War Games

The only way to win truly is not to play the game.... hehe

Fog From My Teacup

The word is out...I'm a good guy. I guess that depends on what circles your ear is bent toward. It's very foggy outside the window.

I'm on a ten minute type-writing stream of thought. I have put on my headset and started the song "Storm in a Teacup [@135 Degrees]" by Moodswings from their Horizontal Disc 2. Volume up. Go.

How do you hang out with someone who has a boyfriend to get to know them when you already know you're attracted to them? I suppose the same way you hang out with a friend who you are attracted to but know that it is not returned. Only...it is returned. Intellect plays a part here. I make a moral choice because I know how I would like to be treated in this scenario if I were the boyfriend. But beyond a choice not to push anything physical, there is the choice of whether or not to spend any time with the person. On the one hand I say that it is the intent that is of most importance and if the intent is truly to get to know someone then this dynamic makes that only purpose for hanging out. If the intent is to somehow woo them away from someone else then the purpose for hanging out is shaded, but perhaps not shady.

Four minutes in and the beat drops down so that several other sounds come to the forefront. It is what this wroting is doing for me. These thoughts I type allow others to start to move around and jostle free. Beat picks up. Beat plays on.

I think that the connections we make as gay males are so simple and tangled. Some would believe that we are

The simple twist of something that makes me go faster and fall forward. It's the danger that must be of paramount importance because only by passing through it do you know something about yourself. Standing still or watching from the cliffside you are aware of a bigger picture... but you are not living in it.




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Now playing on Winamp: Moodswings - Storm in a Teacup [@135 Degrees]
via FoxyTunes

Bon Fire

I read this in a random boy's profile online:

"I lost the love of my life early this year on President Bush's watch. I am just starting to come out of my shell again."

Reading that touches the most sensitive part of my developed intellect and the broadest part of my primal instinct.

Foothill Views & Red Trucks

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Now playing on Winamp: PM Dawn - I'd Die Without You
via FoxyTunes


"Is it my turn..."
........and I think about the little thoughts that never make it up here. How are they any less important. Sometimes they are more important and therefore cannot be written so publicly.. previously spelled "publically" as I pronounced it in my head as I could hear Nick saying it possibly. Awake near 3am listening to PM Dawn. A sense of some irony. I thought of the song because Arturo was at the dinner party this evening. This song used to come on all the time when we would get in the car together back when we first met. That's the memory. The song may have only come on twice or three times but the coincidence formed a connection and the connection tied to feelings of our hearts and minds and we made it special. I remember that. I always remember that around him.

So by most accounts I heard terms like "success" and "fun" and "good" about the gathering. Something that in my head was conceptualized as a simple meal among a few friends turned out to be a double digit attendance of the personality spectrum. All night I was least concerned about the success or failure of the happening but more in the dynamics of how people interacted. Alcohol didn't make me tipsy or stupid or indulge recklessly... I just found myself relaxed and unencumbered by the normal host duties of seeing to everyone's needs.

"Is it my turn to wish you were lying here?"

Wild Tigers I Have Known

No roars from the disgruntled. That would be too obvious. Instead, sensitive paws leave marks of self while running in the open fields of flowers. The wild tigers I have known have always had to be themselves. To tame them is to take away their breath and ghost them before their time.

Adult Delinquent

At 7:26am I got in the elevator.  One woman was holding it for the woman walking behind me and I knew that they were both on floors below mine.  I felt put out by having to wait for them.  Then, as the woman behind me entered she said, "Oh wait, Chuck is coming."  So the first woman held the door even longer.  The feeling in me grew.  When the door closed they all began the light-hearted Monday morning talk.  As they got off on their different floors and shared that they both brought their lunch today I realized that the 30 seconds that I may have been delayed was really nothing...and I wasn't put out by them, I was disgusted with myself for even feeling like I had to rush to be anywhere and any specific time.  Their camaraderie filled me with a smile that was needed.

Staying Times

I decided tonight that there is no reason I need to see dead people. The shell left behind is a castoff of the person we came to know. They are not the body any longer and "viewing" is simply the way of those left behind to cope and try to understand. Goodbye Jeo... until such time that the rest of us are ready to know you again.

Remember Brandon, suck, blow; the prefabrication is fine, but the final flood is not. Lick.

Randy decided to create an AIM profile:

"FIRST OF ALL - I will tell you when you can get Married....... Errrrrrrrrrrr on my way to California. And NO new dress if you are not good.

SECOND OF ALL - Do not Participate in your own recovery - Rehab is for.... well (you fill in the blank) lol... AND AS BROTHER BOY WOULD SAY.... " IT AIN'T A WORKIN"

Finally - Just like Mrs. Annie Lennox says.... I feel like I am 17 again....

P.S. There is some guy out there named Barney... and he likes to put his hand on your tits - watch out for him..... bad bad bad"

It Is November 1st

Memories are markers in time.  They trace paths that we can see but never walk again.  Sometimes memories become anchors in time and though the world moves on around us and our reflection changes shape, we have never left that spot where the anchor was let out.

Strange how the French have affected my life from time to time. 

I love you Jorge.  I love you Lanny.  I love you Tyler.  While my arms can grow tired, my heart seems to be perfectly capable of maintaining the the memories that mark our pieces of time. 

Rest.