Tomorrow on the Runway

Old days, don't come to find me,
the sun is just about to climb up over there.
'While my heart is sinking I do not want my voice
to go out into the air'.
Did you leave the darkness without me?
You're always miles ahead.
And you're standing in tomorrow on the runway.

Oh be the music in my head,
the air around my bed, oh be my rest.
Replace the small disgraces of
the times and places that I never really left.
Did you leave the darkness without me?
You're always miles ahead.
And you're standing in tomorrow on the runway.

Oh I want to fly, fly forward into the light,
be alive, to come alive,
on the leaf-bright Friday drive,
sudden horses at the red light,
turn around, see clearer ways to go now.

The Omen

My salvation lies in your love.
But sister, you know I’m so weary.
And you know sister, my hearts been broken.
Sometimes, sometimes, my mind is too strong to carry on.

There was a man at the pizza place tonight, sitting by himself, with a leather pocket book on the table and a pink rose. He looked polished, in his mid 40’s, graying hair, with a black jacket, grey pants, and black shoes. His socks were white, but I won’t hold it against him.

He was staring out the window. I assume he’s just finished a date, or is celebrating some sort of event, and the night in now closing in. I don’t see a lot in his eyes, and he barely moved; he just sat there, with no pizza, just staring out the window.

There are two girls at the next table eating pizza. They just finished up watching the remake of the Omen and were talking about it. That’s where I was tonight also. I was watching the Omen with a young gay boy who is struck with me and his friend.

The man suddenly lets out loud laugh. He’s laughing and mumbling things, and then it seems as if he is crying. We all look up stunned, not expecting this well-dressed and taken care of man to just burst out in this psychotic episode. I make eye contact with the two girls and we question each other with our eyes.

He suddenly slides back into his catatonic state, staring out the window again. Than a few minutes later, another burst of laughter and mumbling. As unsettling as it was, I wonder what happened to him. Is it a live of now being alone that is affecting his mental state? What went wrong?

In a virtue of ruins, I walk back to my car and drive home. Alone; leaving my friends behind in a crowd of moviegoers to fend for themselves. I’m seeing Gary this Thursday, and we are open, forward, and honest about what we think about each other. We have already taken it to a level I’m comfortable with; if I don’t shed my guards I’ll never let anyone else in.

In a virtue of dreams, I can only imagine the life that will follow. I met men all the time. I charm them into my bed, than I pick apart why it should never happen. Its distance, it’s his way of eating, lack of education; I will chalk up any excuse to get away from intimacy. But I’m ready again. I swear this time I’m ready. I want to be the hopeless romantic who gets caught again.

The prime minister of Canada will be a lesbian...?

It’s strange. It’s completely and absolutely strange.

We danced in lines. All throughout our teeny bopper years, than teenaged dances; weddings, and in the adult years clubs, the gentlemen would form lines, with the females in their eyesight standing quite far away, and they would dance.

The men would have their legs apart, and proceed to shuffle side to side depending on the tune. Nobody would ever dare dance in their own small group or break apart from the line. We were all afraid to standout and oppose this conformity. Some would joke in passing about the way we danced as kids, even still though; nobody ever said it was wrong.

It was not masculine to dance outside of the norm. If any of my community members back in ole town Newfoundland saw me dancing now; well frankly, I think they would be shocked. My hips go from side to side, I use my hands and arms to communicate and express myself with the music; it’s very masculine, mind you, but I could see receiving some blank stares and looks of hatred.

Tonight, the energy out in the club was very strange. I couldn’t dance, and felt my energy was being sucked away from me. Energy draining, it’s actually one of the few places – Victoria, that is – that is considered an energy pit. A place that completely affects its inhabitants on a mass scale.

I talked to my friend who is a genius, a psychologist who gave military counseling. We both talk about our interests in body language, human design, and how much you can really pick up from a person – if you are sensitive to that. Astoundingly, our ideas we’re so on par with other.

I know you may think it strange, but it’s all derisive to the less sensitive mind. I have found I can pick up a lot from people based on first impressions and reading their 'language', but at the same time there is a guard up, and I don't allow myself to explore it from a closer standpoint. To do so involves not only conversing, but investing some emotional energy into the encounter, and it really does take more effort.

A lesbian stood up, and the music shut off; she was just standing there and making the speech that she is running for the next prime minister. Her speech was fabulous and heartfelt; I’m wondering who she is. I can’t imagine her addressing this gay bar full of less than ideal candidates and expecting something more. They are not really there anymore, they just all stand there hoping someone will notice them, someone will hit on them, take them away from this complacency. God, seeing this sad little place makes me want to pack up and search for something more.

Most people ignored her, but she spoke clearly and strong. I was draw to her essence. She was standing straight, her hair was dark and curley, and a following of lesbians circled her, along with one older gay male, who looks familiar. I'm thinking there must be more to this, she must be someone of stature in order to get this air time. I gave her my attention.

Tonight, I’m adrift. There’s a warm wind; it’s racing through the streets. It's being funneled by the buildings surrounding it, and the wind is gripping. I’m walking home and experience one strange event after another. Lesbians giving speeches at gay bars, an apartment filled full of young adults belting out 80’s glam music, and the club itself which is filled with so many different people; lost souls, man. It really does a number of my psyche.

We get one chance. We get one absolute and complete chance to get it all right. I can’t imagine that ever happening. I don’t know; I’m too tired to think about this stuff. I have to concentrate on the simpler things in life like laundry and making dinner.

http://www.sundayherald.com/56107

The Sunday Herald gave an interesting commentary on the war in Iraq. It’s so fucking insane what they are doing over there. They are killing innocent families and people who aren’t that different from us. They are massacring them, and this will result in one of the worst war crimes book ever seen.

This is why lesbians want to be prime minister. Our system has gone amiss, and people are struggling, but nobody is really listening.

I swear I'm straight...

I’m on a roll,
I’m on a roll this time
I feel my luck could change.

We are standing on the edge.

“Mom, Charlie’s gay, I just saw him watching the Chippendale strippers on television” she shouted this triumphantly, running up the stairs to tell my parents. My sister caught me in the act, one might say, and she relished in the chance to finally be the favorite.

If you are unfamiliar with the Chippendale strippers, well, they are a bunch of naked, muscular men who dance around in pink briefs. I was around nine or ten and quite obsessed with men. My heart leapt as I turned on the television to this day time talk show that was showing these ill-clad men. I remember feeling a surge of shame and excitement at the same time. My whole body flushed, and I knew then and there, I dig guys.

There were many other times when my parents should have clued in. I remember watching a late night movie with the family one night and seeing so many scenes I wanted to revisit, cataloging them in my head, and waiting for everyone to hit the sack. I can’t remember the movie, but I remember we rented a VHS player one right and a whole bunch of movies. The scene I remember was a moderately hairy man, completely naked, legs spread, sat down doing stretches. His arms would stretch out to each foot, and I was completely entranced. It was one of the first times I got to see a naked man. It was wonderful.

When we watched the movie, I delicately hit the “information” button on the VCR remote to see what point in time this event was taking place. I catalogued the movie time in my head, and repeated it over and over again; I memorized it so that I could jump to that scene as soon as the living room was secure.

After the movie was over my sister, mother, and father retired upstairs, and I scrambled to rewind the tape to see this man do his exercises again. I rewound the tape to the point in time, and than hit the slow motion button. All of a sudden I hear my mom yelling out to me from upstairs…”Charlie, what the hell are you doing?” There is no way they could know, how could they know what I’m doing is beyond me.

“Nothing mom, just watching television…” I reply as my face starts turning red, and the thought of being caught is crossing my mind. "I'm just watching some TV."

Than my greedy sister shouts “Why are you watching the movie again, we can see what you’re doing, you're gay!" The VHS player is showing the movie on the TV upstairs. I didn't realize this, but the VCR was linked to all the televisions in the house.

Her raspy voice boomed down the staircase and I could detect a hint of glee in her voice. She always wanted their affection and would stop at nothing to portray me as the undesirable, bad seed.

I remember completely flushing and quickly thinking I replied “I tried to rewind the movie and it got stuck, the remote doesn’t seem to work,” as I scrambled to stop the VCR and remind the movie completely. After my response, there is silence.

I think my parents made great efforts to deny that part of me. They wanted me to be a normal kid. I mean, their boy was a great hockey player, he loved softball, played tennis with his dad, and threw ball in the backyard; how could he be gay? It’s impossible.

Gay boys liked hanging out with their moms, working on the garden, hung out with girls, and had a lisp in their voice. What I had on my side were stereotypes – and no matter how many times they catch me getting off on some gay oriented material, they would never think their son is gay…he just didn’t fit their idea as to what a gay man was.

I’m lucky we had these stereotypes growing up. I mean, I loath them now, but they really did save my ass time and time again.

When I was about six or seven I was a more effeminate kid. In the community where I grew up, we were quite isolated, and I had a speech impediment, so most of the young male kids distance themselves from me. My only friends when I was younger were my sister and my next door neighbor Christa. I would hang out with them most everyday, and even carry myself in a more girly way.

I had a lot of anxiety from my parents. They already decided what I was going to be, how I should carry myself, and how I was to fit into society. When they noticed I was leaning more toward a less informal style of living, they panicked.

“If he keeps hanging with girls, he’s going to be gay Eric. Oh my God, oh my God, what are we going to do?” I heard this particular shouting match before I even knew I was gay. I was in grade one and they were on to me. I knew that there was something out of whack with me, and my impression was I was becoming a girl, and my parents wanted no part of it.

“There’s nothing I can fucking do about it Meta, for fuck's sake,” dad yelled back. Then whispers. They just realized that I was around, and I probably heard the whole conversation. I was totally encompassed with a feeling of guilt, and the anxiety I have been fighting with my whole life as a teenager was consuming me. They had a way of making me anxious.

This brings me to one of the weirdest moments in my life. They reasoned that if I were exposed to men more, I would no longer be a gay. Shortly after the yelling match they both head downstairs to see me. My mother took the lead, and I could tell that a conspiring was taking place. They had a plan, and I’m sure that it was something totally off the wall. My parents were not worldly, nor did they understand the differences in sexuality and culture. They were isolated Newfoundlanders who only knew the world around me.

“Charlie, your father and I notice that you hang out with girls a lot. We are afraid you’re going to turn into a faggot. The only way we can think of helping you is to put you in a shower with your father….” I screamed “What? How is that going to solve anything?” They were at a loss for answers, but I could see the embarrassment and shame on both of their faces. They didn’t know any better.

I was put in a shower with my dad that afternoon. We were both naked and ashamed; both of us turned away from each other, and hoped that it would soon be over. I remember being red the entire time, and catching glimpses thinking, maybe this is what I need, more exposure, maybe they are right and it will cure my problem.

The only thing it did accomplish was self-actualization. I realized that in order to survive my crazy parents, and battle whatever affliction they think I have, was to conform. I had to be masculine; I had to pretend to at least enjoy the male elements that didn’t bring me joy in life, such as playing trucks and guns with the boys. I had to be one of them, which is the only way I could get my parents off of my back.

I did it. I did it quite well. Before high-school I become a great hockey player, I started to despise my sister – and all women for that matter – and had a network of guy friends, who treated me like one of them.

I’m not sure if dad or mom even remembers that specific event that I could never forget. Sometimes, I feel as if I should ask”Hey ummm Mom, do you remember the time you threw me into the shower with Dad because you though I was going to be gay? Well, yeah, it didn’t work; you can’t cure me, there is nothing wrong with me.”

They know I’m gay now. It took sometime for my mother to stop blaming herself, LOL. But they know. Every once in a while, some of my old resentments come up and I sometimes play tricks. One April fools I phoned my mother and said “Hey mom, I don’t know how to put this, you may want to sit down.”

“What is it Charlie, what’s wrong?” I feel her general concern. I know that she is genuinely worried. We aren’t a family that brings up issue.

“Well you see, I don’t think I’m gay anymore. I’ve been dating this girl, and I really think I’m into her. I think I like women, Mom.” There is a silence on the other end, and I could hear her deliberating.
“Oh my God, that’s wonderful,” and I can feel her smiling over the phone over seven thousand kilometers way. “I have to tell your father!”

“April fools mom,” click.

Never say a word

Wow, I just had a comment from a friend of mine who lives in Doha:

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It starts with blah blah blah, but lets get to the meat and bones of it all before I pass out and go to bed.

I have been keeping up with your blog, though. You are an amazing writer, despite being in desperate need of a spell checker! ;) I love discovering there has been a new entry and even more, I love reading those entries.

You certainly have a way of expresing the romantic idea most Newfoundlanders have of clinging to an island for dear life. There's no poetry, there's no bullshit. It's a damn good read Charlie. Seriously. If this were a newspaper column, for example, people would turn to it before reading the front page. (Well, maybe not the front page. Everyone reads the front page first. That's why they put it on the front page.) After scanning the headlines, for sure.

Keep writing. I look forward to more PROLIFIC works in the future!
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Musings

It whistles sometimes; the wind that is, it makes a great roaring, ferocity; it leaves you with such a great understanding as to how such a magnificent force touches our lives.

The romans and greeks were right about most large masses, energy bodies, or structures; they are Gods. They are the forces that we had no control of, and they govern our very cores. Our struggles were directly related to the elements, and when they were kind, be praised for it is a blessing. I can see how a God complex could be built from such elements.

Thinking back I remember the aftermaths of hurricanes approaching the eastern shores of Newfoundland. The hurricanes were downgraded to tropical storms, breath taking, shattering, one hundred and fifteen kilometer an hour winds raping the shores. The communities would shut down, the people all in side, no cars in sight, and the power struggle to stay on. I remember those times and smile.

Watching the ocean - which was my back yard - I see a great fight between two great Gods. Two elemental forces that only skim by each other, and tonight they are fighting a battle that will never cease to exist. The complex winds scourge the ocean, uplifting it into waves a few feet high, fishing boats in the distance rock and follow the trend of the sea; they stay afloat only for as long as the waves remain below their level, and they refute the water in their hulls.

Nepture faces Aquilo, Favonius, Auster, or Eurus, I'm not sure which ones, but he faces these wind Gods; they can't uproot him, they can't tear away parts of him, he is one liquid body, the essense cannot be broken. There are ways to fight the sea, but the winds are no match. Nepture has proven himself time and time again to be one of the most powerful Gods ever created, he was worshiped for a reason, and nights like this reminds us why this was the case.

The waves are crashing on the rocky shores, and my friend and I are gazing through the window of our low housing shelter. He’s so afraid of it all; he is standing there on his tippy toes in fear that this storm, this great force plummeting off of the house will break through.

All my life I wondered why would Nick be so afraid? It makes sense now, you know. He lived in a trailer, and his mother had the same fear. That fear is much more amplified when your shelter is a trailer that’s much more subjected to the storm.

I always ran out into it, well sometimes. My main romance was to run down to the shores, where everything was much more epic and stand against it all. Challenge the shores that are challenging the waters, that are fighting the winds. I wanted to stand against them all, and prove once and for all that I am more alive than anyone else right now in this moment in time.

It’s always been a pastime of ours; to storm watch is to witness something so incredibly foreign to our lives in the city. To see the land sway, the oceans curling, and the sky melting into this abysmal everything; it can’t be described. When you can't see the world, this is as far from isolation and absolute nothingness than you can get. This is where it all happens, in the bodies of these great environmental events. I understand them all now; the storm chasers, the climitologists, I get it, and I envy each and every one of them.

One night, I think after a hurricane devastated the coasts of Florida, it approached. It was a large mass that we could feel coming; it was a mass that changed the atmosphere, the density in a matter of minutes, and it came. The sky slowly starting building up this thick and dark grey matter. The light from the day, although moist, disappears right before your eyes.

You can always tell a big one, so much more power was behind it; it effected the outdoors with much more of a struggle, and you wonder if the trees will start cracking in half. If you want to compare the magnitude of this event just imagine yourself walking down the street with an umbrella; the wind would pull it from your grip or destory it's foundation in seconds.

The eye passed right over the house. All the fury and hardness stopped immediately, and I knew it was still around us; the thunder was crashing, in the distance there were the sounds of the storm, but right above us it was completely silent. We were all huddled together in the living room just looking up and wondering why? Why were we spared?

In a matter of seconds, the slow build up began again. The storm felt as if it were winding up, regaining the strength lost, and readying itself for another round. The siding of the house was hanging on for dear life, and the old “weather proofed” windows were letting out streams of cold, dampened air. I could feel the drafts sway through the more opened and worn parts of the protective window.

I have so many memories of it being night, looking through the back window of the house at that ocean. The Atlantic is one of them most beautiful sights you will ever experience. The vastness is only disrupted by the smaller islands scattered along the coastline. I have lost many a friend, cousin, and even uncle to that sea. It swallows them up whole, and they can’t fight, the more they resist the rough nights, the easy it is to be taken. The all have their graves below the ocean, it’s impossible to find the ones who go out trying to make a living illegally. It just takes them, and we remember, never to see their face again, even during their own funeral.

During the day it’s much the same, except now we can trace the currents and follow their paths into the unknown. I don’t fear swimming in it, or fear the currents, only so much as I respect that body of water. I appreciate how it came to be, and what it can do for us as humans. Although we forget what it can it, most only remember either what it did to us; the moratorium, the loss, the damnation many families were cast into. We blame that body of water more than the government facilities set up to scourge our land.

We remember that the sea caught our Irish and English ancestors and forced them into isolated and unforgiving lives. We remember our ancestors suffering from malnourishment, from conditions a dog or cat in the present day would be taken out of. Inhuman but they forged what came to be in present day Canada. They were the back bone, and their struggle has been forgotten.

I can only laugh at the first world problems we have to suffer out. We have no idea where we came from anymore. The ocean itself was our birth ground. We came from a small puddle of amino acids forming the first building blocks of life. The ocean helped to cultivate us all, and sprang us into a dynamic, evolutionary pattern.

Mudder

My muse is my family. Although I haven’t seen them in about four years, the life they left me with constantly gives me inspiration. My mother in particular is one of the most interesting people I have met, including the family who born her. “They are a bunch of crazy fucks,” my Mother would quote over a cigarette.

Meta – which is an East Indian word for friend – was my mother’s name. She is a 5 foot tall woman, with rich, dark hair; she possesses the mouth of a sailor, and could out smoke and drink with the best of them. When I was younger, she was a great part of my life. My father worked away so it was her wing I fell under for six months of the year.

I’m not sure if she wanted kids, and to this day, I wonder how many regrets she had raising my sister and me. “You we monsters, you don’t understand how much you have done to your mother,” would be a common phrase she would throw at us. “Spoiled brats, I don’t know where your father and I went wrong.” The cigarette in her hand would be nearly finished, and at the same time she was scrambling to look for her pack.

There were a lot of times in our lives, when we seriously questioned whether or not she liked us. There were times when I wondered if I was the person who depressed and disappointed her so much. I think when you’re younger, you tend to look at the smaller pictures, and you are unable to factor in everything else. The pattern of guilt and shame I experienced was common to many families who were self-destructive.

We would go for drives into the nearest settlement – Gander – took nearly an hour and a half. My mother’s sisters all left the small out port we grew up in and moved to the town. There they enjoyed a grand life of video gambling, working at airport restaurants, hair boutiques, or local bars. They were all beautiful women. They were black Irish with blue eyes that would sear your eyes out if you looked at them for too long. They were all thin, pale skinned, quick, and strong women. You would never cross a Blackwood daughter, for their tempers were known all around the island communities.

I once saw my Aunt Amanda who was four years older take down a 180 pound woman. Amanda herself was about 5 foot 5 and barely 110 pounds. We would hang out on occasion and either smoke drugs, drink beer, or do even more corrupt things. I loved her rebellious soul, I loved her unpredictability. In once instance, there was a classmate of hers – Kirk – who teased her as a kid. I remember her telling me one night Kick destroyed her bike that Pop had bought her, and would get together with a group of boys and call her “dog”. All the while I was thinking how could such a beautiful women be mistaken for a dog?

I remember being about 12 and seeing my Aunt attack him, punch for punch, until someone pulled her off of him. She was a beautiful woman, and I knew my limits after almost losing a tooth when I teased her for having a boyfriend. It was a wedding held at my other grandfathers club, I was on a date with a lesbian to be, and had free reign of the drink menu’s that night. My lips were loose and she was very disappointed.

On the trip into Gander, my mother would have the odometer up to about 120 or 130 KM per hour, a cigarette in her hand, and all we would see were the fragments of cars left in her reckless path. Her eyes would intensely view the road for moose. They were abundant in Newfoundland, and we were always on watch. The scatter time when we did see one, we would scream MOOSE! And depending on where the large beast was, my mother would make the right corrections.

The car itself would be filled with smoke; all the windows would be up and we would be sitting in the back of the vehicle persistently clawing into one another. By the time we were eight we knew most every curse word you could imagine. All you would her coming from the back seat was “Bitch, you fucking bitch” and a reply of “Fuck off you Goddamn faggot.” Mom was very good at dazing off into her mind, and leaving us to fend for ourselves. The only time she noticed us is if we did something to affect her personal space. Putting down the windows to air out the cloud of smoke would generate a bark, “Put up the Goddamn windows, you’re blowing ashes all over the place.”

“Mom, we can’t breath, the car is filled full of smoke,” mind you in the early eighties, smoking still wasn’t proven to be as dangerous as it is now. After five minutes of screaming and shouting, the windows would go up. The threat of being left on the highway like our Aunt Cassie was once was too hard to bear.

“Your poor mother didn’t have it easy; I was Cinderella. I had to be the caretaker of the family,” pleading with us at the grocery store, and trying to guilt us into being good. My sister and I would have the grocery cart filled to the brim with useless items. We would open bags of chips and leave them in isles and than kick our mother if she disagreed with us.

Ethel and Gerald were good grandparents, for what they had. They had six daughters and three sons. My mother fit somewhere in the middle. I remember mom looking back on her childhood with such hatred. She had to wash the clothes, cook for the family, and clean the household. I never asked where the other sisters and brothers were…Looking back some had jobs to help support the family like her parents. My aunt Charity would clean houses, Pam would work on the plants, and Larry would fish, and so on. Looking back, she wasn’t that unique; she worked much like everyone else in her family.

Cinderella actually married well. She married my father, who works for Halliburton, who saved this young woman. Now instead of scrubbing dirty pots and pans, she spends thousands on a monthly basis on needless things. They dine out regularly, buy expensive ski-doos and vehicles, and well, money is no object. Their world is very centered on materialism and self-improvement.

Sooner or later she tired of it all, picked up one day with my little brother on the way and announced that she was having an affair. An affair! For four years my sister and I were shipped back and forth to our half-uncle house. The funniest part was they only lived about 5 minutes away – just down the road.

Our high-school years were a lot different than the kids in the neighborhood. Our mother was the first women in the community to have an affair, and she proudly stated that fact. Soon, we started hearing of other families having affairs and splitting up; all the while my mother would smile and say “See kids, I started that.” She was convinced that the women in the community would always follow her lead. When her house was redone, she would point out the other community members who copied her style; when her garden was redone; the same; her dress and hair; and the list goes on.

The affair lasted for four years, and in that time, she took my father back. I was than in grade 12 and just praying that I would soon be away from it all. I prayed that this wasn’t the world I was going to live in, and I made sure I took the appropriate steps to get away.

I don’t think she ever found what she was looking for. She’s 45 now, and still searching for something. I mean, we are all still searching for something, but I haven’t encountered as many people who are that restless and full of regrets. And, I always viewed ourselves as inconvienences, as kids who stopped her from having that life she always dreamed of. I’m sure it consisted of trips to Paris, romancing the deserts in the Sahara, tracking through unbeknown forests in South America; it’s funny though she can’t even get on a plane by herself, I can’t imagine how she could have done all those things.

I can do no worldly good

Does heaven have enough angels yet?

I went to the mountain equipment coop shopping for a tent and some biking gear last weekend. The store was packed on a Monday afternoon with people from work and others in the community. The layout is nice; I mean it's a big warehouse full of outdoor goods - very appropriate for the BC culture. There are rows of outdoor, weather resistant jackets; kayaks; tents; biking equipment such as lights, odometers, and other necessary items. Quaint and impressive.

I looked over some tents and looked at some great bargains on biking shirts...but than I wonder, how do they manage to sell things so cheap? There must be an overseas, underaged and overworked slave camp, pumping out all of these questionably stitched fabrics. I have major reservations about buying something that was produced by an eight year old kid trying to earn enough money to help feed the family. I refuse to be one of 'those people'.

As I approached one of the many isles I catch a familiar face in the distance. It's my ex, and he's waddling along the isles with a smirk on his face. What is this, a friend, a partner? He's with another man! Now, I know you're thinking I'm not over this guy, I mean, I disagree, it's over and has been over for a long time. I know that thanks to this break up I have gained so much perspective, have traveled, and have really made some great and needed friends in the gay community. I see him and his 'friend'.

My first reaction is to turn away and pretend I didn't notice either of them. I walk up to a grey, riding jacket and start looking over the quality, examining the stitching, and looking over the price tag. Dennis – my ex - taps me on the shoulder. As I turn, everything seems to be in slow motion, and I catch the eye of his friend, who at this point of time is directly boring a hole into my soul. I have a strong disdain for men who are so aggressive; it’s such a turn off to meet a man, who you know is gay, who has no social tact whatsoever. I’m already taken aback from the situation and am made slightly unpleasant by this forceful, social gesture.

The friend is a short man; I would say he is about five foot six, and can be easily identified as being gay. You know how some men just look gay? I mean, it's not so much his style of dress which is unfortunate for someone his age, it was his look in general and his eyes: very gay. He is also older; I would estimate the age of 40, his face is wrinkling and his eyes have crows’ feet.

Personally, I would rate this man as a mess, and thanks to my ability to be able to sum them up in less than a minute, I can assume his intelligence level is lower than average. His jeans are worn, a little baggy, and black; the rest of his outfit, I forget right now, but I can assure you it was equally as disappointing. I don’t mean to be judgmental, but a lot can be said about the way one takes care of himself.

They are two gay men, enjoying the mountain equipment coop together. Fine.

I do turn red after I look at both of them. I think when I'm put on the spot; I just tend to brake out into a bright red glow for the situation I'm thrust into. "What are you planning on buying?" he asks. My body language is apparent at this time. I'm hunched and protective; my arms are inward and protected the rest of my body. I'm not looking him in the eye, but still staring straight into the grey racing jacket. "Nothing, I'm just browsing," I say in a contorted manner. He gets the hint and moves away from me. I don't allow his partner to briefly glimpse into my soul again. Their energies are something I refuse to be around.

I'm happy for him for either finding a friend or a fuck buddy. The recipient, I'm saddened to say will have a horrible time with it all. He doesn't understand who he is dealing with, and really it's no longer my business. Sometimes I just want to scream out: “Don’t you get it, he’s a fucking loser. He will do nothing but treat you poorly, use and lie to you, and in the end dismiss you as if he had no emotional tie to you whatsoever,” but I’m thinking this is something I should save for a therapist. It’s my shit, not his.

I leave immediately after in a daze. My heart is racing, and I'm still trying to figure out why this affects me so much. I think I know why now; it's not because he has someone in his life, it's because I don't, and I'm wondering why he can, and I cannot. I'm the better person. I'm the person who doesn't want to have superficial relationships where I gain and the friend or partner slowly withers away.

As I walk up the street, I spot a fitting acquaintance. It's a guy I've known over the past few months who has had his heart broken. I see him in a daze, and he is probably still at a loss, still feeling that separation, and that guilt of no longer being with the man he once loved. We chat as we walk up the street and I get my latest encounter off my chest, and he shares a part of his struggle.

He's a nice guy but I really couldn't see it going anywhere. I'm a "one foot in, one foot out of the door" kind of guy when I deal with the gay culture. I could never fully immerse myself into it, nor would I want to. It would be the clincher on life; I would be totally absolved to defeat if I were to play that card.

I hear Vancouver's gay district always whispering into my ear. "Join us Charlie, it really isn't that bad. We have rugby, many forms of nightlife, an after hours place, and a community full of people just like you." Why wouldn't I want that identity? To no longer have to search Victoria for like-minded people. It's just a ferry ride away and I could find a job.

The fact of the matter is: that's not me. I don't think it ever will be me. If I were to live in the West End of Vancouver, I would change. The straight friends I have would dwindle away, and I would slowly become more like them, and at the same time, grasping for whatever is left of my identity after I become part of the community. I would be sharing after work martini’s with a group of like minded, educated, and reasonably comfortable gay men. They, after a while, would start telling the same stories, performing the same rites of passage and philosophical discussions that I once found intriguing. But slowly, it will no longer be random, it will be predictable and dull; once again I would have to leave myself to search out a newer form of entertainment again.

I dull of things easily - especially people - and I fear that I would dull of gay men. I would break down one day over while eating Sautéed Pumpkin Gnocchi with Duck Confit in Sage Brown Butter sauce, and just shout at my companions: “My God, you’re a bunch of fags! Can we talk about things other than sex and fixing up your trendy apartment that overlooks English Bay? I mean, guys…ok, I don’t mean to be disapproving but seriously look at your lives; you live in a fucking bubble and I hope for your sake it bursts soon. Oh my God, I’ve become one of you!” After this self-realization I would run out into the street, looking around and noticing that I live in this community; I am completely engulfed by it.

That night, after making up a open house sign, I would plan my escape. I have a low tolerance for conformity. I would sort through my closet full of pressed jeans, pants, shirts, and tight vintage t-shirts; my pile of GQ magazines; the high quality watches from both Hugo Boss and Rolex. I would wonder what it all means. The only thing I would keep is my expensive art. That is something I enjoy, and no matter what type of person I became, art will always be important.

I think it's hard enough being an individual in today’s age without having to put the social and sub-cultural pressure of being apart of the elite gay culture in Vancouver. I think it’s hard enough to just be, you know, to just be a person and make something substantial out of life without having to think about all the other bullshit any community would throw at you. It’s far outside of being gay also – don’t get me wrong – it’s religion, it’s family, it’s everything. It’s every preconceived notion as to how someone ‘normal’ should live. I wouldn’t be surprised if you are one of them.

Just lost a little faith

One day, some sweet smile might turn my head.

The summer is finally here. I can walk around with t-shirts, and shorts, and sandals; I can tan, and see other tanned people enjoying cold coffee beverages and quick made salads. Oh yes, the summer is here, and the city of Victoria is feeling it. I see beauty everywhere as of late.

Do you ever get the feeling that you are surrounded by so much stunning, visual imagery? Does your soul burst with happiness on those days?

That's how I feel when I gaze upon a great piece of art, or meeting someone extremely beautiful. It's a feeling I can't measure, and a feeling that I welcome. There is nothing more pleasurable than knowing that this is it, and well, I'm ok...

A couple of nights ago I met Dale - who has a boyfriend - and asked him to head down to Dallas Road for a walk. It was a cool night, and we both strolled along Cook Street; the street itself is tree lined, and full of old character homes. The sky was clear, and as we approached the ocean, we could see Port Angeles very clearly in the background. The lights of the port town were twinkling across the ocean, and making their way to provide an adequate, romantic background.

I always wonder what the people in this well lit town are doing. They are so close, yet we never see any of them. The trail itself smelled beautiful. I could take in the grasses, the saps from the trees, and the array of different types of flowers. We approach a tunnel of bushes and trees, which blocks out the sun/moon and makes you feel as if you are somewhere completely different. And the ocean, we can hear the ocean beat against the rocks. If I weren't so respectful I would have pressed myself against him, and kissed him.

The moon is like some Roy Henry Vickers painting; full and reflecting across the sea towards us. I feel as if I'm staring into one of his works at this moment in time, and I could do nothing but enjoy it. I'm with Dale. This is what it would be like for us both, if we were together. Nothing else would matter, only our strides together, and comments about life. The moon, the sky, the lights, and smells; all that would matter is the here and now, and nothing else. I ask myself why I keep putting myself in this situation with him. I mean, he has a boyfriend; he is happy, together, and content...for the most part. Yet, I yearn to still explore him as a friend.

We are both hesitant, and have both admitted our attraction to one another, but neither of us will cross that life. We are not the same as every other gay man. I have been describe as 'one foot in and one foot out' of the culture I am apart of. I can say the same about this guy. There is so much I don't know about him, and so many bits and pieces that I'm so curious about.

All I can do is relax and stare into his hazel eyes, knowing full well, this man has struggled and had to keep his life a secret far longer than I could ever cope with; deep inside of myself, I feel love towards him. It's not because I love him so much, it's because I love the struggle he had to go through. It whispers to me, and pleads for me to break into that mess, that tangle of everything wrong with the world that has left a lasting impression on him.

No, I won't. I can't really. That is an intimacy that only his partner is aware of. That is something so personal and meaningful that only a select few could be apart of it. The only reason my life differed from his is because my courage forced me to confront it a lot earlier in life. There is beauty everywhere lately.

I went on a 40 KM bike trip this Sunday after waking up around two and missing an invitation to go hiking. I was sour at the fact I woke up so late, and immediately prepared for the journey. The trails themselves are well laid out, paved, and lined with trees and flowers. They weren't as busy this Sunday, and I attributed that to mother’s day. I pushed hard and crashed through the trails passing most everyone in my wake.

After 40 KM only one person passed me, and I could cope with it. It's not a competition, but I do like to know that I'm athletic and that at some point in my life I could take this hobby more seriously. I arrived at Sidney after biking 26 KM. The town is quaint, quiet, and settled. The majority of the tenants are older retirees; there is an energy of calm surrounding the place. It's mother's day and most of the older population is out enjoying the sunny day. The Bistros and Deli's are filled, and the older generation, who are wearing their brightly colored sweaters and pants, are basking in it. Their shades are on, and the conversations are flowing.

I am nervous looking at it all. I'm the outsider who will one day be that age. Will I want to be in a group of older folks, still being the token gay male? Will I have someone before I reach that age? What will become of it all?

It really doesn't matter, you know. I mean, I'm living and breathing; learning so much. The rest is meaningless. I'm thinking about Saturday night, and a friend of mine asked me a simple question: "What do you want out of life?”

Immediately I reply, "Nothing, I want nothing; I'm a driven guy and it would tear me up inside every time I concentrated on the things I wanted. You see, I was once consumed with want; everything around me I needed to accomplish or gain right away. If I didn't get what I wanted, my very essence would be crushed. So, long story short, wants make me unhappy, so I have managed to eliminate a life of wants and just limit myself to basic needs."

It was effective, and I think I really brought the point across. I'm living life as a Buddhist for the most part. A life of introspection and I try not to cloud it with the absurd things that most people get caught up in while living their lives. "I want nothing, man. I only want to live, change, do good..."

Driving Mr. Charlie

I woke up 5:30 this morning! I'm amazed. For some reason I went to bed extremely early, than awoke to the sound of chirping birds. It was great to have that much time in the morning before having to head to work.

I made some espresso, took a shower, and watch an episode of South Park about Mormons. It was so friggin' hilarious. I have come to realize both the Mormons and the Church of Scientology are both fucking wackos.

Marty picked me up around 7:30 to bring me up the dealership. I think he was a bit taken aback with how cheary I am in the morning. I was laughing, talking about how great life is; I'm thinking he had a flashback to the five days we spent together in Vegas.

I don't mean to be positive; I should pass along my blog to Marty so that he can see the darker side of me. You see, in person, it's I'm more annoyingly happy than anyone else I have met in my travels - minus my cousin Jill who's a raving Jehovah's Witness.

I grabbed my car from the Nissan dealership and told them I'm getting my brake work completed somewhere else. They were a bit disappointed, but it's their fault I have to replace my rotors anyway. They gave me an inaccurate quote last time I got my brakes checked, and I gave them a piece of my mind.

My car is at Midus. They seem like a great bunch of guys, and it's near my company. I went in like a pro, having a conversation about the brakes, and showing my knowledge on the subject of auto repairs. If they only knew that I had to go online reading about this stuff.

The most I can do is change the washer fluid, check the oil, and identify most every sound and say it's either the fan belt or the brakes. I think they thought I was one of the guys, and they won't be able to give me the once over. Knowledge is power.

My sister and I made amends two days ago. I appologized to her for being so cold and blunt. At the same time, she took her guards down and all is well. We talked about how much we miss each other, and how it's a shame that we haven't seen each other in at least 3 years. I have only saw my newphew once when he was a month old.

I'm not sure how to handle it.

I have no car

After dealing with an increasing scary car noise, I finally gave in. On the way to work this morning, I swerved towards the dealership and decided to pop in. For some reason, I try to be charming, I want them to help me out...maybe get my car in quicker, or I don't know give me a loaner for a while. No such luck.

I approach the overly busy service guys and I tell them in a blunt manner: "I have an appointment for next Saturday; I don't think my car can hold out that long." They look at me with a level of understanding and sympathy. "I'm just going to drop it off, I can't drive it. Let me know when it's fixed." Done and done. I also updated my information detailing what exactly is wrong with the vehicle. To be honest, the noise sounds really bad. It sounds like either a brake rotor or a wheel bearing is fucked. C'est la Vie. I just hope it doesn't put me in the hole.

After getting a 15 dollar taxi voucher - which I know will not cover the cab to work - I decide to limp to the bus station. I have been running quite a bit this week, and yesterday the heel of my foot encountered a sprain. I'm limping towards the bus station, chewing on a MacDonald’s breakfast sandwich, holding a 15 dollar taxi voucher, and the sound of my detox pills in my nap sack are loud and drawing attention to myself.

I'm trying to quit smoking again. Its' going well, but today will be one of the biggest trials I have had to face since stopping. It's always the way...things always go wrong when you need sanity and calm.

I arrive at the bus station, which is empty, and I'm making the assumption I just missed the 75. I look through the times, and I'm 2 minutes too late. If only I didn't stop for MacDonald’s. The next bus is in...What? 40 minutes? Jesus Christ! What kind of a bus system do we have in Victoria? This is unacceptable.

I know if I wait that long, I will be late for work. I decide to phone a cab. I'm still calm, and I think that I have a firm grasp on the situation. I look at the street name (Vernon, remember Vernon), and I spot a cab driving by and memorize the number. Things are starting to fall into place.

"Hello, Blue Bird cabs, can I help you sir?" She sounds young, slightly ticked, but she wants my business.

"Ummm yeah, I'm on Vernon Street, at a bus station, behind Save on Foods, can I get a cab?” I ask politely, hoping to just cut this conversation shop. "Sir, we need to have a street address...” she's already impatient and we've only just started to talk.

"Yeah, I'm on Vernon, behind the Save on Foods, isn't that enough?" All that has happened today is slowly starting to build. I'm still cool; I can do this without raging. "Sir, we need an address", and silence.

"Fuck, I'll walk over to the Save on Foods, can you send a cab?" Click. I cross Vernon which is a one way street with four lanes of traffic. I have to limp because of my food, and I'm grasping the 15 dollar voucher which won't even cover half my trip...I shouldn't have pointed out where I was going...I could have gotten it fully reimbursed...

A wall of traffic approaches, and I have to pick my limp up to a jog, and I howl in pain. If you asked me what I hate most about Mondays, I would probably break down and cry at this point. I finally make it to the Save on Foods center, and a minute later a cab arrives. We make some small talk, but he can tell that I'm really not in the mood. I stare at the meter rounding 30 dollars and we are at my workplace. I handsomely tip the man and stroll into work.

I have 8 missed phone calls and a pile of e-mails.

I've managed to hook up rides with my workmate Marty for the week. I mean, I can survive without a car. I never use it when I'm home, only for groceries, and occasionally when it's raining and I don't want to be in the elements. I'll be fine. If worse comes to worse I can take the metro bus.

I drove all night

I have a new ring tone on my cell phone. Now, it is by far the gayest ring tone I have ever had, and I'm so excited to try it out. The song is "I drove all night" by Cyndi Lauper. I have a feeling there are going to be a number of gay/st8 people who are going to be incredibly sickened when they here it, it's going to rock. I imagine myself at a restaurant or coffee shop, and all of a sudden "I drove all night" starts hammering out in my pocket. The looks of disgust will be enough to keep me going for a few days.

I was talking to my sister online the other day. Life isn't what she expected it to be. She has a 2-3 year old child who I only saw once, he was one month old at the time, and I was visiting for Christmas after living in Victoria for a year. Another thing she has is a deadbeat boyfriend, who I think, causes her to take her problems out on others; this is not an uncommon phenomenon.

She noticed that I wrote on my messenger that I was going to Montreal this summer. It was a perfect time for her to attack. Right away, after we get the pleasantries over with, she asks me why I never come home. I explain it's because of cost, location, and well family. All three things are unhealthy for me right now in my life. "You're so selfish," she replies. "You never give me or Logan anything." Selfish and ‘give me’ should never be used in the same sentence.

"Lisa, what can I possibly give a kid that has four bicycles and a collection of toys that are still in boxes?" I'm pissed right now, because this is the way my sister works, guilt; she was never really crafty though.

"Well, you can send him some money..." this equates to send me some money. My sister is on social services right now, and it is because of her own doing. All my life I have tried to help my big sister. We went to secondary school together at the same time, when she didn't have a place to stay, I let her room with me and my two buddies. The year after, we lived alone together. I have blocked out that portion of my life, it was not fun.

I’m sick of talking about money, I’m sick of being reminded as to how materialistic my family was. Every Christmas my father would shower us with thousands of dollars worth of presents. He would readily buy us a new car, a ski-doo, or whatever else he felt he had to give us to make up for the lack of emotional love he was incapable of giving.

A hug from my father would be a very uncomfortable situation. We had a thing about touching in our family, it just felt wrong and weird. My mother is the only other affectionate one, and we get along quite well.

Now, Lisa didn't attempt to finish her schooling, in fact, she had one assignment to finish at the end of her last term, and she refused to do it. She claimed, it didn't matter because it's was a stupid program anyway. Fine Lisa, I give up.

She started dating a loser friend of mine. Now, this guy is an only child, who wants nothing more in life than to drink, have a nice car, and be far more selfish than either myself or my sister. He is the father, and he is not helping her out in anyway. He even borrowed 2,500 dollars from her for his schooling, and refuses to pay her back. This is the man who allowed my sister to go on welfare while they were still together; he had a career and was in her life...

Yesterday, after giving me a guilt trip about not wanting to visit Newfoundland to bicker and fight with my family for 2 weeks, she decides to use her son as the main argument as to why I'm so selfish. It would have had a more lasting impact, if I didn't know that all her life she ratted on me; she bad mouthed me, and only ever looked out for herself. The only thing I'm selfish about is looking out for my mental well-being.

She than asks me to buy her ticket to Florida when my parents head down. I could do nothing but laugh. "A ticket, to Florida?" I reply. Thinking quickly I respond, "Why not ask Ryan for the 2,500 dollars he owes you?” Silence.

I hope I'm not failing to see why this doesn't make sense. I have a problem with people who expect things from others their entire life without trying to better their lives themselves. Call me crazy, but I value drive...and I don't believe in letting people sail through life, totally and utterly reliant on family hand me downs.

Sorry sis, my last words to her, which I may regret, we're "fuck off". This is my complex and strange relationship with my sister who would throw metal objects, claw skin off of my body, and consider me her punching bad when I was younger. I have forgiven that person, but I will not allow her to still be that same person. We are adults now, show some tact and suck it up.

We'll see how it goes...

The Craigslist!

We are amidst in a fury of notwithstanding, theological assumptions. Although we are now clearing our way free of any sort of Christianity imposed by centuries of oppression, we still abide by the laws given to us. My take on organized religion in as few sentences as possible is: whatever floats your boat, man.

I signed up to the craigslist the other day. I will give you my ad:

Looking for activity buddies for squash, tennis, biking, etc. Interested in platonic relationships, though would prefer to explore the possibility of more. Seeking masculine, attractive guys around my age (from 25-40 no exceptions unless you're fucking hot). Please send me a face picture if interested.

The only reply I get is from my ex. I haven’t heard from this jerk in almost a year, and lo and behold: he is the sole responder. First, he sends a picture of himself in a ball cap, green sweater, supporting a beard and a smile I know all too well; there is a cat in his arms which I cannot identify. He writes, "I'm the one with the hat". Nice, I remember that humor, and frankly, I don't care much for it.

He interested in getting to know me, and he readily supplies his stats, including his size down below. I mean, come on people, if you read my ad at all, do you think that’s the sort of information I was looking for?

Regardless, he looks older, and his picture isn’t that attractive. I’m glad I can at least get that sort of enjoyment out of seeing him trying to cruise me online. You can’t avoid the pigs in this sub-culture. Even when I make a wholesome ad, and state my intentions about wanting sincere relationships that doesn’t necessarily have to be about sex, I still get these assholes.

I e-mail him back (he knows my address) and I say “I know who you are, faggot!” Serves him right really. I’m not a bitter person, I am more pissed off because I can’t escape this sub-culture, and find something quasi-normal in this day and age. Than again, I’m still looking in the wrong places. Would someone mind telling me the right places to look?

I’m going to remove my ad from the craigslist. I think being a social butterfly and a sexual hermit for the rest of my life won’t necessarily be a bad thing. I can concentrate on yoga, spiritual enlightenment, and physical fitness. Already I see tremendous gains, and my outlook, and authority on life has picked up their place. Next on the list of things to do, could very well be owning a business. I can see myself owning a high-end fashion or furniture store, and ‘working in the trenches’. I can team up with my subordinates and really make sales, and feel like I’m contributing.

I would be good at the business and marketing side of things. It’s the uncertainty and risk that I have an issue with. There are many people in my life, who can pick up on new ventures without batting an eye – perhaps entertaining a discussion over gelato one day, and the next taking action. I haven’t quite mastered that yet, but it certainly seems amazing. Would my friends stomachs be as queasy as my own?

I’m imagining myself in Armani suits and a very expensive, shiny Rolex; with teeth brilliant white; and a smile that says accomplishment. I am strolling down the halls of my business having the most wonderful conversations with my customers. They are laughing, and polished, and brilliant. At the same time, my fellow employees probably think I’m a fake, and the customers themselves can see right through me. Those things aren’t important right now, because I’m on a new business high. It won’t taper off, not this time, and I will forever love the place I’m in – it’s my sanctuary and something I love discussing over 5 star dinners with my posh friends.

That is the world that most people fit me into. They say, “That’s where you belong, Charlie; you’d love it, don’t say otherwise, we know better." In a way I agree, I mean I’d love it as much as anything else. I got the same excitement working as a fisherman for 10 years, with different constraints of course; or my bout as a tour guide for two years was real and meaningful…I don’t think I should be stuck into the upper echelon of society because I sometimes come across as a prissy, spoiled entrepreneur that bases his entire existence on excelling.

My parents were upper class, white trash, if that makes any sense. I have my roots, man. Growing up in poor town Newfoundland will always keep me grounded. I went from a have not province to the one the most have provinces in Canada. I like the finer things, but at the same time would love to get dirty and drink beers with my buds back on the rock. It’s no different.

Men's Underwear

If I were a woman, I’d wear men’s underwear just because a) its unconventional and b) I hate girly fabrics; its equivalent to running fingernails across a chalkboard, I can't even think about it.

What a fine day to believe! Our epic week of sunny days is officially tapering off, and I can feel the overcast and the foreboding rain coming. Its Victoria after all, it rains. I have to spray my shoes again, just to make sure they don’t get soggy in the rain. I’m not normally anal about these things, but I’m starting to think about appearances.

For instance, right now I have a week old beard – I’m just shaving the neck area – I’m wearing a sour green t-shirt; somewhat tight jeans; a white pair of shoes with black and grey patches; and a multi-colored sweater (brown, grey, navy blue). That’s my style, it’s a combination of 60’s meets the upcoming, and nobody can own it only myself.

My legs and arms are sore today. I ran too long the day before, and than proceeded to work out with heavier weights. I’m not sure why I’m doing it – it’s not to pick up muscular guys who are normally older and on HIV medications (FYI – that’s why they have muscles: the steroids). I think it’s because I don’t want to be a hunched over old man that can barely walk when I’m eighty. I want to keep this going for as long as possible, and my fear of getting older and shoved into a home at an early age will dissipate.

Initially I worked out because I started raving and my ex boyfriend and I split. I started to hit all the seedy, drugged up, gay venues known as ‘the circuit party scene’. I wanted to objectify and be objectified, and invest nothing but the moment into my encounters. A broken heart does that to you.

Jesus, I must admit, I have had some hot encounters there, and I’m glad I did experience the drugs, and the music, and the venues…but it’s so frigging hollow and empty. New Years was my last time. I was sardined into ‘the world’; the building code wasn’t taken into consideration and I was man-handled by gross men. I did have some hot encounters that night, and I did get a lot of attention, but when I left that morning, I felt ill about the whole experience. My resolution was to avoid these unsavory places for now on. I don’t want to be one of those guys.

Where is Mr. Right? All the Mr. Rights I know right now are in relationships. They all seem happy, well-adjusted, and grounded. That’s what I want, all those things from someone else…but to me, it seems as if those qualities can only be found in men who are already loved by someone else. I am seeking the right types of men; it’s just that, I am not sure if he is out there. OMG I’m seeking: Tres Scary.

The majority of men I have met have had some emotional difficulties, like bouts of unhappiness, or negativity problems. My friend Catherine refers to the club we frequent as the “club of lost toys.” I try to pick up for my sub-culture, and I try to look at the positive, and do see a lot of the good. But, it’s convincing both my gay and st8 friends to look at the positive…well, that’s the difficult part.

Are we lost? I know far more unhappily married, straight women and men who have made utter messes of their lives. So, it's not the gay culture that's lost or in need of repair, it's the majority of society. I'm just thinking outside of my friends narrow views. I mean, I’m not stuck with a child, I have freedom to do whatever I want, I have a great job, I look and feel good…

Jesus, I think I’m adjusted! I just hope that we stop stereotyping, and generalizing this existence we share with so many different people: that’s the one take away I’d like people to pick up in the journey of becoming self-aware and comfortable. That shit is annoying.

Hiking Mt Finalyson

People always say you have to love yourself before you can let anyone else in. Well, I love myself, that's not an issue; it's the rest of the world I have a problem with.

I had a date with a 22 year old med school student this weekend. He incisively wanted me to take the lead, which results in a contemptible relationship on my part. I don’t want a one-sided relationship where I feel as if I am responsible for someone else’s entertainment. I have a great disdain for the younger generation seeking out older acquaintances’ to lead them. I can barely lead myself. The conversation was slow for the most part, and I can say that he is a fairly quiet and introspective guy. He was nothing but smiley - with his bright, white teeth and blue eyes - and very hard to figure out.

We hiked up Mt. Finlayson. It was fun, and I think the highlight of the trip was watching my young friend be completely out of his element. He did well though, and only stopped a handful of times for a breather. The day was brilliant, the sun was out, and the stones and foliage scattered around the trail was being bleached by the brightness of the sky.

The mountain is one of the friendliest places I visit. People coming up and down the cliff always say hi, we are all sharing the same struggle – a 1380 foot climb upward. I always love finishing up, and starting the hike back down, only to see very sweaty, out of breath newcomers who obviously haven’t did this hike in a long time. It’s hilarious, and I relish in their pain.

Once a young couple stopped me on my way down, asking me how much further they had to go. I knew that they weren’t even close, maybe just 40 percent up, and I lied to them saying, “Oh, it’s not much further now, you’re almost there!” I only did it to motivate them. When you see a goal insight the struggle isn’t nearly as cumbersome.

My younger companion showed up in jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweater. I’m not sure if he knew that he would be sweating a great deal, and he may have taken for granted the amount of work this novice will have to experience. The hike up is fine, but the last 35 percent is rocky, and you have to bare hand it at times.

He had a slight fear of heights, so certain areas made his clutch on to the stony walkways to ensure he wouldn’t topple down the cliff. I kept giggling to myself, seeing him on all fours; lurching up the path as if this foreign world did support the everyday, trendy gay male. The image of him in heels came to mind and I quietly snickered. He stepped on the stone and rocky areas as if it were a new environment all together. The boy was an alien to this world, and it was all so interesting and delicate. I really did enjoy seeing him experience this for the first time.

I guess that could have been my first time also. My friend Darrin from work took me up. Every time we planned a hike, he would always pull out a big joint and smoke up – we than continued on to a geocache (look it up www.geocaching.com). Geocaching is a very popular way to hike nowadays. We used GPS positioning, and the goal is to find a cache (a Tupperware container that contained a log book and cool items). It was a great way for two tech nerds to spend the day and have a rewarding prize at the end of a drug induced journey.

I loved those weekends! I remember being on of the rocky ledges, stoned out of my mind, and looking down. I was convinced that I couldn’t do it, and wanted to turn around. My friend Darrin though, managed to talk me up. I shouldn’t be so hard on the dude, my first climb up that mountain made me cringe in certain areas, but I was sure footed!!!

He’s a good guy but a little bland on the uptake, but overall he will make someone happy. After this expedition, I know I am not the guy for him. I think I need someone a little more abrasive, and bold like myself. I want someone who will challenge me and not just go with the flow, just because his older companion knows better. Nor do I want to be reminded that I have five years on him.

It was fun. Do I think it's going somewhere? No. I mean, I find him attractive, nice body and such; he's so nice though. I could never go for the nice guys...

It's not going to stop

I have to question my mortality on a constant basis. I wouldn't say that I am a hypochondriac, nor would I say that I'm overly sensitive; there are far too many coincidences and illnesses that occur for me not to think this way. The downside, or one would say the dark side of being gay, is having an intimate relationship with a virus that is killing millions. Sooner or later, it may get me; in fact, it may already have me, and I just am not aware of it yet. I have written this before, and I will have another indebt conversation about the same subject in the future, and I will pray to God, wish myself the best, over and over again.

I think my biggest fear is getting an illness that I cannot control. I wake up one day, and suddenly I cannot do the everyday things I take for granted such as biking, hiking, and staying very active. It would truly kill me. I am not afraid of dying, but I am fearful of the steps leading up to it. I am 27, and am already staring death in the face for the second time; this time though I can't predict when or why.

I have been sick for about two weeks. It started with a "normal" cold and has worked its way into my system as a stomach bug now. I am extremely fatigued, and it's been grating on me; I just want it to stop. That is the background of my experience right now. My energy is depleted and my mindset is somewhat negative right now. The upside of all of this: I have been talking to a workmate and he just went thought the same thing, claiming that it was his young, toddler daughter that had made him sick. Maybe I have caught this illness from him - it's not entirely out of the question. The illness is taking so long for me to recover from!

It's funny, I have been reading about symptoms on the internet and other people's experiences, and after going through my neurotic week, I have realized I sound a lot like the hypochondriacs that I have been reading about online. I'm a fucking hypochondriac! I think I'm ok, I will survive. The only argument I have as to why it's not the same illness as my friend, is the fact I had an encounter with a couple about two weeks ago, and one of the guys was positive. I think I was fairly safe, but there is always that lingering thought; the what if that will always be in my mind every time I meet someone new who has been around the community.

How do I combat this? Either I accept it, or I realize that sooner or later it will happen: it is evitable. Or I steer clear of sexual relationships for the rest of my life, until the other party is rigorisly tested, and a firm background check has been established. This clinical approach may seem a bit anal, but we are dealing with life, which is only handled out once in it's entirety, if we are lucky.

There is no romance anymore. The days of chivalry have ended. We are now left with a culture that is infested with chemicals, disease, and problems that we can quite nail down because there are too many fucked up alterations and at the same time it's beautiful and inviting, and I cherish each day. Welcome to my paradox.

Keep the walls from falling down

It's OK
Love is only meant for some
I'm the rock
The shoulder you can cry on

I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down

I'll play it straight
While you laugh and drink and party all night long
I'll designate myself
To be the driver who takes you home
I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down

You can be pretty and tragic
I'll try to keep the walls from falling down
You can be beautiful and fabulous
I'll try to keep the walls from falling down

I can't reach the pain you feel
But I'll try to keep the walls from falling down
If you can hold on
Lose your fear
I'll try to keep the walls from falling down
Falling down
Falling down

Where is your saint?
To let you know you're not alone
To bring you peace
Help me be your friend your confidante
And keep the walls from falling down
Keep the walls from falling down
Keep the walls from falling down

I don't drink beer because

I met a guy online a few days ago from Vancouver. He seemed like a nice dude; told me he had a PhD in Literature, and he looked ok on his dark photograph he passed along. Last night he arrived in Victoria and decided to phone me. Right away I could tell he was impatient.

Immediately he asked "So do you want to meet at my hotel?” I replied no, let's met somewhere in public and take it from there. "How about Swan's?” I asked. He let out a sigh of disgust and replied "No, we are not doing that". Right away I knew this wasn't going anywhere.

About a half an hour later we meet on the corner of Johnson and Broad. This guy...ok let me regain my composure. When he first sees me, he lights up and his eyes immediately scan me head to toe, taking a great deal of time in the crotch area. You could at least be a bit more subtle about it man!

This guy was dressed in black 80's track pants, a red hoodie; he was wearing glasses, a ball cap, and had a large chip out of his front tooth. He looked older than his picture and far less attractive. I hate it when guys aren't real about themselves. Sometimes guys give out pictures of themselves that are outdated; or where they no longer have a great body, or hair; or they are 20 years older -- do you think I'm not going to hold that against you? It just totally pisses me off! I knew I wasted my time but hoped to see some intelligence behind this otherwise hideous mask.

You would think you would at least make an effort to do yourself up when meeting someone. Are you that egotistical that you think people will jump in the sack with just anyone? I ask him why he made a piffy sigh when I asked him to go to Swan's. He tells me "I'm a vegetarian, and I don't drink beer"... Wait a minute! I what does being a vegetarian have to do with not drinking beer? I guess he just wanted to let me know he's a vegan at no costs. I don't think it's impressive, I mean great you don't like meat, but I don't equate that with being better than everyone else.

He's still impatient and hungry, and wants to grab some non-meat food. So I walk him to rebar, but at this point I'm so turned off, I tell him "Dude, the sex-thing isn't going to happen". I think he's a bit taken aback, and immediate his demeanor changes and he says "See ya". LOL. I think people are fucking assholes at times. As I walk away I glance over my shoulder and he's still turned towards me staring as I walk away.

The rest of my night was quite fun. I met a cool guy who's in med school and we exchanged numbers. He seems like a great guy, even though most of the night I was hitting on his friend who turned out to be straight. We will see, but I want to date; I think he's onboard with that idea. Something normal...

Coffee?

I have been talking to this extremely sexy dude online for the past week or so. He is latin, about six foot or so, incredibly built, and well you get the idea. He gave me his phone number and asked me to call him when I got over to Vancouver. I called him on Saturday and had a brief conversation...

He asks me, "So, do you want to meet for sex? Coffee and Sex? Or just coffee?". I think no matter how attractive I find someone, there is a mental element that comes into play. He was into himself, totally self-absorbed, impatient, and treated this as nothing but a casual hook up. I decided I wanted neither the coffee or the sex. I turned out this hot man, because when push comes to shove, I think I need respect and I need something more than a hot body.

My weekend was fun. I helped Rico move on Friday. I think it took us a few hours and two bottles of wine, but in the end; it was completed and we were able to relax the for the remainder of the weekend. The highlights were the BED party I went to, I met two nice dudes who decided to drag me home with them. It was suprisingly fun. And, I played about 3 hours of Tennis with Rico on both Sunday and Monday. I was so sore. I guess I'm using muscles that normally do not get strained...my wrists in particular were very painful.

High Fidelity

I had a great dinner last night with my co-workers. The restaurant was very tacky and had a beach house feel to it, with netting and other trinkets scattered throughout. We had a table for eleven people; the majority were married couples, along with Andrew and myself. There was a lot of talk about weddings, children, and couple stories; to be honest I was a bit turned off from some of the conversations.

The food was amazing. I had a seafood medley of halibut, salmon, clams, and shrimp, along with vegetables. We were sitting at a long table and our window looked into the ocean. Sometimes throughout the night I would keep staring out there, wishing that I was out in a kayaking and not having to deal with the straight world around me. I feel rather disconnected. I feel as if my "culture" doesn't allow me to enjoy the same things. It would be difficult to bring a boyfriend who was monogamous, and who wanted children, and would be perfectly dedicated to myself and our life together. Maybe I'm just jaded or cynical...

The people around me are loving and caring. All ten of them are special in some way or another, and I am glad to know them. If I thought that a small town, depressed, closeted Newfoundlander, would be sitting at a five star restaurant eating a three course meal with significant and accomplished people, well, I guess I would have frowned at the idea. It's so beyond what my previous life was. That life, which I haven't visited in a number of years, is always in the back of my mind. Sometimes, I wonder if I have even imagined it... No, I know it's still there to some degree, and I think coming back to it will be a bit of a culture shock. I'm sure I have changed a lot, but it will not as noticeable as when I am actually back in my hometown.

I planned a trip, you know. I planned it, saved time, and was excited. It never works out, and I wonder if I'm wasting my time visiting a family that has enough problems without me. I feel as if I have pushed my family away from me, and forced myself to forget.

Gone to Earth

Tonight was very interesting. My gym friend Steve called me (also my next door neighbor) and asked me to head over. We went out to the temple along with Mickey and had a few drinks. I find it intriguing to meet some new people, and get their perspectives outside of the bar environment.

It's not so bad. As of four years ago, I would say everyone was cold and clicky, but it's really not the case. We are not different, no better, no worse. We are all thinking, reactive, and philosophical individuals.

I talked to Russ. He was quite drunk but insinuated there are some feelings still between us. I think I disagree, and it's not because I'm writing in this more visible environment. I tried, I learned, and I have realized that he has to loosen up and work on himself before he could accept others. The only thing I want out of it is a friendship...which could take years because our two personality types.

He actually said something that struck a chord though, I am more guarded than himself...I think he is right. I mean, I didn't invite him over, I am anal, I am uptight, and maybe we aren't that much different. Fuck, I'm fucked up like Russ!

I guess I have to invite him over now. I am not sure how, or what I could do, maybe get him to come over, than we go for a walk? This is far too complicated, but maybe this threw him for a loop when we actually dated. Maybe I don't understand myself at all. I realize there are some things I still have to let go of.

I love what I know about passion,
I love what I know about mercy.
I love what I know about patience,
I love what I know about soul.
And I know you.

I tell all my friends that I'm bound for heaven,
and if it ain't so, ya can't blame me for living.
I know what it's like, and it's worth this misfortune
know what it's like on the other side.
At least 20 years, I have loved one thing only.

You are not helpless

Two women were at the coffee store tonight. One was probably 15 or 16 in age; the other I assumed to be the mother, dressed in black and smoking cigarettes as if she were dying. Her son, who didn't fit the genetic pattern I was seeing, stood over them, waiting, slurping on his damn coffee drink. From what I could see, the mother ignored him; her daughter was sat down, and the boy, that blond haired boy who actively slurped with little to no remorse, was left standing.

His blue eyes kept gazing upon the two women, demanding attention, almost needing their attention. His eyes were wide and open, and I would almost describe it as amazement, if I didn't already deduce he was very unintelligent.

The questions started. "Mom, how much money do you have?” The intensity of his eyes is overwhelming. He is leaning on one leg, and swaying, trying to play up his cuteness, and I am sure he knows how.

The boy is about eight years old, just standing there, and completely obvious to the fact his mother doesn’t have time for him. I regard him much like his mother does: as an inconvenience. I wonder why people produce. What satisfaction could I possible get from a snot nosed, spoiled, and completely confused child? I’d want to play chess with my child, read books together, enjoy documentaries; I have a feeling that it would never work that way.

She barely acknowledges him, and in her stupor replies "I don't have any money left". She is going through her purse searching for her next nicotine fix. Her daughter adds bluntly "You got that right". It reminds me of a made for TV movie, where the beaten down house wife has left her husband and is trying to make it on her own.

I couldn't take anymore. I had to leave and go for a swim, in the murky cool water at the Y. I think they have a senior’s workout class right before lane swimming, and I am sure they all pee in this pool. I am mortified every time a little bit of water gets into my mouth. I can imagine all these old seniors taking turns emptying their bladders into the pool. I know if I were over 50 and had a tired body, I certainly wouldn't go to the washroom to whiz.

The life girl at the pool was flirting with me. I mean, I am not egotistical, nor to I think people find me attractive, but she kept smiling at me. After I swam for sometime she approaches me and asks what my tattoo meant. I have three mandarin symbols on my arm; I tell her phoenix, and this lead into an array of other topics including spirituality, her brother, and other overly excessive things. I just wanted to get away. I pop on my goggles as we talk to hint that I'm ready to swim again, but she dismisses the hint.

I leave. On the way out, she is by the door to say goodbye. I mumble the same and take off. Now, the showers at the Y are quite scary at times. There are men who shower for long periods of time; some I know are gay, others I can only assume are also. I am pretty sure that this guy in the shower was doing just that! I just want to clean myself, but for some reason he thinks I'm interested in more. I blatently make avoidance the top priority, not only refusing to acknowledge his staring, but I have also turned my body so that he cannot see me front on.

I think the world is making me uncomfortable. Everywhere I go there are violations. It would be nice to be able to just say 'fuck off'. I think I’m easy going, but there are so many triggers and situations that I seem to run into, when all I want is to exist in my own space. I think living in a city will never give you that privacy unless you either shelter yourself, or find places where people tend not to congregate.

Sometimes the days are wonderful

Sometimes I wonder how long I could sit down and pay attention to nothing. I am completely absolved to the things around me, relentlessly stopping my mind, and shunning my vision. To mediate, and find nothingness; the quiet we all seek and yearn for, lost and found throughout the ages.

What brought this on you ask? I walked home Friday morning, after heading out with friends for St. Patrick’s Day. I walked for about an hour, five o'clock in the morning, from the Gorge to my home off of Fort Street.

The sky was starting to shift from night to day along the way. The birds have started to sing, and I hear tunes around me. They communicate so freely without regard of the predators that are ready to swoop down on them. The city protects them; they are less concerned about being hunted. All their instincts have adapted, and now they are more resourceful and cunning. Slowly, the one bird chirping turns into two, than more. They are basking in the morning silence, where traffic and people haven't had the chance to destroy their songs.

I see the homeless people - who are deemed invisible for some - waking, already conscious, and taking in their cold suffering. I can do nothing but harden my soul this early in the morning, the realizations and concrete visual stimuli of their lives was far too much.

One lady in particular is wrapped in sweaters and a make shift home on one of the corners along the way. She is serene and almost dead-like, wrapped in an orange sleeping bag that is completely engulfing her body. She is wrapped so tightly that I even wonder if air could get through that barrier. I pass by smelling the stench of urine, and the tangles of debris littered throughout the streets. I wonder what happened to her. How did she come to live such a life? Most happen upon this life because of their upbringings. It's too sad to even think of.

As I approach the Mac's store which is open all night long on Douglas, I see the normal group of homeless. One girl, barely out of her teens is fully clad like a street hooker. She is surrounded by a group of guys - some native, some white, all working the streets looking for their next victim. Another kid, on an old BMX bike, meant for a child, is short in stature and has the face of a defeated life. She can do nothing but gawk at me, and wonder the same things in return. The sight of seeing a man, dressed in green, with his girlfriend’s highly effeminate green scarf, wrapped tightly around him...who is this man walking so early in the morning? I am one of them; I know I am someone who they can’t relate to; nothing to them but spare change and fear.

I get the normal offers to buy marijuana and other fixes. Politely declining I continue my trek. The birds are chirping in full force, and as I look to the skies to see them, I notice the sun starting to make its progress. There is a limited array of clouds, and they are sparsely seeded in this vast puzzle. The purplish and lightly colored horizon is pure bliss; my soul can only be moved when I look upon it.

It all seems so different when you're walking utterly alone in silence; no traffic, no noise. My eyes scan the sky looking for something familiar; grasping to find this one thing that I know is out there somewhere, to find a familiar pattern in this maze of complexity. This in itself had far more meaningful that anything else I encounter on this day.

My pace has picked up. It's as if my legs are on fire, I can feel no pain, the cold has stricken me, and I can only wonder how the homeless feel. Ahead, another street kid walking with a gait, and dressed in white; pant and coat together white. His face his pocked and he is no doubt a Meth user even though if you asked him he would tell me he has skin problems. There are headphones on his head, over-sized and blaring with some foreign music. He spots me.

"Dude, wanna rob a liquor store with me?” and I am shocked. Am I to be confused with one of them? Is my attire "homeless drag", am I not accomplishing the remedial task of dressing and conforming to this society I live in? Am I failing? "No thanks man, take care of yourself ok", eying him, searching for something more.

I want to glimpse into their souls. It will be beautiful in its own right, but sad. I can't fix things that are broken, and to try is only to remind myself more and more of their suffering. And I am reminded of the things that have condemned them to this life. I am reminded of the ones I have known on a personal level. The ones who tell me how rough it was, how much they suffered, yet don't we all? What is the breaking point really that would send you spiraling towards hell - and I can assure you, this is a worldly hell.

I too have had my problems, and I know many others, yet we have dealt with it differently. I push the other way, I push to be able to live and survive, and shed my insecurities and hurts. I pushed. I only wish they could push as hard but it's too late.

The final hill was great. I climbed it, knowing full well, the top of the hill waits. My friends stunning home is to the left of me, it's an old three story Victorian home, and his lights are on. I'm assuming he went home and passed out without regard to turning off his lights.

To be wasteful is bliss, and really in our self-centered worlds - one person doesn't make a difference. One person can turn on every light in his home, start up the stove, play the radio, watch television at the same time, and turn up the heat; only to shrug it off and not acknowledge the environmental damage he is doing. Hell in a hand basket my friends. We're not changing. I thought we were... I thought that we were on the brink of an irreversible global warming, but I don't see anyone doing anything about it.

I will be home, warm again; surrounded by the things I know. I have a home. I have something to come home to, and feel at peace. They don't! They probably never will, and all we can do is turn a blind eye, and hope we never make a formidable connection to them. Never to make a human connection for fear of approaching emotions like guilt, sorrow, and loss. I even fear it, but I'm not that cold.

Make the effort to say hello. Listen to their delusional rants. Make the effort to at least care enough to treat them like the children of God. For they are no different that you and I, just a little more lost, a little more defeated. Need I remind you that you are defeat also; you have just handled it better. I always make an effort to bless them and wish them a good life, or hand out extra change or food, and the response I get is wonderful. They are happy to be acknowledged; they are almost tearful with happiness, and so am I.

When I get home, I do nothing but forget about it all, until it's time to bed, and the thoughts stagger into my mind. The events of the week come back to be, and I adjust, and examine, and am happy doing so. The days are never bad, just insightful; wonderfully spiritual sometimes.

Sometimes the days are wonderful.

Mine alone

I live on Vancouver Island, in Victoria, BC, alone. I have a silver laced bicycle, a cool looking lamp, and a number of insignificant materialistic items. It's my home now, and I cannot go back to my roots, I cannot put myself in that situation again.

Art, it's everywhere; something I cannot avoid. I hang the pieces throughout my small apartment. Three are grand in size and from an Artist in Victoria, three - the same applies, and the rest a just from random strolls and wanderings. Sometimes, I think it's the only think that keeps me sane when I sit at home relaxing.

It's unusual to come home at night; briefly and subconsciously searching for a place to lose everything on me, including clothes and such, and even my mind at times. Turning on one dim light, and sinking into restfulness after a weekend out. My mind sometimes races, I have troubles just sitting down and being. It's something I cannot muster the strength to master. The blood - my upbringing more importantly - ensured that idle hands accomplish nothing. It's not that I have issues relaxing, it's that Newfoundlander's always have to be doing something! Ask around, because it's every Newfie I ever met, and then some.

The people I meet are interesting. I enjoying going out on my own, being the lone ranger, and just encountering the people around me. There is so much uniqueness, many people who can offer so many different viewpoints and lives experienced. Sometimes, I get jealous, thinking 'why can't I settle into some sort of permanent group of friends?' - some people are just destined to do things differently, I'm guessing.

It feels like there have been safer days. I don't fall, and when I do, it's an epic event. I have fallen before, and am glad I don't think I will be falling anytime soon. The trick is to be weary, careful, and watch and do only when you're sure...only when you know they can't touch you in some meaningful way that changes everything you are. The everything I am, is completed right now, but it's not ready to invite someone in to turn my life upside down. Why do I always sink into this relentless pattern of thought? Is it telling me something? Is this the right path?

Every day is a god, each day is a god, and holiness holds forth in time. I worship each god, I praise each day splintered down, splintered down and wrapped in time like a husk, a husk of many colors spreading, at dawn fast over the mountains split.

I wake in a god. I wake in arms holding my quilt, holding me as best they can inside my quilt.

Someone is kissing me - already. I wake, I cry "Oh," I rise from the pillow. Why should I open my eyes?

I open my eyes. The god lifts from the water. His head fills the bay. He is Puget Sound, the Pacific; his breasts rises from pastures; his fingers are firs; islands slide wet down his shoulders. Islands slip blue from his shoulders and
glide over the water, the empty lighted water like a stage.

Today's god rises, his long eyes flecked in clouds. He flings his
arms, spreading colors; he arches, cupping sky in his belly; he vaults, vaulting and spread, holding all and spread on me like skin.

- Annie Dillard

God sometimes you just don't come through

I had to switch mice today. My right hand is numb and throbbing with pain...hmmm, it's either carpal tunnel syndrome which I have had in the past, or it's just poor ergonomics on my part. Luckily, I'm freak enough to be able to switch hands when using the mouse. It's a seamless transition and it's as if I haven't had to comprise my motor skills in anyway. Wow, I really do sound like a lame computer nerd.

Well, it's St. Patrick’s Day today. Traditionally, it is a very important day in Newfoundland. The streets, clubs and such would be packed with Irish/Scottish Mutts from all over the province, along with the wannabe's...hehe; you guys know who you are. Personally, I can stake a claim to my heritage since I am a black Irish English mix with a nice coat and fair complexion. The black Irish tend to have cool blue eyes, along with dark features and an identifiable look. Our eyes are usually squinted, and we are shorter in stature. Regardless, I came from an extremely good looking family on my mother’s side...I sometimes wonder why I wasn't as blessed. I mean, I do well, but if you could see some of my mother’s sisters - they are models minus the height issues.

This reminds me, America’s next top model this season is rocking. I know, I know, I have shed the evils of television, but I do download this program and watch it. I mean what more do you want out of a television show? There is Tyra Banks, the undisputed queen entrepreneurial conquests along with 13 women who will suck up and expand her ago into another realm of consciousness altogether.

Sometimes I wonder if this is it, you know, is this all I am getting out of life. I want to just pick up one day – not the near future – and just disappear completely. Travel the world and meet interesting people who may leave a lasting impact on me. I want to taste different foods and people. Photograph the images I see in National Geographic magazines and GQ. I want more. There is this desire, this fire that is so strong at times; it dampens everything else around me. I think one day it will happen. Either that, or I have to do sometime completely unconventional of a Capricorn like re-education. I know the main person holding me back right now is me. Nothing more, there are no excuses.

Looks like my other wrist is also going numb…