I couldn't really tell you the truth. Even though I am known for speaking my mind. It's still not the whole truth. Although, I know you see through my in-genuine smiles and half-hearted hugs. So, you are, at least, aware of my truth existing. You just don't know what it says.
Here lies the truth.
The truth is, he is not smart enough for you and I can't be around you when he is around.
The truth is, I want you to want to see me-not hope that I am around when you drop by.
The truth is, I respect you too much to be witness or accomplice to your poor choices.
The truth is, I get jealous of your free time. The amount of it. The way you utilize and misuse it.
The truth is, I get tired sooner/quicker than ever.
The truth is, I hate when you don't text promptly.
The truth is, I need to be touched no matter how much I recoil.
The truth is, I am not always looking for something more/better.
The truth is, I can be so happy being unhappy.
The truth is, I don't pay enough attention to my happy.
The truth is, I probably need you more than I should.
The truth is, I probably love you more than you do me.
The truth is, I am loving myself...for the first time in a long time.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Don't be Sad Get GLADD
I happened to be lucky enough to attend the Gladd Media awards on Monday night at the Mariott Ballroom in Times Square. Sitting with my boss, his partner, and various other successful GLBT business persons and creative types.
I bumped elbows with Tom Ford, smiled and shared a joke with Julianne Moore, shook hands with Kate Clinton, thanked Cynthia Nixon for her generous donation, made google eyes at Robert Gant and tried to remind Heather Matarazzo of our fleeting but fun friendship back in '01.
I listened to Whoopi Goldberg crack us all up with her straight forward quips and loving acceptance of a community that has kept her afloat. I listened to Cynthia Nixon find a sense of humor about her late blooming. I soaked up Rosie O' Donell's politics mixed with genuine thanks and humbleness at the success of her family cruise line and the documentary that I had no idea existed about it. I was warmed by John Water's confident manner and truthful approach toward the audience.
Then came the montage of video footage and media coverage in the last year. The good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful.
I cried.
Nothing too intense just small, sniffly tears.
My visibility as a gay man is more powerful than I will ever know. Each person who takes a stride in public to be recognized, accepted, themselves, etc., is making crucial steps and huge advances in the way we are perceived, portrayed, treated and ultimately understood.
Everything has to do with everything. From Ann Coulter to Rosie O' Donell. From coming out to killings.
It has only been 40 years since the movement really became a movement.
Progress is evident.
I felt empowered, inspired, accepted and safe Monday night.
That doesn't happen very often.
Thank you for being GLADD.
I bumped elbows with Tom Ford, smiled and shared a joke with Julianne Moore, shook hands with Kate Clinton, thanked Cynthia Nixon for her generous donation, made google eyes at Robert Gant and tried to remind Heather Matarazzo of our fleeting but fun friendship back in '01.
I listened to Whoopi Goldberg crack us all up with her straight forward quips and loving acceptance of a community that has kept her afloat. I listened to Cynthia Nixon find a sense of humor about her late blooming. I soaked up Rosie O' Donell's politics mixed with genuine thanks and humbleness at the success of her family cruise line and the documentary that I had no idea existed about it. I was warmed by John Water's confident manner and truthful approach toward the audience.
Then came the montage of video footage and media coverage in the last year. The good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful.
I cried.
Nothing too intense just small, sniffly tears.
My visibility as a gay man is more powerful than I will ever know. Each person who takes a stride in public to be recognized, accepted, themselves, etc., is making crucial steps and huge advances in the way we are perceived, portrayed, treated and ultimately understood.
Everything has to do with everything. From Ann Coulter to Rosie O' Donell. From coming out to killings.
It has only been 40 years since the movement really became a movement.
Progress is evident.
I felt empowered, inspired, accepted and safe Monday night.
That doesn't happen very often.
Thank you for being GLADD.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
This Just In...
It's been awhile. I know.
It is also very rare that I journal within my blog. Lately, over the past year I have only eluded to my life or written from various perspectives. Sometimes, I have even tried my hand at fiction. But, mostly I have tried to keep a "James Frey" approach to my writing. A fine line between reality and fiction. True emotion or assignment of such. I write in vague metaphors which some "writers" can not stand, other's relish. I stretch myself as a thinker. I give you only a taste of what I might be going through with little to no explanation. Or I rely on a funny story from my past that is guaranteed to garner comments.
This blog exists solely for my own needs. It scratches an itch I have. The itch to try all the uncharted areas of my creativity. The itch to express myself. The itch to gossip safely and anonymously (sort of). The itch or urge rather to be read and understood. The desire to find commonalities among other thinkers and evolving human beings out there.
The blog stems from the creativity and thoughts of other's. Specifically, it's beginnings come from Joely's company. One of my best friend's blogs. This blog has been many things. It's been a bitch fest, a vent system, a piece of art, a lesson in loneliness, an exercise in storytelling, etc. Through her thoughts I found other thinkers. Too many to name here. Some are linked other's are not...yet. But, there are so many people out there with so much to say. Your blogs and your comments often stir my thoughts enough to provoke me to write. Thank you.
I never want to be a Stephanie Klien or a Joe.My.God. or a Perez Hilton. (Or maybe the longing is so deep it hasn't penetrated me yet.) I just want to write when I feel like it and when I have the time.
Lately, things are going well for me. I am surviving work. I am learning to live by myself more and more each day. I am trying to relax my thoughts and my reactions. I am looking at myself in the mirror again and content with what is reflected back at me. I am deepening my personal relationships. I am making goals. I am taking the baby steps needed to reach them. I am working on my tolerance. I am focusing on my future (one tiny fragment at a time). And I am not feeling guilty for much of anything anymore. That is the biggest step. I have been sad and lonely because I feel guilty for silly things, unimportant things, and things that have passed and there's nothing more that could be done.
I have a lot more to say than this. I just wanted to post an update.
This just in.
Life just IS right now. Nothing too fabulous or tragic to report.
I am Being.
It is also very rare that I journal within my blog. Lately, over the past year I have only eluded to my life or written from various perspectives. Sometimes, I have even tried my hand at fiction. But, mostly I have tried to keep a "James Frey" approach to my writing. A fine line between reality and fiction. True emotion or assignment of such. I write in vague metaphors which some "writers" can not stand, other's relish. I stretch myself as a thinker. I give you only a taste of what I might be going through with little to no explanation. Or I rely on a funny story from my past that is guaranteed to garner comments.
This blog exists solely for my own needs. It scratches an itch I have. The itch to try all the uncharted areas of my creativity. The itch to express myself. The itch to gossip safely and anonymously (sort of). The itch or urge rather to be read and understood. The desire to find commonalities among other thinkers and evolving human beings out there.
The blog stems from the creativity and thoughts of other's. Specifically, it's beginnings come from Joely's company. One of my best friend's blogs. This blog has been many things. It's been a bitch fest, a vent system, a piece of art, a lesson in loneliness, an exercise in storytelling, etc. Through her thoughts I found other thinkers. Too many to name here. Some are linked other's are not...yet. But, there are so many people out there with so much to say. Your blogs and your comments often stir my thoughts enough to provoke me to write. Thank you.
I never want to be a Stephanie Klien or a Joe.My.God. or a Perez Hilton. (Or maybe the longing is so deep it hasn't penetrated me yet.) I just want to write when I feel like it and when I have the time.
Lately, things are going well for me. I am surviving work. I am learning to live by myself more and more each day. I am trying to relax my thoughts and my reactions. I am looking at myself in the mirror again and content with what is reflected back at me. I am deepening my personal relationships. I am making goals. I am taking the baby steps needed to reach them. I am working on my tolerance. I am focusing on my future (one tiny fragment at a time). And I am not feeling guilty for much of anything anymore. That is the biggest step. I have been sad and lonely because I feel guilty for silly things, unimportant things, and things that have passed and there's nothing more that could be done.
I have a lot more to say than this. I just wanted to post an update.
This just in.
Life just IS right now. Nothing too fabulous or tragic to report.
I am Being.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Emergency Contact
It was most definitely an emergency. It came with sirens in the form of moans and screams, lights in the speed of my movements, and urgency in my anxious gut throwing me on an airplane in a two week spontaneous decision. Hell, it practically came from a megaphone that was magically attached to my shower head while I sang my heart out.
At least that's how my mind would describe it.
I needed contact with another. Physical, emotional, genuine, tangible contact. I needed to feel flesh. I needed to smell skin. I needed to hear another's heartbeat. I wanted fingers intertwined and legs draped. I wanted tongues to touch and run. I wanted breath to breathe life into me. I needed to know I was real. That my body still had feeling. That my soul still had energy and connection. It felt like an emergency.
Emergency Contact.
Over the course of the past few months, I have had to brave my doctor and then a dentist and soon the dermatologist.
With these visits comes a lot of paperwork. Forms with check lists and redundant information that is located on my driver's license, my insurance forms, my medical records, etc. Questions about my sexual activity, my allergies, my family history, my habits.
Then there is always the emergency contact section.
I always pause when I reach this point in the forms. My pen or number 2 pencil hovers over the blank space.
I don't have anyone to put on the emergency contact.
I certainly can't put the beautiful man who, only recently, satisfied my longing and craving for emergency contact.
I guess the emergency is over. But, I still need the contact.
You know, in case of an emergency.
At least that's how my mind would describe it.
I needed contact with another. Physical, emotional, genuine, tangible contact. I needed to feel flesh. I needed to smell skin. I needed to hear another's heartbeat. I wanted fingers intertwined and legs draped. I wanted tongues to touch and run. I wanted breath to breathe life into me. I needed to know I was real. That my body still had feeling. That my soul still had energy and connection. It felt like an emergency.
Emergency Contact.
Over the course of the past few months, I have had to brave my doctor and then a dentist and soon the dermatologist.
With these visits comes a lot of paperwork. Forms with check lists and redundant information that is located on my driver's license, my insurance forms, my medical records, etc. Questions about my sexual activity, my allergies, my family history, my habits.
Then there is always the emergency contact section.
I always pause when I reach this point in the forms. My pen or number 2 pencil hovers over the blank space.
I don't have anyone to put on the emergency contact.
I certainly can't put the beautiful man who, only recently, satisfied my longing and craving for emergency contact.
I guess the emergency is over. But, I still need the contact.
You know, in case of an emergency.
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