Latter Sunday

It is beautiful
And Funny
And Good.

(Latter Days Reference)

Postive Thinking

Scratchy throat all week long. Sneezing. Lots of water. Active ingredient Diphenhydramine Hydrochloride 25mg (Benadryl). Dry, dry skin & facial moisturizing. A messy bedroom that is reflective of an unkempt state of mind lately.

That all clears from my head when friends drop bombs on a quiet Saturday morning. It makes the long events of last night fade away now.

And I'm left with music to communicate emotion.
And I want to listen.
And I want to
And I want to
And I want to

Fuck It All

My mom sent me this image. Yea, it speaks to the relationship we have; to the humor that we share; to the love that we wear through thick and thin.
I sense so much pain around me lately. Friends. I've been so numb on meds that in a way I've felt almost bothered. How can I empathize when my own body is being blocked from feelings that ebb and flow in a way that is natural for me? I can't. Instead, I'm short on the phone when I even bother to be on it. I'm hurrying people along in their speech. I'm curt and possibly even dismissive without being a friend. I don't like when I'm like this, so off meds again. Six days off. Enough time for the half lives of half lives to be out of my system, but no where near time for things to be "regular." Part of the reason I'm still awake now is the screwing of sleep cycles getting rid of Remeron. I think acknowledging their pain means acknowledging my own.


With some people I feel that the words I have to help them might cause more pain. I don't want that. Of the few fears that I can consciously count, causing someone pain tops that list. It's so easy to do. I think I'm so aware because of how sensitive I am to being hurt. My physical pain threshold being quite high, I've often had to answer people who want to know if the piercings I've had hurt with, "How well do you handle pain?" My emotional pain threshold is so low it may as well not exist. This is my human condition. This is my daily walk. To understand this keys me into others. My friends. Life.

So... whether the soul is in Temecula or Las Vegas or here in Southern California; whether it floats somewhere out in the stars or trandscends through moon beams back into the ocean to rest at our feet; whether that soul is in Florida or the Midwest or parts of Oregon; whether that soul is a strand in a memory that fires between synapses in my head; whether that soul has a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife or exists solitary and single... I wrap my arms around for a long and simple hug that wraps back on me. There are these moments when I literally shake to feel this.

How can I begin to sleep now?

Seeing

This time is so precious because it will not happen again. I remember when I could see so clearly. I didn't know then that I was blind.

These words of mine...

If we wanted to be different,
we'd change. Ok. Over-simplified. Some changes are not simple recipes, but the root idea is still the same. When one wants something bad enough, an amount of effort will be exerted to achieve.

There's comfort in knowing what we know and I believe this keeps us complacent. This works against change. Learning more; expanding knowledge can only effect change if in the process of learning one can let go of what they know already. For some that may mean letting go of beliefs. For others it may just be letting go of baggage.

That's what I think most people hold on to. This is the collective agreement that adults sign in living in a civilization. We have our problems. We clutch them so tightly in these fragile hands of ours. The bags are not truly any heavier than when we first started carrying them, it's just the longer you hold on to something, the heavier it becomes as it wears you out. The strongest among us can lift a car, but how long can they hold it up? Even mental giants have that moment when heavy sets in.

If we wanted to be different, we'd change.
I've wanted to be the same and different for so long now, I'm not sure which is more desirable.

Lost & Found

I was running around frantic looking for my keys this morning. I had past the time when I need to leave to make it to work at the exact start time. The normal practice of re-tracing my steps to locate the keys was not working. When was the last time I used them? I drove home from LA on Saturday Night. I didn't use my car the whole day Sunday....

I finally decided that I would use the spare key to my car and then text msg Justin or Art to let them know I didn't have a house key. As I opened the front door and the bright sunlight made me squint. The familiar jingle of keys on a keychain could be heard tapping against the door in the lock where they had been left.

Is it going to be that kind of week?

Richard Pryor & My Missing Car

A dream sequence.

Richard Pryor Is In An Old Person's Leisure Community. He would call the emergency line so that the red golf card with the flashing red light would come to his home with the siren on. A white golf cart would follow it. Then, when the person in the red golf cart would enter his house, he would sneak out and get in the red golf cart and drive it away. The chase would ensue. It was his way of keeping alive and having fun while in this environment. The dream takes a complete change....

Can't find my car. Can't find my car. My brothers are with me. It's at a school with very steep grassy hills and a parking ticket dispenser. We were all at the home of our mutual sports coach. The sport is either eluding me at the moment or was never revealed in the dream. There was a party or a series of parties happening and we were part of the celebration. The coach had two daughters and a son for sure. The oldest daughter had her own bathroom. The other daughter you can tell just recently had this privilege extended to her because the bathroom attached to her room had a second door that was open to another bedroom, however, she had rigged the door with something in order to make it hard to open. I know this because I had to get in through this door because I was going to wash my hands. While looking for the car a boy showed me how to cross one section of the cliff quickly. There was a wooden handle next to the ledge that had nails sticking out of it which made it difficult--if not impossible--the hold on to. I believe I poked my left hand and this is what solicited the advice from the boy. Another boy, the son of the coach, wanted me to listen to the music from his ipod device while we were sitting and waiting the oldest sister's room. I had a key with a square head that also had an ipod connection at the top and thought about plugging in my music instead of his but I put his in. I do not remember what, if any, music began playing. When my brothers and I were leaving the coach's house we saw his wife. She hugged us all at the same time, Philip on my left, Byron on my Right. I hesitated at first to join the hug but did to make the goodbyes go faster. We said goodbye to the coach. We were exiting through a door that was by the kitchen.

There are some details of the dream I have not written because of the detail and time to include it. Nothing has been omitted with any prejudicial forethought. There were many points in the dream where I felt I was watching it happen as though in an audience and the dream was on a screen unfolding. This was especially so during the Richard Pryor sequence.

I Done Said Something

I sat in my car for ten minutes after parking in front of the house. I was listening to a story about Thembi. In a story that last only twenty minutes by radio I related to her. Not from my own experience, but by a tone in her voice as she narrated a story.

I wasn't going to write when I came in the house. But as soon as that thought entered I ran up the stairs to begin typing. It doesn't matter if what I have to say is anything super, prize winning or trivial. The idea is: Do it when you want to, say it when it when you feel it.

Done.
Said.

The Human Condition.... ha ha... boo hoo

I've had a few things on my mind the past couple days that I've wanted to get down in words, but haven't sit still long enough to do so. I think I'll start by saying that my roommate writes about The Human Condition from time to time. Yea, try and wrap your head around that one.

Today ended 8+ years with Verizon Wireless. The T-Mobile road is looking like a nice change of pace. The cell phone being a rare thing that a gay man will brag about being small, this new one is quite compact and dainty.

Splendid friends. I know that I write about friends from time to time. I know that often I will talk about one particular person at a time. I know that I am never fully describing anyone and that's mostly because I have no need to detail people since I'm writing for myself and if I'm taking time to write about a particular person it's usually dealing with something issue specific. There was a time in my teens where I took an individual friend and devoted an entire entry to them and what my thoughts were about them. I'm sure that would be touching and humorous to go back and read. I surround myself with a remarkable group of individuals who flourish and flounder; who teach and learn; who ground and help me escape. Hah....pieces of The Human Condition.

Dinner Destinations

It's not so much that I want to be there for the honoree, but to see Randy and Rey; Mama and Daughter.

On a bloodier note, I just had a bloody nose. What triggered it? Something so commonplace in my youth happens next to never now.

Synaptic Fire

There was this violin player....Abe.... he went to the Claremont Colleges and he popped in my head while I was IM-ing with Charles online. The Museum of Tolerance came up and I went there with Abe and Arturo. I lived in Anaheim at the time. I remember that he was the first person I ever ate at an Appleby's with. He was from San Antonio, TX. I think I picked him up from the airport once.


"I've spent my life exploring the subtle whoring that cost too much to be free."
--Charlene - "I've Never Been To Me"
(Lyrics by Ron Miller & Ken Hirsch)

Radio Words

"Accidentally on purpose."
-Heard on radio regarding report on Paula Abdul alleged assault

I'm IM-ing Too

I'm hanging here in IM-land. It's that point where you have responded to people but there's a long delay because they are doing other things, talking to other people, etc. It's possible that they could be choking to death and I'd never know it. Well...maybe I would. I would think they'd have the common sense to bang random keys to send a smoke signal of sorts through the screen. Sure, I wouldn't be able to do anything for them, but at least I'd know that they cared enough to let me know that they weren't ignoring me and that they were just dying.

"yeah I've got very little motivation right now"

That was typed on the screen just as soon as I finished my paragraph. It's funny and freaky. Not the line, the fact that a mind will draw conclusions and connect dots in the way it wants to, not of anything other than what it knows or wants to. Even you reading this are interpreting in a way that the other pair of eyes somewhere on the net aren't.

The Dove & The Raven Both Fly

Just off the phone with him. He's a Seaman. Eddy the Seaman. It made me laugh. It actually made my night. I'm down and I'm done. Stick a fork in it. Maybe it tickles; maybe it bleeds. I got a full night's sleep but still woke up not wanting to leave my bed. Not a good sign. Mad. Mad. MAD... that I have no control over this craziness inside of me. When I'm at work I sit there and stare off into the computer screen, out the window, at the papers in front of me. I start to fall asleep. I feel heavy and sad. I get up and walk around, get a cup of water just to have my body moving and blood flowing. There is no challenge there and though my work product is superb it is not from the effort that I'm expending, rather the ease of the position itself.

So talking to Eddy felt good. It was interesting to hear his excitement. I could sense in him a desire for wanting to better himself and I've always known that was there inside of him. I suppose this is why I never let go completely. I couldn't. It is hard to know when to do that sometimes. The bonds that are made with people do not always last, in fact, they are prone to dissolving, but the knowledge of our half lives is shrouded in the mist of our evaporating efforts. I think of Chuck and Eddy and these bonds and chemistry becomes ever more clear to me.

Vivaldi - Winter...I listened to all three movements while typing the above. I've switched to Beethoven's 7th Symphony, 2nd movement. The piece has always captivated me since the first time I attempted to play it on the piano when I was 12 or 13. (Perhaps 11) I had never heard it played before playing it myself. Upon hearing it, I realized how inadequate my musings were and that I would never spend so much time to perfect playing the piano. The piano, like many other things I have dabbled in, was fun for a while but I had no interest to learn it in depth. It's enough for me to know that I can sit down at a piano and hit keys and make melodies and if I really wanted to, I could read the music and have a mediocre sound come out of it. This seems to be the way of most things that I have an interest in. People being the sole exception perhaps.

Three minutes of this movement left and my writing feels stale. It's not that it is. It is the feeling inside. It's that dead part. It's a part of me that has been there for 13 years and counting. The more time passes, the more roads I see; more streams of energy that have crossed. Explosions. Sanctuary. Touches and tastes as well as guard towers and a porticullis. Knave, saint, sinner, child. I have not the desire to grow up, but push to live perniciously.

Stealing Time

Who have you stolen from today?
What does the prize fulfill?
Do you know the breaths of your actions?

I cannot give back what I have taken from you.