay…one clue: it has to do with painting.
In between work tasks, I have tried 5 different entries since 6 am and it is a mess. So much is floating around in my brain and it's gotten all tangled up. There are some fabulous conversations going on in the blogosphere and not only am I thrilled but also think "it's about friggin' time." Attempts were made to add my two cents but I'm still too passionate and now distracted to string thoughts together. I can be quite the bitch and would rather temper myself just a bit more.
It will have to wait.
Now to focus on work...
...have a wonderful, sexy, productive day. All of you.
I have over 4 weeks of vacation time, and it keeps accruing monthly. So I've decided to work half days, Monday - Thursday for the next two weeks. I'll be home by 1pm. I may continue that into July. We'll see how it goes. Regarding these shorter days, I'm experimenting with something. Instead of sharing, I'll tease you for a bit. I don’t want to jinx anything. Okay…one clue: it has to do with painting.
In between work tasks, I have tried 5 different entries since 6 am and it is a mess. So much is floating around in my brain and it's gotten all tangled up. There are some fabulous conversations going on in the blogosphere and not only am I thrilled but also think "it's about friggin' time." Attempts were made to add my two cents but I'm still too passionate and now distracted to string thoughts together. I can be quite the bitch and would rather temper myself just a bit more.
It will have to wait.
Now to focus on work...
...have a wonderful, sexy, productive day. All of you.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Tequila Talk~
Just got back from a nice afternoon with Bear. It was a great couple hours. Sometimes, it's nice to have a fresh face. A new perspective. Sometimes, in relaying information, it then gets easier to translate. Given space. Given time.
Bear asked me about my community...my family...something about being surrounded or immersed in the gay men's community.
I am, and I am not. Many men have no desire to have a cunt around. I don't hold it against them. We each are comfortable with what we're comfortable with. Obviously, my chosen family and closest friends happen to be gay men. I didn't seek it out. It wasn't something I chose when I woke one morning. And others are welcome. But it's about the smell. All about the scent.
As I explained over lunch, instead, I once smelled the energy I was looking for, I knew I found home. It surrounded me like home, family, sustenance. Since then, it is that particular smell that I've pulled toward me. It's the smell of sex. Comfortable with bodies, nasty open sexual expression...good sense of self. Sex for sex sake. Knowing it does not need anything else attached to the sex. The more creative the being, the better.
No drama. No having to negotiate or worry about partners. No goddammed excessive cloudy processing. (I do enough of that for myself). People who are self-aware. Sexual. Open. Part of it is a shared experience (although I can't share all of everyone's experience. No one can).
I can't really explain it other than a smell. An energy. Sometimes those are annoying words but the best I can do.
There's a meme on LJ about where did you get your screen name. Girlfag was given to me over for years ago by a chosen family member. I considered getting a domain and didn't know which one. We were in the kitchen one day and Bryan said "girlfag.com". I had never heard the term before that.
"It's perfect for you. You are a fag. You are us. And you're still a girl."
While mulling it over, I met a couple of men from SF. One of them said "oh, you're a girlfag. There are a few of you around."
So girlfag it was.
The domain was open at the time and I snagged it. Since then, especially over the last year I've become annoyed with the term "girlfag". Maybe something about the popularity of it. Maybe because there are different definitions of girlfag. People like me. Or dykes who play like gay men but are attracted to women mostly. Or...people confuse it with faghag.
Sigh...
I'd prefer to have my last name. Only that. You can't make a lot of assumptions from my last name. I like the ambiguity. But, on LJ it's taken. And for Blogger, honestly, I'll keep girlfag. There are many google searches for "fag" that lead here. That's not a bad thing.
Labels suck sometimes, yanno? And at the same time, an important tool. A necessary evil. Like cars. Like taxes. This winter, I opted to not renew the domain. I decided I'd never do anything with it and so let it go. I still have my other one which I'm still not sure what to do with.
Have I told you lately that I'm so excited and can't wait to see the 3 paintings all framed? Yeah. I'm ecstatic. There's a big reason for that. This isn't like the other painting which was already sold. These haven't been purchased yet. I'm investing in the frames because I feel the paintings deserve them. Translated: "I'm worth it."
Yeah, that's a biggie.
Have I told you that I had two margueritas while chatting with Bear and so am a tad bit buzzed? I popped into a coffee shop afterward to sit and write. Didn't want to go home right away. Instead, I'm here with a cup of coffee. From here I'll stop and pick up dinner on my way home and then return to a clean house. Yes...I took more vacation time this afternoon and had over an hour before seeing Bear, along with energy, so I dove into my home. It needed it badly.
Being sad, hurt, stressed, dealing with internal crap is not good for domestic life. Everything falls to pieces. It sucks. It becomes a vicious cycle.
"If my house were clean, I'd feel better. But I don't feel good enough to clean it."
Bleh.
Onto other things:
I've decided to invest in a digital camera. Yes...before a cell phone. I'd use it more often. Thing is, I'm not sure what to get. I'd like to keep it under $250, preferable under $200. I want zoom capability, good quality, easy to use. Any suggestions? When I was really into photography, I LOVED my Pentax K1000. No frills. No gadgetry. At times, after much practice, I wouldn't even need the battery for the light meter. I could determine the aperture and shutterspeed by looking at the quality of the light. If I had the money back then, I would have invested in a Leica. My boss at the lab had one, and I loved it. I stopped taking photos after I stopped processing film. I tried finding labs that met my stringent demands for color quality and was disappointed more often than not. So I chose not to waste any more film. Unless..I shot transparencies. But that's not really practical.
Now, I want a digital. I want to share some of the cool things my eye catches during my walks. I want to quickly record images that give me ideas for future paintings...yes, for when I once again begin painting somewhere down the road. (Shhh...don't tell anyone, but it will probably be sooner than later. One thing. I am NOT obsessively pressuring or "should"-ing myself into this. It's going to happen organically).
Oh my, Queen's "The Game" cd is playing over the speakers here at Victrola Coffee. What a blast from the past. I used to have and loved the LP.
And, I think that's it. I honestly didn't expect to do another entry today but there you have it.
On that note...ciao.
Just got back from a nice afternoon with Bear. It was a great couple hours. Sometimes, it's nice to have a fresh face. A new perspective. Sometimes, in relaying information, it then gets easier to translate. Given space. Given time.
Bear asked me about my community...my family...something about being surrounded or immersed in the gay men's community.
I am, and I am not. Many men have no desire to have a cunt around. I don't hold it against them. We each are comfortable with what we're comfortable with. Obviously, my chosen family and closest friends happen to be gay men. I didn't seek it out. It wasn't something I chose when I woke one morning. And others are welcome. But it's about the smell. All about the scent.
As I explained over lunch, instead, I once smelled the energy I was looking for, I knew I found home. It surrounded me like home, family, sustenance. Since then, it is that particular smell that I've pulled toward me. It's the smell of sex. Comfortable with bodies, nasty open sexual expression...good sense of self. Sex for sex sake. Knowing it does not need anything else attached to the sex. The more creative the being, the better.
No drama. No having to negotiate or worry about partners. No goddammed excessive cloudy processing. (I do enough of that for myself). People who are self-aware. Sexual. Open. Part of it is a shared experience (although I can't share all of everyone's experience. No one can).
I can't really explain it other than a smell. An energy. Sometimes those are annoying words but the best I can do.
There's a meme on LJ about where did you get your screen name. Girlfag was given to me over for years ago by a chosen family member. I considered getting a domain and didn't know which one. We were in the kitchen one day and Bryan said "girlfag.com". I had never heard the term before that.
"It's perfect for you. You are a fag. You are us. And you're still a girl."
While mulling it over, I met a couple of men from SF. One of them said "oh, you're a girlfag. There are a few of you around."
So girlfag it was.
The domain was open at the time and I snagged it. Since then, especially over the last year I've become annoyed with the term "girlfag". Maybe something about the popularity of it. Maybe because there are different definitions of girlfag. People like me. Or dykes who play like gay men but are attracted to women mostly. Or...people confuse it with faghag.
Sigh...
I'd prefer to have my last name. Only that. You can't make a lot of assumptions from my last name. I like the ambiguity. But, on LJ it's taken. And for Blogger, honestly, I'll keep girlfag. There are many google searches for "fag" that lead here. That's not a bad thing.
Labels suck sometimes, yanno? And at the same time, an important tool. A necessary evil. Like cars. Like taxes. This winter, I opted to not renew the domain. I decided I'd never do anything with it and so let it go. I still have my other one which I'm still not sure what to do with.
Have I told you lately that I'm so excited and can't wait to see the 3 paintings all framed? Yeah. I'm ecstatic. There's a big reason for that. This isn't like the other painting which was already sold. These haven't been purchased yet. I'm investing in the frames because I feel the paintings deserve them. Translated: "I'm worth it."
Yeah, that's a biggie.
Have I told you that I had two margueritas while chatting with Bear and so am a tad bit buzzed? I popped into a coffee shop afterward to sit and write. Didn't want to go home right away. Instead, I'm here with a cup of coffee. From here I'll stop and pick up dinner on my way home and then return to a clean house. Yes...I took more vacation time this afternoon and had over an hour before seeing Bear, along with energy, so I dove into my home. It needed it badly.
Being sad, hurt, stressed, dealing with internal crap is not good for domestic life. Everything falls to pieces. It sucks. It becomes a vicious cycle.
"If my house were clean, I'd feel better. But I don't feel good enough to clean it."
Bleh.
Onto other things:
I've decided to invest in a digital camera. Yes...before a cell phone. I'd use it more often. Thing is, I'm not sure what to get. I'd like to keep it under $250, preferable under $200. I want zoom capability, good quality, easy to use. Any suggestions? When I was really into photography, I LOVED my Pentax K1000. No frills. No gadgetry. At times, after much practice, I wouldn't even need the battery for the light meter. I could determine the aperture and shutterspeed by looking at the quality of the light. If I had the money back then, I would have invested in a Leica. My boss at the lab had one, and I loved it. I stopped taking photos after I stopped processing film. I tried finding labs that met my stringent demands for color quality and was disappointed more often than not. So I chose not to waste any more film. Unless..I shot transparencies. But that's not really practical.
Now, I want a digital. I want to share some of the cool things my eye catches during my walks. I want to quickly record images that give me ideas for future paintings...yes, for when I once again begin painting somewhere down the road. (Shhh...don't tell anyone, but it will probably be sooner than later. One thing. I am NOT obsessively pressuring or "should"-ing myself into this. It's going to happen organically).
Oh my, Queen's "The Game" cd is playing over the speakers here at Victrola Coffee. What a blast from the past. I used to have and loved the LP.
And, I think that's it. I honestly didn't expect to do another entry today but there you have it.
On that note...ciao.
Good morning.
"But you do not have to believe me. You merely need to glance at the latest version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (known to devotees as DSM-IV), the deeply creepy bible of the psychiatric profession, which is roughly a thousand pages long and which lists more sad 'n' disagreeable disorders and conditions and painful permutations of Self than the "Joy of Cooking" lists recipes involving heat.
The DSM, it is like a tumor. It is like a Christian megachurch. It is like a ... a ... something large and invasive and numbing to the soul, and while it has been, I'm sure, hugely helpful and necessary to many, it is churning and growing and seething all the time, swallowing all of humanity in its vortex of new and vaguely quantifiable suffering. To read any part of it is to come away convinced you suffer from at least a dozen happy disorders, most requiring medication or partial lobotomy. It's that kind of joy."
Morford jumps right in with Don't Blame Me, Blame My IED.
Now Brezsny leads me to wonder with:
Capricorn:
"In his biography Tallulah!: The Life and Times of a Leading Lady, Joel Lobenthal describes actress Tallulah Bankhead (1902-1968) as a reckless hedonist given to exhibitionism and affairs with hundreds of lovers. He also hints that there was a karmic payback for her excesses. It came in the form of a lengthy hysterectomy that was a last-ditch attempt to save her from the ravages of an advanced case of gonorrhea, reducing her frame to a mere seventy pounds. Bankhead didn't see it as karmic payback, however. Afterwards she told her doctor, "Don't think this has taught me a lesson!" Your own imminent comeuppance won't be even a tiny fraction of what Bankhead's was, Capricorn. But I hope that after it has been offered, you will thankfully say, "This has taught me a valuable lesson!"
You see, yesterday was an...interesting day. I don't know about reckless but yes, hedonistic.
I woke horny. Very horny. And a little angry. I put out a call to friends to send me dirty stories, which they did. I stayed wired and frenzied, managed to get work done, and then, the icing on the cake - one very short email came through and it sent me. Over the edge.
It's a good thing I had just completed a long project. I took vacation time for the rest of the day and went home, sat in my chair, felt my trembling body and hungry holes screaming at me for a couple hours until I couldn't bear it any more. I grabbed one of my favorite toys and fucked. And fucked. And fucked some more. I wasn't quickly satiated. For over an hour I was wrapped in orgasm upon orgasm upon orgasm.
Multifaceted.
Powerful.
Explosive.
Until spent.
Maybe my lesson is I need to do that more often.
Here is your weekly Brezsny.
One more thing. Today's Brezsny email had this thought right at the top.
"When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself."
--Shunryu Suzuki
Something to remember.
"But you do not have to believe me. You merely need to glance at the latest version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (known to devotees as DSM-IV), the deeply creepy bible of the psychiatric profession, which is roughly a thousand pages long and which lists more sad 'n' disagreeable disorders and conditions and painful permutations of Self than the "Joy of Cooking" lists recipes involving heat.
The DSM, it is like a tumor. It is like a Christian megachurch. It is like a ... a ... something large and invasive and numbing to the soul, and while it has been, I'm sure, hugely helpful and necessary to many, it is churning and growing and seething all the time, swallowing all of humanity in its vortex of new and vaguely quantifiable suffering. To read any part of it is to come away convinced you suffer from at least a dozen happy disorders, most requiring medication or partial lobotomy. It's that kind of joy."
Morford jumps right in with Don't Blame Me, Blame My IED.
Now Brezsny leads me to wonder with:
Capricorn:
"In his biography Tallulah!: The Life and Times of a Leading Lady, Joel Lobenthal describes actress Tallulah Bankhead (1902-1968) as a reckless hedonist given to exhibitionism and affairs with hundreds of lovers. He also hints that there was a karmic payback for her excesses. It came in the form of a lengthy hysterectomy that was a last-ditch attempt to save her from the ravages of an advanced case of gonorrhea, reducing her frame to a mere seventy pounds. Bankhead didn't see it as karmic payback, however. Afterwards she told her doctor, "Don't think this has taught me a lesson!" Your own imminent comeuppance won't be even a tiny fraction of what Bankhead's was, Capricorn. But I hope that after it has been offered, you will thankfully say, "This has taught me a valuable lesson!"
You see, yesterday was an...interesting day. I don't know about reckless but yes, hedonistic.
I woke horny. Very horny. And a little angry. I put out a call to friends to send me dirty stories, which they did. I stayed wired and frenzied, managed to get work done, and then, the icing on the cake - one very short email came through and it sent me. Over the edge.
It's a good thing I had just completed a long project. I took vacation time for the rest of the day and went home, sat in my chair, felt my trembling body and hungry holes screaming at me for a couple hours until I couldn't bear it any more. I grabbed one of my favorite toys and fucked. And fucked. And fucked some more. I wasn't quickly satiated. For over an hour I was wrapped in orgasm upon orgasm upon orgasm.
Multifaceted.
Powerful.
Explosive.
Until spent.
Maybe my lesson is I need to do that more often.
Here is your weekly Brezsny.
One more thing. Today's Brezsny email had this thought right at the top.
"When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself."
--Shunryu Suzuki
Something to remember.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Cool article~
Old Masters
"Archaeologists have discovered what they believe to be a 27,000-year-old drawing of a face, which would make it the oldest in history. Like many other ancient portraits, it is reminiscent of the work of some of the great modern artists, writes Jonathan Jones - and speaks volumes about the way we see ourselves."
To read the whole article.
Fascinating article and an exciting find. But after reading, part of me can fantasize and believe the writer whereas a bigger part of is cynical and feels they are making a ton of assumptions.
"So familiar were these people with the emotional significance of the human face that they didn't need to fill in every detail as they did when they painted animals."
How do they know that?
"Why did the first artists draw like Picasso? It has to be because of their attitude to the face, to their own embodiment and that of the people they lived with - it has to be because of how they saw human beings specifically, because this is very different from the way they painted animals."
Projecting a little?
And, my very first question was "How do we know it was intended to be a face?
Not that I want to fully trash the article. The idea thrills me. I love the discovery. But, no one can say what the intent was or why it was conceived as such except for the person who actually created it. It's all circumstantial.
Old Masters
"Archaeologists have discovered what they believe to be a 27,000-year-old drawing of a face, which would make it the oldest in history. Like many other ancient portraits, it is reminiscent of the work of some of the great modern artists, writes Jonathan Jones - and speaks volumes about the way we see ourselves."
To read the whole article.
Fascinating article and an exciting find. But after reading, part of me can fantasize and believe the writer whereas a bigger part of is cynical and feels they are making a ton of assumptions.
"So familiar were these people with the emotional significance of the human face that they didn't need to fill in every detail as they did when they painted animals."
How do they know that?
"Why did the first artists draw like Picasso? It has to be because of their attitude to the face, to their own embodiment and that of the people they lived with - it has to be because of how they saw human beings specifically, because this is very different from the way they painted animals."
Projecting a little?
And, my very first question was "How do we know it was intended to be a face?
Not that I want to fully trash the article. The idea thrills me. I love the discovery. But, no one can say what the intent was or why it was conceived as such except for the person who actually created it. It's all circumstantial.
Not that I have strong opinions or anything...
Fuck the contemporary erotic art scene.
Most of it is incredibly boring.
I'm not contemporary. I'm not modern. I'm not trendy.
And that is one detail I've pretty much always been comfortable with.
I dropped off the three little singletail cross paintings at the frame shop yesterday afternoon…and I'm indulging myself. Grand frames that very much fit the work. Large fancy gilded frames on small paintings. I fell in love with them because well…they actually give each painting an iconic feel. A religious sensibility.
It is so very perfect and the idea titillates me.
This is a definite splurge.
They'll be ready in a couple weeks for the queer spirituality show. I'll try to get photos somehow...
Fuck the contemporary erotic art scene.
Most of it is incredibly boring.
I'm not contemporary. I'm not modern. I'm not trendy.
And that is one detail I've pretty much always been comfortable with.
I dropped off the three little singletail cross paintings at the frame shop yesterday afternoon…and I'm indulging myself. Grand frames that very much fit the work. Large fancy gilded frames on small paintings. I fell in love with them because well…they actually give each painting an iconic feel. A religious sensibility.
It is so very perfect and the idea titillates me.
This is a definite splurge.
They'll be ready in a couple weeks for the queer spirituality show. I'll try to get photos somehow...
Monday, June 12, 2006
Heart crunches~
It was a quiet weekend. Other than getting out for 2 hours on Saturday afternoon to see the documentary we funded…I was a recluse. I couldn't see anyone. I couldn't talk with anyone. It hurt being out with people.
It was a great weekend, weather-wise, but I desperately wished I had a private deck or porch so I could be outdoors and alone.
It was a challenging weekend. I was acutely aware of my heart all weekend. When it was too much, I'd shut down. There would be moments when I'd feel some internal strength, and in those, I actively worked on opening my heart and letting myself feel whatever was there at the time.
Pain. As a masochist, I was taught to ride through the pain. Therapy pushed that even further. Acknowledge it, don't push it away, go with it.
Anger. I've been learning to do the same with anger and rage. Ride it.
Fear. When I froze on Friday, the shrink said not to push or struggle through my terror. Let it be. Go with it.
Each of those, when I can immerse myself and breathe through it, I do so without attachment of an end result. No expectations.
Now, I'm working on that with caring, with love. To be courageous enough to love and dive into whatever that is, with no goals and no preconceptions.
It's just another feeling. Like all others.
It was a weekend where I exercised my heart and, when I saw an opportunity, would run it through its paces.
I was coaching myself:
"Don't close up."
"If you get a good feeling bubbling up, go with it. Surf it."
"It doesn't mean anything except that it feels exciting."
I was my own personal physical heart trainer.
It was strange, and yet, natural.
When my friend sent me the refrigerator message, he had no idea what I was immersed in, yet the words are true. I need to learn to whisper the dark clotted music of love in spite of fear, and more importantly, with no illusions or presumptions.
It was an exhausting weekend. By last night, I was spent. Drained. Wiped.
And now it's a new week.
It was a quiet weekend. Other than getting out for 2 hours on Saturday afternoon to see the documentary we funded…I was a recluse. I couldn't see anyone. I couldn't talk with anyone. It hurt being out with people.
It was a great weekend, weather-wise, but I desperately wished I had a private deck or porch so I could be outdoors and alone.
It was a challenging weekend. I was acutely aware of my heart all weekend. When it was too much, I'd shut down. There would be moments when I'd feel some internal strength, and in those, I actively worked on opening my heart and letting myself feel whatever was there at the time.
Pain. As a masochist, I was taught to ride through the pain. Therapy pushed that even further. Acknowledge it, don't push it away, go with it.
Anger. I've been learning to do the same with anger and rage. Ride it.
Fear. When I froze on Friday, the shrink said not to push or struggle through my terror. Let it be. Go with it.
Each of those, when I can immerse myself and breathe through it, I do so without attachment of an end result. No expectations.
Now, I'm working on that with caring, with love. To be courageous enough to love and dive into whatever that is, with no goals and no preconceptions.
It's just another feeling. Like all others.
It was a weekend where I exercised my heart and, when I saw an opportunity, would run it through its paces.
I was coaching myself:
"Don't close up."
"If you get a good feeling bubbling up, go with it. Surf it."
"It doesn't mean anything except that it feels exciting."
I was my own personal physical heart trainer.
It was strange, and yet, natural.
When my friend sent me the refrigerator message, he had no idea what I was immersed in, yet the words are true. I need to learn to whisper the dark clotted music of love in spite of fear, and more importantly, with no illusions or presumptions.
It was an exhausting weekend. By last night, I was spent. Drained. Wiped.
And now it's a new week.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
The Ice Queen~
I thought I was open and loving. I thought I was fairly fearless. A risk-taker. A jumper.
Yesterday I discovered that there is a big closed black place in my heart.
The week, in therapy, has been hot. Every minute in that office has been engulfed in flames. Fast and furious.
I thought I was not afraid to love. Yet I fear it.
When the shrink touched upon my past affair with the musician, this time, I froze. It surprised me. I've spoken of it in the past and even shed tears with the memory. I would relay information calmly. Naturally. But now, I felt a fear I never before had felt.
He was poking, prodding...and I froze. A wall immediately appeared. All the words were in my head and I couldn't open my mouth to utter even a sound. There I sat, in silence. Within my bubble of fear, I attempted to reach out with my mind and tell him I was trapped. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. Longer.
I couldn't speak nor move.
Finally crawling through the barbed wire of terror... "I am afraid" slipped from my lips. "Help me."
It broke the ice and slowly I began to explain my fear. Up to a point.
Damn.
I had no idea how intimidated and closed off I had become to receiving love or even to the possibility of a love that would see me. I mean, it's a one shot deal. That one great love only happens once in a lifetime. Well that was the story I told myself. It may or may not be the case.
The pain isn't in the fact that the relationship didn't last. The problem came with the quickness and severity of the cut. At 37, for the first time, someone didn't think I was too much. They weren't intimidated. And they challenged me as I did them. We lived in a space of lust and creativity. Heated. Until...it became too much. Flip the switch, snap your fingers and disappear. Forever. They vanished.
With that, something inside broke.
Afterward, I reigned myself back in, oblivious to how much I shut down. I still opened myself to new challenges and experiences. I continued to explore loving unconditionally, which is something that I began with the musician. Being able to love someone as they are. S/M came into my life a year later. I upped and moved to Seattle. I dove into training. Now into therapy. There is some fearlessness there. But...I was protecting the most cherished part of myself, not share it, nor allow myself the possibility of receiving.
I prided myself on how I lived a courageous life. But it's not.
I'm still closed. And I see how terrified I am.
Yesterday, the shrink held a mirror to my heart.
I opened my eyes and peeked.
I thought I was open and loving. I thought I was fairly fearless. A risk-taker. A jumper.
Yesterday I discovered that there is a big closed black place in my heart.
The week, in therapy, has been hot. Every minute in that office has been engulfed in flames. Fast and furious.
I thought I was not afraid to love. Yet I fear it.
When the shrink touched upon my past affair with the musician, this time, I froze. It surprised me. I've spoken of it in the past and even shed tears with the memory. I would relay information calmly. Naturally. But now, I felt a fear I never before had felt.
He was poking, prodding...and I froze. A wall immediately appeared. All the words were in my head and I couldn't open my mouth to utter even a sound. There I sat, in silence. Within my bubble of fear, I attempted to reach out with my mind and tell him I was trapped. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. Longer.
I couldn't speak nor move.
Finally crawling through the barbed wire of terror... "I am afraid" slipped from my lips. "Help me."
It broke the ice and slowly I began to explain my fear. Up to a point.
Damn.
I had no idea how intimidated and closed off I had become to receiving love or even to the possibility of a love that would see me. I mean, it's a one shot deal. That one great love only happens once in a lifetime. Well that was the story I told myself. It may or may not be the case.
The pain isn't in the fact that the relationship didn't last. The problem came with the quickness and severity of the cut. At 37, for the first time, someone didn't think I was too much. They weren't intimidated. And they challenged me as I did them. We lived in a space of lust and creativity. Heated. Until...it became too much. Flip the switch, snap your fingers and disappear. Forever. They vanished.
With that, something inside broke.
Afterward, I reigned myself back in, oblivious to how much I shut down. I still opened myself to new challenges and experiences. I continued to explore loving unconditionally, which is something that I began with the musician. Being able to love someone as they are. S/M came into my life a year later. I upped and moved to Seattle. I dove into training. Now into therapy. There is some fearlessness there. But...I was protecting the most cherished part of myself, not share it, nor allow myself the possibility of receiving.
I prided myself on how I lived a courageous life. But it's not.
I'm still closed. And I see how terrified I am.
Yesterday, the shrink held a mirror to my heart.
I opened my eyes and peeked.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Ow.
Who woulda thunk that a 7 week affair, 9 years ago, that was even dealt with in therapy after it crashed and burned, would rip open and bleed all over again?
Sometimes I hate my shrink...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I know it was a profound experience at the time. But I dealt with it. I did.
I grieved.
I got angry.
I cried.
I mourned some more.
I talked.
I got more angry.
I got shrunk.
I forgave.
I cried.
I cried.
I cried.
I let go.
Or so I thought.
This isn't supposed to happen now. Not again.
I know I'll get over this. I did once before. But right now it's thrown me for a fucking loop. Unexpected. Out of the blue. Annoying. Defintely passe.
Ow.
Who woulda thunk that a 7 week affair, 9 years ago, that was even dealt with in therapy after it crashed and burned, would rip open and bleed all over again?
Sometimes I hate my shrink...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I know it was a profound experience at the time. But I dealt with it. I did.
I grieved.
I got angry.
I cried.
I mourned some more.
I talked.
I got more angry.
I got shrunk.
I forgave.
I cried.
I cried.
I cried.
I let go.
Or so I thought.
This isn't supposed to happen now. Not again.
I know I'll get over this. I did once before. But right now it's thrown me for a fucking loop. Unexpected. Out of the blue. Annoying. Defintely passe.
Ow.
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