poem #2

Nostalgia does not enter here

 

they throw rocks at the plate glass windows

which shatter, a sibilant rain of golden shards

and birds, roosting in the shadows, take to their wings

dark feathery darts shooting into a golden dusk

of striated crimson clouds brushed against the amber sunset

 

the doors are posted, Do Not Enter. A chain puddled

amidst scattered beer cans and an old tattered mattress

silent sentries of abandonment behind a chain linked fence

the links cut and bent away for a forced entry

up the steps, three at a time, into the dark maw

the black windows staring sightless into the night

 

footsteps echo with their laughter, borne to the dark corners

and white beams bleach away the night inside

where chalkboards hang haphazardly, pried from the wall

and spiders have taken lofty seats for a hushed education

of the written rattle and shhhh of spray cans

 

they have sex here, as she sometimes balk at such a notion

of another used mattress, her bare thighs against the abrasive fabric

those dreams of the romantic, just that. And their sighs and shudders

 are finished in the midst of cheap wine and cigarettes

 

and good night is under the white halogen street light

outside her father’s house, sitting in the car, the engine running

the radio doing all their talking, as she plays her fingers down his arm

searching in his eyes for her meaning, for her truth, hoping

for a blank white stare of internal denial

instead of that hapless hopeless patented smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

J is for

J is for….

I’ve had many a friend in my life, many a confidante, but when it comes to me and who I am, the name Jennifer seems to stand out.  I don’t know why that is except to say that there seems to have always been a Jennifer at one point or another in my life.
There’s Jennifer W, she’s by far the most important Jennifer to me that’s not related.  She’s been ever present, albeit living down in Austin for the better part of our friendship, still she’s the one who was probably present for the better part of my life.   She is my confidante.  She knows everything about everything.  If it’s happened to me in the last…ugh…I don’t want to say how many years, but if it’s happened she knows about it.  She has an archive, literally, of everything I’ve ever written.  When I first met her, she was this beautiful, romantic, charming, witty, sweet, caring, giving soul who was ever ready to listen and to advise and through all our years as friends, she has remained this same person.  She has never changed, she has never judged, she has never faltered in her support of me no matter who I was or who I am.   I was terrified, terrified beyond description, to tell her that I was gay, but when I told her, she proved to be that stalwart friend that I knew her to be.
We have a tradition.  Anytime that she comes up to visit, we always go to Macaroni Grill for dinner and watch a movie.   We catch up on old times, she tells me about her latest beau, 9 times out of 10 he’s a singer/musician type fellow, although there has been the occasional wealthy individual and I inform her of my life, the comings and goings, the drama and etc etc etc but this last time, after my revelation, it was my most favorite visit I think that I can recall.   My heart was light at being able to point out the guys that I thought were attractive, i.e. the Banana Republic boy who she deemed ever so worthy of my complete adulation to a few other guys as well.  I was able to tell her about things that I’ve not told another soul that has happened within the last 6 months, stuff you want to yell from the rooftops but don’t for decorum’s sake.  But I told her.  We ate our Macaroni Grill and then watched Brokeback Mountain and I was completely and totally me and it was as I said, the most wonderful of experiences.  To have someone to confide in, to tell anything and everything to without fear that it would cross her lips to someone else is by far a greater gift than any I can ever imagine.  I love her dearly and completely.  She is Grace to my Will, if I were to ever have one.
Jennifer G, who if you’ve ever met her goes by another name that I’ve used on several occasions, the Talker.   Not that if I tell her something she talks it all over the world, but rather she enjoys talking.  A great deal I might add.   When I first met her, she talked incredibly too much and I daresay, I never imagined in a million years that we would be such close friends.   She is, for lack of a better word, my self proclaimed “fag hag.”   She and I, can also tell each other everything, she has been there in situations where I couldn’t imagine having to tell someone something and being able to tell her, for comfort, for peace of mind, for support.  She gets these feelings….you know what I mean, and she will call becuase she thinks something is wrong.  Chances are, something usually is and I’m forced to “spill it”   She is often times my voice of reason and her support for me is great and without fail.
It would be remiss of me not to mention Jenni too, although, what relationship we may have is to say the least tenuous.  But Jenni, like Wade, was something of a catalyst when it comes to me becoming who I am.  Not that she opened my eyes to some sort of epiphany, but rather through her I met Wade and an amalgam of others who, like myself, were gay.   She and I were good friends at the outset, but also she was somewhat enamoured with me as well.   At the time I was still in love with Melissa and Jenni’s feelings for me were, to say the least, more of a stumbling block to a strong friendship than a foundation.   There was also a strong vortex of friendships and alliances that lent itself to the creation of barriers and trust issues for everyone involved, myself included.  While at times we may have had a bond that was strong, as of late, that bond is negligible, through both our actions.   Our relationship has been extremely volatile for various reasons and at the moment it hardly resembles anything close to a friendship. 
Anyway, that’s J…..jennifer…

I is for (yeah, so I cheated, but it fits me to a “T”

 

 is for

Portrait of an INFP –

Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving
(Introverted Feeling with Extraverted Intuition)  

---

The Idealist

 

As an INFP, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit into your personal value system. Your secondary mode is external, where you take things in primarily via your intuition.INFPs, more than other iNtuitive Feeling types, are focused on making the world a better place for people. Their primary goal is to find out their meaning in life. What is their purpose? How can they best serve humanity in their lives? They are idealists and perfectionists, who drive themselves hard in their quest for achieving the goals they have identified for themselvesINFPs are highly intuitive about people. They rely heavily on their intuitions to guide them, and use their discoveries to constantly search for value in life. They are on a continuous mission to find the truth and meaning underlying things. Every encounter and every piece of knowledge gained gets sifted through the INFP’s value system, and is evaluated to see if it has any potential to help the INFP define or refine their own path in life. The goal at the end of the path is always the same – the INFP is driven to help people and make the world a better place.

Generally thoughtful and considerate, INFPs are good listeners and put people at ease. Although they may be reserved in expressing emotion, they have a very deep well of caring and are genuinely interested in understanding people. This sincerity is sensed by others, making the INFP a valued friend and confidante. An INFP can be quite warm with people he or she knows well.

INFPs do not like conflict, and go to great lengths to avoid it. If they must face it, they will always approach it from the perspective of their feelings. In conflict situations, INFPs place little importance on who is right and who is wrong. They focus on the way that the conflict makes them feel, and indeed don’t really care whether or not they’re right. They don’t want to feel badly. This trait sometimes makes them appear irrational and illogical in conflict situations. On the other hand, INFPs make very good mediators, and are typically good at solving other people’s conflicts, because they intuitively understand people’s perspectives and feelings, and genuinely want to help them.

INFPs are flexible and laid-back, until one of their values is violated. In the face of their value system being threatened, INFPs can become aggressive defenders, fighting passionately for their cause. When an INFP has adopted a project or job which they’re interested in, it usually becomes a “cause” for them. Although they are not detail-oriented individuals, they will cover every possible detail with determination and vigor when working for their “cause”.

When it comes to the mundane details of life maintenance, INFPs are typically completely unaware of such things. They might go for long periods without noticing a stain on the carpet, but carefully and meticulously brush a speck of dust off of their project booklet.

INFPs do not like to deal with hard facts and logic. Their focus on their feelings and the Human Condition makes it difficult for them to deal with impersonal judgment. They don’t understand or believe in the validity of impersonal judgment, which makes them naturally rather ineffective at using it. Most INFPs will avoid impersonal analysis, although some have developed this ability and are able to be quite logical. Under stress, it’s not uncommon for INFPs to mis-use hard logic in the heat of anger, throwing out fact after (often inaccurate) fact in an emotional outburst.

INFPs have very high standards and are perfectionists. Consequently, they are usually hard on themselves, and don’t give themselves enough credit. INFPs may have problems working on a project in a group, because their standards are likely to be higher than other members’ of the group. In group situations, they may have a “control” problem. The INFP needs to work on balancing their high ideals with the requirements of every day living. Without resolving this conflict, they will never be happy with themselves, and they may become confused and paralyzed about what to do with their lives.

INFPs are usually talented writers. They may be awkard and uncomfortable with expressing themselves verbally, but have a wonderful ability to define and express what they’re feeling on paper. INFPs also appear frequently in social service professions, such as counselling or teaching. They are at their best in situations where they’re working towards the public good, and in which they don’t need to use hard logic.

INFPs who function in their well-developed sides can accomplish great and wonderful things, which they will rarely give themselves credit for. Some of the great, humanistic catalysts in the world have been INFPs.

Jungian functional preference ordering:

Dominant: Introverted Feeling
Auxiliary: Extraverted Intuition
Tertiary: Introverted Sensing
Inferior: Extraverted Thinking
If you want to take a personality test to see what you are psychologically you can go here:  https://www.personalitypage.com/indicate.html

 

 

I love the theatre….I’ve been enamoured with it for the last oh let’s say 5 years, ever since they had their first broadway series and I bought season tickets. Well tickets for Hairspreay went on sale today and I’m going to go with Ms Baker. It’s going to be marvelous. I’ve never actually seen it before, which seems to surprise everyone. How many times do I have to tell them, I’m a late bloomer. I’ve only been gay for a couple of years now… Hmmm, funnily enough it was right about the time I started going to the theatre in the first place. Maybe it’s the air in the hall. That’s the hall over to the left. It’s called Basshall, built by the uber rich Bass family. They built another one quite some years back down in Austin, but this one is newer and shinier. It’s my favorite theatre to attend. It’s absolutely gorgeous inside and no seat is a bad seat well except way at the top and to the right of the stage, you can’t see the whole stage, or maybe I’m just a bit biased about that one visit because I pulled a muscle that day and pretty much aggravated it trying to see the stage…I forget what it was we were watching, I ahd gone with my friend Carolyn, her company had gotten tickets and she invited me. next day, I’m in excruciating pain and have to go to the emergency room. My first time ever in the emergency room, except for the time my brother threw a coffee can at me because I found a marble that he wanted and I wouldn’t give it to him, Two stitches, thank you very much….but I got side tracked. The acoustics are tremendous. Truly, its a beautiful theatre. needless to say I am looking forward to Hairspray.

Anyway…onto other happenings. Went out to S4 Thursday night with Jennifer G. It was fun. Saw Chris out there and we hung out for a bit. A couple of his friends danced in the dance off . It was really slim pickings, but that seems to be the case these days. I was even given a number, not that I intend to call it, he wasn’t exactly my type in the least bit. And maybe it was a bit odd that he was calling me a prophet and all this other gobbledy gook that just made me think, uhm, no thanks. Or maybe it was the proposition that he put somewhat less tactfully. I told him I was a good southern baptist,…maybe that’s where the prophet stuff came in to play. I don’t know.
You know, I spent the majority of yesterday, copying and pasting all my old journals into a word document from like 5 different blogging sites….diaryland, journalspace, livejournal, myspace and xanga…..after all was said and done, except that I haven’t done myspace or xanga yet, but after all was said and done yesterday, I had over 600,000 words and almost 600 pages of text. Who would have thought the last 5 years I would have had so much to say. But let me tell you, memory lane, while sometimes such a delightful trip, proves to be rather bumpy and chaotic too. The ups and downs, the friendships, the loves, not to mention the mere day to day events and stuff….it was kinda weird, like I was reliving it all again just in a fast forward type of motion. I have a picture up of the first casualty of the War on Terror….sadly I don’t know anyone who would remember his name….I have an entry about 9/11….the space shuttle disaster….my trip to london…..
I still have to edit it though….because some of them I wrote simultaneously….like the one titled Catharsis, I was writing at the same time I had a secret one about being in love with Derek,….which was before I started writing the one called Empty Closet…..but just by the mere titles you can see my transition from quiet unassuming straight guy to the bright and cheerful, proud albeit still a bit introverted gay man….hehe….it’s all there….a nice little chronology with all the drama that goes with it. LOL….James Frey ain’t got nothing on me….Dear Oprah, I have a memoir for you and it’s not embellished or altered to protect the innocent….lol….except for the “it’s all in the numbers entry” about the birthday escapade that we all took part in one year for Wade’s birthday….oh that was hilarious….I laughed so hard when I reread that, because the night was such a disaster….
I’m so ready for a vacation. Reading about my last one makes me want to go again, even if its the same place and doing the same things. It was fun, except for the Starbuck hot chocolate incident. Nothing like walking the streets of London with hot chocolate spilled all down your front and having to walk back to the hotel and change. But still, all in all, a quite delightful time. It was London afterall.
Work has been rather blah lately. Aside from the fact that my boss has been on vacation this week, which is always nice, still we’ve had people call in and no show and everything that makes being in charge suck. But our calendar kiosks both go down next week so that will be teh end of that, thank goodness. And my schedule next week is actually good. I actually have a Saturday off. I think this will be the first Saturday that I’ve had off since I came back to this store, which was last January. So I should celebrate that in style. What to do? I dunno yet, but I’ve a week to think about it. Yay.
Okay, I think that should be it, I have to get ready for work, since I’m not off this Saturday. sigh.

H is for

Happiness

It’s funny, as little kids we imagine what our life is going to be, what we are going to do with our lives, who we are going to be.   We carry these ideal notions of what success and happiness and everything else.  We think we know who we are and what we are going to be.   I remember when I was little I was going to be the President of the Unted States.  I was going to be a lawyer.  I was going to be a fireman.  I was going to be…..  I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.  But truth be told I don’t know anyone who is what they were going to be.   Looking back, you can’t help but wonder what that bright eyed hopeful child would think of his life now and would he have thought that the life I now have would be a life that would be something that he would consider happy.   I have to say I never imagined then, hell I never imagine 5 years ago, that my life would be what it is today.  5 years ago, I was in the closet.  I was pretty much in love with a woman who was unhappily married to a man who she is still with.  5  years before that, I had no notion whatsoever that I was gay.   It seems hard to believe that part. As much as I loved her then, 5 years before, I loved her even more.   I thought she was the one.  I had notions that we would be together for the rest of our lives, living an ideally romantic life together.

And in every one of these time frames, be it the present or 5 yars ago or 5 before that, the one thing that I know, or at least think I know, is that I was happy.   Content with the state of my heart.   Granted there was a greal deal of crap mixed in, but that is often the case.   A life that is just happy go lucky without the pitfalls and the drama and the ups and downs of relationships would seem somewhat lackluster.  Not that being blissfully happy would be a bad thing, hell I’d jump on that in a heartbeat, but I don’t know anyone who is blissfully happy.   I know absolutely positively 100 percent of everyone I know, none of them are blissfully happy.   I don’t think it’s a natural human condition.  I think it’s a continuous ongoing contiguous morphing state of being and mind.   Because you can be happy with certain areas of your life and find yourself somewhat dejected about another area.  

 This is the human condition.     We want.  We want more.  We want better.   We want happier.  We want.  And the thing of it is, is that who wants to get to a point where we have all that we’ve ever wanted.   How do you live after that.  What does life become afterwards.  What do you strive for after that.  The notion of sitting back on your laurels loses something.   It’s funny how everybody wants to be the greatest, so what do you do after you’re the greatest?   Is it about being happy?   The human condition of wanting more seems almost inate.  Insatiable.   Nobody ever dreams about being the city councilman, no it’s the president.   Nobody ever dreams about being a bench warmer, no it’s Michael Jordan.  Nobody ever dreams about having just enough money to get by on, no it’s RICH.   Nobody ever wants Ms/Mr mediocrity…no we want beauty, wit, charm etc.   We want.   And who among you doesn’t say, “Sure, I’d be happy with this or that, but on the inside, you’re still thinking about that Nike shoe contract while you’re tooling around in the Hummer with Miss USA….we want.   It’s unconscious…lol….it’s the American Way.  If you don’t want, people think you’re either lying or there’s something terribly wrong with you.   And yes, this is all oversimplification, because while we may all want all those things or what those things represent…to each and everyone of us, those things are different.   Beauty is in the eye….how rich is rich….how successful is success….

SO does achieving what we want make us happy?  And if we always want more, will we ever be happy?

So where does Happiness come in.   Because trying to keep up with the jones’ isn’t happiness.   It’s want.  I think the only thing that we can truly be happy with is our state of being.   Everything else is irrelevant.   It’s intangible, here one minute, gone the next.   But the self, you are with you, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year of every decade of your life.   That is a lot of one on one time, don’t you think.   And just imagine, if you’re not happy with yourself.   Everything else is pretty much meaningless.   What drudgery it must be to look in the mirror everyday.

I respect myself.  I love me.  I love who I am, what I know, what I think, how I feel, how I’m perceived by most people.   I don’t think I wish to be anybody else.  Because even though I don’t have all the stuff, I want it of course, but this is different.   I don’t want to be anyone different.   I’m happy with who I am.   Oh there are things I would change, and have changed in the last couple of years.   For the better I’d like to think.   I’m a work in progress and I have to say, it’s been a great progress, slow and tedious at times, sometimes a bit painful and difficult, but it is work after all, there’s a reason for that name.  But Happy, yes.   Perfectly, no.   But happy, thank God, yes.

Wow, this entry is peculiar.

So This Is Death

   

Prologue:

So this is death.

   “I’m Dex Callahan.” I continued to reassure myself of this fact as the world shimmered like heat waves around me.  My ears filled with a nagging ring and my left arm hung useless at my side.  Somewhere behind me, lodged in my brand new mahogany desk, was a .44 calibre slug that had unfortunately passed through me. My gun, a beautiful Smith & Wesson lay some feet away, glistening in the morning light. Behind it, my assailant was crumpled against the far wall, a swath of blood following him to the floor.  He was an ugly man and death treated him unkindly in making his unremarkable ugliness, remarkable.  His eyes, lacking the vitality of life, questioned the veracity of his own death. “Yeah buddy, looks like someone gotcha.”  It hurt to talk, my throat parched, my voice whispery.  “Looks like … I’m the better aim.”  The idea of a cold Dr Pepper, a cold anything for that matter, seemed more important than the pain in my shoulder, or the smell of gasoline permeating my office.  The ringing in my ears, loud guns, you gotta love them, turned to sirens.   A sudden knocking on the door, voices strange yet familiar through the smoky frosted glass, filled with an urgency of life and death.  Mine.  I tried to call out but whatever voice I had only whispered in return.  The door banged open and shuddered against the wall, the frosty glass shattering and raining to the floor.  A brand new pane glass window too with my name emblazoned across the top.   Good thing I was dying, or I’d have to charge someone for that.    I watched as the paramedic checked for signs of life.  Cold hands against my neck and on my wrist, the bright light into the eyes, the scent of Old Spice or something like it lingering after he checked for breath sounds.   It was his professional opinion that I was still alive, if just barely.   I tried to smile at that thought.    

Poetry: On The Edge

On The Edge

 

 

The kettle whistled every morning

right before the rooster’s crow

and fresh bottled milk perched itself upon the third step

of the front porch, cream rising to the top

and my mother wrestled with the bread dough

beating it down, kneading it not so gently

 

And quickly the sun would crack

the horizon where it had rested

somewhere beyond the fields

far beyond the growing green hay

where I nestled with the dogs

and avoided chores and adulthood

 

Father had answered the call

the posters in red white and blue

pointing at him,  “wanting you” and beckoning

and the radio crackled every night

its news, my mother’s only conversation, consolation

she sat upright, her self perched

 

Edward R Murrow gave hour-by-hour reports

London under the Blitz and This is London

and Trafalgar Square lit with search lights

and raid sirens accompanied him

but on Saturdays it was the Grand Ole Opry

and she would let me sit with her and she would

sing, her arms over my chest as I sat

on the floor in front of her chair, she perched forward

on the edge of her seat, leaning towards the radio

 

when the army came to visit Ms Rita

this man in green, medals gleaming

Miss Rita, next door, turned off her radio

and sent Johnny to fetch my mother

and after, Johnny and I played army in the field

Marching all day, then Johnny went marching home again

 

And from the dark hallway, the amber doorframe

cold against my cheek

I watched that night, my mother cry with coffee

And she gripped a pillow, kneading it not so gently

listening, rocking back and forth

her cheeks gleaming in the night glow of the radio

Intermission: My day in big D….

So I spent the day in big D, Dallas.  A rather long day as it was pointed out to me by someone who may not be as brilliant at air hockey as he would like to think, but then again, that could have been a fluke.   I’m certain a rematch is in order, but until then I am the champion and he, well he did come in second place, which does say something….okay, yes, yes, it was just the two of us playing, but what kind of sport would I be if I were to call him the loser.   SUch horrible connotations that word….but I’m getting ahead of myself.  
I hopped the train in the wee hours of the morning, because well if you don’t hop it in the wee hours of the morning, well then the day is half done by the time you get there. ….Okay that is an exageration, but still you know what I’m saying.    But I must have been looking a bit rough, sadly, because this huge man comes up to me and tells me I look exactly “exactly” was his word like Graham Norton.   Now of course I didn’t know who graham norton was so he proceeded to tell me that he’s this talk show host personality type from England who has a show of the Logo network.   I do that laugh, you know the one, that “oh that’s nice” laugh that kinda said “go away” too, but I’m too amiable to say such things, but had I known what he looked like, I would have laughed twice as hard and probably muttered under my breath “Go Away.”  Needless to say this morning I had to go and look to see just what the hell he was talking about.   It saddens me just a little….

SO the train ride itself was uneventful, and when I say uneventful, it more means that there was no one worth looking at on the train.   Seriously.   Okay, yes, that’s a bit superficial, but it’s like an hour of sitting and my mp3 player’s battery decided to be drained of energy half way through Clay Aiken’s Solitaire.   Needless to say, the day was not looking up at this point.

Arriving at the train station I headed straight for bus route 008 which head straight to the gayborhood.   Those of you who are not in the know, should know that the gayborhood is the area around Oaklawn and Cedar Springs, there’s clubs, shopping, places to eat….la la la…and all that stuff which tends to draw people of the rainbow persuasion.  Clearly.
So I get off the bus a few blocks early and light up a cigarette and walk a bit, it was still rather nice out at this point and who couldn’t do with a little walking.

The first thing I do is go into Crossroads.  It’s a bookstore/coffee spot right on the corner and I see they have teh new xyfoto edition which I decide to pick up.   And I pick up a copy of a book called Clay’s Way.  It’s really good so far.  I’ve looked at it before and thought about getting it, but have never gotten around to it.   It was a choice between that one and another called Half Life.  I’m really glad I chose this one.  It’s good.   After that, I swallowed my pride, so to speak, and moseyed on over to Skivvies.   Now, me personally, I’m not accustomed to shopping in a store that sells primarily underwear.   One might go so far as to say I’m a bit….no not stuffy…I was going to say conservative, thank you very much.   But there’s something about cute underwear, and maybe it’s just me thinking that there’s something about cute underwear on a cute boy, that inspired me, but as i was in the neighborhood and Skivvies was right there and well, I bit the proverbial bullet and walked right in.   As I said, I don’t usually buy underwear by the piece, but rather tend to buy them in the mundane packs of three.  Granted they’re not your average fruit of the loom, which you know really seems like it should be gay underwear.   Anyway…So I decided on this really cute red pair, a really cute black and white pair and an extremely revealing blue pair.  The cashier person was readily at hand to let me ask his opinion on how they looked on but that conservative side in me blushed the same color as the cute little red pair.    Conservativeness and blushing makes a person hungry so I decided lunch is in order and stop over at Cafe Brazil.  I had asked informed a certain someone the night before that he should meet me for lunch, but apparently he was planning on being asleep at that time, so I was doing lunch by myself.   Which in and of itself, is not a bad, I can do alone really well, with no problem whatsoever, cuz surprisingly, sometimes people can be real charming sometimes, and I can only take so much charm.  Notice how wonderfully tactful that was?  Anyway, I had my usual, Dr Pepper and Chicken Nachos.  They were, of course, delicious in the cheesy, crunchy nacho chip way.  I’ve had to marshal my inner strength not to eat the whole order because then I’m like unpleasantly full the rest of the day.  It’s a really difficult chore most times because they are so good.   I was strong enough fortunately and my mindful side won out.   Afterwards, it was back to Union station and take the dart train to Mockinbird station.   Zach called on his way to lunch at Chili’s and of course I’m thinking, oh, you can have lunch with someone else…. but needless to say that would have been churlish….but still the thought did cross my mind.  Truth be told.  Anyway he wanted to go out to S4 so I was game to go with him.   I know, I know, constant reader, big surprise.   What?  I’m sorry, he’s just cute and there’s just something about a sarcastic dry witty bitch (not the bad kind) that just turns me on.  He’s very appealing and unfortunately he seems to be immune to my own charm and wit, but still, I enjoy spending time with him.   LOL…..We’ll just have to be friends, till I wear down that stubborn resistence to what a great catch I am!      Anyway, back to the Dart train, flashforward to Mockingbird station.   I had time to kill since Zach didn’t get off work till 6:45 ish and it was only like 2:00 when he called.   So….A movie was definitely in order.

The Angelika shows a lot of Indie films and so forth, none of the pop culture stuff that you see in the average multiplex theatre.   I decided on watching Munich.   174 minutes of spielbergian entertainment.   It was a very intense movie.   and thought provoking.   Not the most uplifting of movie experiences.   But it was truly a good film.  Afterwards, I still had time to kill.   Starbuck’s alway good for the killing of time.   ANd to accompany said killing was a venti strawberry and creme.   I wandered around aimlessly in Urban Outfitters, VIrgin Records American Apparel, smoked several cigarettes, read some more of my book, bought batteries for my mp3 player.   Wasting time is hard work.  You wouldn’t think so but it is.   Then I hopped back on the dart and whooshed on over to Northpark mall.  Tried to find something semi decent to wear out at the club, but alas, no such luck.  

Zach made his appearance around 7:40 ish and it was back to Oaklawn.   We ambled about aimlessly, wetn back to Skivvies, went back to Cafe Brazil and sat and ate chips and salsa and drank dr pepper til it was club time.   The only drawback is that we got there when the doors practically opened.   You know what that means.    Yes, the killing of more time.   It wasn’t exactly hopping, to say the least.   But Zach and I had some really good conversations….you wouldn’t think about conversations concerning christianity and who can and can’t get into heaven would be one of those topics but it was.   Then of course there was the aforementioned apocalypic air hockey game in which the winner (me) whooped up big time on the runner up (zach).   7-3.   I hate to say it, but I did a little victory jig, which of course I was told I should never do again, until he asked me to do it again, which I couldn’t of course, because he told me never to do it again.   But hey, let’s hear it for air hockey!

The drag show was very lackluster.   No no, very lackluster.   If it wasn’t for the company I was with, it would have gone fown in the annals as a blah and boring evening at S4.  After the Ipod shuffle, previously known as teh Best Chest contest…..which come on, was misnamed from virtually the very beginning….we decided to take our leave and once again I found myself sitting across the table from zach at Cafe Brazil.   We shared a chicken nachos, although I fear my uhm…. inner strength wasn’t as strong as earlier.  I told you killing time was hard work….while we didn’t finish off the order, still it was abit ravaged, and I’m certain I did most of the ravaging….it was cheesy crunchy goodness, what can I tell you.

Anyway, afterwards, he drove me home and I talked to him on the phone all the way back to his home, so he wouldn’t take any wrong turns.   He has this tendency to get lost on occasion.  See how I said, on occasion, and not alllllll the time.   That would have been just rude.   Then the day in dallas came to an abrupt and sleepy end.   I plopped myself into bed and was in lala land at 3:00 am.   Long good fun day….

Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it….I’m sure I left things out….but you’re probably better off not knowing those parts….NO, nothing like that…..

 

G is for

Grin and bare it, or is it bear it….more than likely it’s the latter and not the former, I’m not much for baring it all, except in this particular case, so I’ll let you decide, if there is a you out there reading.   If there’s writing and nobody reading, is there something really being said?  Yes I know who needs to read a if a tree falls in the forest and nobody sees it, does it make a sound analogy, but I seem to be running with the notion, don’t I.   See I’m even writing as if I know I have an audience., if that’s what one might call it.

Anyway, I was thinking about this yesterday, the end of 2005…the year as a whole pretty much was a bit on the lackluster, downright dingy if you must know…Oh I will grant you there were highlights….one particular one comes to mind that I’d love to expound on, but in the event that I do ever have an audience familiar to me, well, such expounding wouldn’t be time well spent, so I shall relish it in my own mind.   But yes, highlights indeed.  But overall, 2005 was mired down with the mundane and the ordinary, the monotony of everyday existence….and I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad if, the monotony and the ordinary weren’t drama filled escapades …which seems to be antithetical to what I’m saying, but I’m going somewhere with this, believe me…

See, you get to the point, eventually, where you don’t care anymore.   I mean sure, there is that innate caring that you have, that we all have, at least I hope we all do, that basic concern for others and then there’s that other more invested caring that we develop with intimacy and friendship.  That care, the one we hold so closely and so deeply, that we nourished and grow, if left to it’s own devices should either continue to flourish or wilt and die away.   It’s the way of things.  And while we never expect, or I should say I never expect it, when it does wither and die, I never expected to be without remorse.   Or maybe I’m just kidding myself and somewhere deeper on a subconscious level there is a touch of it.  I know there is regret.  

And you’re probably wondering what the hell I’m talking about, where I’m going with this particular entry and I have to say I’ve got the least bit of control at this writing. 

this was suppose to be grin and bear it….we’ve been through that….and I sneak down this little passage way about the end of a friendship…and it is the end, because I could care less if it’s ever revived…grin and bare it….

2005 was a year of grin and bear it.  I’m a happy go lucky person for the most part so the grin seems rather fixed, but like most grins, it was at times a mere facade.  I’m too peaceable, too let the go, too amiable, too  I don’t care.   And I guess, when I don’t care, then it’s fine, but when I do…. when I do and I have this fixed grin on my face, I guess nobody really knows what’s going on inside.  Not that most people really care what’s going on inside.   That’s a reality.   It’s a sad reality, but a reality all the same.   No matter how much concern people express, we’re all egocentrists.   We have to be, it’s self preservation.   It’s so much easier to build up those walls and then from the turrets make those sympathetic noises that everyone expects to here.   I’m as guilty of it as anyone.   Hell I spent most of my life building up those walls, I think I even dug a moat or two, aligators and crocodiles to boot.   It’s easier to keep people out, to keep from getting hurt.   I mean these are the things you hear you don’t go up to them, they come up to you, you don’t call them first, they call you, you don’t tell them you like them, they tell you.   And then when things don’t happen this is what you hear.  Well, you know all you had to do was call them.   How come you didn’t go up to them and say something.    how are they going to know if you like then if you don’t tell them?   And all you can do afterwards, because it does no good to tell them what they said eariler, all you can do is grin and bear it.

It’s 2006.   New year, new you.  I don’t know if it really works that way, day 3 of the new year and while I’ve got the whole mental process going up inside about so many different things, I don’t feel all that new.   I feel pretty much the same, I just have a little bit more determination, a little bit more resolve, a little bit more desire to have a life that I want to be living.  It’s easy to set forth all these new years resolutions and goals, but if you don’t have that big picture mentality, what are the goals a resolutions for, because this year is leading to next year and the next.  SO it shouldn’t be like, in 2006 I want to do this, but rather This is where I want to be going in my life.   Maybe I’m just looking at it this way because I’m older than pretty much everyone else around me.  Or maybe I’m a bit more content with where I am at and the short range goal notion I don’t consider worth thinking about on the whole.    I mean I do have ideas about the year, about what I want to be able to do and achieve.  But come the end of 2006 I don’t want to have to grin and bear it, shrugging my shoulders or whatever because I didn’t achieve something.   Because truth be told, last year, the big grin and bear it year, it’s over and done with.   Let bygones be bygones.   I hear an Auld Lang Syne moment coming up….or that other song….with every season turn turn turn…..I don’t know the title of the song….or who sings it…..sorry, I’m musically illiterate….I do remember they used it for a Time magazine commercial a long  time ago…..anyway.  

I don’t know if this entry had any relevancy….there were a lot of things I wanted to say that seemed to have slipped away, things that seemed antithetical to the whole letting go and forgetting…..

G is for….

GOODBYE….hmmm, how that worked out I don’t know.   But as new years aptly illustrated, Derek and I aren’t friends anymore.   I don’t think I was expecting any sort of reconciliation so a simple goodbye seems fitting.

Anybody else who feels that the person I am is in some way becoming a barrier to the relationships that we have or don’t have feel the need to slip away, this would be the time to do it.   It’s a new year after all, let old acquaintances be forgot….(there’s that auld lang syne moment)   None of us have time for all the petty crap.  New year, new goals, new things, new people….if you want out, I think the doors still open.  I’m not going to go back to the old me. 

F is for….

F is for Friends and Family.
Makes sense.One you choose to live with, the other you live with through no choice of your own.  Kinda like that big F over there…..one’s the family on the inside, one’s your friends, but they, your friends can feel more like family too.
Family….it’s funny when you think about it, it’s a group of people who through no fault of your own, you’re attached to your entire life.Most times they’re people that you don’t really have any connection to other than your genetic makeup.At least that seems to be the case with me and my family.I have three brothers, an older brother, a twin brother and a younger brother.They all have red hair, and none of them are like me in the least.My twin brother and my younger brother look the most alike, though they’re not really that similar now.Used to my little brother looked just like my twin.It was kinda freaky.My father….hmmm.I look like him, for the most part, at least I got his blue eyes and brown hair.He’s quiet, very reserved, or so that’s how he comes across.He’s very introverted.I get that from him too.The rest of my brothers take after my mother.At least physical appearance-wise.I was always odd man out where that was concerned but I’d much rather be blue eyed and dark haired,I guess.It’s funny growing up, I always thought about having my own family, I thought about what my kids were going to be like, what I was going to name them and all the rest.I had this girlfriend, if that’s what you want to call her, Her name was Ann Marie Kingston.There was this walkway bridge over the freeway where we lived and we would go there and sit and talk about what we were going to name our kids and so forth like that.Granted we were only in the 4^th grade but still, I was looking ahead, making plans.lol Of course, I should have known then that I was different from everybody else.Not that you’re supposed to be all about sex in the 4^th grade, but I remember one time, my twin and I were with her, and kissing came up and so I went in the bathroom and kissed her, and I still don’t remember what it felt like or anything even thinking about it right now.And then my brother went into the bathroom with her and I guess kissing wasn’t exactly on his mind, he wanted to see her naked.My brother is the evil twin by the way.He claims he kissed her too, though not on the lips….I’ll just leave the rest to your imagination.Needless to say she didn’t stay my girlfriend.LOL.I don’t know.I’m not like any of them, never have been.Night and day.And I get to be day.My mother always preferred my oldest and youngest brother.My twin being the evil twin that he was, was always a trouble maker, always doing things he shouldn’t have been doing.So whenever he got into trouble, I seemed to get lumped into it, merely because I was his twin.Plus being the middle child, especially a middle child where you had to share the position with another darker half, middle child syndrome all the way.
Friends on the other hand.I never really had that many friends, at least not growing up.I really didn’t try that hard to form attachments, for the reason that every year we moved to another place since my father was in the military.It wasn’t until high school, when my dad retired and joined the sheriff’s department that I seemed to have a concrete place to land.And by then I had a whole lifetime of living a completely different way that it was all new to me.Again, my brothers didn’t seem to have that problem at all.Whenever I made new friends, I had in the back of my mind the notion that they already had friends, friends that they’d had all their life, and I was like dropped in from out of the blue.It wasn’t the most wonderful of feelings, leaving me wishing that I had grown up in one place all my life and that I had that confidant and best friend that I could tell anything to, share anything with.Ican’t say that I’m completely over that whole feeling.
In the sixth grade, my twin and I became friends with another set of twins.Danny and Donny.They were more like us that I knew at the time of our first acquaintance.We moved after the 6^th grade but then we moved back to the area in the 9^th grade and our friendship started back up again.Danny was James’ best friend and Donny was mine.We were a lot alike, he and I, just as Danny and James were as well.All through high school we were friends.Donny was very unique and eccentric.He was an artist, an extremely good artist who would have probably been famous.But he committed suicide shortly after high school.He was gay and his family wasn’t exactly the uhm….what….I don’t know, they didn’t accept it.I suppose.This is all just conjecture on my part, but that was how I understood things.At the time, I was so far in the back of the closet I didn’t know it was a closet I was in.I didn’t think I was gay, though I do remember finding guys very distracting.JBut I would never have ever said anything about it.This was 20 years ago or more and he was the only gay person I knew, and he wasn’t out in high school, though he was “suspect”Still, I can’t help but wonder what made him do what he did.How alone he felt.The thing of it was, he was the life of the party.Everyone loved Donny.He was a character, extroverted and funny and charming and on the inside he was apparently so unhappy.It bothers me to think about the fact that even though I didn’t know it at the time that I was gay and that he was gay, that we were or at least would be going through the same things.I don’t know.Thinking about it.I remember this one time, Danny and my brother had gone out drinking and all this stuff and came back and James was just sloshed off his ass and he grabbed Donny and kissed him really hard….and just remembering, I remember how I was repulsed by the whole idea.Because that was “gay.”Silly to think about it now.It wasn’t a gay kiss, my brother was drunk and still he just kissed him.For the longest time I was so turned off by the whole notion of guys kissing.Really.I remember watching In and Out and when Tom Sellick and ….oh…what’s his name….when they kiss it just sent creepy shivers down my spine.That tells you the depths of my denial…..And I seem to have gotten off track with the F entry….ha
My Friends now though, enough of memory lane, except to say that Kevin, who I had a crush on, I can admit that freely now, it wasn’t the whole Derek crush that I had, because really just wanted to be friends with Kevin, but I thought he was cute.He was straight to so that made it a bit easier.
Anyway…..my friends now, are nothing like the friends I made when I was younger.The majority of them are gay or female….I’m having dinner with one of my oldest friends tonight…mmmm….Macaroni Grill and a movie.It’s a standing date she and I have.
And then there’s Melissa, who we were once madly in love with each other….thats like how deep the denial was really buried, and the thing of it was I really truly did love her
….my friend Carolyn who used to be in love with me.
My other friend Jennifer, who when I first met referred to her as the talker, she likes to talk, that Jennifer….and then there’s Jenni who I think had I not met her, I would not have remet Wade who practically pried me out of the closet.
And Derek, who I fell madly, obsessively, completely head over heels in love with.Just goes to show what love is worth sometimes.Apparently I didn’t make the cut as a friend of his, when funnily enough, when it came to friendship,I thought I did a great deal in that area.But then I remember this scene from ….oh what is it….Everwood….where Ephram is talking to Amy and he’s just come back from his trip to Europe and he wants to go back to being friends with Amy and she says, we can’t go back and he asks her why and she says we were never friends and I think about that and I think how true that was.I wanted so much to be friends with Derek, but at the same time I was in love with him.I don’t know which it was more.Still.I would have done anything for him and thought that I had been a good friend to him.But all of that is clouded by the extra emotional feeling that I felt for him as well.So I don’t know if we were friends.So maybe I didn’t need to make the cut.It’s hard to say.
Wade and I are friends, sometimes against a lot of peoples better judgment.But I think because of Wade, I am who I am, I’ve come so far into who I am.I think everyone who knows Wade is so ready to jump to his flaws and show them to the world.I’m probably as guilty of that as anyone….well not anyone, but anyone who truly knows Wade also knows what a good person he can be, how selfless he can be, how generous he can be.We’ve had our issues with one another, we’ve had our run ins and lol….we’ve even messed around on occasion.It’s funny we are always telling each other we don’t like each other.And a lot of times that’s true.We don’t trust each other, but the thing about friendship is, that no matter what, we’re still friends.No matter how difficult it is and it can be difficult….still we are friends.There’s a thing about friendships, you take the good with the bad, because you pretty much know them both by the time you become friends.
Then there’s Zach.I’d like to call him my friend, but the thing of it is, is that I like Zach.I don’t think Zach likes me.At least that’s how he acts.So am I just going around in circles again a la Derek?Is the friendship just based on the other feelings that I have for him?Fortunately, I’ve been through the whole Derek thing, so I can take it wit ha grain of salt, knowing full well that the outcome could be something along the likes of me not “making the cut.”Hell he’s already taken me off his myspace friends list.So yeah, a grain of salt.