Thursday, September 30, 2004
Last night, after work, I headed out to drop off some brochures to a friend before spending a quiet, still evening at home. Instead he and I ended up at Septieme's for dinner.
He began telling me stories of some experiences from about 9 or 10 years ago. Sharing his own history with s/m, he spoke of how his first passion was fisting, to be following by whipping and hard beatings. He loved the intensity and intimacy of having his arm up a boy's ass. He spoke of how that is when his play switched gears. Apparently, in that period, many fisting bottoms died. In his words, "it was a tsunami of death". The grief was so strong that he stopped fisting. He also stopped heavy play. He watched his play morph into bondage and confinement scenes. He still hungers and aches for the dark play, but can't go there.
On Sunday, at the s/m and spirituality workshop, one of the panelists mentioned he originally discovered leather in Chicago, where he lived at the time. Due to AIDS, the club he belonged to was essentially obliterated. I don't remember the name of the club. For 10 years he didn't play. Grief. He's gotten back into it and has even attempted to look up any members of his old group. It seems he may be the last surviving member.
First let me make it clear, I am NOT comparing myself to these men. I cannot even begin to conceive what that type of pain must be like. I lost 2 in the late '80's, not hordes. But what I'm touching on is the power of grief and the intimacy of s/m. No matter your situation or experience with loss, grief is potent. When the heart hurts, it seems to be that what was closest to you shuts down. That's the fact I'm becoming acutely aware of. We do what we need to work around it. But a door closes. I don't know where all my grief comes from. Some, yes. Maybe it doesn't even matter. It may reveal itself or not. Maybe being aware of its presence, aware of the closed heart and continuing to breathe are the most important. Maybe, just maybe, trusting the present moment manifests healing.
As I've stopped fighting the fear and am learning to lean into it, room is being made to feel the grief. Not depression. I can love, smile, joke, laugh, hug and care. And I can grieve. Maybe the more I allow myself to touch the deep sadness...maybe, just maybe I can move past all this.
He began telling me stories of some experiences from about 9 or 10 years ago. Sharing his own history with s/m, he spoke of how his first passion was fisting, to be following by whipping and hard beatings. He loved the intensity and intimacy of having his arm up a boy's ass. He spoke of how that is when his play switched gears. Apparently, in that period, many fisting bottoms died. In his words, "it was a tsunami of death". The grief was so strong that he stopped fisting. He also stopped heavy play. He watched his play morph into bondage and confinement scenes. He still hungers and aches for the dark play, but can't go there.
On Sunday, at the s/m and spirituality workshop, one of the panelists mentioned he originally discovered leather in Chicago, where he lived at the time. Due to AIDS, the club he belonged to was essentially obliterated. I don't remember the name of the club. For 10 years he didn't play. Grief. He's gotten back into it and has even attempted to look up any members of his old group. It seems he may be the last surviving member.
First let me make it clear, I am NOT comparing myself to these men. I cannot even begin to conceive what that type of pain must be like. I lost 2 in the late '80's, not hordes. But what I'm touching on is the power of grief and the intimacy of s/m. No matter your situation or experience with loss, grief is potent. When the heart hurts, it seems to be that what was closest to you shuts down. That's the fact I'm becoming acutely aware of. We do what we need to work around it. But a door closes. I don't know where all my grief comes from. Some, yes. Maybe it doesn't even matter. It may reveal itself or not. Maybe being aware of its presence, aware of the closed heart and continuing to breathe are the most important. Maybe, just maybe, trusting the present moment manifests healing.
As I've stopped fighting the fear and am learning to lean into it, room is being made to feel the grief. Not depression. I can love, smile, joke, laugh, hug and care. And I can grieve. Maybe the more I allow myself to touch the deep sadness...maybe, just maybe I can move past all this.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Today Mark Morford writes about Karl Rove's GOP spin machine in "Dan Rather Takes A Bullet - While the Right was demonizing the crusty ol' newsman, BushCo got away with murder, again":
"And this machine, it is beyond more than capable of orchestrating just such a tiny, vicious feat as this pointless "Memogate" nonscandal, given how Karl Rove is the demon god at calculation and redirection and removing all accountability from his candidate and making it appear as though some big media conspiracy is treating Dubya unfairly, even as Rove manipulates that very same media to smear the living hell out of bona fide war heroes, all while shrugging off more than 1,000 dead U.S. soldiers and ignoring the brutal fact that his boy Bush has almost singlehandedly made America the most disrespected and openly loathed major power on the planet."
Read more here.
And our other Wednesday regular, this week's Freewill Astrology.
"And this machine, it is beyond more than capable of orchestrating just such a tiny, vicious feat as this pointless "Memogate" nonscandal, given how Karl Rove is the demon god at calculation and redirection and removing all accountability from his candidate and making it appear as though some big media conspiracy is treating Dubya unfairly, even as Rove manipulates that very same media to smear the living hell out of bona fide war heroes, all while shrugging off more than 1,000 dead U.S. soldiers and ignoring the brutal fact that his boy Bush has almost singlehandedly made America the most disrespected and openly loathed major power on the planet."
Read more here.
And our other Wednesday regular, this week's Freewill Astrology.
Whoa. Check out today's entry for Uppity Faggot. Reading it, I found myself rolling in the words and the thick space they create. Over and over...
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Chowdah and possibilities.
I just got back from a long walk with wonderboy. At 3pm this afternoon I gave him a buzz. "Wanna come out and play? It's fall, it's sunny, it's beautiful." His hands were in the process of making truffles. 1,000 dark chocolate hand-dipped truffles for a big job on Saturday. Heaven? Yeah...if you like chocolate.
After a 5 minute hesitation he realized it would be good to get some air. I left work early...or not, considering I was in at 5:30 this morning, went to pick him up and we headed for Alki in West Seattle.
It was what I needed. The expanse of air and water. A long walk. We ate at Duke's, opting for the 4 chowder sampler. Let's see if I can remember them.
Shrimp/butternut squash chowder
Tomato/scallop chowder with a hint of curry
Kentucky bourbon/crab chowder
and our regular lobster/pernod chowder.
We sat upstairs, on the deck overlooking the Sound, eating...sampling...and sopping it all up with warm sour dough bread. Simple pleasures.
Since I've moved to the Hill, I've surrounded myself in the ghetto, so to speak. My life is on the Hill. I work in a queer organization, surrounded by queers and live in a queer neighborhood. I like it that way. But as delightful as the Hill is, I need to stretch my legs in other enviroments every once in a while. That's why it seemed perfect today. The light was magical. There was a thin strip of fog floating over the Puget Sound. And the sun was shining. It was warm yet had the distinct crispness of fall. Immersing myself in hot chowder just added to the experience.
I felt myself relax. Something inside me let go. Submission to what will be. I'm now looking forward to Two Spirits and whatever magic may happen.
For Body Electric I was informed I need to bring something for the altar. I've thought long and hard about what item to bring and kept coming back to nothing. I know that an altar that appears empty is not empty. It becomes chock full of nothing which can be powerful. There isn't a void. But with my stuff surrounding the workshop, I wanted to make sure that my decision to come to the altar empty-handed was not fear-based.
Today I knew that I had one item I could bring. The handmade dragonfly card. It's quickly become a powerful symbol of transcendence. Tonight I saw another option. The first piece of leather I earned - the black leather rose. I had considered this option in the past few weeks but felt numb inside at the thought of it. This evening something opened up inside and I touched possibility. Possibility of all the leather rose held and still holds. It showed me how cut off I really became from my deepest leather self. Seeing the door in front of me and the opportunites it holds leaves me in wonder.
Let's see what happens, shall we? :-)
I just got back from a long walk with wonderboy. At 3pm this afternoon I gave him a buzz. "Wanna come out and play? It's fall, it's sunny, it's beautiful." His hands were in the process of making truffles. 1,000 dark chocolate hand-dipped truffles for a big job on Saturday. Heaven? Yeah...if you like chocolate.
After a 5 minute hesitation he realized it would be good to get some air. I left work early...or not, considering I was in at 5:30 this morning, went to pick him up and we headed for Alki in West Seattle.
It was what I needed. The expanse of air and water. A long walk. We ate at Duke's, opting for the 4 chowder sampler. Let's see if I can remember them.
Shrimp/butternut squash chowder
Tomato/scallop chowder with a hint of curry
Kentucky bourbon/crab chowder
and our regular lobster/pernod chowder.
We sat upstairs, on the deck overlooking the Sound, eating...sampling...and sopping it all up with warm sour dough bread. Simple pleasures.
Since I've moved to the Hill, I've surrounded myself in the ghetto, so to speak. My life is on the Hill. I work in a queer organization, surrounded by queers and live in a queer neighborhood. I like it that way. But as delightful as the Hill is, I need to stretch my legs in other enviroments every once in a while. That's why it seemed perfect today. The light was magical. There was a thin strip of fog floating over the Puget Sound. And the sun was shining. It was warm yet had the distinct crispness of fall. Immersing myself in hot chowder just added to the experience.
I felt myself relax. Something inside me let go. Submission to what will be. I'm now looking forward to Two Spirits and whatever magic may happen.
For Body Electric I was informed I need to bring something for the altar. I've thought long and hard about what item to bring and kept coming back to nothing. I know that an altar that appears empty is not empty. It becomes chock full of nothing which can be powerful. There isn't a void. But with my stuff surrounding the workshop, I wanted to make sure that my decision to come to the altar empty-handed was not fear-based.
Today I knew that I had one item I could bring. The handmade dragonfly card. It's quickly become a powerful symbol of transcendence. Tonight I saw another option. The first piece of leather I earned - the black leather rose. I had considered this option in the past few weeks but felt numb inside at the thought of it. This evening something opened up inside and I touched possibility. Possibility of all the leather rose held and still holds. It showed me how cut off I really became from my deepest leather self. Seeing the door in front of me and the opportunites it holds leaves me in wonder.
Let's see what happens, shall we? :-)
The Gift.
About a week and a half ago, I sat on a hiring committee to help interview candidates for a new position. I was recruited for two reasons. One, they wanted someone whose mind worked in a similiar fashion to mine. More importantly, they mentioned they wanted to use my intuition in choosing the hire who would be the best fit. It made for an interesting morning of interviews. Freaky in a fashion because intuition just happens. I can't focus on it otherwise it becomes worthless.
2 days later I received a small handmade thank you card from one of the applicants. It's lovely, and I stood it next to my monitor. The very next day I received another little thank you card, store bought, from the owner of the telemarketing firm in town. Her business handles the phonathons for many of the non-profits in town, running the gamat from the smaller queer organizations up to something as large as the Seattle Art Museum. She and I have a great working relationship and much respect for each other. The thank you from her was...well...just because. No specific reason.
Two thank you's in two days. Yeah I was touched. The cards are both similar in color scheme and so I have them side by side at my desk. Glance over at them periodically.
Here's the weird part. I've been staring at both of them for a few days now. Yesterday, about 10 minutes before I needed to leave for my shrink appointment, I glance over at the two cards and stop. Picking them up... "oh my gawd..."
I look...and look again. I couldn't believe I had not taken sharp notice of the similarities until just that minute. Both cards are on cream colored stock. One is horizontal, one vertical. Each have a design. One has the 'thank you' above the design and the other below. The design on both is contained within a small square. One has a gold dragonfly floating in a blue squared space filled with silver dots. The other, a silver dragonfly floating in the same color blue square filled with gold dots.
"oh my gawd..."
Synchronicity?
I am not one who has ever had an animal guide. I know others have, and although I thought it was cool, it wasn't my thing. Two dragonflies, both in a blue square, both floating in dots. Silver and gold. Dragonflies.
Then I remembered an incident on Sunday. Sir and I were at Home Depot, wandering through the plant section. I was touching and playing with chimes and bells. My hand kept going to one in particular, and making it ring. It was wonderful. But it wasn't strictly chimes. I clearly remember saying, "It's too busy with design. If it weren't for the damned dragonfly on here, I'd get it in a minute."
Huh.
I had about 5 minutes left and immediately googled for the meaning of dragonflies. With no time to research I grabbed the first link I saw and began to read:
"Dragon Fly: You are the quiet messenger and harbinger of order, leaving in your wake the well thought out systems of filing codes and protocols that only you fully understand. Your nature is basically utilitarian and you know that efficiency is only achieved by repetition, attention to detail, and discipline. You love to see how many things you can do quickly and well and at all times you can bring your spot light vision and superb mind to the given matter at hand. You love routine, and believe you and others function better within them.
You are a blessing to be around, loving nothing more than to be turned to as problem solver and personnel efficiency expert and critic. You are usually right about what you think and see, and that makes you difficult to debate at any time. Being better in management, you do not miss the relationship between a box of paper clips, the increase of productivity and next quarters bottom line.
But in truth, you usually miss your calling. You prefer to be unseen and left alone to live in the knowledge that your efficient, ordered world was of your making. Your compensation, and reward in and of itself. A compensation that is designed to protect you from the vagaries and uncertainties of life.
When you are quiet, you will hear the sirens that will call you to a greater world, and a more meaningful life. You are in truth, a gentle soul. One that is so skilled that you were meant to be mentor, guide and counselor to others.
To be happy in end, you must follow your dreams, ideals and visions of life. You must acting upon them and trust in their beauty, worth and truth. You have been chosen to be the artist and the art critic, the musician and the conductor. You were meant to live in the realms of myth and fantasy, for you alone can find your way through the labyrinthine maze of life. You are a true guide and augur on the pathways of life. It is you alone that can enter and return unscathed and unchanged from the sojourns into the realms of Grace, Beauty and Might. O, if you only knew....."
Quickly printing it out, I grabbed the 2 cards, the description, my keys and dashed out the door. On the way to the shrink the above words began to filter in...its impact hitting me. The first three paragraphs are exactly what I've created with my life. I manage a database. A system so complex that it's become extremely difficult to train another unless they have the ability to see the whole picture and how each part is related to the other. A system that requires a combination of logical and intuitive mind to manage the massive amount of records. Just in the last 6 months, I've set up protocols that finally seem to meet all needs and began to create a manual to explain how to enter the information and pull certain queries. I do not want the sole responsibility of this database. Yet I've unconsciously designed my professional life to surround myself in detail and order. No wonder I felt cornered and locked in. Tangled.
The more I began to open myself up in my personal life, the more I sought structure. Procedures that require consistency and perfection. No room for flexibility. Highly creative in the sense of continual problem solving yet creating a fortress around my own little world. I took this position after I began training with Sir. Actually, the job evolved out of the community service requirement I needed to do for my training. I volunteered for a couple evenings and then the ED contacted me to see if I'd be interested in interviewing for a position with the foundation.
"To be happy in the end, you must follow your dreams....to be artist..."
Big stuff. The universe could not be shouting any louder. It's been a helluva week, beginning with seeing the artwork. The art, the approach of Body Electric Two Spirits...whoa.
Intimacy. It's all about intimacy. Touching oneself and sharing it with others. The closer I get to attending Body Electric the more terrified I became. I know if I remain at least a little open, it is going to touch an area I slammed a door on. Yesterday with the shrink-
he: one of two things will happen at Body Electric.
me: yes?
he: either you will break through or you will go crazy.
I looked at him. He was dead serious. See how comforting the shrink can be? Last week, while we discussed the intensity of this particular time in my life-
he: either you'll make it through the fire or you'll kill yourself.
me: (thinking) isn't that delightful?
he: but i'm pretty sure you'll make it through this.
Well, I did ask for realism and honesty from my shrink.
Back to yesterday -
he: you know you can slow down the process and postpone Body Electric
me: yeah, postponing it right now would be like flying down a hill on skies and the only way to stop is to veer toward the tree on the left and slam into it.
he: yes. that's about right. It's picked up a life of its own and probably wouldn't be wise to rein it in.
So in the meantime I cherish gifts like yesterday. Two messengers sent to speak clearly and lovingly in a time filled with apprehension.
Life is good, interesting and mysterious.
About a week and a half ago, I sat on a hiring committee to help interview candidates for a new position. I was recruited for two reasons. One, they wanted someone whose mind worked in a similiar fashion to mine. More importantly, they mentioned they wanted to use my intuition in choosing the hire who would be the best fit. It made for an interesting morning of interviews. Freaky in a fashion because intuition just happens. I can't focus on it otherwise it becomes worthless.
2 days later I received a small handmade thank you card from one of the applicants. It's lovely, and I stood it next to my monitor. The very next day I received another little thank you card, store bought, from the owner of the telemarketing firm in town. Her business handles the phonathons for many of the non-profits in town, running the gamat from the smaller queer organizations up to something as large as the Seattle Art Museum. She and I have a great working relationship and much respect for each other. The thank you from her was...well...just because. No specific reason.
Two thank you's in two days. Yeah I was touched. The cards are both similar in color scheme and so I have them side by side at my desk. Glance over at them periodically.
Here's the weird part. I've been staring at both of them for a few days now. Yesterday, about 10 minutes before I needed to leave for my shrink appointment, I glance over at the two cards and stop. Picking them up... "oh my gawd..."
I look...and look again. I couldn't believe I had not taken sharp notice of the similarities until just that minute. Both cards are on cream colored stock. One is horizontal, one vertical. Each have a design. One has the 'thank you' above the design and the other below. The design on both is contained within a small square. One has a gold dragonfly floating in a blue squared space filled with silver dots. The other, a silver dragonfly floating in the same color blue square filled with gold dots.
"oh my gawd..."
Synchronicity?
I am not one who has ever had an animal guide. I know others have, and although I thought it was cool, it wasn't my thing. Two dragonflies, both in a blue square, both floating in dots. Silver and gold. Dragonflies.
Then I remembered an incident on Sunday. Sir and I were at Home Depot, wandering through the plant section. I was touching and playing with chimes and bells. My hand kept going to one in particular, and making it ring. It was wonderful. But it wasn't strictly chimes. I clearly remember saying, "It's too busy with design. If it weren't for the damned dragonfly on here, I'd get it in a minute."
Huh.
I had about 5 minutes left and immediately googled for the meaning of dragonflies. With no time to research I grabbed the first link I saw and began to read:
"Dragon Fly: You are the quiet messenger and harbinger of order, leaving in your wake the well thought out systems of filing codes and protocols that only you fully understand. Your nature is basically utilitarian and you know that efficiency is only achieved by repetition, attention to detail, and discipline. You love to see how many things you can do quickly and well and at all times you can bring your spot light vision and superb mind to the given matter at hand. You love routine, and believe you and others function better within them.
You are a blessing to be around, loving nothing more than to be turned to as problem solver and personnel efficiency expert and critic. You are usually right about what you think and see, and that makes you difficult to debate at any time. Being better in management, you do not miss the relationship between a box of paper clips, the increase of productivity and next quarters bottom line.
But in truth, you usually miss your calling. You prefer to be unseen and left alone to live in the knowledge that your efficient, ordered world was of your making. Your compensation, and reward in and of itself. A compensation that is designed to protect you from the vagaries and uncertainties of life.
When you are quiet, you will hear the sirens that will call you to a greater world, and a more meaningful life. You are in truth, a gentle soul. One that is so skilled that you were meant to be mentor, guide and counselor to others.
To be happy in end, you must follow your dreams, ideals and visions of life. You must acting upon them and trust in their beauty, worth and truth. You have been chosen to be the artist and the art critic, the musician and the conductor. You were meant to live in the realms of myth and fantasy, for you alone can find your way through the labyrinthine maze of life. You are a true guide and augur on the pathways of life. It is you alone that can enter and return unscathed and unchanged from the sojourns into the realms of Grace, Beauty and Might. O, if you only knew....."
Quickly printing it out, I grabbed the 2 cards, the description, my keys and dashed out the door. On the way to the shrink the above words began to filter in...its impact hitting me. The first three paragraphs are exactly what I've created with my life. I manage a database. A system so complex that it's become extremely difficult to train another unless they have the ability to see the whole picture and how each part is related to the other. A system that requires a combination of logical and intuitive mind to manage the massive amount of records. Just in the last 6 months, I've set up protocols that finally seem to meet all needs and began to create a manual to explain how to enter the information and pull certain queries. I do not want the sole responsibility of this database. Yet I've unconsciously designed my professional life to surround myself in detail and order. No wonder I felt cornered and locked in. Tangled.
The more I began to open myself up in my personal life, the more I sought structure. Procedures that require consistency and perfection. No room for flexibility. Highly creative in the sense of continual problem solving yet creating a fortress around my own little world. I took this position after I began training with Sir. Actually, the job evolved out of the community service requirement I needed to do for my training. I volunteered for a couple evenings and then the ED contacted me to see if I'd be interested in interviewing for a position with the foundation.
"To be happy in the end, you must follow your dreams....to be artist..."
Big stuff. The universe could not be shouting any louder. It's been a helluva week, beginning with seeing the artwork. The art, the approach of Body Electric Two Spirits...whoa.
Intimacy. It's all about intimacy. Touching oneself and sharing it with others. The closer I get to attending Body Electric the more terrified I became. I know if I remain at least a little open, it is going to touch an area I slammed a door on. Yesterday with the shrink-
he: one of two things will happen at Body Electric.
me: yes?
he: either you will break through or you will go crazy.
I looked at him. He was dead serious. See how comforting the shrink can be? Last week, while we discussed the intensity of this particular time in my life-
he: either you'll make it through the fire or you'll kill yourself.
me: (thinking) isn't that delightful?
he: but i'm pretty sure you'll make it through this.
Well, I did ask for realism and honesty from my shrink.
Back to yesterday -
he: you know you can slow down the process and postpone Body Electric
me: yeah, postponing it right now would be like flying down a hill on skies and the only way to stop is to veer toward the tree on the left and slam into it.
he: yes. that's about right. It's picked up a life of its own and probably wouldn't be wise to rein it in.
So in the meantime I cherish gifts like yesterday. Two messengers sent to speak clearly and lovingly in a time filled with apprehension.
Life is good, interesting and mysterious.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Shadow.
Yesterday I spent the day out with Sir, running errands and engaging in general silliness, which we tend to do when out and about. We were both relaxed enough to have some really good talks.
He mentioned how he's so proud of me, watching me become and evolve, knowing it's incredibly hard work. He then added "I've never told you this, but I chose you for training because I could tell you hungered to be broken. When I saw you play, in that suspension scene, I knew. You appeared to be in a place where you desired to see what was inside. I also knew that I would begin the process of smashing and cutting and from there, you'd access intense therapy to continue the work we began."
He spoke of how many people sought training on one level. How to do. How to access play. How to become a good player. And even though I wanted those things as well, I yearned for something else. I was seeking. I sought my shadow self.
Shadow.
Shadow has been coming up for me a lot in the last 4 or 5 days. A friend wrote to me and said that what I feared was my shadow self. I knew this. But that doesn't make the process any easier or the fear less great. And it doesn't stop me from taking another step.
About 4 years ago I concocted my ultimate fantasy. It is a particular scene, of which I am not sharing details publicly, wherein given enough time, I would struggle between human and animal. How long could I walk the edge between loss of humanity into full primal being? And would that be the dividing line between sanity and insanity? That's the goal of this particular scene. What would that feel like? Could I trust someone enough to take me to that place, dance there and then pull me back? Would I have the desire to return once I touched it?
I remember mentioning that scene to an acquaintance who is a therapist, a sacred intimate and a Body Electric teacher. I watched her face as I described the scene. She cringed. She knew if allowed to happen, I would be playing with fire like never before.
Although I haven't experienced the particulars of said scene, I see myself touching aspects of it. Some things don't always come in the package we envision. My therapy right now is a major scene. It's fully about trust and intimacy. Each day, more and more, I struggle not to leave the office in a fit of rage. Last week, I looked at the shrink and "fuck you" came out of my mouth. It was thick with venom. He is fucking with the deepest part of my being. He's scrambling all my paradigms. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really going crazy or if I can continue to trust myself. The only way I can tell is to keep looking at my life. What is getting stronger?
We are touching my shadows. The more a finger is slipped into the dark cavernous space the more my surface self rebels. I feel demons leaping and screaming.
Another shadow experience is reading a particular book. A couple months back, ThorNYC had set up an online book purchase and signing for Hogg by Samuel Delany. Having never read Delany, this is the book I dove into. It began quickly, and then slowed down just as quickly.
It was a tough go. I finished the book last Friday evening. Septieme's was my library. I couldn't read the book at home alone because it would creep me out. I needed to be in the midst of nurturing, safety and people, touching another reality other than what my mind could concoct at home alone. Also I would go a couple weeks inbetween reads.
Delany writes science fiction. And although this book is set in 1969, it is definitely another world. I was Alice, having stepped through the looking-glass. I wonder...really wonder if it would have affected me in the same way had it been placed in outer space, 100 years in the future. If I dealt with what clearly was a fantastical, alien world with no sense of the familiar, could I more easily have suspended my sense of right and wrong?
With each page I fought the voice that said "reading this makes you a horrid person." My mother was talking to me, letting me know I sinning for immersing myself in such filth. Because I prefer brutality with my s/m, the consensual sex didn't bother me. No matter how nasty, I was fine. I've touched that dark place and embraced it as friend. And the breaking of most taboos turns me on. But choosing to read about nonconsensuality was the challenge. To be immersed in such violence over and over and over, page after page, chapter after chapter, I wondered how this book was spiritually feeding me.
Yet I read on. Although at the time I didn't know why, I simply knew I had to finish the book. It was an ongoing battle, my mother on one side, and me, the artist on the other, declaring that all we can fantasize is legitimate. If more people wrote, painted and played with shadow there would be less nonconsensual violence in our daily lives.
Repression is what explodes without control and creates harm and havoc.
"Cause people don't even wanna see shit like that. I mean, they'd be happier pretending it didn't even happen. But you're gonna see enough of the kind of stuff I usually do."
-- Hogg, p. 39
Shadow.
Yesterday I spent the day out with Sir, running errands and engaging in general silliness, which we tend to do when out and about. We were both relaxed enough to have some really good talks.
He mentioned how he's so proud of me, watching me become and evolve, knowing it's incredibly hard work. He then added "I've never told you this, but I chose you for training because I could tell you hungered to be broken. When I saw you play, in that suspension scene, I knew. You appeared to be in a place where you desired to see what was inside. I also knew that I would begin the process of smashing and cutting and from there, you'd access intense therapy to continue the work we began."
He spoke of how many people sought training on one level. How to do. How to access play. How to become a good player. And even though I wanted those things as well, I yearned for something else. I was seeking. I sought my shadow self.
Shadow.
Shadow has been coming up for me a lot in the last 4 or 5 days. A friend wrote to me and said that what I feared was my shadow self. I knew this. But that doesn't make the process any easier or the fear less great. And it doesn't stop me from taking another step.
About 4 years ago I concocted my ultimate fantasy. It is a particular scene, of which I am not sharing details publicly, wherein given enough time, I would struggle between human and animal. How long could I walk the edge between loss of humanity into full primal being? And would that be the dividing line between sanity and insanity? That's the goal of this particular scene. What would that feel like? Could I trust someone enough to take me to that place, dance there and then pull me back? Would I have the desire to return once I touched it?
I remember mentioning that scene to an acquaintance who is a therapist, a sacred intimate and a Body Electric teacher. I watched her face as I described the scene. She cringed. She knew if allowed to happen, I would be playing with fire like never before.
Although I haven't experienced the particulars of said scene, I see myself touching aspects of it. Some things don't always come in the package we envision. My therapy right now is a major scene. It's fully about trust and intimacy. Each day, more and more, I struggle not to leave the office in a fit of rage. Last week, I looked at the shrink and "fuck you" came out of my mouth. It was thick with venom. He is fucking with the deepest part of my being. He's scrambling all my paradigms. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really going crazy or if I can continue to trust myself. The only way I can tell is to keep looking at my life. What is getting stronger?
We are touching my shadows. The more a finger is slipped into the dark cavernous space the more my surface self rebels. I feel demons leaping and screaming.
Another shadow experience is reading a particular book. A couple months back, ThorNYC had set up an online book purchase and signing for Hogg by Samuel Delany. Having never read Delany, this is the book I dove into. It began quickly, and then slowed down just as quickly.
It was a tough go. I finished the book last Friday evening. Septieme's was my library. I couldn't read the book at home alone because it would creep me out. I needed to be in the midst of nurturing, safety and people, touching another reality other than what my mind could concoct at home alone. Also I would go a couple weeks inbetween reads.
Delany writes science fiction. And although this book is set in 1969, it is definitely another world. I was Alice, having stepped through the looking-glass. I wonder...really wonder if it would have affected me in the same way had it been placed in outer space, 100 years in the future. If I dealt with what clearly was a fantastical, alien world with no sense of the familiar, could I more easily have suspended my sense of right and wrong?
With each page I fought the voice that said "reading this makes you a horrid person." My mother was talking to me, letting me know I sinning for immersing myself in such filth. Because I prefer brutality with my s/m, the consensual sex didn't bother me. No matter how nasty, I was fine. I've touched that dark place and embraced it as friend. And the breaking of most taboos turns me on. But choosing to read about nonconsensuality was the challenge. To be immersed in such violence over and over and over, page after page, chapter after chapter, I wondered how this book was spiritually feeding me.
Yet I read on. Although at the time I didn't know why, I simply knew I had to finish the book. It was an ongoing battle, my mother on one side, and me, the artist on the other, declaring that all we can fantasize is legitimate. If more people wrote, painted and played with shadow there would be less nonconsensual violence in our daily lives.
Repression is what explodes without control and creates harm and havoc.
"Cause people don't even wanna see shit like that. I mean, they'd be happier pretending it didn't even happen. But you're gonna see enough of the kind of stuff I usually do."
-- Hogg, p. 39
Shadow.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
I open. I give. I love. I trust.
I live life with the desire to taste fully, the highs and the lows. And yet, it's not enough. There is still a barrier, reinforced with concrete, protecting the remotest regions of my soul. Yesterday I saw my reflection in the face of another and knew the wall to be mine.
Some may say "that's healthy. You can't have it all hanging out. We all need safeguards."
But I know now that if the wall surrounds my gift, what am I really protecting? What's the point of keeping it locked up and never used? Have I actually shared my heart with anyone? Or is what they've seen only the dimmest reflections of light trying to make its way out of the dark cavern?
I can create the best excuses and justifications not to do something. I can question something to death, as I'm doing now. I'm in the midst of doubt surrounding all my choices thus far. The painter who does not paint. The masochist who does not get beat. The service bottom who doesn't give. It comes in fits and waves. Each experience is rich and textured. And then, I pull away. Afraid. Each step, one closer, only to then run.
How do I begin to return...to actually touch and reveal it? Where in the world does the strength come from? The courage needed? I've been chiseling at hard rock for some time and feel myself get closer to the source. I know it's near because the work is more laborious. I tire quickly. The rock is harder and more jagged. I'm bruised and bleeding. Yet in some fucking crazy way I persist. What's up with that?
Is that the drive we each have? Knowing that there really isn't another good option but to continue?
Seeing that artwork last week has truly thrown my ride into hyperspeed. Each day since I feel the heat of fire more intensely.
What lurks in my shadows? What am I so afraid to show the world?
All this makes me wonder if the life I've lived thus far has been a lie. A lie of omission.
I live life with the desire to taste fully, the highs and the lows. And yet, it's not enough. There is still a barrier, reinforced with concrete, protecting the remotest regions of my soul. Yesterday I saw my reflection in the face of another and knew the wall to be mine.
Some may say "that's healthy. You can't have it all hanging out. We all need safeguards."
But I know now that if the wall surrounds my gift, what am I really protecting? What's the point of keeping it locked up and never used? Have I actually shared my heart with anyone? Or is what they've seen only the dimmest reflections of light trying to make its way out of the dark cavern?
I can create the best excuses and justifications not to do something. I can question something to death, as I'm doing now. I'm in the midst of doubt surrounding all my choices thus far. The painter who does not paint. The masochist who does not get beat. The service bottom who doesn't give. It comes in fits and waves. Each experience is rich and textured. And then, I pull away. Afraid. Each step, one closer, only to then run.
How do I begin to return...to actually touch and reveal it? Where in the world does the strength come from? The courage needed? I've been chiseling at hard rock for some time and feel myself get closer to the source. I know it's near because the work is more laborious. I tire quickly. The rock is harder and more jagged. I'm bruised and bleeding. Yet in some fucking crazy way I persist. What's up with that?
Is that the drive we each have? Knowing that there really isn't another good option but to continue?
Seeing that artwork last week has truly thrown my ride into hyperspeed. Each day since I feel the heat of fire more intensely.
What lurks in my shadows? What am I so afraid to show the world?
All this makes me wonder if the life I've lived thus far has been a lie. A lie of omission.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
How about some tunes this morning?
Two songs by Heidi Stone
Click on the title links to listen to each:
Billboards
Seeing billboards for god rising up from the pavement blocking out a big, black sky
And I’m three-quarters empty, hundred miles out of nowhere, don’t you think I’d ever stop to wonder why?
When I can see where I’m going for miles and miles around me
And I know what you’re doing so don’t think you’ll surprise me
And I know what you’re saying but why should I stay when I know everyday and every way you surround me, yes I do
Jack rabbit jumping straight up into nothing and night becomes a big black hat
When I can see where I’m going for miles and miles around me
And I know what you’re doing so don’t think you’ll surprise me
And I know what you’re saying but why should I stay when I know everyday and every way you surround me, yes I do
Seeing billboards for god rising up from the pavement blocking out a big, black sky
Feed the Soul
Big daddy paralyzed, thought you were a supersize, now it’s time to sterilize, line up all your alibis, Gotta be a big man so you twist so that you can
Spot the spies, analyze, live within the little lies
Feel the need, feel the hole, feel the mess, feed the soul
Slow river runs aground, touches everything it’s found, doesn’t matter where it’s bound, soon it is the only sound
Blue water sucks you in, now you’ve got to sink or swim
pulls you down ‘til you drown, what good is your little crown?
You will be tempted by lines, you will be fed more or less all the time, and there are those who want your head and you must decide if you will lead or be led
Grow a shell upon your back, make up for what you might lack, soon the shell becomes a rack,. Never give you any slack
Set yourself upon a throne, always have to be alone, even if you feel the bone never ever find a home
Feel your fingers tingling, feel the fire reaching in, feel the beat beneath your skin, just a little frightening
See the world fade into black, hear the air begin to crack
think of what you might have been, don’t pass go begin again
Two songs by Heidi Stone
Click on the title links to listen to each:
Billboards
Seeing billboards for god rising up from the pavement blocking out a big, black sky
And I’m three-quarters empty, hundred miles out of nowhere, don’t you think I’d ever stop to wonder why?
When I can see where I’m going for miles and miles around me
And I know what you’re doing so don’t think you’ll surprise me
And I know what you’re saying but why should I stay when I know everyday and every way you surround me, yes I do
Jack rabbit jumping straight up into nothing and night becomes a big black hat
When I can see where I’m going for miles and miles around me
And I know what you’re doing so don’t think you’ll surprise me
And I know what you’re saying but why should I stay when I know everyday and every way you surround me, yes I do
Seeing billboards for god rising up from the pavement blocking out a big, black sky
Feed the Soul
Big daddy paralyzed, thought you were a supersize, now it’s time to sterilize, line up all your alibis, Gotta be a big man so you twist so that you can
Spot the spies, analyze, live within the little lies
Feel the need, feel the hole, feel the mess, feed the soul
Slow river runs aground, touches everything it’s found, doesn’t matter where it’s bound, soon it is the only sound
Blue water sucks you in, now you’ve got to sink or swim
pulls you down ‘til you drown, what good is your little crown?
You will be tempted by lines, you will be fed more or less all the time, and there are those who want your head and you must decide if you will lead or be led
Grow a shell upon your back, make up for what you might lack, soon the shell becomes a rack,. Never give you any slack
Set yourself upon a throne, always have to be alone, even if you feel the bone never ever find a home
Feel your fingers tingling, feel the fire reaching in, feel the beat beneath your skin, just a little frightening
See the world fade into black, hear the air begin to crack
think of what you might have been, don’t pass go begin again
Friday, September 24, 2004
I've been fairly quiet this week. With my blogging anyway. Inside I've been in the midst of a tumultuous chunk of weather. One high spot was speaking with blackbird a few nights ago. He called...I heard that voice...and excitement filled me. And I rambled. I don't think he's experienced my rambling before. I miss you blackbird!!
My blogging silence has come from having so much to write about that I don't know where to begin. It's all connected in some odd way and yet feels tangled at the same time. How do I unravel words to form coherent strands?
Maybe the biggest is the intensity of feeling. The deeper I delve in this shrink stuff the more hatred and anger I feel. Right. You're all saying "well duh girlfag, that's the point!"
What's difficult is there is a certain personality that pushes these buttons. Yeah...I know the original source. But anyone that has similar characteristics has the potential of being a lucky recipient of my shit, mud and blackness. And it's tough when one is a coworker. I've expended so much energy over the last few months trying to NOT let this dump back on her. We have general conflicts anyway...when it comes to work. The uglier it gets inside the more I need to pull in the reins outwardly.
I remember telling the shrink last week I feel I've lost my ability to be compassionate. I'm mourning that. The intensity of the bitterness doesn't leave room for much warm fuzzy. Therefore, now when I have contact with those that push old buttons, I find myself working extra hard to not have it show. Somehow I'm more patience and tolerant. I'll explain quietly and calmly. I'll go out of my way and create situations to make them feel comfortable and at ease. Everyday I seek out at least one positive thing about each of these people. And with each step I'm fighting the rage and bile from spilling out onto them.
Fucking exhausting man.
In addition, I've been sitting with resentment because I'm not painting. Remember when I wrote that I felt boredom last Sunday? Right after that feeling I desperately wished to have this whole week off. That boredom meant I was relaxed enough to actually dive into paint. I'm not on vacation until the middle of October, and it's meant for Body Electric. I love my job. I LOVE my job. And I hate the way it saps my creative strength. If I could afford to live on 20-25 or even 30 hours a week and stay at the Foundation, it would be good. Then there would be enough of me left to paint fairly regularly.
A few days ago a coworker asked me how I'm doing without cage time, sleepsack or cell time. I haven't been locked up in 2 years. And I haven't allowed myself to think about it in a while. It hurts. I cried from his question. Longterm confinement bondage was my space to regroup and reconnect with my sexual self. It fed the introvert in me as well. I could put forth more energy because I would spend a full weekend locked up in a small tight space. 2 days and night in a small cage...or a full 8 hours in a sleepsack and hood are things my body craves. I stopped thinking about it until this week.
I'm freaking out over Body Electric. Seeing it as a compromise for me instead of an ideal situation. Cranky because there is no such thing as ideal situations. I'm wigging over not painting. I'm pissed I don't have the words to explain all that's inside. I did resolve to begin my workout walks again. For 3 years, I'd walk a minimum of 3 miles...hard. I'd hustle and work up a sweat. Get my heart pounding. Try to make a 45 minute loop. On weekends I'd do the loop twice for a 6 mile workout. Since then I haven't lived in an area that's conducive to stepping out the door and walking. Something felt so wrong in getting in my car to do this workout.
Now I can. I live on the backside of a good, big hill. So I began again yesterday. Walking clears my head and heart. I need to reclaim this time. It's critical now.
I think I should be locked up and put away at least until I get to the other side of this healing. I don't feel fit for man or beast. I fear I'll contaminate everyone with the pus that's oozing out. I don't like myself a whole lot right now and yet...at the same time, I am watching myself evolve. I see a more textured person awaken. How can I be in the middle of ugliness and beauty at the same damned time? It's the pool I'm immersed in. Leeches, maggots, flora and fauna.
Sexy life, eh?
My blogging silence has come from having so much to write about that I don't know where to begin. It's all connected in some odd way and yet feels tangled at the same time. How do I unravel words to form coherent strands?
Maybe the biggest is the intensity of feeling. The deeper I delve in this shrink stuff the more hatred and anger I feel. Right. You're all saying "well duh girlfag, that's the point!"
What's difficult is there is a certain personality that pushes these buttons. Yeah...I know the original source. But anyone that has similar characteristics has the potential of being a lucky recipient of my shit, mud and blackness. And it's tough when one is a coworker. I've expended so much energy over the last few months trying to NOT let this dump back on her. We have general conflicts anyway...when it comes to work. The uglier it gets inside the more I need to pull in the reins outwardly.
I remember telling the shrink last week I feel I've lost my ability to be compassionate. I'm mourning that. The intensity of the bitterness doesn't leave room for much warm fuzzy. Therefore, now when I have contact with those that push old buttons, I find myself working extra hard to not have it show. Somehow I'm more patience and tolerant. I'll explain quietly and calmly. I'll go out of my way and create situations to make them feel comfortable and at ease. Everyday I seek out at least one positive thing about each of these people. And with each step I'm fighting the rage and bile from spilling out onto them.
Fucking exhausting man.
In addition, I've been sitting with resentment because I'm not painting. Remember when I wrote that I felt boredom last Sunday? Right after that feeling I desperately wished to have this whole week off. That boredom meant I was relaxed enough to actually dive into paint. I'm not on vacation until the middle of October, and it's meant for Body Electric. I love my job. I LOVE my job. And I hate the way it saps my creative strength. If I could afford to live on 20-25 or even 30 hours a week and stay at the Foundation, it would be good. Then there would be enough of me left to paint fairly regularly.
A few days ago a coworker asked me how I'm doing without cage time, sleepsack or cell time. I haven't been locked up in 2 years. And I haven't allowed myself to think about it in a while. It hurts. I cried from his question. Longterm confinement bondage was my space to regroup and reconnect with my sexual self. It fed the introvert in me as well. I could put forth more energy because I would spend a full weekend locked up in a small tight space. 2 days and night in a small cage...or a full 8 hours in a sleepsack and hood are things my body craves. I stopped thinking about it until this week.
I'm freaking out over Body Electric. Seeing it as a compromise for me instead of an ideal situation. Cranky because there is no such thing as ideal situations. I'm wigging over not painting. I'm pissed I don't have the words to explain all that's inside. I did resolve to begin my workout walks again. For 3 years, I'd walk a minimum of 3 miles...hard. I'd hustle and work up a sweat. Get my heart pounding. Try to make a 45 minute loop. On weekends I'd do the loop twice for a 6 mile workout. Since then I haven't lived in an area that's conducive to stepping out the door and walking. Something felt so wrong in getting in my car to do this workout.
Now I can. I live on the backside of a good, big hill. So I began again yesterday. Walking clears my head and heart. I need to reclaim this time. It's critical now.
I think I should be locked up and put away at least until I get to the other side of this healing. I don't feel fit for man or beast. I fear I'll contaminate everyone with the pus that's oozing out. I don't like myself a whole lot right now and yet...at the same time, I am watching myself evolve. I see a more textured person awaken. How can I be in the middle of ugliness and beauty at the same damned time? It's the pool I'm immersed in. Leeches, maggots, flora and fauna.
Sexy life, eh?
Sunday evening is the discussion where I had the opportunity to sit on the panel. I will be attending as part of the audience. If you're in Seattle, check it out.
From the website:
Spirituality of our Sexuality Forum
BDSM and Spirituality: Acts of Power, Acts of Submission
Sunday, September 26th, 7:00 pm, All Pilgrims Christian Church, Stuart Hall, 500 Broadway East, Capitol Hill, Seattle.
Within the Lesbian/Gay/Bisexual/Transgendered communities, Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission, and Sadism and Masochism (BDSM) are not uncommon sexual practices. There are those, however, who recontextualize these often negatively judged "fetishes" into rewarding forms of spirituality. In this forum, panelists will share how these acts generate profound spiritual connection for them. We invite you to put aside fears and judgments to learn more about the diversity of spiritual expression within our communities. There will be time for questions and discussion. Everyone is invited! We ask for a $5 donation to defray expenses, but no one will be turned away due to lack of funds. Snacks provided. Sponsored by the Multifaith Alliance of Reconciling Communities, a program of Multifaith Works.
From the website:
Spirituality of our Sexuality Forum
BDSM and Spirituality: Acts of Power, Acts of Submission
Sunday, September 26th, 7:00 pm, All Pilgrims Christian Church, Stuart Hall, 500 Broadway East, Capitol Hill, Seattle.
Within the Lesbian/Gay/Bisexual/Transgendered communities, Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission, and Sadism and Masochism (BDSM) are not uncommon sexual practices. There are those, however, who recontextualize these often negatively judged "fetishes" into rewarding forms of spirituality. In this forum, panelists will share how these acts generate profound spiritual connection for them. We invite you to put aside fears and judgments to learn more about the diversity of spiritual expression within our communities. There will be time for questions and discussion. Everyone is invited! We ask for a $5 donation to defray expenses, but no one will be turned away due to lack of funds. Snacks provided. Sponsored by the Multifaith Alliance of Reconciling Communities, a program of Multifaith Works.
This morning Mark Morford writes about John Kerry:
"But I suppose this is the saddest part of all. That is, how cheerless and heartbreaking is it when you are essentially forced to wish that your candidate would be more ruthless, more cutthroat, more ferocious. When deep down you long for a little dignity among your leaders, some humanitarian deftness, some way to salvage a shred of spirit and hope amongst the political carnage."
"But I suppose this is the saddest part of all. That is, how cheerless and heartbreaking is it when you are essentially forced to wish that your candidate would be more ruthless, more cutthroat, more ferocious. When deep down you long for a little dignity among your leaders, some humanitarian deftness, some way to salvage a shred of spirit and hope amongst the political carnage."
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Sir just emailed me info about this interesting project. (AE...whatcha think? It might be a fun thing for your community on the mountain to do and then ship it out.)
We are all invited to participate in Spiral 2004, an installation project in honor of art and against the war.
"I believe with all my heart that the monks who burned themselves did not aim at the death of their oppressors but only at a change in their policy. Their enemies are not man. They are intolerance, fanaticism, dictatorship, hatred and discrimination which lie in the heart of man."
-Thich Nhat Hanh. Lotus in a Sea of Fire. 1967.
We are all invited to participate in Spiral 2004, an installation project in honor of art and against the war.
"I believe with all my heart that the monks who burned themselves did not aim at the death of their oppressors but only at a change in their policy. Their enemies are not man. They are intolerance, fanaticism, dictatorship, hatred and discrimination which lie in the heart of man."
-Thich Nhat Hanh. Lotus in a Sea of Fire. 1967.
This week's Freewill Astrology for you.
And...our other Wednesday regular, Mark Morford:
"See, there is this point. There is this point where it all becomes just beyond silly and absurd and surreal. There is this threshold you reach where you finally just have to toss in the moral and spiritual and intellectual and commonsensical towel and just laugh out loud and shake your head and sigh and then run off to the woods with a bottle of fine sake and the collected Coltrane. This is what you have to do. Especially when faced with such wicked absurdities..."
Morford shares with us his views on the CXT, supposedly the world's largest pickup truck.
And...our other Wednesday regular, Mark Morford:
"See, there is this point. There is this point where it all becomes just beyond silly and absurd and surreal. There is this threshold you reach where you finally just have to toss in the moral and spiritual and intellectual and commonsensical towel and just laugh out loud and shake your head and sigh and then run off to the woods with a bottle of fine sake and the collected Coltrane. This is what you have to do. Especially when faced with such wicked absurdities..."
Morford shares with us his views on the CXT, supposedly the world's largest pickup truck.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Monday, September 20, 2004
Friday night I was speaking with Sir, The Bear and wonderboy. The conversation was around how our current political times are really bringing hatred out of the closet. I jumped in and mentioned it was a good thing. It's all hot button issues and it's pushing people into honesty.
Thank you Jimmy Swaggart for at least being honest about something - your views on queers.
Just in my email-
Statement by Matt Foreman, National Gay and Lesbian Task Force Executive Director:
"The leaders of major organizations heading the campaign to deny same sex couples equal marriage rights frequently say that they do not hate gay people and that they respect us as human beings. Just last night in a national simulcast to oppose same sex marriage, for example, Focus on the Family President Dr. James Dobson said, "I'm not here to cast aspersions on homosexuals ﾿ they need our acceptance and respect... We are not hateful people."
The Task Force calls upon the leaders of last night’s simulcast - Dr. James Dobson (Focus on the Family), Tony Perkins (Family Research Council), Ted Haggard (National Association of Evangelicals), Richard Land (Director of the Religious Liberties and Ethics Division of the Southern Baptist Convention) - to immediately denounce anti-gay violence and specifically repudiate evangelist Jimmy Swaggert’s statement, “I’ve never seen a man in my life I wanted to marry. And I’m gonna be blunt and plain: if one ever looks at me like that, I’m gonna kill him and tell God he died.”
All lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people and all people of good will be listening."
----------------------
Thank you Jimmy Swaggart for at least being honest about something - your views on queers.
Just in my email-
Statement by Matt Foreman, National Gay and Lesbian Task Force Executive Director:
"The leaders of major organizations heading the campaign to deny same sex couples equal marriage rights frequently say that they do not hate gay people and that they respect us as human beings. Just last night in a national simulcast to oppose same sex marriage, for example, Focus on the Family President Dr. James Dobson said, "I'm not here to cast aspersions on homosexuals ﾿ they need our acceptance and respect... We are not hateful people."
The Task Force calls upon the leaders of last night’s simulcast - Dr. James Dobson (Focus on the Family), Tony Perkins (Family Research Council), Ted Haggard (National Association of Evangelicals), Richard Land (Director of the Religious Liberties and Ethics Division of the Southern Baptist Convention) - to immediately denounce anti-gay violence and specifically repudiate evangelist Jimmy Swaggert’s statement, “I’ve never seen a man in my life I wanted to marry. And I’m gonna be blunt and plain: if one ever looks at me like that, I’m gonna kill him and tell God he died.”
All lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people and all people of good will be listening."
----------------------
Time to paint
I experienced boredom yesterday evening. It surprised me because once I felt it settle in, I knew I hadn't been in that space for at least 6 months (conservative figure). Maybe closer to a year, if not more. Being so busy meant that even in a long period of downtime, I was busy regrouping and didn't have the opportunity to feel bored. The boredom showed me I was finally relaxed and ready to move into something else. And I didn't. Instead I sat with it.
The reason I mention boredom is because of my entry on Saturday. I wondered if I was harsh when I said I realized I was wasting my life. Auxugen commented on that as well. It's a big statement that actually spoke to those periods when I had the energy and time to paint yet didn't. Keeping with a buddhist approach, work when it's time to work. Rest when it's time to rest. Eat when hungry. Feed your body. Feed your soul. And paint when it's time to paint. That's where I felt the waste came in. It's not that I should be painting whenever I'm not working my day gig. But in yesterday's boredom, I KNEW it was time to paint. I was rested. I could set up.
I didn't.
Instead I nursed this pleasant realization of listening to my body and discovering a new clue while in the discomfort of boredom. I wanted to become familiar with the feeling, knowing that I can't always paint when I get home from work. It's not time. But I am granted the time and now know what it feels like. Let's see if I listen to my body next time.
-----------------------------
What to paint
When I was younger I used to have large spaces of time where I wanted to paint. I ached to paint. And I wouldn't. My reason for paralysis was "I don't know what to paint." I didn't have any ideas. Instead of simply picking up a pencil or brush and even painting the apple on the table, or copying Old Masters...I would do nothing. My eldest nephew has great drawing skills and he did the same thing. As a child and a teen, my words came out of his mouth. "I don't know what I want to draw." He is doing exactly what I did.
In the last few years I've learned that subject isn't as important as actually doing. I know the ideas will begin to flow once my hand starts working. Prime the pump. Lack of ideas are not a reason to not fill the canvas. If nothing else, grab a mirror and paint your face. Morandi's subjects were simple. Cups. Vases. Look out the window and paint the neighborhood. How about your foot? A little still life of the books on your nighttable. Work begats ideas.
We begin with grandiose visions and use that as the excuse to freeze. I can't do "X" so I won't even start.
Last week I saw The Mystery of Picasso on dvd. It's the second time I've seen it and recommend it to everyone. It's not only about painting. It is a huge metaphor about life. I watched in amazement the ideas that flowed like water from his head to hand to canvas. The demon "I can't do that" floated through my mind. But he could because he worked.
Going through leatherboy's portfolio last Friday and seeing his boundless imagination left me in awe. Feeling the freeness that came with not allowing fear to hinder was a bottle I wanted to suck on.
It comes with working.
I experienced boredom yesterday evening. It surprised me because once I felt it settle in, I knew I hadn't been in that space for at least 6 months (conservative figure). Maybe closer to a year, if not more. Being so busy meant that even in a long period of downtime, I was busy regrouping and didn't have the opportunity to feel bored. The boredom showed me I was finally relaxed and ready to move into something else. And I didn't. Instead I sat with it.
The reason I mention boredom is because of my entry on Saturday. I wondered if I was harsh when I said I realized I was wasting my life. Auxugen commented on that as well. It's a big statement that actually spoke to those periods when I had the energy and time to paint yet didn't. Keeping with a buddhist approach, work when it's time to work. Rest when it's time to rest. Eat when hungry. Feed your body. Feed your soul. And paint when it's time to paint. That's where I felt the waste came in. It's not that I should be painting whenever I'm not working my day gig. But in yesterday's boredom, I KNEW it was time to paint. I was rested. I could set up.
I didn't.
Instead I nursed this pleasant realization of listening to my body and discovering a new clue while in the discomfort of boredom. I wanted to become familiar with the feeling, knowing that I can't always paint when I get home from work. It's not time. But I am granted the time and now know what it feels like. Let's see if I listen to my body next time.
-----------------------------
What to paint
When I was younger I used to have large spaces of time where I wanted to paint. I ached to paint. And I wouldn't. My reason for paralysis was "I don't know what to paint." I didn't have any ideas. Instead of simply picking up a pencil or brush and even painting the apple on the table, or copying Old Masters...I would do nothing. My eldest nephew has great drawing skills and he did the same thing. As a child and a teen, my words came out of his mouth. "I don't know what I want to draw." He is doing exactly what I did.
In the last few years I've learned that subject isn't as important as actually doing. I know the ideas will begin to flow once my hand starts working. Prime the pump. Lack of ideas are not a reason to not fill the canvas. If nothing else, grab a mirror and paint your face. Morandi's subjects were simple. Cups. Vases. Look out the window and paint the neighborhood. How about your foot? A little still life of the books on your nighttable. Work begats ideas.
We begin with grandiose visions and use that as the excuse to freeze. I can't do "X" so I won't even start.
Last week I saw The Mystery of Picasso on dvd. It's the second time I've seen it and recommend it to everyone. It's not only about painting. It is a huge metaphor about life. I watched in amazement the ideas that flowed like water from his head to hand to canvas. The demon "I can't do that" floated through my mind. But he could because he worked.
Going through leatherboy's portfolio last Friday and seeing his boundless imagination left me in awe. Feeling the freeness that came with not allowing fear to hinder was a bottle I wanted to suck on.
It comes with working.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
Yesterday I saw art. Hmmm, I think I need to rephrase that. Yesterday I saw ART. Before I continue, I warn you it's going to be a tease. I don't have any images to show you and I am not going to describe the work. Although I've shared descriptions with individuals, it's too sacred to put out there publicly.
You'll just have to take my word for it. Or not.
This art was made between 1990 and 1994. The artist died in 1995. He was a leatherman. He knew he had AIDS. He knew he was dying. Included in this portfolio is the last finished work as well as his final piece, left incomplete.
I thought I was a good painter, maybe even artist. Spending an hour, with wonderboy at my side, looking through these large works on paper, left me feeling small. We were in the presence of greatness. For a few years I've sought art created by leathermen. Not the illustrative work that is not only prevalent but the dominant part of art in the sex world...but ART. Once in a while an illustration will reach out and grab me. But I tend to discard most of it because I want to see something different. Where is the uniqueness of the artist? Why are they all following the same path? They have the skills. You can see it in the draughtsmanship, and yet, it all falls into one large beige box.
An artist is one who uses his ability, his imagination and his cock to create a new world, risking everything with each step. To allow yourself the freedom to play and feel and taste and not take yourself too seriously. To put yourself out there in such a way that is genuine. Being honest without pretending to fit it. No one fits. Not really. No one.
Yet we all expend so much energy fearing isolation and loneliness that we shove ourselves into boxes that aren't meant for human habitation. Now a technician may or may not reside in such a structure. An artist won't put up with it.
This man...this boy, along with one other Seattle painter, are the closest personal examples I have of visual Artist. I mourn the relationship that he and I never had.
After seeing the work, wonderboy held me and I cried. The art evoked a multitude of emotions and touched dark corners of my soul. I'm not the only one. A few others who have seen the work said the same thing. It is an experience like no other.
One day, hopefully, the work will go public and be shown. In the meantime, it gave me so much to think about. I am not in the place where I will take risks with my painting. That's what holds me back. I have the skills, a sensitivity to color and architecture. And one other thing. Fear.
I wondered what my painting would look like if I were diagnosed with death. I wondered how my life would change if I was handed a piece of paper that proved my life was finite and shorter than my delusion. That's right. Delusion. The fact is we are all dying and we may not even be around for our next breath. The point of our lives is to live the most and biggest life we can live in the continual presence and knowledge of death.
I was smacked in the face with the realization that I am wasting my life.
And yesterday, by seeing Art, I learned the definition of Artist.
You'll just have to take my word for it. Or not.
This art was made between 1990 and 1994. The artist died in 1995. He was a leatherman. He knew he had AIDS. He knew he was dying. Included in this portfolio is the last finished work as well as his final piece, left incomplete.
I thought I was a good painter, maybe even artist. Spending an hour, with wonderboy at my side, looking through these large works on paper, left me feeling small. We were in the presence of greatness. For a few years I've sought art created by leathermen. Not the illustrative work that is not only prevalent but the dominant part of art in the sex world...but ART. Once in a while an illustration will reach out and grab me. But I tend to discard most of it because I want to see something different. Where is the uniqueness of the artist? Why are they all following the same path? They have the skills. You can see it in the draughtsmanship, and yet, it all falls into one large beige box.
An artist is one who uses his ability, his imagination and his cock to create a new world, risking everything with each step. To allow yourself the freedom to play and feel and taste and not take yourself too seriously. To put yourself out there in such a way that is genuine. Being honest without pretending to fit it. No one fits. Not really. No one.
Yet we all expend so much energy fearing isolation and loneliness that we shove ourselves into boxes that aren't meant for human habitation. Now a technician may or may not reside in such a structure. An artist won't put up with it.
This man...this boy, along with one other Seattle painter, are the closest personal examples I have of visual Artist. I mourn the relationship that he and I never had.
After seeing the work, wonderboy held me and I cried. The art evoked a multitude of emotions and touched dark corners of my soul. I'm not the only one. A few others who have seen the work said the same thing. It is an experience like no other.
One day, hopefully, the work will go public and be shown. In the meantime, it gave me so much to think about. I am not in the place where I will take risks with my painting. That's what holds me back. I have the skills, a sensitivity to color and architecture. And one other thing. Fear.
I wondered what my painting would look like if I were diagnosed with death. I wondered how my life would change if I was handed a piece of paper that proved my life was finite and shorter than my delusion. That's right. Delusion. The fact is we are all dying and we may not even be around for our next breath. The point of our lives is to live the most and biggest life we can live in the continual presence and knowledge of death.
I was smacked in the face with the realization that I am wasting my life.
And yesterday, by seeing Art, I learned the definition of Artist.
Friday, September 17, 2004
Mark Morford takes a different trip this morning. It's not about war or Bush or homophobia or hate or bloodshed or our endangered enviroment or extremists or stupidity or massive debt. Today he writes about something lighter. It's a nice break from the gloom.
Morford begins:
"And then, as he was happily consuming his baby greens 'n' goat cheese salad, one of the youngish men at the dinner party I just attended just so happened to mention the unbridled glory that is the salad spinner, and the night was never the same again."
Now if you've been reading Morford regularly, you'll see that his columns always carry something for the mind and soul. So although lighter in appearance, you'll find fodder.
Read What Whips Your Spinach?
Morford begins:
"And then, as he was happily consuming his baby greens 'n' goat cheese salad, one of the youngish men at the dinner party I just attended just so happened to mention the unbridled glory that is the salad spinner, and the night was never the same again."
Now if you've been reading Morford regularly, you'll see that his columns always carry something for the mind and soul. So although lighter in appearance, you'll find fodder.
Read What Whips Your Spinach?
Thursday, September 16, 2004
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