Morning everyone.

I've been busy, between working out the details on the new apartment and yes, ongoing emails with my sister. It's been...interesting.

By the way, Hoss, I'll need your design sense to layout the furniture in my apartment. Yeah, yeah. Give me a flat surface and I can comfortably break up the space. But 3D??? Nope. I'm stumped.

My sister responded in a supportive manner. Personally, I didn't expect less than that. But, it's weird. And I'm not sure if the weirdness is something I'm concocting in my head and therefore am putting out there, or if it's actually weird on her end.

She spoke lots about FAMILY. It reminded me where my strong sense of family comes from. Our clan is big on family. The all-important, all-consuming family. But you know, sometimes blood isn't enough to create family.

In her first response to me, she mentioned that some of the older kids do know about me. They told the kids, while teaching them that all are equal and family is family.

When I read that, I smiled. Upon a second reading, I cried. I've spent years believing that no one was talking to the kids because they were ashamed of me and in reality they had. But I wasn't informed. We then corresponded about that. She said they didn't know how to tell me. That's fair. Probably waiting for cues from me, and I wasn't giving any.

So it's ongoing. I'm not fully clear how to write about it yet because of old dynamics that are entering our conversation (in an energy sense).

Anyway, that's that for now.

"Let's just say it outright: The ends do not justify the means. A barely democratic Iraq is fine and good, but you well know that if Bush had mumbled to the nation three years and $300 billion ago that we were going to start bombing this piss-poor country back to the stone age and gut the U.S. economy and put thousands of American soldiers and tens of thousands of innocent Iraqis in death's way to deliver it, all while sending the nastiest possible message to the world and actually increasing the threat of terrorism while turning our backs on every major U.S. ally, I doubt many Americans would have giddily waved the flag of support (except maybe Ann Coulter, who apparently loves anything involving guns and dead foreigners).

Let's put it another way: Here is your choice, America: $300 billion and massive international disrespect and a huge pile of dead American soldiers in an effort to force a fragile democracy onto a torn and fractured Iraq by ousting their useless dictator who was, let us repeat, no threat to us, or to anyone, and who was, in fact, our ally, until he dared to threaten our oil.

Or: $300 billion to assist struggling nations and battle AIDS and protect the planet, to evolve our international relationships and set up treaties and unifying alliances and maybe even have a little left over to help fix our own schools, maybe help all those destitute American city upgrade their hospitals and fix their homeless problems and even maybe launch a national health care plan, spend that money on trying to solve a huge host of social ills plaguing this crumbling beautiful egomaniacal empire we call home.

Which do you choose? What cost democracy? Where do you draw your lines?"

That's an excerpt from Mark Morford's column for today, Come See Our Brutal Democracy.

And grab Rob Brezsny's weekly horoscope right here.

Here's another 'guess what?'

Unbeknownst to me, when I began the email...I took a step in changing the dynamic with my family. My sister and cousins are planning a family reunion on the Cape in March. I considered attending, for the weekend, and then possibly take a trip to the Mountain after that. Or maybe hook up with some folks in NY, Boston or both. :-)

I knew that because of what's been happening in therapy, seeing everyone for the weekend would be intense. I was leaving the option open.

Well the February move has nixed those plans because moves suck up money.

After I emailed my sister to say I couldn't attend, she replied with the question of whether or not I'd be visiting this year at all.
I was going to reply a short, quick answer and yet...something happened. My fingers kept typing. I wasn't even nervous. Instead there was an inner excitement and calm about the sureness of my words. I knew it was right because I didn't even have the urge to send it to the shrink before I emailed sis.

Want to read what I wrote? Keep in mind that I've been out to my immediate family for a long time. But no one talks about it.

Here you go. It happened so fast that I didn't allow extra time for editing. And names have all been changed.

----------
Dear Jane,

I may or may not come this year.  It's always in my thoughts.  But you know...I can't afford to do it all the time.  And, there is another reason. 

It's been a tough year.  Brutal.  The elections really took their toll on me (and most people I know).  Hearing that 51% of Americans think we shouldn't have the same rights as other Americans hurt.  It hurt something bad.  Out of that 51% was a large number that hates gays enough to actually go to the polls and vote, when they wouldn't have voted otherwise.  Big ouch.  

I'm personally more inclined to stay and surround myself with people who believe the way I do...who accept me...and who are queer like me.  I have no desire to hide who I am any longer.   And with family, I still have to hide.  The kids don't know about me.  The uncles, the aunts...etc.  I love everyone, very much.  But it's really tough and intense to love knowing that they don't know who I am.  Sure, if they knew, they may say "but we love you anyway."  "Anyway." 
Hmmm...right now, that qualifier doesn't feel very good. 

As much as I love the family, it hurts going home.  It always does.  You all see a minute piece of me.  Granted, it is all I've shown you.  That choice was made partially because I didn't want anyone to be uncomfortable.  The big reason was because I didn't want to be rejected.  But it's been a decision that's taken its toll.

Jane, it rips me up inside.  And it has, for a long time.   

All that I am, my whole life, my whole being, goes against everything the Smiths stand for.  I am not speaking only about being gay. but also my ideas, my viewpoint on life, on spirituality, on sex, on passions....all of it.

You are the only one, thus far, that I've said this too.  I know this is the year where I need to claim my space, for better or worse, in the Smith clan. 

I guess you have become my first step.
----------

There you have it. Now I know that my sense of compassion and faith come from them. When I reread the letter (after sending it), I saw that I was extreme and harsh when I wrote that all I am goes against everything they stand for.

But maybe it's for the best. I'll keep you posted.

Guess what?

I got the apartment!

But not in the first ask. Sunday night the manager called me and said the owner wouldn't go for the price cut. With the monthly utility cost, I was asking for 650 down from a total 720/m. I hung up the phone and felt I'd been kicked in the gutt. It hurt not to get the apartment.

I knew I had placed big expectations on it. That damned attachment stuff.

Monday morning, I called him back and asked if there was any wiggle room. I wondered if I could stretch a little more. The manager said he was willing to ask again. I said I'd call him back in the afternoon after my meetings.

Yesterday afternoon I returned to the apartment for one more look. I wanted to verify that it was still as nice as I remembered as well as check out things such as outlet location and water pressure. I loved it. We began to discuss price. Before I could get my new offer out, the manager said he called the owner again and he offered 665/m, which includes the 45/m utility fee. Yes!!!!

So I can begin to move in on February 15 and have until the 28th to be out of my current place.

What a load off my shoulders. Simply knowing that there's an end in sight to noisy nights is a relief. I've used the earplugs Hoss suggested for the last couple nights. They do a great job in keeping out the sound. And they squick me out something fierce. I've discovered that something in my ears is a limit. Inserting something in my mouth, my cunt and up my ass is one thing. But my ears...eewww. Now there's a limit for ya.

And there you have it.

February is moving month.

Auxugen is moving, I'll be moving, Hoss will be moving and today, for a few hours, the Bear, wonderboy and I are assisting another friend with packing. Honestly, I'm wiped, because I haven't slept the last two nights. The natives were quite restless last night/this morning. As soon as it would quiet down and I'd begin to drift into sleep, a car would pull up, people get out and loudly proceed with their drug transactions, which would jar me into a state. That went on from about 7 pm to about 8 am today. Yes, no matter what, I am moving this month. That's all there is to it.

I fell in love with one apartment yesterday. It's a little larger than what I currently have. It's a one bedroom, about 6 blocks west. So, I'll be 6 blocks from work and 6 blocks from Septieme's. Not too bad. A quiet street...and an immaculate building. What's holding me up is a rent negotiation. I couldn't afford the 675 plus 45/m for utilities. I asked if he could do 650. The manager said "including utilities?". "Yes" I responded.

He wants me in there. I asked if I could repaint the walls and he mentioned that if I'd like, he'd repaint them for me...my choice of color!

Anyway, he's trying to get a hold of the owner who lives out of state, to get his approval on the rent cut. The manager called me this morning to let me know that he's working on it. So...we'll see.

I am a person who detests moving. Although, I honestly don't know of anyone who gets off on it. Then again, kinks are varied and vast. Like jobs, I tend to stay in apartments a long time. So it feels strange being in a place only 6 months before moving again. C'est la vie.

I was thinking about family and community this morning. It seems that many in the leather/kink world speak of community as if it's a big family. That's bullshit. It struck home with all this moving stuff. Each time I simply would mention I am looking for a place...I've had offers of assistance. And they've followed through. It was a good reminder that I am surrounded by family. People who care and love. People who will go out of their way for me. People who I will go out of my way to assist as well. Family. They may or may not be a subset of the larger kink group.

Sometimes I think we deceive, or maybe seduce is a better word, ourselves into believing that simply because we get naked together, fuck each other, beat each other, and be renegades together, it means we are family. That is not the definition of intimacy. I know of many who use s/m, sex or whatever else to shield themselves from actual vulnerability.

Intimacy comes from revealing your heart, not your cock or cunt. It is a matter of taking the risk that we will be rejected, be considered a fool, yet still allow another person to see the demons and beasts we have lurking inside. To discover a place in the arms of another, and learn it is safe because they accept you in spite of the quirks and fears and insecurities and awkwardness and darkness we all carry inside. To love.

This is what I'm learning and seeing. No matter how foolish I feel, depressed, embarrassed, or those days when I just know I'm the ugliest, meanest person in the world...my family is there. The biggie is when I feel I'm being "too much." Too sensitive, too needy, too tired, too sad. I'll retreat, yet not allowed to do it for too long. It will be a short email with a hug attached. It will be a surprise phone call. It will be an offer to pick up my puke if I'm sick.

My family, my friends...I love you. Thank you.

Just a quickie. Yesterday I hit the 4pm matinee at the Harvard Exit Theatre. It was the first day of Les Choristes. (If you click on 'site du film' you'll hear some of the soundtrack. It does play a few of the pieces. Just have to be patient.) Here's a link to the trailer. I am such a sucker for school movies and for voice music. Seeing it had both, and filmed in France to boot...I spent a fabulous hour and a half in a dark moviehouse with about 10 other people. It's not a challenging film, but it's beautiful. The boys' singing was uplifting. Literally. They'd open their mouths and I felt immersed, coddled and transformed by the music. The beauty of voice.

Here is yesterday's column by Mark Morford.
He writes:
"These are the things that make your life peculiar and interesting and slightly surreal, make you shake your head and sigh and look up to the universe and say, wow, what the hell, how did this happen and what sort of energy did I put out that brought this thing into my life and, I mean, who would've thought?"

Although a dog person, he's actually writing about the joys of owning a parrot.

Now, time for a shower and then off to see an apartment.

Gee, a full night’s sleep makes such a difference. No Ambien! It was all on my own. Today I’ve been bouncy and aware. Hankering to write and oh my gawd…maybe even draw.

Although the drawing thing isn’t new. I’ve gone from copying Old Masters to carrying my sketchbook and sketching wherever I am, when I have a moment. It feels good to be doing that again. It’s not huge and yet it is definitely a big little step.

Right now, I’m sitting at Septieme. Spanish guitar music is playing on their soundsystem. They just dimmed the lights and put out the candles. Although I’m not actively recruiting for company, my AIM chat currently states “Available - at the Café”, in case someone would like to join me. I’m ambivalent about company. If someone shows up, fine. If not, just as fine.
Que sera, sera…ya dig?

You know, when I haven’t been too tired, I actually really and truly feel clearer inside. Lighter, happier.

The shrink has been away for a week and a half…vacation. I won’t see him again until Monday.

Ahhhhh….I just remembered what I was writing a couple entries ago when I became distracted and lost my train of thought.

Here you go.

I love research. Part of me just wants to know. When a question pops in my head, I at least attempt a quick search to quench the thirst a little. When I began seeing the shrink, it was originally for short term grief support. Sir had a stroke a month earlier, and because of where he and I left off in training, I was in a vulnerable place which led to a lost feeling. Between trying to put my pieces back together, somehow begin to mourn the loss of the man that was and get to know the man reborn, I was a mess. So into therapy I went.

Once we began to work through the grief, it led into a picking up where Sir left off, although because I happened to be with a therapist, it went into a deeper perspective.

I think about 6 or 8 months ago, it organically went from regular therapy into analysis with couchwork. And I thought Sir’s training was the most difficult experience I’d had!

Back to the research part. I don’t know why, but I never thought to research analysis and couchwork. I honestly can’t believe the idea never entered my head. It didn’t. And I believe it’s a good thing. You see, last weekend I finally did delve into some information and I’m sure if I had when I began, I would have run away screaming.

I am honestly thrilled that I’m in the middle of this experience. Shit. I don’t think ‘thrilled’ is the right word.

But I’m grateful. Yes there have been and I’m sure there will be again, times where I’m cussing up a storm that I began this process. So many times, in the last year as well as during Sir’s training, I would groan and mutter “ignorance is bliss.”

Thing is, when I was first introduced to s/m, 7 years ago, it hadn’t even been in my realm of vision. No fantasies. Nothing. Yet from the very first, I took to it as if I’d been starving for it. A fish to water. And at the same time, way back then, my first questions weren’t “how to do this” or “where to find partners”. It was “why does this resonate with me?” “What is it about s/m that speaks to my soul?”

Please don’t misunderstand. I didn’t get into therapy (even then) because I thought s/m was bad or from guilt feelings. On the contrary. Actually, s/m was not the specific reason I sought therapy.

I believe I’m the type of person that just wants to know why. Who am I? How can I improve myself? Why does something speak to me?

That’s how I ended up in training with Sir. He knew, from watching me play, that I was primed to learn more about myself.

It really isn’t a surprise that I seemed to have fallen into analysis. I think it’s taken all my life to end up on the couch. I feel honored that I hooked up with a kinky, queer Buddhist priest to do this work with.

In a weird way, without going into details, even woo woo ones, although my longtime readers may know that I don’t have a problem writing woo woo, I think this is a love letter to my shrink, my work with him, and to me.

I’m just amazed and astounded that I actually came through something to this. I don’t even know what this is. All I can say is, it is mind and heart clarity. It’s quite strange actually. How can I be clear about something and still not know my position on this earth? How can I just be and know I have no idea what I’m going to be when I grow up? How can I stand here, light as air, unplussed by the fact that I haven’t a fucking clue who I am?

I swear the shrink must have put some zen juju on me.

And I’m glad.

The shrink has been incredibly patient with me. I’ve known that throughout. What I am now seeing, with my heart, are all the people around me who love me, immensely. Most of my shit has been around the lack of my father. He was physically here but not emotionally. Not in the way that kids need their dads.

In the last week, with newly opened eyes, I can see how blessed I am. Here in Seattle I am surrounded by a bunch of dads, both at work and out of work. There's a handful of men who love me, care for me, worry about me. I’m beginning to actually let that in and once again, I feel honored. Blessed. So very fucking blessed.

Now because one of my favorite dinners, gnocchi on red chard, garnished with pine nuts and red peppers, is on its way out of the kitchen, I’m going to leave you, and immerse myself in the sensations, smells, tastes and textures associated with my meal.

Have a nice evening everyone.

Buster gets busted.

Culture Wars Pull Buster Into the Fray

By Julie Salamon

Published: NYTimes - January 27, 2005

Wayne Godwin, chief operating officer of PBS, got a bit tangled as he tried to explain the PBS stance on gay characters appearing on children's television shows.

"In fairness I would have to say a gay character is not one we would not include," he said, and then clarified. "The fact that a character may or may not be gay is not a reason why they should or should not be part of this series."

Yet on Tuesday PBS decided not to distribute to its roughly 350 PBS stations an episode of "Postcards From Buster," which was scheduled for Feb. 2 and included lesbian mothers, even though a few days earlier PBS officials, among them PBS's president, Pat Mitchell, viewed the episode and called it appropriate. That was before Education Secretary Margaret Spellings denounced the program, starring Buster Baxter, a cute animated rabbit who until now has been known primarily as a close friend of Arthur, the world's most famous aardvark. Ms. Spellings said many parents would not want children exposed to a lesbian life style.

Buster joined another cartoon character, SpongeBob SquarePants, as a focus of the nation's culture wars. SpongeBob was recently attacked by Christian groups for being pro-homosexual, though SpongeBob's creator said it was all a misinterpretation. Buster's offense was appearing in "Sugartime!," the undistributed "Postcards From Buster" show, in which he visits children living in Vermont whose parents are a lesbian couple. Civil unions are allowed in Vermont.

"Postcards From Buster" is a spinoff of "Arthur" that combines live action and animation and went on the air a year ago. In the series, aimed at young elementary schoolchildren, Buster travels to 24 different states with his father and sends video postcards home.

Buster appears briefly onscreen, but mainly narrates these live-action segments, which show real children and how they live. One episode featured a family with five children, living in a trailer in Virginia, all sharing one room. In another, Buster visits a Mormon family in Utah. He has dropped in on fundamentalist Christians and Muslims as well as American Indians and Hmong. He has shown the lives of children who have only one parent, and those who live with grandparents.

Marc Brown, creator of "Arthur" and "Postcards From Buster," said in a statement: "I am disappointed by PBS's decision not to distribute the 'Postcards From Buster' 'Sugartime!' episode to public television stations. What we are trying to do in the series is connect kids with other kids by reflecting their lives. In some episodes, as in the Vermont one, we are validating children who are seldom validated. We believe that 'Postcards From Buster' does this in a very natural way - and, as always, from the point of view of children."

Jeanne Hopkins, a spokeswoman for the show's producer, WGBH-TV of Boston, added, "We feel it's important that we not exclude kids because of what their family structure looks like." WGBH plans to broadcast the episode in March and offer it to other PBS stations.

Like the grown-ups in most of the episodes, the lesbian mothers in the "Sugartime!" segment are mainly background. "The concern really was that there's a point where background becomes foreground," Mr. Godwin said. "No matter if the parents were intended to be background, with this specific item in this particular program they might simply be foreground because of press attention to it and parental attention to it."

The question is, does the episode violate the grant under which WGBH received federal funds? Mr. Godwin said, "The presence of a couple headed by two mothers would not be appropriate curricular purpose that PBS should provide."

The grant specifies the programs "should be designed to appeal to all of America's children by providing them with content and characters with which they can identify." In addition, the grant says, "Diversity will be incorporated into the fabric of the series to help children understand and respect differences and learn to live in a multicultural society."

Brigid Sullivan, vice president for children's programming at WGBH, has been producing children's shows for 20 years, including "Arthur," for many years the top-rated children's show. "This asked for a project on diversity to all of America's children," she said. "We took it seriously and thought that with 'Arthur,' the No. 1 show on television for kids for years, we had something to draw kids in. Buster is Arthur's best friend, the child of divorce, he has asthma. Children sympathize with him. We had a breakthrough format, this animated bunny with his camera getting live-action sequence. Not to present a make-believe world of diversity but a real world."

Explaining the goal of the show, Ms. Sullivan said: "We want to reflect all of America's children."

"This is not about their parents," she said.

Good morning.

Yesterday I discovered that I'm not only silent in my blog. A coworker approached me and we spoke of our staff retreat on Tuesday.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yeah...I am. Why?"
"You were unusually quiet during the retreat and you've been quieter than usual. Your energy felt fine and you seem okay but I'm just double checking."

This surprised me. I have so many thoughts inside and feel I'm spouting. Apparently I'm not. I don't feel any internal pressure to do so either. Ever since my last shrink session a week and a half ago (the breakthrough session), I notice I am quite protective of what's in my head right now.

It's a good thing. I feel as if I'm seeing myself with new eyes and seem to be rediscovering my voice.

I have opinions. Loads of opinions, thoughts and ideas. They're all jumbled and dancing around. I've read so many posts that have given way to new insights and would like to comment. Instead, I've stepped back. I'm watching and reading. Observing. It's all percolating.

I've been busy. Busy being busy and busy resting.

In the past, I'd hit the theaters a few times a year. Now it seems to be every week. This past weekend I caught A Very Long Engagement. Good film. Audrey Tautou intrigues me. She's one of my favorite actors. This movie hit a vast multitude of emotions including some of the delightful quirkiness of Amelie. It handled the issue of war in a non-hollywood, glamourless way. Very intense. Felt realistic, although not having experienced one, take my words with a grain of salt.

Last week I had the pleasure of meeting a man I've wanted to meet for almost 2 years. He happened to be in Seattle for a quick trip and it was a good evening of friends.

I'm slowly looking at new apartments. Although the landlord offered another apartment in the building, I don't think it will work. There aren't any one bedrooms available, only studios. The reason I can handle the size of my studio is because I am on the corner. Two walls of windows allow the space to feel more expansive than it really is. The other studios are constrictive to me.

I'm relaxed. Calm. At times still tired, but it's okay.

I love to research. Love it, love it, love it. When assigned papers in school, I'd immediately spend the first week at the library, researching and taking notes. Once that was complete, then it would all sit. And I'd procrastinate. Until the last day. I would always end up pulling an all-nighter trying to write the damned paper.

Oh no...I wrote the above sentence with a specific reason in mind, then was distracted by a coworker. Now that I've returned to this, I haven't a fucking clue where I was headed. Talk about serious derailment!

Well, I'm way overdue for breakfast. My blood sugar is dropping so it's time to find some food.

Be back later!

It's a glorious foggy morning here in Seattle. It's thick and grey and tightly hugs all it encounters. Love it.

Want your Rob Brezsny horoscope for today?

And here is Mark Morford, writing about the Sponge Bob uproar. Yeah, it may appear silly...on the surface.

Morford writes:

"But now, the not-so-cute part: Much like that other small-minded cluster of clenched nonbrains over at the Parents Television Council, the very tiny but weirdly vocal group that single-handedly managed to hurl the FCC into fits of hysteria regarding naughty swearwords and exposed nipples in the national media, these groups are having one helluva moment right now, one influential and dangerous time in the cultural limelight.

These are the minuscule and shrill groups that, perhaps in a period not seen since the Puritans forbade dancing and kissing and the color fuchsia and all pleasure of any kind, have a shockingly powerful pull on American society and who reputedly helped tilt the election toward Bush and who increasingly have the ear of Congress -- a Congress, it must be noted, that's increasingly crammed with evangelical Christians and homophobic nutjobs and Tom DeLay.

Which is to say, much as most of us on this planet laugh and feel pity and shake our heads at the odd paranoia and dread these cheerless people wallow in on a daily basis, somehow, some way, they have stolen the reins. For the moment.

They now have a semblance of voice, a hook, have warped the ear of the government and embarrassed our national common sense and soiled the clean white sheets of healthy happy debauchery and perversion.

They have jammed a black seed of paranoia and dread into the tired soil of American consciousness, and have made it their lifelong duty to ensure that the seed festers and erupts into a gnarled weed of hate and ignorance and bad missionary-position sex with the lights off."

Working in sync with Morford is this article featured in today's Arts and Letters Daily.

Ohhhh...yes. I'm home. Not only home, but naked and curled up in bed, under a pile of covers, half reclining and talking with you.

I've been wishing for my bed since about 7pm tonight.

You see, I left about 7:30 this morning, hopped a 9am express shuttle one hour flight with my coworkers, headed to a regional office and had an all day staff retreat where we spent 5 hours focused on our strategic plan for programs and fundraising. At 4:30 we went to a glbt youth organization in this town for a site visit. In the past, we had awarded this organization many grants and so were excited to see the place, meet some of the kids, and talk with the ED. From there we had maybe a 1/2 hour to crash on the floor of the regional office, and then off to a schmooze fest and dinner with donors, volunteers and other previous grant recipients. Our staff was split between two planes. I was on the earlier flight (2nd to the last one out for the evening), which proceeded to get cancelled due to major fog in Seattle and so the airline did arrange for seats on a plane leaving an hour later (which happened to be larger and therefore could handle the fog). It was the plane that the other half of the staff was on. The second plane was a different airline in another terminal and therefore it meant going through security all over again, which also entailed all the displaced passengers to go through thorough screening, including full search of our luggage, wanding and manually shaking us down everytime the rivots in our jeans set off the alarm. Ugh.

I just got home.

This was a VERRRRYYYY LONGGGG day for all of us. Especially the 3 introverts in the office. It was also a good day and I had been looking forward to it for even while knowing it was going to kick the shit out of me. The work is exhausting and yet, I love my job.

Now it's bed.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Good morning. Today is a full day, but I knew I wouldn't be able to dive into work without writing here first. I'm sipping my coffee and playing 'wake up'.

I haven't really written anything in almost a week. It's all been about links. The breakthrough from therapy is filtering into my life. I've watched my viewpoint change, and seeing things clearer. That is, when I'm not too tired from lack of sleep.

Yup. The natives are still restless at night. The meeting we had, with the neighbors and cops was wonderful. Lots of great ideas on how to reclaim the neighborhood. Positive ways to plant seeds.

Problem is, my problem is immediate. This isn't simply a couple weeks of sleep dep. It's just over 3 months. I left early a few days this week, because my eyes would begin to blur over the spreadsheet I'm working on. Useless. I've been useless.

I contacted my doctor and refilled my prescription for Ambien. I took it for 2 nights and noticed an immediate change. Full, deep sleep really does make a difference.

Anyway, what's troubled me is this:
My apartment felt so good. The owner is great. The energy fabulous. It seemed perfect. Yet everything turned on a dime, back in October. We went from silent nights to party nights on the street. I believe that we all have control over our enviroment. If not physical, then emotional. I wonder what I'm doing to call this to myself. I wonder what I'm missing. Sometimes I think the solution is right in front of my face and I can't see it. I wondered where I'd find the answers.

Then on Friday I realized that maybe I was asking the wrong questions. Maybe I didn't need to angst so much about it. Maybe I simply needed to be in what I was in.

With that, I let go. I let go of the idea that I wasn't going to move. You see, I really don't want to move. But things are bad at night, and currently, the only constructive thing thus far is to remove myself. So I've begun making phone calls. Yesterday I looked at a place.

Either I find an apartment or the noise stops at night. When I finally made the decision to let go of my place, I felt the terror that had been building inside, dissipate. When I lay to sleep, I try to focus on breathing so as to encompass the outdoor sounds with the indoor ones. Then I know it would all blur into my environment, not one having more power than the other.

Ha. I've yet to achieve that level of grace and enlightment.

That's is for now...

Last request for controversial statue

10:44 PM PST on Wednesday, January 19, 2005
By PAT McREYNOLDS / KING 5 News

SEATTLE – Do you know where you can find a single naked statue visible in Seattle?

Probably not, but that may soon change with a wealthy man's last request.

Seattle is filled with public and impressive works of art. But it took a voice from beyond the grave to point out there is one area we are truly lacking.

Stu Smailes, a former computer analyst at Safeco, left Seattle $1 million in his will to build a fountain.

But, he stated, it "must include the figure of at least one life-size naked man."

Statues of the naked male form grace the best museums in the world. But for some strange reason there isn't a single one in Seattle.

Even in the Seattle Art Museum, there are only cherubs and body parts, and they are nowhere near life size.

"The public arts program started in the '60s and there was nothing of that sort being done by contemporary artists at that time," said Elizabeth Brown, Henry Art Gallery chief curator. "And it's really only recently that the art world has come back around to that type of configuration."

Apparently Mr. Smailes was on to something.

The city is already exploring ways to grant his dying wish and use his million.

"We are in discussions with the art museum and the estate to basically assign the interest in the bequest from the city to the art museum," said Karen Bystrom, Seattle Arts and Cultural Affairs.

So now that a naked statue appears to be in the works, will a public so used to covering up welcome a bronze that bears all?

"What's the big deal?" asked one.

"It's a gentleman's area. Why not?" said another.

"I wouldn't mind seeing it in this city," said yet another.

The attorney for Stu Smailes said the man was an art lover with a healthy sense of humor.

His idea will most likely be placed in the Seattle Art Museum's Olympic Sculpture Park, but it is still being negotiated when it will be finished and what it will look like.

The million dollars will also go for the upkeep of the fountain.

The will also states the statue must be designed in the classical or "realistic" style.

"The word Monster in its original application describes a child born with a physical deformity.  What does it mean that our society has taken this word now to mean "evil"?  Where is that leap between appearances, either physical or emotional, and the specifically dark nature of one's soul?  All of this speaks of a shallowness I seek to conquer.  My work is about looking beyond the outer to the inner, and finding with this the true definition of Beauty - which is beyond form."
-Chris Mars, artist statement 2003

Here is a link to his full statement. Pretty powerful.  He begins with:

"When my brother "Bill" was fifteen years old, he was institutionalized for schizophrenia.  He saw things, he heard things.  Were these monsters?  Was he?"

Take a look at his paintings.

Thank you Padacia for consistently showcasing amazing work.

I don't know about you but I couldn't focus on the outside world yesterday. I woke. It was black Thursday. Instead of checking the news or reading papers to find out how things went in D.C., I dug my heels in, worked my job, and spent time appreciating the people in my immediate vicinity. I sought the daily delights and goodness that is still around, in spite of what's happening. Right now, the most I can do is try to make my little circle a better, more loving, sexy place.

Today, I open up Morford's column. He writes about news fatigue.

Listen to him:

"I know how it is. Even in a good month, following the media and keeping yourself truly informed is rarely easy and infrequently pleasurable and unless you're a fanatical media junkie absolutely never better than sex.

And this is quadruply true when all we're hammered by is nonstop wartime atrocity and Bush-policy abomination and the fact that it has now been almost exactly four years since the last shred of good news about environmental improvement, health-care reform, progress on women's rights or gay rights or cleaner air or a crackdown on the worst industrial polluters (instead of more tax breaks), outreach for the poor or more protection for national forests or a broadened sense of spiritual diversity or maybe a nice new treaty with a new ally that's designed to actually improve relations instead of degrade and isolate and destabilize.

Of course we're exhausted. Of course we don't want to hear it any more. It's a decidedly fatalistic feeling, after Bush snuck in to Term II, that there's little that can be done and we might as well just hunker down and wait for it all to be over because, after the valiant and heartbreaking battle of last November, much hope has been lost."

A little bit later he continues with:

"So, then. It's OK to take a break. It's OK to, in the wake of the deeply nauseating Bush re-election, stay away, refocus, recharge, focus inward and focus locally and focus on living your own life with the kind of temerity and resolve that you normally prescribe to rabid evangelicals from Kentucky. Never think you have all the answers. But just know that you know how to ask the right kind of questions.

Which is to say, it's all about validation. Of truth. Of your truth. Of what you know to be true of progressive kaleidoscopic open-thighed human consciousness, and how radically and beautifully that belief differs from the small-minded black/white pseudo-Christian BushCo truth.

And in fact, I would argue that this kind of regular, daily validation is mandatory right now, that as far as Bush goes, living well -- living your beliefs to their utmost and allowing them full, raw manifestation, sacred or profane, luminous or pointed, naked or slathered over in karmic whipped cream -- is the best revenge, is by far the best thing you can do to counter the seemingly interminable BushCo onslaught."

I'm with Morford.
It is mandatory. Critical. So go out and love each other. Hug each other. Fuck each other. Paint, sing, cry, dance. Smile at the stranger on the street. Bring your coworker a flower.

Our souls and hearts need healing and rest. Kindness helps. Everything is so damned big. When tired it feels insurmountable. Then let's work on the little things. I don't know about you, but it's all I can do right now. Plant those seeds and see what grows.

Mark Morford speaketh:

"This is about the time your head spins all the way around and you shudder in disbelief and you stifle a giggle and hold your sides and restrain yourself from gagging, think happy thoughts about sex and love and trees because otherwise you just smash your head with a brick and throw puppies into paper shredders to numb the pain and quiet the screams."

See what else he says in today's column, Ho Hum, More War and Death.

And check out your 'scope in this week's Freewill Astrology.

A short entry.

In about 20 minutes I need to be at the mexican restaurant on the corner. The owner of my apartment building has set up a meeting with the police, interested neighbors and the tenants of my building to discuss the night time drug trafficking problem on my corner. In his letter to us, he mentioned that nachos and the first round of drinks were on him. He hopes that we could come up with creative non-confrontational ways to handle the growing issue.

Yeah, I'm still not sleeping through most nights due to the noise.

When I spoke with the apartment manager this week, he mentioned that I can move into another apartment in the same building. It would be quieter. And he volunteered to check into extra space in the basement where I could set up a painting studio. How cool is that? There are already a few artists working down there.

Yesterday I had a massive breakthrough in my therapy session. Like the insight I've yet to fill you in on, I have intentions of sharing this as well. Please be patient with me. Between the bigness and newness, and considering I'm working on major sleep dep...it may be a little bit before I get the words out.

Interestingly, when I left my session, I noticed my lungs were clearer. The rattling was gone and my breaths were deeper. It was immediate. Heart stuff.

Well...I need to run. Talk with you soon...I promise.

Thanks to LJ's dragonflysister...

...she contacted me with a reference to another point of view regarding the destruction of Babylon (check my entry from a few days back regarding an article I found in Reuters UK).

Anyway, the comment led me to google some more. Here is a more recent article from Reuter's which states they are doing further investigation. Apparently there's a question as to who actually created what damage.

I've been quite horny for the last week. Not that I have the energy to engage with anyone, but I'll gladly tend to things myself. It's the most active I've been all week, other than laying in bed or crapped out in comfy chair. The last remnants of my cold are a rattling chest, no air in my lungs when I walk or talk too much, and a serious lack of energy. I trust the next week will get rid of these final symptoms.

But in spite of this, I have no problem jacking off whenever I see fit, over and over, many times during the day. Last night, it was to the dvd Gandhi. I had never seen the movie and thought a 3 hour epic would be good tonic for a kickback weekend. I watched a fair amount of the film with my hands in my cunt, playing with myself. Mainstream porn doesn't get me off. It bores me. So many other more interesting things in life get me hot and bothered, especially intelligence and compassion.

Mornings again find me waking up wanking. My eyes haven't even opened for the first time and yet my hands are busy. In Body Electric, back in October, we were gathered and each had to talk about our genitals. My turn came.
I began with:

"My cunt is the first thing I touch when I wake up and the last thing I touch at night."

Depending upon my libido, yes, there are times I won't get myself off. But even when that happens...I still have to touch my cunt.
It's part of my soul.
It's one of the places the god-me resides.

What has me writing in this vein? I had picked up my laptop to check email, and needed to scratch my nose. I caught a strong whiff of me. Dried up wetness and cum smells still lingered on my fingers. Every few minutes I put my fingers to my face and take another deep breath. It's some of the best perfume I know.

We are no better.

Remember how outraged we were when, a few years back, the Taliban militia were responsible for the destruction of ancient buddhist statues?

From Reuters - U.S.-led forces damaged ancient Babylon

"U.S.-led forces, using Iraq's ancient city of Babylon as a military base, have caused "substantial damage" to one of the world's most renowned archaeological treasures, a British Museum report says."...

..."Lord Redesdale, the head of Britain's all-party parliamentary archaeological group, told the Guardian he was horrified.

"Outrage is hardly the word, this is just dreadful.

"These are world sites. Not only is what the American forces are doing damaging the archaeology of Iraq, it's actually damaging the cultural heritage of the whole world."