Month: September 2009

I had a thought yesterday
while the beautiful married man told me of being molested by three uncles as a child
raped by a neighbour
thought of how
back then
homosexuality was considered an illness
spiritual, mental, behavioural

sickness
like home sick?
like love sick?

unable to be where and when you are…
unable to survive on the ration reality is supplying

yes
malnourishment leads to sickness
abuse
rape
fetishizing
abstracting
disconnected compulsions
sick
yes.

a long time healing
this county is
these people

lost, starving, sick
unable to live up to the fear and pain
unwilling to face ourselves
know who we are
against a torrent of such fierce denial

mistaking charecters as our true selves
fighting for our lies and excuses

still
we’ve got a light sneeze
aren’t out of the woods yet

I know I’m still fucking hungry
and don’t know what to do

he said he was refreshed talking to someone so bright and clear
articulate

I’d talked about this
even after saying i’d stopped thinking of myself as a healer

then talking myself in circles around it
no way out of who we are
what we’re here for
our destiny
I know

thanks to all of you who are helping as you can

.iP

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Hm.

“So how about it?
Show me please how I will look in twenty years
And let me please,
Interpret history in every line and scar that’s painted
There in front of me.”

I loved this song
but did I understand it back then?
maybe I did
now I only care about this stanza

years ago
years ahead
and still…

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another excert from " Dæmonomania " by John Crowley…

yes
there is an afterlife
sure, of course
as many as those that are believed in
those that can be agreed upon
and those solitary fancies
endless, I’m sure
but only until they get decided upon to end

for everything there is an end
but for that which is eternal
which I assume will end eventually
but you didn’t hear me say that

meanwhile
there are mortal narratives
even supernatural ones who have their time
and just as much as many may re-incarnate into states of perfection:
evolving from a slug into a king
or from an emperor to a blade of grass
many just get stuck on spin cycle
fit for any part needed at the time
extras in someones epic drama
walk-on roles
happy to exist
happy to fade back into the ethers that issued them for our stories to have audiences and fodder for points of illustration

perhaps the fact that some really die
-no afterlife
-no lesson learnings for Next time
makes them a bit more precious for the ears and eyes of those who keep the memories alive and tell the tales
but for those who really let themselves die
it doesn’t matter what is or cannot be remembered of their experiences
just that it happened when it did
changes made
or trials failed
not important
no authorship anyway…
( but for those crazy prophets… are there still slots open for them? )

when we parted I had to listen to the enirety of “The Charm of the Highway Strip”

it didn’t make it any better
but it is instant comiseration

the devil will find work for idle hands to do

.iP

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woke up pissy and groggy
and with a sex date with a guy I like
but don’t like having sex with

it seemed like a chore
I faked an orgasm
and felt stupidly out of place
litterally walked out on him while he was complaining about his life

another email
another call
lonely old men
my flavour
but sex feels like an obligation
not a joy
and I’ve been planning a period of celibacy
I think I’m stepping into it early

meanwhile
I was walking on the promenade
beautifully sunny day
I called a friend who was feeling equally shitty
and we met in the court house square
and wandered around lost and confused for a while

but friends have a miraculous ability to pull eachother out of dark
holes sometimes
and we found ourselves on a ferry to Govener’s Island
walking
talking
back to manhattan
empanadas
Taking Woodstock
(inspiring as it needed to be)
then drinks at the Phoenix
with an excellent DJ sparking the night

love
transformation

gratitude for all the beautiful surprises

(more pics at my flickr)

beard

people are always asking me
why I hide my pretty face

why do I hide my pretty face?
I tell stories of fear
I tell stories of affiliation
I tell stories I’d sensuality
I always deny God(s) have anything to do with it
but I’ve only just now sythesized an understanding that it is, as manybof my actions, an act of bravery, critique and Challenge

Children do not have beards
they are pretty
they are too young to be accountable for their actions
they have not yet the experience of life to combine with the learning of Others’ and their own Heart to make Wisdom

Beards to me have always represented Wisdom
though I’ve known few Wise Men
I uphold my visage of Time Passing
and my own duty to Pay Attention and Learn
to do the work of perceiving life as I can and combining that with my heart to form an Understanding of the world that only I can have
Thus a flag for the duty of carrying the Wisdom it is my destiny to know

I do not want to be a child forever

.iP

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getting home as the southern sky begins to lighten
drinking with friends during
Freddie Mercury Retrograde
then adorable fat boys
an almost brother
messy pizza
and the Ordeal of trains at Night

time to sleep…
before the dawn

oh, poor Ayn Rand reader…

this is the way my fucked up mind works

when I see people I feel bad for them
in the same way I feel bad for people suckered into Scientology
or Carlos Castenada
or Ron Pirsing (whatever)

the same as the Mormons
the rest of the Christians
Really?
you take that Seriously?
the Jews, the Bhuddists
oh
any beliefs that are already wide spread
coz
don’t you see?
they’ve had their chance
their time…
and they Failed
the world is still a shitty mess
and people treat eachother horribly

but I have faith in obscure pop bands
and fantasy novels no one has heard of
no one has formed cults of these ideas yet
no maybe I…
could champion this idea..
maybe it’s different enough…
maybe a monkey wrench
maybe a silver knife
maybe the philosopher’s stone
something to save us all

obviously just a crazy ego trip
but really…
Ayn Rand?
really?

.iP