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sometimes i get in trouble by expressing my singular views…
i was walking through a park with a friend and told him i don~t believe the world has victims…
we were talking about the homeless here in são paulo…
upon arrival, i saw a woman sitting on the ground with one coin in a translucent plastic bucket
she was rolling it on end around the bottom
and there was a black ring from her doing it so long
“oh, look, i have only one coin…”
by the hotel i was staying at
there was a raised freeway
and under it
the occasional homeless
two black boys wrapt in blankets
in the middle of the sidewalk
writhing a bit
as if they were caught in bad dreams
it was the middle of the day
and people would nearly step on them
and stop, startled,
adjust their paths
and walk around them.
the homeless are easily ignored no matter what
but they are very ballsy here!
as i was saying
we all make choices
and there are many differnt job positions here in the world
as your director or boss may have told you
“there are no small roles, only small actors”
or
“even the mail boy keeps the whole office working”
i like to think we~re all omnicient
and like to play the human game of being lost and confused
not knowing why things are happening
when really
we do.
we~re not victims, none of us
so i like to say
but it still pisses me off…
i think i got ghonnorrea from sharing a water bottle with a friend in SF
i didn~t know it could be passed like this
but someone i gave a blow job to wrote me right after i got to brazil and said he had got it from me
i ignored it, really
thinking >> oh, he~s just blowing things out of purportion, some people are always getting infections and they think they are ghonnorea…<<
but i asked him if the doctors said so, just to be sure…
then i noticed more and more that my throat hurt and my ass hurt and my dick burned
and he did write back and said he was sure…
and had already had sex with a bunch of people
i had to write them all letters…
tail between my legs
i feel terrible, the harbinger of disease
and i don~t want to just go solve it quickly with a pill
i want to cure it with sun
and sage tea…
i want my body to identify it
find it
destory it
and protect me from it
i~m in a strange culture now
with strange bacteria
and i~m travelling and tired
i~m sure i~m already pushing my immune system
and i want to keep having sex with the beautiful brazilians, but…
Oh,
when i walk down the streets
i keep thinking i see dead dogs.
maybe it~s just the heat of the day
they lay there
completely still
eyes closed
i don~t even see them breathing
in the middle of the sidewalks
like they~re dead
but they musn~t be…
everyone just walks around them
they must be used to it now
it~s amazing what we can get used to.
i~m leaving the city.
i don~t know how.
i got some contact numbers from Chad, a traveller rainbow kid i met in italy last year
i~m waiting for the emails to respond
i~m trying to get the phones to be answerd
but sometimes no one pics up
and i sit on the corner sharpening a pencil on the cement
etching down my confused feelings in my little book…
now the sun is gone
and the night is almost here
time to be going
perhaps next time i write
i~ll have a tan.

so my last week or so in the USA was crazy
i was struggling to understand the nature of my loving
with my friend Leo
and at the same time
trying to make money
and satiate my monster sexual desire
in the beautiful but monstruous sexual monster of San francisco
i did pretty well on all accounts
as the currents took me on
Los Angeles was also really intense
i got to see my friend Walter
and directly after, Eli
we have a menage-a-trois of sorts
from a movie we made
which reminds me, i need to give them eachother’s contact information.
but i tell all this just to say: i didn’t sleep much
less and less in the city
as the moon was waning
i just got more tired and more tired
and rushed around doing things
trying to have sex with those i wanted to see before i left
and conversations of other sorts with the others
and of course
i didn’t have enough time and space to make it all fit
my last night in LA i didn’t sleep at all
could hardly keep my eyes open standing still
nodding off in the airport
but it was great
i slept pretty well on the plane
and i know, from the many times i’ve done this
that it’s a great way to travel to a new place
all that exhaustion makes the eyes wide
taking in everything
tired brain doesn’t get a chance to judge
just absorb
the buss ride in from the airport was brilliant
the beautiful river
turn dirty
clogged with tires and foam
the little shack-villages under the bridges by the freeway
similar to south africa
but actually much less
and the city
the old architecture
the new
the small winding streets
the huge ones
when i got into the paulista district
three guys started pointing and hollering at me in the buss
i didn’t have a place to stay
or knew anything about the city
but i grabbed my bag and asked the driver to let me off there
it was, apparently, a pretty rich area
and people stared at me strangely
nice smiles, though
i didn’t feel put out
i bought some bread and garlic and cheese:
Gouda… not with real wax, but dyed on the outside of the cheese to look like it…
hmmm
i walked around and stopped
looked at my map
realized that this wasn’t where i wanted to be
i wanted to be in the gay area of town
there’s always a language to speak there…
so i figured the way
and started walking up the big road…
Consdãçao, i believe
i don’t know how to discribe…
the dirty traffic air
the un-even sidewalks
the rolling ground
strange buildings…
and little snack-shops
i stopped and bought what i later came to know as a “coxinha” or “little thigh”
which is a deep fried potato dumpling filled with spicy chicken
it was amazing!
i was so surprised i loved it so much
and love that they sell these everywhere
i haven’t had a real meal since i’ve been here
just little bites in many differnt places…
anyway
walking up that road
i saw a large grove of beautiful trees
so i turned an followed the solid wall that kept me from them
on the far side
i found the entrance: it was the city cemetary
old and jam-packed
i was totally exhausted
sweating
and had just got something in my left eye
so i walked in and sat down on one of the plots:
there was no ground here
tiny alleys between huge ornate momorials
large sculptures
beautiful trees
i walked in there for perhaps an hour
and on my way out a man stopped and started talking to me
i didn’t understand, of course
and he didn’t understand english,
but, like many of the people here, that didn’t stop him from talking to me
he explained that people came in vandalized the graves a lot
ripped off the plaques and stole the marble facing
!!!!
of course i’d never do anything like that
he shook my hand
and i was on my way.
i figured i’d go to the gay area of town
see if i met anyone intersting on the street
then call some of my internet contacts to see if i could find a place to stay that night
but on my walk i found an old apartment/hotel called the “Albany”
there were a bunch of old men sitting in the small lobby
all chatting
i hesitated a second in front of the window, to see if i could see the prices…
looked like it said
“35 reais a night”
which was almost half as much as the cheapest i’d seen
and the man at the desk walked out and looked at me
so i went in.
he didn’t speak any english
so went to get a friend, Eduardo
Eduardo was very talkative
he’d been in New Jersey before..
anyway
i decided to stay the night
and there were two prices
so i asked him about that
he said he’d give me a discount
i got 3 nights for 80reais
which is about 40 dollars
(grin)
perfect.
the shower drips
and if you reach up to touch the metal that the nozzle comes out of
it will shock you
as they heat the water in the head of the shower here
with wires sticking out, electrical tape splicing…
hmmm
and no toilet paper
but no worry, i went out into the city
found the hustler park
and watched the turtles
tatarunga!
and the men cruising
it was very intense
but i didn’t understand how it worked
so i went to call a kid i’d met on line who was brazilian, but had lived in SF for five years…
he said “what are you doing in that park! it’s very dangerous!, i’ll come meet you right away”
so i was waiting for him and some guy gave me the look
i followed him a bit
he was very passionate
i could feel the energy between us buzzing
too bad i couldn’t understand anything he said
i think he was trying to get me to come home with him
and i had just called adriano..
i so gave it a miss
instead, took off my shoes and introduced myself to one of the trees here
i don’t know it’s name
but it has things that look like roots that hang down from all over it
strong
i could climb up it
and sinewy skin
like a thousand muscles climbing up it
amazing
and it felt so good
“hello tree, introduce me to your land”
‘get out of the city’
“yes yes yes”
i found Adriano
and he was a big beautiful cute boy of 32
http://www.bearwww.com/koorax
very sweet
he introduced me to the bears here
little did i know
they have their own bar, and botique and knick-knack shop
(laughs)
tattoos and piercings too
little did i know
but happy to see
i told i was tired, but wired, as his friend had bought me an espresso
so i thought i’d go back to his house and start my on-line journal
“well, of course of course!”
we walked back, beautiful
the city over the city
deep below the cars rumbled
tall apartments buildings heaving up around us, surround us
this city is very easy to walk around, cept for the occasional un-eaven paving..
it seems small
but huge too.
of course i got no journal writing done that night
and would have loved to have slept with him
but knew i needed a good night’s sleep
and had payed for the room after all..
we said we’d meet in the morning…
but i slept 14 hours!
and will still very tired
i thought it was the morning
so i lazed about…
yoga
shower
nibbling
then headed down to call Adriano
and glanced at the clock as i was leaving the building
4:30?
ugh…
he wasn’t around
so i went to the sauna his friend had given me free passes to…
the subways are very deep here
deep and fast and filled with people
and i didn’t understand at all how the sauna worked
it was many “straight” men
and no private space
and i burned myself on the hot water the first shower i took
i’d not seen a double faucet since i got here
so i didn’t think about it and just turned it on…
but there was lots of great energy going around there
mostly the men all talking
in the actual dry sauna
there was a man giving scrub/bath/massages
and the others would all sit around and talk
very loudly and fast
singing songs a bit
and going on about things i didn’t understand
i met a nice young boy there, though
and when it came to us playing around
he just took my hand and put it over his heart
to feel the pounding
and the love
“listen to your heart, be in your heart, heal yourself through your heart”
i’ve been feeling kinda ill since i got here
but flying always does that to me.
he took me back to the centre of the city
warning me of all the dangers
o
the dangers!
and binladden won’t bomb the US next time
he’ll poison the water
and everyone will die!
oh the paranoia!
and in the bar he took me to
there was a man with a very big face
have you seen the film “Brazil” by terry gilliam?
there’s a mask that the interrigator wears in the final sceens… it was frightening , this guy’s face looked like that…
but i’ve not really been into bars lately
i drank some beer
(ugh, sweet)
and talked with some people
in portugese
which is lots of facial expressions and gruntings and bad spanish on my part
hand signals too
i went home and slept again
with plans for tomorrow
i woke this morning from a dream:
i’d been travelling with some man
we went to Hawaii together
upon arriving
he checked his messages
and found he must be in LA immediately!
“so we must get on the next plane back”
‘but wait, i have to at least get in the ocean!’
—travelling extreme
and next
i was in the back seat of this car with two girls driving
i think they were dykes
and was this still in hawaii?
the driver was an activist
and said she had no connection to god
i told her she really needed to work on a relationship with the infinite… know eternity intimately
then a cop started flashing
and she told me to play with my computer
“you’ve been mouthing off so much”
but i didn’t
i just connected with eternity
and dissapeared
i woke at dawn
and lay in bed becomming one with nothing
then everything
went down stairs for breakfast
there was none
started walking
and came here
it’s taken me forever to write this…
now i’m off to meet people
and eat some fruit
…

So, Because this is my first post
i will do a slight introduction (seeing as i didn’t put one in my Bio yet)
i’ve been travelling for about 8 years at this point.
i grew up in rural indiana, about 30 miles north of indianapolis, 6 miles outside of a small town called Zionsville
surrounded by cornfields on all sides but the left… a row of houses, then more cornfields…
moved into a larger, farther house when i was 10
and left indiana when i was 17
lived in the UK for a year (newcastle-upon-tyne)
and then returned to the USA to start exploring
… NYC, tucson, arizona, portland oregon, and the mountains of california are places i’ve spent long amounts of time
but since i left home at 17 i’ve not been in any one place more than 8 months
and in the last three years, more than three months
(other places in the usa: little rock arkansas, denver colorado, salem oregon, seattle, san francisco…)
though at this point i’ve been in almost all the states…
outside of the USA
i’ve been in south africa, china, mongolia, many places in western europe
and i’m in brazil now, as i write this.
this is my way of life
it’s how i understand
it’s how i teach and learn
it’s how i work
what i do for myself and the world.
we all have our ways of healing and our ways of running
and they are always built into our everyday lives.
i do my best to be as honest and loving as i can
strive for integrity and compassion
and to bring that to those i meet
maybe i’ll change this later
but just wanted to get a little bit of myself out there to start this…
i’ll be telling tales as they happen
but also relating what happened in the past
enjoy
…dominic

Do you know BUTT magazine?
go see:
http://www.buttmagazine.com/
a friend of mine introduced me to it back in 2002 when i was in Amsterdam
the guys who make it also make a really great literary/art magazine called
RE-
which is one of the only mags i’ve enjoyed reading cover to cover
but i include BUTT in there too
it’s a fag rag with big fag sponsoring done to look like a Zine
that interviews interesting homosexuals
famous or otherwise
the guy who introduced me to it is an actor in Holland
he’s on national TV a lot there… and works in and runs a theater company
http://www.mugmetdegoudentand.nl/
when he was in NYC last year (where he comes to relax from his hectic life in Holland)
he asked me if i’d do an interview for the mag
we had lots of trouble with recording devices
so we eventually decided on just writing out the interview
because i’m a faster typer and native in english
i took the keyboard
and this is what we came up with
… the edited verison of the interview, however, is availiable in BUTT #11
along with a series of Photographs i did for Marcel in the photobooths of Zuerich and Berne
http://www.buttmagazine.com/magazine/interviews/dominic-vine/
:
[Marcel Musters interviewing Dominic Vine]
i met dominic again in tompkins square park in the east village
he was too late again, i was just getting ready to leave
thought i would go see a movie
and then he was there
standing in front of me
saying “Oh it is you… i didn’t think it was you… i was trying to
decide if you were a homeless guy…”
Which was funny
i thought he was a homeless guy when i first met him in amsterdam
he was 23 then
long beard, shaggy hair, American.
his clothes all rumpled, like he’d worn them for a week or two or four,
which he probably had.
not trendy, not casual, not really sloppy, unique, in a way that isn’t
something to comment on.
Still looked the same today, now 25, hair grown much longer through
time, he’d not trimmed in those years
he looks like jesus or a muslim or fashion model from the 70’s
or just a hippie?
i forgot my minidisc for the interview so i asked him not to say too
much so we could do the interview the next day
he followed my idea of going to watch a movie, so we sprinted down town
to the Angelika to see Gus Van Sant’s newest movie: Elephant.
we were a little late as well..
and after twenty minutes the movie was finished..
the lady cleaning the auditorium asked if we had a ticket for the next
showing
she was confused
we were confused
: it was showing in two auditoriums, neither of them were numbered
so it was just happenstance
; we watched Elephant for the next two and half hours.
catching odd segments of it
until the next showing started
so we could watch it all the way through
laughing together
at the other people
who walked in the middle, confused about the movie having started
already, or ending much too soon.
our scattered way of seeing the movie
worked well with Gus’s style of editing
following charecters through time, overlapping places and actions
until it all culminated… in a very pedestrian way
dominic commented, during one of our watchings of a part of the film,
about how he’d known all these people, had, in fact, been all of these
people,
from the buhlemic pretty high school girls (his wearing of blouses and
lipstick in a small suburban midwester town) to the characters of the
killer, who were mostly bored and angry with everything
more out of something to do, in all that boredom, than out of political
or philosophical reason for genocide…
but here, in new york city
8 years and 2000 miles from Zionsville, the small town dominic comes
from in Indiana
is a very different place
with many different feelings and understanding as to why we do things
so i asked him: how did he get here?
“your bathroom smells like cum”
he says
when he arrives for the interview this morning
at the borrowed apartment i have on the upper west side
over a half hour late
this is my first interview as an interviewer
and dominic is also someone i know
at least a little
so i didn’t really know where to start
what to ask him, as if i didn’t know anything about him
(or is that imporant? i don’t know)
dominic is always being interviewed by everyone he meets
the simple question
“where are you from?”
launches him into a half hour story
he has lots of stories
and he likes to tell them.
we looked through four different issues of Butt
trying to form, what we thought, would make a good interview
he said
“Everyone they interview in the magazine is beautiful or fabulous or
famous for doing SOMETHING… i don’t really do anything, so.. i’m
curious: why do you want to interview me for Butt?”
well, they asked me… because i’ve told people about you and they want
to know more
so i was going to use my minidisc, but didn’t bring the cord to plug it
in
and he offered his recorder: a little 20GB MP3 recorder that also makes
movies (yes, he’s filmed his own porn)
pictures, and sound files
he said it would be easy for him to burn it to a CD for me to listen to
when i returned to europe
because his Real Father (who he hadn’t seen for three years) had just
given him a new G4 PowerBook a month ago
dominic has been travelling the world for eight years
which doesn’t allow him to carry around lots of stuff like this
he proceedes to tell me his child-hood history in detail
all of which, is lost: as the recorder doesn’t work.
but he makes it clear: things are changing
we sat down at the computer to type the interview out
and i quickly surrendered the keyboard to him
quick with his fingers, and english as a first language anyway
he’s good at typing in the first person for people that he’s not
he says many of his friend’s aren’t good typists…
what, with them being from the generation before commuters were
commonplace…
i want to ask him something now:
MM:
so, i don’t know you very well, but i know that you are travelling a
lot and meeting a lot of people, doing all kinds of things
involved in art things, giving massage (very good ones, i’ve
experienced, it’s how we met), and having a lot of sex, especially with
men twice your age, and twice your size.
that’s so interesting to me, and obviously to many of your friends (his
film-maker friend, Famous Joe (AKA: Eli), recently made a music video
featuring dominic’s footage of him getting fucked by a big bear,
displayed in a room full of people on a cinema screen a the Brooklyn
Acadamy of Music… because he was trying to understand that dominic
LIKED having sex with men like this)
so, dominic, tell me about this…
D:
well, i first had sex when i was 12 with my best friend at the time,
same age, same type of body… thin. young. big dicked, came eight to
twelve times a night, but mostly just handjobs.. a year later i learned
about blowjobs from a 26 year old guy who gave me marijuana for the
first time during the night job i was working at backing up computer
systems: he sucked me off in my dad’s office and i gagged on his cock
in the file room down stairs… all very interesting…
but i really got turned on to men when i was a wrestler in my first
year of high school, a year after that, i was 14, he was 31
he was a new teacher in our school system, a born again baptist
who worked out in the weight room while we practised, and then would
wrestle with some of the big guys after training… just for fun
but i thought he was hot… and more so, i wanted to be a writer and
knew that all writers have really good scandals to write about when
they get older:
it didn’t take me too long to get him on the mat with me
MM:
so you seduced him?
D:
yeah, totally, he was like duck in the water.
and it didn’t take him too long to shove his chest into my face,
insisting i bite on his nipples
i mean, i was about 125 pounds.. and he about 160
he was huge, two inches shorter than me, all muscle, lots of body hair
insisted we had our shirts off
and sweaty already from all the weights and training
we’d spend another hour together after everybody left…
generally until he’d cum, just from pinning me down (yeah, we both
liked the struggling)
hmmm, what was it? about six months later, i’d convinced him to wrestle
me naked, “like the greeks”, he’d come up behind me in the gym
locker-room’s showers and took me to the ground…
in all those year of … “wrestling” with him
i only came once.
i only sucked his dick once.
he never admitted it was sex.
he never admitted he was gay.
but when the whole thing was over…
i realized i had loved him.
stupid me.
MM:
So, are you telling me that this first older man you had sex with has
kept you on older men since?
D:
Yeah, it had a lot to do with my dad
MM:
but why your dad?
D:
my dad never showed that he loved me.
he’d buy me things… but couldn’t like… Hug me or anything.
MM:
you think your sexual preference came out of frustration?
D:
hmm, yeah.
i wanted my dad to love me, i guess he did, but i never felt it
i was always pretending this guy was my dad
it was really intense, him slamming me down on the ground and holding
me in place
kinda brutal and violent
but it really hammered it into me
i needed something intense to get my emotions going
at this age i hadn’t been actually feeling anything for so long…
sex for me had nothing at all to do with … Sex.
it was all about getting love from someone
and knowing what it felt like to be loved… and to be able to love
someone
i have to do it through my body.
i loved my mother as a child by giving her massages
and when i first came to NYC, when i was 19, first lived with a man for
a few months
fucked him for hours everyday
i would sometimes persuade him to lay back and just let me massage him
four hours or so…
it was just to feel love
to feel the world was a good place to be in
MM:
this feels like you want to tell me the whole story,
your whole story
D:
yeah, but i’m not doing that now, it would take a life time
let me catch you up to date.
i’ve been travelling now for eight years
spent a year running around europe
about six years running around the USA
and two months each in South Africa and Mongolia (china on either side)
experiencing life through various other sport, but mostly sex
and i’ve realized over the last year that the only type of sex i
haven’t really done
is monogamy.
i mean, after i worked in the sauna in portland oregon
i learned it’s fine to fuck three guys a day
so long as you love them
so i’ve been loving a million people a year
but never one, for a long period of time
it doesn’t sound practical at all, but it sounds like such an
adventure…
MM:
so you are accustommed to having sex with different people almost every
day
and you’re going to now go try and get married or something?
D:
well, yeah
i’m handing in my wandering boots for a while
giving my van to Eli
and moving to the mountains north of San Francisco to live with a
friend of mine there at a franciscan hermitage
He grew up here in NYC and helped get the pride parades going, the
whole gay lib movement
he’s a total slut
i don’t really imagine that we’ll be.. Monogamous
MM:
and you met him at one of the gatherings you go to?
D:
kind of, yeah
i was living at commune/massage school in the mountains of california
and was tired of being the only faggot around
so, once again, got on-line to meet people in the area
he lived about three hours away… so not too far
and very close to the place where the Billy Club meets
MM:
Billy Club?
D:
yeah, it’s like Radical Faeries, but with your dad, my friend Kwai
always says
MM:
Radical Faeries?
D:
yeah, apart from Bears
the faeries and the billies are the gay groups i really enjoy most
the faeries started in the 70’s by this guy named Harry Hay
who had started a secret society for gay men in the 50’s, i think…
in the 70’s .. people were comming out
so he started the faeries, asking the radical question
“we know we like to fuck men, but what else does it mean to be gay?”
the first gathering was meant to examine all this.. but it turned into
an orgy.. and they talked about how it made them feel…
it’s progressed since then…
there are gatherings in europe now and about five sanctuaries in the
USA where faries live and then hundreds of men from around the area
will come multiple times a year to gather there
there are work=shops, people teaching eachother what they know… dying
clothes, healing work, herbs, techniques for blowjobs, whatever
and talent shows…
some of them take it really spiritually, others more playfully
there are always drag queens.. but not the same as you see in a city
but there are also actors and writers and musicians.
nomad travellers, in all sorts of costumes or just walking around
naked…
MM:
yeah, and you like to get naked
D:
yeah, i am naked as often as i can
i’d love to live in a city
but for i just don’t feel comfortable if i don’t get to walk barefoot
and go naked from time to time..
i love doing that at these gatherings…
where i can be really open, do whatever i want
and people just love seeing me do it
as i love seeing them do it
it’s like an immaginary summer camp for… everyone.
the one in Tennessee has lots of girls at it too… that was cool..
MM:
why?
D:
well, i still can’t say i’m Bi or anything
i’m really only attracted to a certain type of man
but i think it’s really important to have women in my life
i don’t understand them… and it’s thrilling.
MM:
but the billies?
D:
oh, they started in the 80’s as an AIDS prevention thing
the Board of Health in San Francisco got together a list of about 60
gay men who lived in the country north of SF and asked these two guys
to get them all together and tell them about this horrible plague
sweeping through the land
these two guys called eachother “billy” as pet names, they were rough
country folk, but queens too.. it’s cool. so when they sent out the
invitations to all these country gay men
they used the return address for their business: “Billy’s flower shop”
and the name stuck.
similarily, when the gathering actually happened, all these guys who
thought they were the only faggot in the forest were so happy that it
turned into a big orgy
and then it morphed into more of a … community
the massage school i was living at at the time was the place the
Billy’s gather for the new year’s…
their gatherings are more tame than the faeries
more about guys just being together…
but there are certainly drag queens there too…
it’s really amazing, all the creative people…
MM:
ok, Tell me about “bears” and “chubs” and “cubs” and…
i just found out a few years ago (from you) about gay sub culture..
it sounded so interesting to me that i visited all these websites you
pointed me to
to see a completely different world
the internet is such a VAST place
D:
yeah, i grew up surrounded by corn fields
i started meeting people through the computer when was about 13
didn’t really have sex with them til i was 15, though, after i’d
stopped wrestling with my chorus teacher
but it really helped open the world for me
when i returned from my year abroad in England at 18
i actually got on what we now know as the “Internet”
and found out about “bears”
.. that was 1996
and i told you that i really liked this older guy, wall of muscle and
fur
but these guys on line were telling me that bears were Fat.
and i didn’t like fat.
my whole family was fat
and at that age i hated fat people
i mean, the whole midwest of america is populated by fat people
MM:
but now you like fat people
america is a paradise for you, right?
what changed that?
D:
when i moved out to tucson Arizona
i started going to bars
i was 19, but people have always thought i was in my 30’s
and the Bears were all really cuddly
touching eachother
very friendly
simple
not just that
i actually found i liked the sex with them better
i used to tell them, when they asked,
coz, you know, why would a young thin boy like me be chasing them
around?
that sex with them was so nice because of how they got their pleasure
obviously they liked pleasing their bodies
that’s why they were fat!
from feeding themselves with all that succulent food
and all that hair
like little anntenna to feel more
that big belly: Testiment to their pleasure
and they were always trying to act so butch
but i would tell them
“the archetype of the woman is soft and round
the native american mother of the universe is the bear
you are butch… but you’re also a good mamma”
they were mother and father all wrapt up in one.
and i began to understand that these guys just didn’t have the same
kind of attitude
because they were just happy that they could have sex
be loving and playful
they didn’t need to feel better by bitching other people down
that’s not the case anymore, of course…
Bears are just another fashion
and if i go to a big city i often get people telling me i’m not a
bear..
Last year in Paris i wasn’t even allowed into “The Bear’s Den” because
the asshole owner said i was a twink.
MM: what’s a twink?
D: in america we have lots of fake things
one of the staple fake things are “Twinkies”
they’re yellow cakes shaped like long tubes filled with white cream.
and everything about them is fake: you could leave them on a shelf for
100 years and they’d still taste the same.
we use it as a slang term in america to refer to pretty boys…
blond boys… that, you know, are all fake
go to the gym… steriods, drugs, fashion names, jobs they hate, always
putting up a front for people to be impressed by
the kind that have terrible mid-life cirses…
but i mean, Fuck, i’ve got a beard bigger than anyone in that bar
and my hair was well past my ears last year when this happend
he was just upset because i wasn’t fat
or that i was wearing a nice red suede vest with a blue work-man’s
jacket i’d picked up off the street in amsterdam..
army pants and boots
not following the bear fashion code
MM:
i want to know what a bear is
i hear so many people say so many different things..
and theres’s a “cub” and a “chubb” and an “otter”
D:
yeah, i just say i’m a “satyr” because i’m really not into the
name-game.
but a bear, in america, is generally a big guy
usually furry
usually with a beard
what i experienced in holland was different
most of the bears there were just thin guys with beards
which, in america, we call “Otters”
and they had a seperate club, the Dikke Maatjes, for the big guys.
it’s different all over.
in europe all the bears gather in Cologne in the winter for Bear Pride
and you get guys from all over
generally big and hairy and bearded
when you get into things like “otters” and “wolves”
that’s different
and generally “cubs” are a bit confusing
coz a guy who’s 40 might call him self a “cub” just coz he likes daddy
-bears
but generally the term refers to younger chubby guys, bearded or not
and then you got “chasers” or “trappers” or “hunters”
which refers to …
thin guys?
normal guys?
what do you say?
guys who aren’t bears
whatever that is
who like bears…
MM:
and daddy-bears are older bears?
D:
mmm, kinda
they could be real dads… with actual sons
or just older gay men who have grey hair
or big older bears who like playing dad roles…
MM:
so what would you call me?
D:
see. i don’t do that.
i would call you Marcel.
MM:
yeah, but what am i if i go to a bear bar?
D:
well, you could be a bear, sure.
you’ve got a belly, broad shoulders… and a bit of scruff.
MM:
but i’m not hairy
D:
no, but they don’t know that coz you’ve got a shirt on
in the cities, “bear” has become another fashion, like i said
and it doesn’t relate to farmers or mechanics anymore
most of them are computer programers and accountants in cities
just acting like “butch men”
you’re an actor, so you don’t need to…
MM:
ok, enough about that…
i still don’t understand it
D:
i always say
it’s your job to do the understanding
no one else can do it for you
—
i have to slip my philosophies in there
MM:
we can make a whole book like this
D:
well, that’s one of the things i hope to be doing in the new year
i’m going to stop traveling for a while to stay with my friend Leo in
the mountains
turn his Hermitage into a Bed and Breakfast type thing
and between entertaining and hosting travellers and tourists
write a book about my experiences with all the men i’ve met
with myself
and with him, specifically
MM:
ok
tell me some highlights
D:
mmmm,
MM:
are you going to use photos in it as well?
D:
yeah
well, you know i love photos
i’ve not had a camera for years
that’s why i was taking all those photo booth pictures last year
which i gave you because you wanted to do something with them
i started mostly just have them, you never know when you can use good
images
and i love photobooths because they’re like a mirror
it just doesn’t happen real time
and when you asked to make a photobooth project for you
i loved it:
it gave me a good excuse to be really narcissistic
and play with how i presented my self
with the off-hand chance that the images might be used for something
other than me just playing with myself.
MM:
i like them very much
and i hope i can use as many as possible in this magazine
D:
yeah, the photo booths were some of my favourite things in
switzerland…
apart from the farmers…
MM:
what’s your most desireable man for sex..
D:
well, i met a guy when i was 19, living in arizona
he’s a private airplane pilot
and would often spend a night or two in Phoenix with him between his
assignments
i would go up and drink with him, smoke pot and sometimes eat mushrooms
we’d have great sex
and for years afterwards i used him in most of my masturbational
fantasies
he has really big hands… he was an aviation mechanic in the US
airforce..
he’s got a really big body.. taller than me, strong arms and legs,
muscular but big belly
really thick fur, and long
thick full beard
my god, just now, thinking about him, i swoon
feeling myself falling on my back on the bed, him between my legs
something like that
the game i used to play with my travelling was i would keep travelling
until i met a man that stopped me
but, like this guy, most of them were already married… to a man or
woman:
it was never the right time, i always had to keep moving.
so over the years i’ve refined a lot of what i Want from a man
and have come up to a crux:
that the men i’m attracted to sexually are limited in satiating other
parts in my life
like, these big bear daddies that i just melt in front of
i can’t go on hikes with them very often
they’re too old
their legs hurt, their backs hurt
they’re tired
and i can’t talk to them about art and philosohpy and pop music and
cinema very often
what the fuck do they care?
they’re past all that shit
so i need to have the younger sort in my life
and with these older guys
i just love them. period.
with the younger ones
they have to be beautiful
they have to live up to higher credentials
they have to be smart and creative and … Excellent
but i always run into the trouble
when i meet these beautiful young dynamic people
male or female
they want to fuck me
coz i’m hot, and and i’m smart.. i’m beautiful
and i just can’t
i’ve tried
i get naked and lay down with them
and i just don’t get hard
i just kiss them and rub them and ..
i don’t say “sorry” anymore
but they usually give up after a while
it feels retarted.
MM:
that must be frustrating…
D:
yeah, drives me fucking crazy
i don’t know how to change it…
like with eli
i met him back in 97 and he wanted to marry me and have sex with me in
a very domestic setting
monogamy and all that
and i just couldn’t…
we had sex once but…
after all these years of knowing him, though
last year..
MM:
what’s the music you just put on from your computer
D:
oh, that’s a cd eli gave me
i don’t know what the fuck this song is
i don’t know rap
but the last one was Tricky..
MM:
what is that? is that the name of..
D:
Tricky.. he’s the guy who invented trip-hop, kinda
he’s from london, a long time ago. lives in NYC now. i think…
i haven’t listened to him a lot in a while
but loved his first few albums
that song was from his first one
a cover of a Public Enemy song
MM:
well, it’s very strange that you’re not attracted to Eli
he’s the perfect husband, he’s really creative and he’s slim and
mucular and beautiful..
D:
oh, i don’t deny that
he is beautiful
i’ve always thought of him as beautiful
i love his intelligence, his creativity, his emotional …
but i don’t know
i’ve also always put him in the same category i’ve put my female
friends into
does that make any sense?
MM:
yes
and on the other hand it’s very good that a man like you is there for
all those guys who feel like they don’t fit in gay culture at all
D:
yeah,
well i always say that for everyone in the world there is someone who
loves them
and i’m just one of those who loves the bears…
in a certain way i really prefer that
i was totally excited about being gay when i was 14
when i’d never actually met a faggot
only read Wilde and Ginsberg and Whitman
listening to Morrissey all the time
i was convinced that faggots were just better than everyone else on the
planet
not that they just acted like it
i grew up in a very homophobic environment
my dad would tell me stories about beating up faggots when he was a
teenager…
when i first met other gay men
i totally retreated and stopped admitting i was gay
if people asked me
i would say
“oh, i’m not gay.. i like to suck cock though”
and the first people i met from the computer in indiana were all
married men or just strange out-cast guys who had absolutely no style
the sex wasn’t good, don’t get me wrong, but i loved that the guys were
just guys
Men.. i don’t know
they weren’t pretending to be men… they weren’t pretending to be
queens either.
i just liked that there was no pretense on that identity level
they just wanted their bodies to feel good
it didn’t feel like a competition
even now i feel like with the young beautiful ones
i have to earn their approval or something
and it totally turns me off
they can want me
chase me
but i still have to do something to deserve them
and what the fuck is that for?
the friend i am staying with now in Williamsburg is Beautiful
thin, young, big dick, black, he’s a singer
really gorgeous
and i love him
but just… sex?
i can’t
he talks about bears like they’re invalids
i mean, he loves them too.. sexually
but he hates
“they’re fat and insecure.. which is what makes them easy to bed”
and though there is, perhaps, some truth to that
hating our lovers, i feel, is what causes so much trouble in LIFE in
general
it’s the way men treat women in the midwest
and i feel it so often in bars and sex clubs
they dump a load in you
like it’s shit
not the very stuff life is made of
i’m always at odd with what people do and what they say:
if i’m looking outside of me it’s really hard to decide if life is
prescious or like a pest to destroy.
anyway
that’s what sex is about
i’ve learned that it’s about love
i mean, i used to think that was bullshit
i thought the term “making love” was a euphemism for fucking
plain and simple
but in my time in italy last year…
the italians don’t call it anything else… there aren’t any other
words, it’s just “making love”
it gave me the impression
that we’re always making something with sex
be it babies or disease or long term partnership
and if i could be conscious about fucking someone
i wouldn’t want to pump my hatred into them
but love
make love
the world could always use more of it
MM:
you sound like an old-new hippie…
(laughs)
are you a “top” or a “bottom”
that’s also.. those stupid things you see everywhere
i know it’s easy to understand…
D:
yeah
i call myself “Versatile” when i have to click a position on the
internet.
i’m naturally agressive, so tend to fuck more.. if that happens
but these last few years i’ve been trying to get fucked more… just to
learn about what that does.. it’s hard for me… but i want to know.
and… top, bottom…
labels, again.
we always deal with everything by reducing it to bite-size pieces
we look at people and judge them so we know how we should treat them
i was shocked last year in Switzerland how people treated me like i was
a person, when in the USA and in Holland i was often getting people
acting like was a drunk or a bum..
MM:
bum?
D:
street person, homeless…
i like having long hair and wild beard
like i just came down from the mountains
like i’m wild and un-tamed
like i’m saying
“i will not shave.. .i’m only barely wearing clothes that hide my
nakedness, fuck you: deal with it”
i like people knowing that they are wild animals
that’s what i love so much about “bears”
fags who identify with the primal energy of fucking
not… a ken doll.
MM:
but it must be confusing for a lot of people to meet you because they
don’t know…
what you are
how to label you..
you’re always in surroundings where they don’t expect you
like that sex party you were telling me about..
D:
yeah, but i LOVE that
i was walking down a path in indiana with my mother
leather jacket
it was cold
long hair flying
a family was comming towards us on the path
and i could see the mother pulling her children away from me
but as soon as she… got in my aura…
she relaxed, smiled.
i don’t like to scare people
but i’ve taken a bit more joy in it this year
because if they are scared at me
and get close enough to feel who i am
or interact with me in anyway
it blows away their prejudice
it IS confusing
i think the world should be confused a bit more
it thinks it knows things
and … it just doesn’t.
i love being in the crotch of gay culture
the bars
the sex parties
people throwing all their fantasies on me
Jesus.. fairy-tale-prince. taliban. charles manson. rock star. porn
star. john the baptist. druggie. cat stevens. hippie, just like they
used to be. …
one of the greatest things about being like this
is there are so many people who have dreams they don’t live
they just think about them
or do their best to forget them
and when they see me
their dreams all come to life
and they project them on me like a screen
sometimes i live them out for them
and it brings a little bit more light to their heart…
a little bit more hope to their dreams
i learn from it as well
an indian friend warned me about this
i know it’s dangerous
and i’ve been worried.. it is a form of lying to them…
but what can you do?
when i came to europe last year
i’d got back from two months in mongolia
700kms riding horse back around a lake just south of siberia
then back to the USA and the world trade centre being destroyed
fucking crazy
i went to live on Leo’s mountain top while he was in europe for four
months…
i was mostly alone and hanging out with trees and
anyway
i got to europe and was dealing with everyone i met in amsterdam
and kept asking them
“why are you lying”
they all gave me very clever explainations as to how what they were
doing wasn’t lying.
but they were always lying to their lovers about me
or they were lying to me, about their lovers
and i know, from being a young child faggot, that the only way you can
convince someone of a lie
is to convince yourself…
life seems to be about lying
i mean
it’s that bending-not-breaking thing
to work with the lies… without believing them too much
i’ve been trying to do that all this year
i feel like it’s very dangerous to me
the kind of life i live: i’m all i have to rely on, really
and when i start fooling myself… i get totally lost.
i felt like
when i met you last year
all i wanted to do was make the world a better place
i was travelling and meeting people and having wonderful experiences
and specifically doing my best to make everyone i met feel really loved
and i just kept feeling like it was a waste of time
and this year
there’s just been so much bullshit
war and old loves breaking up and people dying
and all the films i’ve seen
that i feel that the world doesn’t want to love
it doesn’t want to be healed
it really likes abusing and destroying itself and
perhaps i should just pitch in and help bring it all down
MM:
yeah, i see both sides of this in you
you have to decide what you want to do
D:
well, the world has made it perfectly clear that there are enough
people destoying it
it really doesn’t need another
the destroyers are completely disposable at this point
but if i keep up the work of healing the world, person by person
help as much as i can
then the world will help me as well
i mean, it’s only through the support of the entire world that i’ve
been able to survive these eight years on the road already
i couldn’t have done it myself
i just get tired from time to time
so i’m going to rest for a while this year
MM:
ok
your fingers must be tired too, from all this typing
and thinking and telling
but it sounds like you know what you have to choose
so have a nice rest
D:
thanks, keep up the good work
MM:
see you next year.
_________________________

Sometimes it’s a grace to do nothing.
today (September 5th)
i woke and wandered through dreams
(even now i only have a few scattered images. nothing to tell)
and was jerked awake by Eric calling
i heard his voice on the answermachine and it pulled me to
consciousness
i rememeber actually kinda wrestling with the covers and the cold
grabbing the edge of the mattress to pull and propell myself towards
the phone
we talked a bit
and i was mostly sleepy and giggly and kinda awed.
i’m like that…
…sometimes…
and that was a good wake-up-call.
but i jumped back in bed to hide from the cold
and read some of Little,Big
i did a little yoga
drank my mum’s potion
and ate some apples
by then it the sun had graced the deck
and i moved outside
and started reading the Translator
what is it called
when the cold wave passes through you (me)
and i’m about to cry?
so beautiful
remembering things we all forget
i warmed some pizza and kilbasa (is that how it’s spelled?)
ate it
and then went read more Translator
then moved the logs outside
and swept the garage area
then went to read more of the Translator
the charecter was in book store
and found a collection of poems from the soviet union
during the cold war
in which this story is set…
there was a poem in there by her poetry teacher
(who had recently escaped (been exiled) from Russia
i read this:
After long thought I have at last decided:
I must write to denounce my neighbor.
Evidence both seen and invisible has so accumulated
That it cannot be ignored
And I know what my duty is.
I believe that nothing that has been reported can ever be erased,
And everything unreported likewise will not go unrecorded,
And everything that can be known is somewhere known,
If we are vigilant, and if we have done our duty.
I will tell how once returning home
On an evening when snow was beginning to fall
Seeing the light far off in his window
He began unaccountably to weep
And for a time could not go on.
It lasted only moments and he has forgotten it but there is no denying
it.
I will denounce my neighbor for it is my duty
As smiling boys do their duty to wild birds:
Once, he cut a cabbage in half, and saw that the two halves
Were a deamon’s face and its reflection;
And he wondered if symmetry was the deepest truth about the world
Or if he only wondered at it because of his own division,
Himself a creature struck in two as by a swordcut
One half the inexact mirror of the other.
I will write if I can find paper and a pen
Though there have been sudden shortages lately of these things
Shortages that are certainly someone’s fault
But around here we have done all right without these and other things.
If i can find no paper or pen, I will write in the wet sand
With one arm of a broken pliers;
I will sew letters together with hawthorns and straw,
I will write in spit on the pale undersides of leaves,
I will write with the torn hieroglyphics of moonlight on water.
It is my duty as a citizen not to keep these things hidden
But to bring them to the attention of those who need to know.
————————-
and
as any charecter
at that moment
it seemed so poignant to me.
looked for a bike around the house
perhaps roller blades?
used the keys to open the many locks
and
after dissapointment
to re-lock them.
i packed a bag
bottle of water
book
warm shirt
and left to walk into town
to here
to write.
funny, i feel embarrassed now
had typed out much more
but then cut it and spared ya from it
the gloaming is nearly over
so i will walk home soon
and come back
reborn

Tuesday, 26th, 2003: Montreal to St. Jerome
i woke up this morning after having a hard night’s sleep
restless sleeping partner
strange snoring
beautiful face: like a mouse
(i find so many bearish men looking like mice…)
great for cuddling
not for sleeping
i my dream
he came to me and woke me up in the early dawn
and said
“i’m sorry… but your van is gone…”
i woke
and was slightly worried:
There was Nothing to fear and Nothing to doubt
he gave me directions to where i was going and handed me a few folded
bills
“i have much money i don’t use, i feel good giving it to the last free
person on the earth”
(bad translation or just dominic being blown out of purportion again)
“for gas…”
‘mmm, thanks’
and a hug
and he DROVE ahead of me to the entrance to the tunnel
and off i was on my way to Alain’s…
similarily
when i arrived in St Jerome
i called Alain and he drove to a near-by service station to drive me to
his house
(a preferance when unfamiliar cities team up with language barriers)
He has a glossy blood red PT Cruiser…
(not to mention two Opan GTs…)
Now… Alain is mid forties
smokes like a chimeny
big fingers
big full beard (longer than mine)
big head, shaved
big eyes
big bushy eyebrows
.. and a nice belly
he’s really sweet
but looks more imposing today
in dark clothes
than when i first met him in Montreal a few days ago
dressed in khakis and a white shirt
(cigarettes in each breast pocket)
he bought this big house thirteen years ago
and has been running it as a … half-way-house for invalids?
for more than ten years.
that is to say
there are nine rooms
and seven “mentally ill” people living there.
i arrive and break out my kombucha
and start straining and bottling
making it quick, as the culture doesn’t like tobacco smoke
while Alain finishes preparing the lunch supper
of cold cuts and macaronni salad
and places, next to each, seven cigarettes (from large plastic bag)
and little cup containing … Pills.
i eat as well (warmed up japanese from last night’s meal with Daniel)
and we retire to His room
which features a very large television
and a very small one just above it
(black and white, the little one, showing what’s going on in the room
next door)
gotta keep an eye on things…
now, usually television and cigarettes get on my nerves very quickly
but when Alain and i met in the Cafe Presse a few nights back
we really didn’t nead to speak
just looking at eachother made us laugh and smile broadly
as it was similar here
clouds of smoke
and light chatter
but both of us looking at eachother
not speaking much
but smiling big
he in his big throne
me on the couch
his two dogs came in
little Pugs
Mod-An
and Eva-… eva something
monster grunting pig-dogs
fun.
we went out to sit in the grass by a rusty old stove
he pulled out a joint, which we smoke a little of
which got me talking about herbs and doing yoga
— it started to rain
ahhh, a man who likes sitting on the grass…
but even the other man i hung out with in Monteral also liked hanging
out on the grass
let all be aware: i love sitting on the grass
head stands and summer saults…
we went back inside and i noticed all the clocks in the kitchen (and
there were many)
were all different times
so i started trying to figure out how to adjust them all
— he laughed at me
and i set one to another
and realized now they were both the same
but the wrong time
he pointed to the top-most clock
we set them all to that clock
then he said
“that’s not the real time”
‘what?’
“well, i keep them all about 15 minutes fast in the house… they think
of their appointments only when they see that time on the clock… so
if i set it early, they get there on time instead of making the doctors
wait… it also puts them to bed earlier… i keep the real time in
here…”
we walked back into the TV room and he showed me a clock
but it was differnt thank his wrist watch…
i couldn’t sit in front of the TV
and he asked me about yoga
so i started doing some for him
and for myself
and the tinge of “high” and all that had been happening
i started getting very bright
i turned off the TV
and Alain just watched me
i mentioned Qi-gung
and started doing that
my hands became aflame with blue
white pouring through my flesh
my thigh hurt so much
Phewwwwww
out
and gone
and down
i left my body
went somewhere else…
Everywhere else
rolled back into relationships
thinking about…
— i can’t remember
but it connected with the difficulty of loving
and the missing of loving
the rift between robert and i… eli and i… my father and i… trevis
and i…
no love to brige over that troubled water
and i came back to myself
open eyed
standing in front of Alain
thinking: >>this is the nature of illness and death… back here
again… at a place where love can’t reach<<
we started rolling joints
or rather
i did
and it was only one
coz he had two pre-rolled already
now i don't smoke much
so i put a little tiny bit of hash in (carried from glastonbury)
and a bit of marijuana leaf (from amsterdam)
and some lobelia, catnip, damiana, osha and nutmeg
possibly other things…
we smoke all three
and struggle through figuring out how to make his television order a
movie
we decide to see "The Hours"
(rather, i do… and i don't remember what people had told me about
it… but that it was well made)
and the rain became fierce and the image digitalized
and we laughed
and got up and made tea…
dinner time
more cigarets layed on the table with little ramikins of pills
and he usually gives them a cup of coffee for dinner
i couldn't let him do that
(me being me)
and asked him to offer all of them a choice of coffee or tea
they all took tea!
i made a sleeply blend
and they all retired rather early and slept well
but he assured me
it didn't matter if they drank tea or coffee
not after the pills they took…
after this little well-timed interruption
the signal came back on the TV
— we hadn't missed much.
the Movie was very dramatic
child screaming and flailing as mom drove away to kill her self
great immage of her taking the pills and passing out on the bed
and the ocean rushing in from under it
filling the room
and sweeping her under
the movie slightly terrified me
and gave me the understanding of this:
(perhaps)
the pain of Women
in surpressed rolls
throughout time
gets carried along to their
children
gay sons
are affected by this uniquely
because they are the torturer and the victim
they are the cared for and the forgotten
we all know of the sins of the father
but the quiet pain of the mother
so well (well, not so well) hidden
women wanting to kill themselves
wanting to love the other women
wanting to run away from it all
wanting to love
loving… but being in so much pain
AIDS?
people living for eachother
people useing their lives as leverage to control other lives
people forcing themselves into a shape they think they should be
the weight of years and memories
and
opting out.
lightning filled the sky outside
and we made our way to bed
and it was so nice to fall asleep next to someone
cuddling up
with only the feeling of love and understanding
no pressure from other directions…
we rested well
but for the times Alain woke to smoke…
Today: September 3rd.
i'm sitting in Video Schmideo in Baldwin.
i walked into the store and there was this kid standing at the desk
in camo dungarees
and dreadlocks down to his butt
What?
eat a piece of pizza and get on the internet
answer email and messages on bearwww
notice all the men walking in:
Hunters… and X-Bikers.
hmmm
the mom-and-pop who own this place
come in
and the dread-kidd leaves
the pop has a beard down to his belly
tattoo's all over his arms
and a ponytail pulled back
why can't i find men like this?
well, i could.. if i were willing to pay that price
i keep thinking of seducing him
and the other people that walk through the door
their small beards/ big beards
tattoos from the army
open button-down shirts
i re-focus on my typing.
this morning i woke early plagued by the thought i'd done a terrible
injustice to Robert
that is
that i was given this powerful, yet fragile, man
and i broke him
he loved me
and my heart felt loved
but my mind was a monster
and with critiques and fears and confusions
he crumbled under me
and it's been YEARS
he's been silent all these years
not willing to tell me how terrified and broken he was by me
and me just pouring more at him
more love
more confusion
more fear
more critiques
which, this year, turned to anger
becasue of his silence:
i lost respect for him
he saying all this loving was just a waste of time
and so it was…
now he responded by saying he never wants to speak to me again
which such hateful phrases
it was always there
a voice says
just get over your dad you pathetic fuck
but then my heart hurts…
and trevis…
so i wrote a letter to Eric in my journal
asking him to teach me …
i woke too early
and couldn't go back to sleep.
i read "the snow goose"
i walked around the house
did some yoga
listened to the cd i made at Alain's
melted down the chocolate i got in SF that was less than mediocer
added spices and carob
and the rest of the hash
some ghee and some maple…
fudge?
i made plans with jim boardmen
i went out to check the pressure in the truck
tire almost empty
i filled it up and drove into town…
yesterday was nicer
i woke after one
(after being woken at eight to talk with leo through yawns for x
minutes before passing out again)
and spent most of the day reading and laying naked in the sun
but there is hardly any sun today
mostly gray
trees blowing in the breeze
i'll go for a walk when i get off this box..
and, Louis, write me back and tell me what you think of all these crazy
thoughts.
i don't know my future.

family weekend
i took the time i good to jot some notes about
how it was.
today is sunday. august 31st.
i just got out of bed, though i’ve been awake for a while
i’ve forgotten my dreams…
(mostly, i’m just recalling now that i met xavier as i drove back into
NYC and he met me oustside of my van
and said “guess what i found… ” and handed me my old journal back…
the leather one i made… the mont blanc pen had been lost, though, but
he had bought me an old used one with someone else’s name monogramed in
it… battered… )
but i lay in bed for quite a while
taking the homeopathics my mother gave to me
and rubbing oil into my swollen leg
— the arsineca album was very strong
i felt it immediately go to the rash on my leg and burn
in that pleasant kind of way
— thoughts of robert’s email rolled through my head
though i did my best to quiet it: it’s not important anymore.
the day went on here in a lazy sunday way:
upstairs there was already-cold sausage in a skillet on the stove
and it seemed like most of the people were gone
as i sat here typing, i heard the events of the day unfolding around
me:
the mothers were at church
the fathers were out in the forest
“playing with the forest”
“hunting trees”
the chainsaws were growling out there
and soon my brother went out to help them split wood
— it never occurred to me to help them
but when i walked out i talked with them a bit
grabbed my kombucha
and what else?
it was only moments later that louis came in telling us he’d been stung
by bees
tension rose
and eventually he was taken the the hospital
i kept thinking of the story of two six year old friends
picking black berries
one gets stung by a bee
and is dead (forever)
– the boy in the that story always made me think of Louis
… now i think of louis…
last night, saturday, 30th…
i stayed up late with my brother Louis, my uncle Rick, my sister Kari
and louis’s girl friend, Heather
around the fire rick made
it took a while for me to get out there initially
— i decided to get the computer working and check my mail
and try to discover what the hell was wrong with my leg
in all likelyhood, it’s a spider bite that has, of course, turned over
to infection
now, it’s not pussy or anything
but there is a large red rash spread all the way around my leg
which is probably a strep or staph infection caused by the bite
(weakening my immune system from the venom and pushing bacteria from my
skin and the forest in my leg when i was bit)
but of course, i was derailed a bit by the emails:
robert’s just making me sad he had to resort to being accusitory,
projectionary, and debasing
but it didn’t hurt: it was so obviously said because i… had hurt him
so much
though it made me question how often i really have “betrayed my
friends”
–other emails made me think of bears, of course
so i went to my various sites to look at them
and got incredibly horny and started emailing all sorts of people
‘ well, i’m driving through, and we could meet… ‘
and then felt kinda silly; sugar
and all cousins came in from drinking around the fire
after getting involved in a conversation about yet another person in my
life being diagnosed “diabetic”
i shut off the computer and went out to the fire
but the main part of the day was about canoeing.
that’s what i came here for, i guess.
i woke up kinda early.
cajoled my old cd player (long forgotten downstairs) to play the
barely-burned cd Alain made for me
did yoga to “breathe” and “there there” and “Gypsy” and “amsterdam”,
almost.
the day got going
everything felt so difficult and stressful
-refusing to come to this level of interraction
i became more abstracted from the Men here
the women and i danced between the layers…
everyone was worried about the day being cold
which it wasn’t… really
it was a nice day
we went down the river in a little row boat…
– i wish there was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt.
i was singing that song (the pyramid song)
and my father made a nasty comment about it
mother and syster shut him up, saying he enjoyed it
it was nice canoeing with Kari like that
then i kyaked alone for a while
really enjoyed the whole feeling on the river
very calm
relaxed
despite the human tension
the trees, the green, the flowing water
the lightning flashes of salmon running under the water.
i swam a little
the cold rush of water
while the family stood around drinking beer and smoking cigars
the collage kids canoed passed us
joints and beers and jokes
and torturing the women
of course i started watching the fishermen
the other canoers
the big men in camo
the big men in camo
the long brimmed hats and full mustaches
the big arms and wide chests
the bellies and the blank stares
like dogs tackling eachother in the water
there was no one i could share this with
my mother took the kyack the rest of the way
and upon arrival at the landing
my syster and cousin rushed out and tipped my brother’s canoe
— a family tradition
the boys were all drunk
our clan and the colleged ones
and it was rolls and waves of picking up screaming girls
and throwing them in the water
everyone shivering and cold
we got back in the car and headed home…
after all the showers and tex-mex chip dip and ukranian dinner-feast
we all went down stairs to gather round the TV and watch an old family
vacation video
where i, yet again, smiled a lot, but looked distanced and awkward in
the family
and for nearly twenty minutes
the whole room laughed about my father picking a wedgie and squating to
re-adjust his underwear
insisting he come down to see it
because he’d hidden away from the whole family for two days
very little interaction
apparently he’d been diagnosed with diabetes and his retirement dreams
aren’t blossoming to what he wants them to be
— he hasn’t talked with any of us about this
it’s all been whispered behind his back
which is always in another room.
Friday, august 29
i arrived early in the morning, around nine o-clock
organized some things in my wreckaged van
put bags in on the seats of what i was taking in to the house
but the house was locked
and everyone was still asleep
(them having arrived at four or five in the morning)
i compiled a stack of books
and just started reading one
when my mother and father came out
it was all very friendly and nice to see them
in their sleeping clothes
all of us
early morning
(kinda)
the day was spaceous and open
and i was very tired
what, with this infection in my leg
wracking my body
i was very tired
and often found myself just acquecing to everything
(a good way to deal with my antagonistic family)
we went out for a less-than-mediocre family breakfast
and it seemed like so much of the table talk was a very offensive to my
father
he became quiet and sulky
and i hardly saw him the rest of the day
(bash him behind his back, we all did with aplumb)
it was tiring.
i showered for an hour
shampooing and conditioning my hair with fine potions from my mother
letting the water pour through me
and then collapsing into sleep on the couch
this is vacation
watched over by the seven deer heads, buffalo, elk and the turkey…
everyone arrived
big family dinner
aunt chris hounding me about cutting off my beard
— i told her i’d be glad to if she shaved her head
it almost shut her up quick.
thursday the 28th
we woke very sore
hard to move my leg at all
and very reluctant to get out of bed
it was very cold
and it was only the coughing of Mark from behind my van that convinced
me i should be going
seeing that i had planned to drive twelve hours or something
>> mmmm, be on the road by eight and i’ll arrive… ugh…<<
i gathered up the remnats from last night's fire
Mark's pot
and the burlap bag with two logs left in it
straightened out the mirrors
and by the time he'd put his tent back together
Vic was all warmed up and we were on our way
i drove and drove
cold morning
Mark in his shirtsleeves
chilly, but toughing it out
we drove through North Bay entirely missing any usefull stop
though i'd mentioned "Fish and Chips" and we'd bother been nurturing
and hunger for it for breakfast
and Vic needed gas..
we saw a billboard for "Chesters" and tried to keep our eyes out for it
never seeing it
but we did see a hitch hiker
i swirved over and stopped for him
his name was Brian
and he had a mullet
black cap on
flanel shirt, unbottoned, exposing his big belly covered by a red shirt
and black jeans
big bright eyes
and thin unshaven beard
on a very Red Indian face
very animated
didn't usually hitchhike… tended to walk the forty miles from town to
town often..
he and i and we started hemming and hawing about America
governments
the whole world being fucked up
and being silent a moment as we drove by a bridge that someone must
have grappled over to write
"THIS IS INDIAN LAND"
in large capital letters…
as brian sat behind me talking in his animated voice
and Mark stared determidly in front of him interjecting words
and i rattled off responses to Brians excitment
and his body came into my perception clearly
i could feel his thick legs
the curve of his belly
and the heat began to rise
a smile crossed my lips and i let it go
Brian told us the perfect place to get fish and chips
"all you can eat… on thursdays. my father in law took me out there
last week…"
shifting around the conversation on how to get there
i handed him a pen
and he set out to draw us a map to get there
upon arrival in HAGAR
(" like the viking? "
""No, that guy had two G's and the little points over the A.. "")
he gave us the map
with all the details we could possibly use to get us to "Teklenburg's"
"and he waitress's name is Karen…"
he told me about his wife's illness: sever rhumatoid arthritis
i gave him a kombucha culture
he was very excited
said "maybe i'll see you again out there on the road"
and Mark and i watched him saunter off down the arm of the intersection
as we looked over our maps to see how long it would take to get to
Sudbury
and breakfast
wasn't long at all
we got there found Techlanburg's easily, with the help of his map
(perfect)
and Karen told us it was usually tuesday that they had the
all-you-can-eat
but she'd give it to us..
and
recommended a great beer
OHHH
(so mark said he'd drive after lunch)
and the place was owned by a dutch couple
the wife came out and served us and i nearly bursted getting to say to
her
"danku wel"
—
just after leaving town
mark picked up another hitch hiker
and eli called
we talked about the journal first and formost
though the excuse for calling was the computer
which, after three disconnections, he admitted wasn't important
is this maturing? or giving in?
are these the same things?
when i just have to shrug and say
"i don't understand friendship"
i don't understand love?
i don't understand family?
let it go
let it play
i was on the phone with Eli and Eric
while the next hitchhiker was in the car
(carl?)
he left
and left his cigarettes in there..
just ten minutes later
Mark stopped to pick up another..
well, group.
these two kids, girl/boy
and their dog.
who had gotten into a skunk recently
and the girl, Harvey, had got into it too…
Justin, the boy, just smelled sour
and it was then that i questioned just how helpful i should be
yet again..
just through the first town
the van started screaming
and i told mark to pull over:
a belt was smoking
he turned off the engine
the belt was melting
fortunatly
there was a auto shop just a minute's walk away
and they told us to pull up
and told us not to worry
"it's just the air pump
just a stupid pollution thingie
look man, i've been running mine without it for eight years"
and he showed me his engine
"shit, i need to get a new alternator belt on there…"
so onward we drove
and the kids sat in the back and talked
but they smoked
and read johova's witness mags
and complained about the world
and jumping trains
and cops
and
it started to rain
just as we pulled into Sault Sainte Marie
i felt bad about leaving them
but not bad enough to say goodbye.
and rush off into the rain through the city
to the beautiful bridge leading to michigan
i called my mom
and told her about my leg
and asked for salves or homeopaths or something
she called Val
who said it was a spider bite
and helped clear it
i also asked my mum to pray for me to get through the customs with
little problem
and it worked…
the threw a dog to sniff around in my van
and the dog guy asked me
"when was the last time you smoked in your van?"
' smoked what? '
i said, not falling into such insinuations
"well…"
'kids were smoking cigarettes in there today
but i don't smoke them
and haven't smoked any marijuana in my van'
"liar"
'fuck you, then'
another pitbull beside me said
"what'd you just say?"
'he called me a liar… and he doesn't even know me'
i was through in about a half hour.
i haven't ever smoked any marijuana in my van.
the sun was setting
as i got over the Mackinaw bridge
which was beautiful
more beautiful than the Golden Gate by far
but so far away
and so less seen…
my parent's weren't going to be at the cabin by 11 as they said
so i took my time at overlooks and rest stops
(nothing going on to speak of)
but such beautiful vistas
but i was too far away as the sun went down
and my sleeping patern was to twisted
i began to swerve off the road by midnight
only 20 miles away i drove down a dirt road
and slept in a farmer's field…
Wednesday, august 27th.
woke this morning in Alain's bed.
it was about ten, i think
so lazy
and alain kept saying
"oh, don't worry, you can stay in bed, i'll make breakfast"
but he kept comming back and chatting with me and carressing me
but not sexually at all. he was being very loving and friendly
so great to see him, big shaved head and huge full beard
eventually
i had to tackle him
cuddle him up
wrassle him into position
and dance with him
such love and playfulness and beauty
it was nearly noon by the time we finally got out of bed
and then i started trying to make a cd
1 everything in its right place (christopher o'riley)
2 little kids (ladytron mix) (kings of convenience)
3 martha, my dear (beatles)
4 can't get enough of your love (barry white)
5 dreams (fleetwood mac)
6 bridge over troubled water (simon and garfunkle)
7 breathe (telepopmusik)
8 there there (radiohead)
9 gypsy (stevie nicks)
10 me and bobby mcgee (janis joplin, alain insisted)
11 let down (christopher o'riley)
12 on the way to the club (blur)
13 amsterdam (coldplay)
14 wolf at the door (radiohead)
15 out of time (blur)
16 taxi ride (tori amos)
17 julia (beatles)
18 parallel lines (kings of convenience)
but it, of course, didn't work
we surrendered and went to breakfast at Le Petit Boudon
and i ate a lot a lot
and we made jokes
and the waitress….
well, it was beautiful to see a kinda white-trash/red-neck/lovin french
woman.
and it was past four by the time i left
and i had meant to be on the road by eight!
so i would certainly miss meeting Christopher in Ottawa
(whom i'd met in Province town…)
and it was only an hour of driving
(beautiful rivers and rolling hills)
that i stopped for a hitch hiker named Mark
who also was from Indiana
"never expected to have another Hoosier pick me up"
he was from Greencastle
just an hour or so north of where i grew up…
in Zionsville
we talked about small rivers
and forests
and New Mexico, where he'd been going to school
and Alaska, where Mark was heading
after hitchhiking across canada…
we talked about the mississippi
when mark graduated from highschool
he and some guy
went to minnessota
and canoed down the mississippi river
all the way to New Orleans
… Adventures.
so this year…
he's taking a year off
from his first year of school
"hmmm, yeah, i don't want to go back.. there's just too much else to
live… but i feel i'd severely damage my relationship with my parents
if i didn't finish collage…"
we drove til all the light was gone from the sky
mark at the wheel then
and we parked by a little swamp
started a fire
(by pitchwood and found kindling… it took the both of us to get it
going…)
he made mac and cheese
and i added a salsa my aunt had given me and i had doctored up with
fresh garlic and cayanne pepper…
talked til it was late
me rolling him herbal cigarettes
(lobelia and damiana and nutmeg and osha and mugwort and mullen…)
i walked to the road looking for mars
who didn't look so orange as i knew him
more bright
more white
standing in the middle of the highway
then the semitruck crested the horizon
and i was bombarded by much more light
much more noise
from both directions
i crossed the road
and pissed
waiting for the silence and subtlety to return.

hullo
i recommend searching on the internet for recipies
coz you can always elaborate
but this is what i cook
(for one person)
soak 1/2 cup of mung beans over night
pour out and rinse
(three times a day if you soak them and then don’t get around to
cooking til later)
prepare the spices in a cup:
1 teaspoon of salt
1/2 t of coriander
1/2 t of cumin
1/4 t of fennel
1/4 t of cardamom
pinch of asafotedia (Hing)
have 2/3 t of tumeric ready
cut 1/2 ginger root into tiny bits (or grate)
cut one carrot into bite size pieces
measure out 1/4 cup of basmati rice
start boiling some water in a tea kettle
put the pot on the stove you want to use (make sure there’s a lid)
low flame
add one Tablespoon of Ghee or coconut oil (or other oil of your
prefrence)
when it’s all melted (or warm enough)
add the spice mixture and ginger
stir intermittently
when it starts to bubble slightly (about a minute)
add tumeric
after about fifteen seconds more
add the rice and mix it into the paste thoroughly
then turn up the flame to medium
add carrots and mung beans
mix in
and pan fry for a minute or two
then add the water
just enough to cover everything about an inch
mix well
and cover
high heat till it starts to boil
then turn to low
and let simmer for an hour or so
then stir well
mush it all up
and if you want it to be more liquidy
add more water
leave lid on and let cool for fifteen minutes or so
good to garnish with fresh cilantro
fresh raw ginger
and cyane pepper
—
also cooks very well in a pressure cooker
or let cook for hours in crock pot
very flavourfull
— tell me your results!

Oh, everything i’d like to say…
there is, of course, too much
when i left Bangor
i made it to Acadia national park rather quickly
there was some thick traffic
so i decided to pull off at a little rest area
where there were two old men in cars waiting…
i walked through the woods a bit
and i hadn’t had sex for about a week
so was feeling horny
one walked up to me
seemed very tired/dopey/bored
not hard at all
i kinda thought the experience was fun because of how odd it seemed
but he wasn’t into it and i wasn’t into it
(nothing much happened)
and he walked off
whereupon
i got into the tree
and imagined myself making love to the forest
just enjoying the sexual energy swirling around me
and then into my mind crept a friend i met recently
of whom the sexual energy was quite strong
mainly because we’d not been able to have it…
— see, i’ve often found that
with relationships
the spark of sex can fire a lot
but if you just culminate quickly
well…
the tension
the attraction
the magic of the art of making love
is lost
that is
you could make love for YEARS
toying
coying
teasing
writing letters
phone calls
oh, this can get quite tyring
and, honestly
i don’t indulge in it very often anymore
but this man, because of circumstance
(as i’m trying to yank his pants off after we’ve fallen off the couch)
“i’m in a monogamous relationship” (though his boyfriend was on the
other side of the country…)
i’ve been dealing with that a lot lately
that is to say
Men
and their Lovers
which i step between
and worry about burning them, or their lovers, or myself
and being gentle with it
feeling guilty
reticent
i step slowly
i feel already that i’ve damaged relationships
though at the begining
(and this was a few years ago)
i remember thinking that it was OK
that is
(as a friend once put to me: “jealousy is the feeling when you know you
could be better for that person than who they are spending their time
with)
the relationship wasn’t something that i really resptected for it’s
content
(which i didn’t understand)
but only for it’s form
that is, that it was a relationship of a man whom i did love and
respect
and only felt tender towards his lover because of my love for him
(my how i digress)
and lessons!
i learned that just because a lover of mine loves someone else
does not mean that this second person would be at all good for me
the art of deliberation
i have been building that mechanism
(i’m tired, let me refocus)
SO
i was in the forest
and this new friend of mine pops into my head
and he becomes the energy of the forest…
i’m on the road into the park
and have been wrestling with time…
i had expressed the intention to ride a ferry
to see the coast of Maine
which is quite wrinkly
and best seen from the water
i was told
my first try, in portland, i walked towards it
kept going to little places along the way
being distracted
got to the boat: missed the last one.
hmmm
drove two days
with intention to catch it in Rockland
got there very early in the day
so i went looking for books
and book stores
and keep being distracted on my walk to the docks
i walked up as the last ferry was pulling away.
(grrrrr)
so
Acadia:
i drove in a rush down to Bass Cove
and got there just in time
(with a little time to spare)
and jumped on the ferry
grabbing a book ( i had recently bought)
and a jacket (just in case the sea breeze was cool)
and some water and nibbles
got on the boat
it was a beautifully clear day
and high tide
nice kids
friendly people
i clamboured out on the rocks on Swan’s island
and found a place to sit and read
taking off most of my clothes
basking and baking myself in the sun and the hot rocks
water receeding
finding star fish and seeing barnacles lick the water
and see urchins!
strange black things that flocked on the surface of the water in the
tide pools like fleas…
i got absorbed…
reading “Song of Myself” to myself outloud
being with Walt Whitman again!
inspiring so much in me
i was filled with inspiration by my new friend yet again
who inspired me to get this book (though i have had many copies in my
day of “leaves of grass” i have never read this poem)
so many ideas came into mind:
being an american–
how beautiful!
we have escaped the past
we have run from the past and out ran it!
we are free!
free to be wild and dirty
free to be lusty and open and loving
playful
free to enjoy
free to explore
what happened to america?
— i read a book last week, first night in the van in maine… on the
side of a road, dirt, against the trees, faraway.. but still littered
with trash
i read a book called “Faraway Places” by Tom Spanbauer
(he wrote “the man who fell in love with the moon” which dragged me
through life in a whole new way that was very enriching… i read it
two years ago and have been looking for this one, his first, since)
i read it entirely that morning
when i woke
bleary
at dawn
the book is only 130 pages
it’s climax crashed me to a shuddering yeping mess
which is impressive:
i’ve not cried like that in YEARS
possibly ten.
no no .
seven.
yes.
anyway
one of the most heartwrenching things in the book
was his way of showing how america wasn’t about being free at all
through the eyes of an innocent child
(well, not so innocent… but 12 years old)
so
whitman
america?
run away from the past?
WHAT?
run away from God.
God.
once i was god.
then i was the universe
then i was the earth
then i was man and woman
which beget which beget
i was a million things
and have fragmented to six billion
who am i anymore?
if i run away from my past as being a one omnipotent being
and run into my present
here i am
surrounded by myself
God in everything
God as everything.
living as god as everything
of course of course
but LIVING it.
well, it’s a feat ,indeed
i have often thought it
but often my life lives differently.
life is strange
and for some it is about one thing
and others it is about many things
and some just see god clearer
i am someone who didn’t really know about god
didn’t really know about love or jesus or any of that
when i was a kidd
i was only aware of the earth
i guess i come from a lineage of beings that was animals
or faeries
or wizards
something
i don’t know where i come from
i ran away from my past
i’m an american…
but aside from all of that
i’m on this rock on the island
thinking about god
and myself
and love
and inspiration
boundaries
and the ferry pulls in
i think to myself
>>oh, i’ll just catch the next one<<
it was another hour of reading and thinking and writing in my journal
when i realized
that was the last ferry…
but another one came in an hour later!
so i ran to it
and got to it
to hear
"nope, not going back tonight"
that was the night of the Black Out.
i watched the tide for HOURS
i watched the sky and the water
i watched.
i breathed
i could not sleep
it was too cold and damp
i was awakened
i had matches
but everything was wet
i could not light a fire
the tide went out
the tide came in
i woke
(trying to sleep, just crunching up into a ball)
feeling no remorse
just knowing
i really need to learn this lesson about time
i always forget…
i sang to myself
as the sun began to rise
i ran across the island
through the forest
getting very wet
but not too lost
to find the sun
breathing hard
and exhausted
OH
the library is closing
i must be off
perhaps when i write next
i will be more focused
see you then..

So i woke up this morning parked behind Little Lad’s bakery factory in
East Corinth Maine
i met Larry, the guy who (kinda) runs it
last week in Portland
he invited me to come up and trade my van for his pick up
which i will not be doing
it doesn’t have cruies control
and is quite beaten
— i need my comfort right now more than ever
i feel it’s a hearlding to when i’ll be settled in a Home somewhere
( my wanering days are over? )
so he woke me up this morning
but only a few hours after i intitally woke
i didn’t put up the curtains last night
and the dawn stirred me to waking
though, at times like these, i always think of the rumi poem:
the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you
— don’t go back to sleep
you must ask for what you really want
— don’t go back to sleep
there are people going back and forth across the door sill
where the two worlds touch
the door is round and open
— don’t go back to sleep
but you know what? i often do.
this morning, the sun wasn’t really up yet, just the light through the
sky
and i was cold
turning over and over on myself
as if IN on myself
i pulled up the old sleeping back over my red sheet and fell back into
dreams
i dreamed and dreamed
like swimming in honey
even though this doesn’t, perhaps, give me the type of clarity that
Rumi speaks of
that i know i need
it gives me a type of comfort
more than food
more than random sex or alchohol or pot
i love dreaming
but i’ve not been able to remember my dreams lately
— i always get woken
so i hear larry calling out my name
and it pulls me out of where i was
(walking a path on a beach? in a forest? i’ve been doing this for a
week or many in my dreams lately… )
and i go to take a shower
and do some yoga
(loving myself)
then sit to eat with the family
three bright happy kids
a vegan family
totally terrified of all animals products
“DISEASE!”
which makes me sad
i mean
anything and, hmmm, everything could kill you
but what’s the point of living trying to side-step death?
it’s such a boring occupation
that is
it wears you out with its futility
however, i don’t mind being healthy
living to be healthy
while we’re here
to enjoy it as much as possible
but to make those choices out of fear instead of pleasure
i think THAT’s poison
still, i am in no position to judge
i am still quite scared of many things:
last night, reading “Coraline” by Niel Gaiman
and seeing this hard working mother
with three children and another on the way
aneimic
sore tired throat
tired eyes and nerves
i got really scared of love
possesive owning manipulitave controlling dominating devouring
love
sometimes this fear comes back to me
the monsters in the dark
the fear of the one who loves you
i SEE it sometimes
which is what keeps the fear alive
i have not found the sword to slay this dragon
and imagine that some king i encounter on my journey will be the one to
give it to me
ney, slay it with me
but what do i know of the future?
so anyway
i got on the road after pouring my Kombucha into bottles
but too uneasy about their beliefs on health to ask them if i could
even make tea in their kitchen
as a few days ago
i got to bangor because i gave this guy Joe a ride
i also didn’t want to make tea in his kitchen
because he was SO sad
51, been travelling his whole life
mostly walks
though his ankle randomnly shattered this year
he’s still at it
wants to die
tried killing him self many times
his own son killed himself
Ugh!
such self loathing
but more, negligence
i was happy to give him a ride
to hear that song
see that mirror
cook him miso soup
(beet, turnip, carrots, burdock, and daikon)
make him tea
share with him healing herbs that could possibly heal his failing Leo
lungs (a forever smoker)
but couldn’t quiet my mind nagging me about pouring my love into
hopless vessels…
that is
i always feel so much better when i am helping other people
while helping myself at the same time
loving as a joint project, you understand
and it seems easier to help people like this
because they need help in EVERYTHING
where as many only need help in little things
and are not only unaware of what they need help in
so unable to ask
but also, very often, unable to recieve
(blink)
which i am well familiar with
so no tea in that kitchen
(laughs)
don’t want to culture that story into the next two weeks.
but one more note about last night
i was in the bakery kitchen a boy said
“hey, i’ve met you before… yes i have… and i remember where:
heartwood, in the mountains of northern california”
it is a small world
and i was happy to see the light in his eyes upon recognition
and how he instantly opened up and offered his house and meadow for me
to park in, sleep in, whatever
but he wasn’t there this morning when i called to see if i could make
tea there
(laughs)
so i’m now in Bangor
back at this cafe
after having just bought new thicker oil for the Van
hopefully to clean and stop her leaking
writing this
sending it out
then on to Bar Harbour
and then to New Brunswick
and then Quebec city?
… eventually over to Montreal
where is the place i’ll probably next have internet access
could write these tales forever
i was writing something similar in my journal last night
a list of when i was loved
by myself and those i’ve met recently
and, like recalling dreams, each segment sparked earlier memories and i
just kept writing and writing past the sunset, past the misquitoes on
my hands, past the candle going out and being lit again
the many sticks of Incencse eli gave me that i thought might dissuade
the flies
until i was woken from my writing revelrie by Larry
again
to drive my van into the telephone pole to straighten out the bumper
the old fashion way
which brings me back to Doe
where i fell asleep
and woke up cold in the early dawn
pulling the old speeping bag over my red flannel sheet
and drifting back into dreams
which is
i’m sure
where i’ll see you next