The Badly Needed Break...

Man oh man, did I need this break. Aside from nearly checking myself into a mental facility for the fear of a nervous breakdown, I needed to create as well. So, Sunday I ran away from the big ol' city of Manhattan and scurried up to Fire Island. I had the pleasure of staying in "The Pines" with a photo crew and some models whom all got along so wonderfully. I considered it one of my gay family outings, considering all of us save one were gay. I suppose your family is really what you make of it. Or rather, who you choose to make your family. So, I was able to create and relax and work on my tan. And eventually get naked, skinny dip with tons of people, get delightfully drunk, make out with a straight chick, make out with a gay boy, and well...I digress. My tan is spectacular might I add.

Fire Island. Well for those of you who don't know, Fire Island is sort of a gay/lesbian enclave off of Long Island. Each minute on the ferry ride over calms you down and prepares you for either complete and utter debauchery or complete and utter tranquility. The lesbians have their little area called Cherry Grove. Irony at its finest. The Pines is more geared for the men, although everyone intermingles nicely. It is pitch black at night might I add, which makes it easier to maintain its "playground" status. Google it if you need more of a hint. I didn't seem to notice any high drama or cattiness usually associated with large groups of the 'mos congressing together. Its not to say it isn't clickish, I just didn't seek it out or feel that vibe because frankly I could have given two shits about what one damned Mary had to say, I was trying to release my negative buildup on the ocean breeze. I know I wished on a shooting star Monday night, but I was a tad bit tipsy and can't remember all of what I wished for. Hence, the whole thing of me getting naked (and I promise I was one of the last ones). I am searching out who has what pictures, because the last thing I need is a full frontal popping up on the internets. I may be a whore in the bedroom, but I am a complete gentleman in the living room, and I do have that reputation to uphold. Granted if I was stupid enough to let the pictures get taken...you know the rest.

Well, hopefully I will be able to regroup after that excursion and begin anew with working on me, and guiding others. I would like to get back to volunteering again, but the last time around seemed a bit overwhelming. Maybe I won't do as much. Maybe I will try another approach. However, until I can save the world, I'm taking each moment and chewing on it a bit more. I seem to be rushing through life with reckless abandon. Some lady on the train this afternoon told me that I needed to smile more, since I have a nice smile and I needed to bless others with it. I don't recall smiling at all today actually, but grinned ear to ear just for her. We both needed it.

Question Yourself...

What have you done today to make you feel proud?

I've Got It, I've Got It...

Alright, so the old man and the family is in Europe now at a villa in Tuscany surrounded by decadence and magical wonder. And, if I fucking have to hear about one more fantastical bottle of wine, one more excellent dinner done by this spectacular chef, or how upset that I am not there with the "family", I will purchase a ticket to the Empire State Building and proceed to climb the bars and toss myself in a dramatic flurry of gayness. I will deliberately wear a pink ball gown and a tiara and maybe so much makeup and just go out in the most over the top and delightfully tacky way. That way when the family is questioning why I did it, and why the press felt the need to mock me, remember that they brought me to the brink of insanity. The guilt trip is getting on my nerves to the point where I am just about to take a break. Seriously. I mean w.t.f.? Has anyone out there in cyber land just wonder what the hell is the point of actually having family? Or for that matter...keeping them around?

Sure, maybe your ol' ma makes a killer sweet potato pie, or gandpapa has that wonderful smell of Old Spice that just brings back old memories of picking the petals off a daisy. He loves me, he loves me not! However dear reader, keep in mind your mother probably stole that recipe from Susan from down the street and that perfect little daisy was actually a living thing until you felt the need to destroy it. Ok, I understand that a lot of people actually love their families and they were actually just dandy, and I appreciate that. I do. However, I didn't have the Hallmark rim job that everyone longs for. So do I over compensate by holding onto the family that I have left and thereby putting up with more guilt trips, manipulation, dictation on the limits of our love, blatant disregard of my rights, and dismissal of my concerns just so I won't be alone AGAIN on Thanksgiving? Yes, I think I am.

Therefore I am trying my best not to start meowing at old ladies, and running around Central Park buck ass naked with nothing but a smile and couple of pasties. I actually ran about 6 miles today, through the woods of Prospect Park, up hills--down gravel paths. I am sure people were a bit alarmed when I took off full sprint through the picnic areas and grass noll. Here I am coming off a badly sprained ankle, and I am running full tilt like a mad man. This must be my version of cutting. Like a teenage girl that puts a razor blade to the inside of her leg. Jesus, what a mess.

Saw a kid passed out in a drunken stupor on the Brooklyn Bridge today. His fingers were burnt from the glass dick. He couldn't have been more than 19. I didn't stop. Neither did anyone else. Just kept on walking. Maybe that is what is bugging me today, really. I just don't have any reason to care. Sure I go do my best to volunteer. I am honestly trying. I am also trying to live. For once. I am not trying to survive damn it! I am trying to live! So why am I trying to live for everyone else and not for myself. Man, this living shit is hard to figure out, huh?

Blame the Gays...

Interesting bit of news I read today in the New York times. Apparently, the four youths indicted in the gay-bashing attack on Kevin Aviance are saying that the drag performer provoked them when he called one of them a "sweetie". The suspects claim that they were talking amongst themselves in the East Village early on June 10th when Aviance bumped into one of them and said "Calm down, sweetie." They claim that this attack was nothing to do with Kevin Aviance's sexual orientation but rather the feeling that they were "dissed".

"I did not hit the guy because he was gay," Gerald Johnson said in his statement to police. "I just did not want my friends to think...I was a pussy."

So it was the flight or fight response. He felt threatened by the homo, and apparently his image in front of his friends was put to the test by the alleged comments. So in order to prove his manhood he felt it was ok to spur the attack that put Kevin Aviance in the hospital with a broken jaw. Wouldn't those actions alone, the fear and loathing behind the beating, constitute a gay bashing? Instead, the snippy comment by a gay man (and we have all made those snippy comments) is being put on trial here. In print, it is as if the press is ok'ing the atrocity behind the action by insinuating that it was Kevin's fault that he opened his mouth and the purse flew out of his mouth and smacked those kids in the face. What if it was a straight man? A metrosexual as a matter of fact. Should that man be afraid of making a snippy comment at a bunch of kids and then perceived as a homo? Or a butch lesbian? What if she just rolled her eyes at the kids when she accidently bumped into them. Wouldn't that be considered a "diss"? So it was a gang thing then? Really? In the East Village, cummon!

So, Kevin of course calls the alligations a lie and added the brutal attack on him was "unprovoked". Thank you the New York Times, Daily News, and the Post for belittling the situation and putting Kevin on trial here. Thank you for dismissing the actions as gang related or flight/fight response by 4 kids. Thank you for taking the importance of the lesson, the march and our whole existance and kicking it to the curb. You are just as bad as the President of America. America, where apparently being a second class citizen is not enough. We will be degraded and spit on until its the 3rd class citizenship that is labeled to us. Yea!! I look forward to that ride, don't you??

I've Had Worse...

So at a new place for a month which I will have to say after the first night there, wasn't my most brilliant decision. I took it from a friend of a friend hastily without really checking into it all that well. Granted it is safe and in a pretty neighborhood. However, the room faces the street and is directly above a bar. Yup, and it doesn't take into consideration the neighbors. Houseguests? Lets see, one is a lesbian with a kid going through a break up. She is very nice and "granola". She has the oddest piercing thought. She has her waddle pierced. I don't know why she would punch a hole through the fat in her neck right about where an Adam's Apple would be, but to each their own. Maybe I am getting conservative in my old age but seeing that is some freaky ass shit. The other houseguest is bar manager, who is apparently deaf. And, likes to watch movies full volume when he comes home. Last night was that trainwreck of a movie with Sarah Jessica Parker visiting her new inlaws. From what I heard it isn't all that good. Well, then again I've slept between dumpsters, so this is luxury. I think. Not so much.

Last night I tried to cook dinner for these two kids I always see coming off the subway. They are soooo mangy and skinny I start hyperventilating when I see them. There they are strummin' their guitar holding up a sign that reads "Hungry Homeless Hobos". Catchy, huh? Well here I was all ready to cook up a storm and then...I walked into one of the nastiest, dirtiest kitchens I have ever seen. I mean soup kitchens are classier. So instead of cooking and contributing to the world as a whole I spent 3 freaking hours cleansing and disinfecting. Don't even ask me about the bathtub. That was an additional hour of scrubbing. Then I called the nation hotline for gays and lesbians and proceeded to inform the operator of the atrocities of my temporary pad. They will be sending a investigative squad to make sure the 'mos in the house actually deserve their cards. They should have all their princess points taken away!

So, after hours of cleaning, and dreading the ride back into the city on the subway I began to realize I have started to become an elitest snob. Critical Charlie I was last night. No living outside of Manhattan, or with dirty people, or in a room that won't be able to hold my queen size bed. Is that wrong? No I don't think so. Well, I suppose I will be able to cook up something for the homeless boys tonight. I hope. Unless the new roomies screw something else up.

At An Impass...

I tried it again today. To video blog about something, anything that has to do with my past in the alleys, parks, warehouses. I mean, I don't know what the hell my problem is. Such a wimp, really! I mean, it was a month of homelessness. No more. It isn't fear, or anger that is holding me back. It is overwhelming sadness. Gut wrenching, nausiating, blinding sadness. But, no tears come. None, I swear to you I am trying to throw down in an over the top melodramatic make Meryl Streep jealous kinda tantrum. I think I might need to see a doctor about the tear ducts, 'cause clearly they is broke! I had a conversation with Brad and Marc a month or so back and I got closer to crying then. Well, I was angry and frustrated. Now, I expect to be balling my eyes out making a huge scene and bllaaaaahhhh. Nada dude. I ain't got shit. Except for this horrific and infinite sadness.

(post script: came back to this point. What do I have to feel sorry about? This is so confusing because this is not the one thing I took into consideration. Sadness. I was expecting anger, pain, rage, guilt, shame, even fondness or nostalgia. Not this ridiculous emotion. Grrrrr, next time I swear I am pushing record and going with it. Over that yucky feeling in the tummy.)

Exhaustion.

Like the picture above, I am tattered and I am frayed. I am exhausted. I am run down, I am flailing in the wind. I have no idea why this morning it hit me like a brick in the face. Maybe it is a combination of moving, reliving, and starting again. I just don't know what the fuck I am doing! Am I grasping at staws here, hoping for the best? My spirit is weakened because once again I am hoping for the best. I have been doing that since I was 12. Hope is such a funny word. So much rides on those 4 little letters. I have exsisted because of those words. I don't want to do it again. I feel I have aged overnight. Granted I haven't been sleeping all that well, haha. But, I am weary to the bones. Yes, I know I started a sentence with 'but'. Strike me down grammar gods.

This isn't an emotional low; or a bi-polar moment by the way. It is reality. Not understanding the point of exsisting. I want to exsist, I want to live, I want to continue doing whatever the hell I am supposed to be doing. However for the love of Pete, what the hell is it? What is the lesson I am supposed to be learning here? Why can't I get a grab of the ever ellusive internal peace? How many lessons is one person supposed to be handed? Honestly, have I been handed that much that I have to be questioning my point of exsistance? "Whaa, whaa, whaaa," says that kid born into a brothel in India. "Hear the violins?" says the girl in Africa just about to get circumsized. "Fuck to you," says the gay teenager in Iran as the noose goes over his head. I should be greatful that I can hang a tattered flag from my balcony, albeit with anticipation of what the consequences are for doing so. I should be on my hands and knees praising the sun, God, Allah, Shiva, or Budda for allowing me to wake up and smell the new day with a smile on my face. I just feel I am missing something. I want to grab it, I am reading the signs, sorting through my muddled thoughts, looking into the faces of strangers, listening to the words of friends and loved ones, tasting the wind, touching the earth. I keep walking into a glass barrior.

I am being dumb again aren't I? I am positive everyone asks these same questions, thinks these same thoughts, imagines a better exsistance. I am not wanting guilded streets or to roll around naked in a pile of cash. I just want direction. I keep asking the cosmos for a mentor, or a leader, or a guide. I don't ask much of the energy around me, I create my own. By creating my own positive hopefull energy I have (to put it in vulgar terms) 'cockblocked' death. Lordy, I am rambling. I have no idea what the hell I am trying to convey here. I think that is the point.