Poignant grief cannot endure forever.

It seems like that things that we want most are for some universal reason more accessible when we are not looking for it.  Since I returned back home, Kansas City, Missouri, I've been approached on more than one occassion by an old friend or foe or even a former boyfriend or lover.

"Jonathan.  I've always wanted you."

"Can we get together..say a date?"

"I really want to fuck you."

These are all nice little verbal treats that were lopped off the tree of hedonism and epicurian delight and thrown into my lap.  Until the other night I hadn't even needed to think twice before declining.  Maybe it was because I was with someone that I care very much for.  Maybe it was because I know that this person is a true constant in my life and not just some fair weather friend.  Henry and I decided to spend a night at his place watching two seasons of this terrible show called "The Lair".  I've always liked Colton Ford.  He makes most of my friends wretch.  I had a hard on for him until I saw this show.  Not only is the mostly former gay porn models that comprises the cast terrible but they made Mr. Ford, by the way use your real name when you're doing a legitimate acting gig, Grecian Formula his salt and pepper.  He looks terrible without it.  That silver really just added to the appeal.  So script is badly delivered and if you are drunk, stoned, or just giddy from too little of sleep like I was it is like watching a terrible thespian moving disaster. 

The night rolled on with one bad episode after another.  I fell asleep as Henry rubbed my back and we sojourned through the next to last episode of the second season.  His digits pressed harder into my back and yes one thing led to another and we were kissing and then we were fellating and then we were penetrating.  It isn't the first time that I had sex with a close friend.  In fact, sharing that with someone, even a friend, shows you in a different light and you are essentially sharing a side of you that most other people will never see.  It's truly a giving moment.  I had my reservations in the past, not only because it is such an intimate and beautiful and vulnerable and extremely personal thing to share with someone, but because of the grieving I was still enduring because of Eric and the love I still feel so strongly for and this strangely fading dedication I still hold vigilantly for him.

The other night, it was like I was for one moment breaking away from screaming and tearing my garment.  The mourning shrouds dropped to my feet and I gave myself to something that seemed so true to the moment, mutually felt, and safe.  I've heard the saying, "If you can't fuck your friends then who can you fuck?"  I think that I've said that at one time or another.  Maybe I'm just getting to the final stages of grieving or this has been ONE LOOOOOOOONG FUCKING SHIVA!!!

Make you feel my love.

I went to a club last night with Michael, a very good friend that has made a very needed reentrance into my life.  He always added an element when I was around him.  I always just kind of adapted his confidence and self-assurance when I'm around him and I must admit that feeling of empowerment and knowing that I'm not some ordinary not so unfortunate looking gent that trolls the floors of discotheques and scouring the corners of dives to find someone to take home to feel validated.  There is no part of ourselves that we ever felt the need to keep veiled.  I was nursing my five dollar Diet Coke and getting examined by the local talent.  I saw some old faces that I hadn't seen since I left for Austin in 2008 and they quickly disappeared into the crowd avoiding me.  About thirty minutes after twelve I was making my way to the overcrowded toilets and saw a very familiar man making out with another man at the bar.  My heart sank a little I must admit.  I exhaled and walked over to them and tapped the familiar scoundrel on the shoulder.  Rahim turned and presented a nervous smile.

"Hi.  I didn't expect to see YOU here tonight."

"A friend of mine convinced me to come out.  I took the opportunity since I rarely get it.  Who's your friend?"

"Jonathan, this is Kevin.  Kevin, Jonathan."

"How do you do?"

The guy threw me shade and then nodded his head.  Typical.

"Well.  I just thought I'd say hello.  I didn't mean to interupt."

Total lie.

"Goodnight, Rahim."

I turned to go.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

I turned back around.

"I wish you wouldn't.  Enjoy your evening."

I immediately walked back to Michael and requested that we leave.  I told him everything on the ride home.  I had once again put up expectations.  I find that when I do that I am setting myself up for a let down.  Eric would've never done that, I kept saying.  I miss him so much.  I finally purged out all of the heartache of not being able to even say goodbye to Eric or tell him that I loved him one more time or tell him that I wasn't given enough time with him..that I had so much more love to give.  I broke down over the fact that I didn't think he even knew that I truly loved him and that I can never and will never love another man the way I love him.  I might be a little broken up over him you could say.  After nearly an hour of crying on my friend's shoulder he put me to bed and slept on the recliner in my room to make sure that I knew that I wasn't alone...out of his own volition.  Rahim was a Mr. Right Now.  I'm still dealing with the fact that nobody will ever be as powerful as Eric in my life.  Nobody will love me so fully from a beautiful, vulnerable, authentic and organic place.  I love you Eric....wherever you are.

Sex is the last refuge of the miserable.

The consuming desire of most human beings is deliberately to plant their whole life in the hands of some other person. I would describe this method of searching for happiness as immature. Development of character consists solely in moving toward self-sufficiency.


-Quentin Crisp

I pushed off and rolled over to sit up and light a cigarette.  I hadn't smoked in over a year and I had a pack of Lucky Strike in my nightstand that had yet to be utilized.  My bare chest was dewy.  I tugged on the cig off of a lit match.  The sulfur scent filled my nose and entered my lungs.

"I didn't realize you smoked.  May I?"

I flipped the cigarette around to have the filter face Rahim and passed it over.

"Thanks for taking me out to dinner.  I've never had Ethiopian fare before.  I would have never pinned it as a spicy type.  When I think of Ethiopia I don't think of much outside of rice and raw vegetables."

"It was my treat.  I like taking care of those I like."

He exhaled the blue cigarette smoke and passed it back to me.

"I don't like the fact that you pick up the bill.  I've found that there is viscerality in self-sufficiency."

He chuckled and layed back against the wall of down pillows on my bed.  His chest glistened with sweet sweat beads and black hair matted to a well maintained body.  The room had gotten very heated and the windows had all fogged up.  The thunder was still crashing and the lightening was very apres peau.  The Thievery Corporation track was floating and bubbling around the base of the bed.  His caramel colored meaty hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me over onto his chest.  Chest to chest he planted more lips on my full moist lips and tugged slightly on my bottom lip with his teeth as the kiss ended.  He groaned and slid his hands over my shoulders and down the slope of my sweaty back straight down to the tops of my cheeks under my denim sailor dungarees. 

"I brought condoms."

"Oh.  That's very optomistic of you."

He chuckled and I stamped the cigaretted out in the ashtray on my bedside table.

"Jonathan."

"Rahim."

"Are you one that attaches sentiment to sex?"

"It depends I guess.  If I have the mind set of a lion on the Sahara during mating season in a Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom episode or if I have the mind set that I want to make sure that there is something more to me than a good orgasm to someone."

"You are an exceptional gentleman.  There will always be more to you."

"Also....the variable of whether or not I'm hygienically clean is a very important factor in the equation."

"I've never thought that sex was an equation.  I think sex is visceral....more so than self-sufficiency."

"Sex can be geometric given the angles and such.  In Riemannian geometry, the metric tensor is used to define the angle between two tangents. Where U and V are tangent vectors and gij are the components of the metric tensor G."

He gave an earthquake laugh.

"You sound like Wikipedia is all stored in your head.  I swear you know so much and all of it just kind of is crammed into that lovely head of yours."

"Actually, I read it on Wikipedia today."

We made out for a couple of hours and dry humped through denim then fell off into a slumber.  When I woke up he was gone but I could still smell him on my pillows.

We are the sum of our decisions.

We sat down at Matsu at 7:30pm sharp. I totally looked out of place in this party of four. Bald, porcelin skin dusted with cold weather inflicted rosy cheeks and nose and grey and blue eyes that use to gleam with beams of giddiness due to actually purschasing stock in sentiment and hope and flecks of quirky love sequences to fill my hope chest with. My portfolio is much more diverse these days. I draw the happiness more from the now rather than the what could be or should've been. I'm trying on the suit tailored by the mantra "I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now". I'm finding that it is something that you tailor yourself to...the suit is not tailored to fit you.

I've come to like my pointy, Nordic nose, pouty, full lips, and strong jaw. I used to hate my features. When I was younger I would sooth my emotional melee caused by angst and body dysmorphia by sobbing while stuffing my face full of fat girl food followed by Olympic purging. God then introduced me to Mini-Thins. God bless ephedrine. Oh. Speaking of eating.

We sat down...Noah,a former Israeli soldier now a father and in his first marriage to a full blooded Sioux. A Dr. Nathan Archer. I sat next to Rahim. The table was full of olive complexions and dark, chestnut or raven hair. They all looked so handsome and I felt like an albino but was far from the shame I would have felt before I got a spine. Rahim had been very touchy since I rubbed his back at the Warhol exhibit at Union Station earlier that evening. I'll admit it freely that I enjoyed getting the attention from him. His Persian features compliment mine and I love listening to him talk. He may be a Mr. Right Now. We haven't made it yet and I hadn't planned on going there. I try not to plan too much. Maybe if I just have fun and enjoy the moments the "Now" part will just kind of fall off.

We had gone to the exhibit and I have to say that it was refreshing to see some of Andy Warhols lesser known works. There is rumor of a Lichtenstein and Mondriaan exhibit coming....I just about wet my pants over that one. I love love love pop art. Now if I could see a Koons collection!! Hint hint.

When someone great is gone.

The name January always sparks the thought of having great sentiment for starting anew.  So far this month seems just like all the others.  Not that that is a bad thing.  I can't say that life has really been too eventful since the new year.  I'm making a continuing effort to work hard at the gym and even harder on lowering my intake.  I've found that sugarless gum comes in very handy.  I went to a Greek restaurant the other night with friends and witnessed belly dancing and plate breaking at its finest.  I deal with the heartache of wading through all the guilt and regret for so many past actions that hurt me and many others in the wake of an ailment that became a monstrosity.  I do this sifting through of emotions rather quickly in the morning and gear my mind to fixate on the now and a little bit of the possibilities of the not too distant future. 

I tend to zone out when I'm running, I'm up to two hours of running on the treadmill now btw, and think of all the wonderful things I can do in the spring once I get into a suitable shape.  The pudge I've been sporting over the last year is beginning to melt off rather quickly and I can see the me that I'm more comfortable looking at in the mirror. 

When I think about the last year I think about being in jail of course.  I also think about all the great people that past away in 2009 that touched my life in one way or another.  So...here goes..in memoriam:

Mary Travers

Patrick Swayze

Senator Edward M. Kennedy

Don Hewitt

Les Paul

Eunice Kennedy Shriver

John Hughes

Merce Cunningham

Frank McCourt

Walter Cronkite

Pina Bausch

Michael Jackson

Farrah Fawcett

Ed McMahon

David Carradine

Dom DeLuise

Bea Arthur

Natasha Richardson

Bonkers and Razzles were my favorite candy.

After beating a hasty retreat back to where I came from, after the debacle in Austin had been put to bed, after spending a month living with my family in their FINALLY renovated Cape Cod/Colonial and rediscovering which idiosyncrasies drive me bananas, after getting settled in with my new roommate Calvin, a fellow chocolatier and pastry chef (it's so much easier to live with someone that goes to work at 3 AM too), I stood in our kitchen watching fat, fluffy flakes glide and dance their way through arctic zephyrs that stirred them up with zealous, syncopated blasts.  I popped a couple of fudge covered espresso beans I made yesterday into my mouth.  The flavor burst open an envelope of pleasure and indulged my tastebuds by coating them with sweet and salty chocolate rapture then flowered into a smokey air roast.  The flavors poured down my throat as I took in the waltz of the snowflakes.  It seemed like Tchaikovsky would've been inspired to use this moment to brew new concepts and melodies.

I got the idea to use lavender with chocolate and kept it to myself until I got to work this morning.  I've got to address the weather situation we've had in Kansas City, Missouri since Christmas.  We've had several feet of snow delivered to our doorsteps and many act like it is a curse.  For the drivers I can understand the nuisance it brings.  For those people that don't live in places that get white outs and ice storms I actually feel sorry for them.  Winter is really  kind of a magical time aesthetically.  Watching a world trapped in a shaken snow globe get blanketed in a soft white glitter and taking in the fragrant, crisp air touched with the piquant smoke of active fireplaces is really an experience to behold.

So what if you get snowed in.  Just because you can't drive in it doesn't mean you can't walk around in it.  Ice storms can be pretty awesome to watch take place too and the acoustics outside when it is smothered in crystals and powder is so clear.  All that white soaks up the noise like a heavily upholstered room.

"Coffee's ready."

Calvin spoke with a whiskey voice much older than his 28 years.  Thankfully, he loved Chock full o'Nuts too.  I refuse to drink anything else except for maybe some Kona from time to time.  We clincked our mugs.

"Ch-yahs."

One whiff of the brew before it hit my lips and I was punched with the potent fumes of Jameson.

"Wha-ho-ho."

I pushed my mug at Calvin.

"This is totally your cup."

I don't like to drink anymore and Irish coffee has never been my thing anyway.  Calvin chuckled at his faux pas and gave me my unadulterated coffee.  I smiled and went back to watching the outside world.

It's not the destination. It's the journey.

A good defense is the best offense?  Do I really need to set up outrageous boundaries because I've been hurt too many times?  Do we all need to do that at one time or another?  Is the heart on the sleeve really just serving it up on a platter to be annihilated by someone's boot then covered with ants as vultures pick apart the morsels left over, scattered pieces across a scorched earth?  Are we hurting ourselves by making ourselves too available or putting too much of ourselves into relationships?  These are all valid questions when pondering what seems like such a terrorizing transaction.

I know that I will never love anyone like Eric.  Nowhere as much or as passionately.  I'm fine with that because it just means I've got a dedicated, undying hope and that says a lot to me about my spirit, drive, and capacity to allow myself to be human and fuck up.  We both walked, or limped, away from our attempt to be with each other with our own injuries and malaties.  It hurts something awful, but if he's not with me I REALLY hope that God delivers a person unto him that can make him happier than I ever could.

Question:  When we joke about the painful things and the secret things we desire, like a gushy squishy puppy dog guts type of love, are we really just casting a veil to hide our vulnerability?

I found myself listening to this track for the first time since my freshmen year.  Mazzy Star was kind of like my Annie Lennox or Torie Amos.  She always took me to that vulnerable place that is sometimes so hard to keep from building a wall around.  It's that vulnerability that is what I find most beautiful in all of us.  It's part of the connection.


Still falling


Breathless and on again

Inside today

Inside me today

Around broken in two

Til your eyes share into dust

Like two strangers turning into dust

Til my hand shook with the weight of fear

I could possibly be fading

Or have something more to gain

I could feel myself growing colder

I could feel myself under your fate

Under your fate

It was you, breathless and torn

I could feel my eyes turning into dust

Into strangers, turning into dust

Turning into dust

Turning into dust

More fun than an E Ticket

I have no doubt that my mother's preagnancy with me was an accident.  Mostly because on several occasions, she told me I was an accident.  She's also not known for her tact.  when I was growing up I was a pretty sensitive child.  I liked the term "tender heated".  She called me out by calling me a limp wristed queen when I was three.  I was also a VERY chubby kid.  she would intentionally buy clothes one or two sizes too small to "mostivate me".  And it did.  I was motivated to start cutting and puke up everything I ate by the age of seven.  My esophageal tears are weapons against getting fat according to her.

I was a puffy, fat, faggotty faggot growing up.  I was also very short, almost runt like.  I seemed to be equally wide as tall.  My fingerts were little, nubbish Vienna Sausages.  There's nothing more repulsive to me than a fat kid crying whilst wolfing down Little Debbie snacks.  Perhaps it's because it directly links me to a terrible, yet at the same time comical, part of my childhood.  As I got older I developed a healthy case of body dysmorphia so that I stay svelte and far far away from husky.  I try to relate to the fat kids like I can with gypsy elvin folk.  But fat kids are always so sensitive and with the tactless behavior I inheritted from my mother I can never tell if a fat kid is crying or if they're just greasy.

My mother also can micromanage someone into having psychotic features.  Case in point, I was seventeen and carving a holiday ham I the kitchen and my mother was putting the last touches on all the trimmings and sending me into a nuclear meltdown with her verbose whirlwind of disaster which she cunningly unleashed with her big, fat trap.  I had gained fifteen pounds since turkey day, I was breaking out, she was behind on all the bills and that was somehow all my fault, I was too homosexual, I was going to hell for that and that alone, my grades had taken a dive because of my "self- inflicted" depression.....Everything was susceptible to be torn into pieces and thrown into the fire that my mother loved to fan.  As she rattled off her battery of critiques, her voice became4 a hum of incoherent keys and annoying pitches like if two MOOGes could make love.  The all sound returned to her nasal high aural sting like a power saw gives as it runs through petrified wood...cutting me in half.

I turned and began screaming in a high monotone and repeatedly stabbing my thighs with the two tined carving fork.  It was the only way I could get the crone to shut up.  It was all soon made better when I got heavy doses of perscription pain killers and given the power to refuse my mother in my examination room at the local ER.  That bill was money well spent.

The Damned Don't Cry