July 25, 1999
The fifth week of school begins tomorrow. I'm loving it, though so far what's been taught I've learned on my own already. Still, there are bits and pieces that are new that I pick up. And I'm really not bored, I consider the lectures and exercises as opportunities to brush up...
I went to a friend's birthday party at El Rio, today. Sundays, El Rio has live Latin music on their back patio. I haven't visited this bar in over three years. It was never high on my list, in any of my hay days but when I did go, I enjoyed the experience. Little has changed with El Rio much has for me. Perhaps it's getting older, my change in HIV status, time itself. I feel it's a combination of many things including those above that have shifted my priorities. I am just not into the bar scene anymore. Very little depth and I get the distinct impression that most people around me are NOT having a good time. Take a look at the average face next time you're out at a bar, see if I'm on to something...
I stayed for a few hours to honor my friend's newest life change but I enjoyed very little of it. Part of my disenchanted comes from the deep changes occuring within my healing psyche, part because my heart is elsewhere (about 3000 miles away in fact). Some is historical- I really do not feel comfortable at large parties especially in public settings. I find myself chattering small, superficial bon motts or most likely, listening as interestedly as I'm able to the self-important retellings of someone's inane preoccupations. Actually, the small group I've been accepted by are a good bunch but we do tend to shy away from any real intellectual topics. Lately (the last two years or so), this has begun to turn like some literary worm in my well-tilted mind. I need more intimacy, more exploration with my peers of my environment, more, more, more...
It is truly the most precious of treasures to find one sympathetic soul.
July 13, 1999
More days flow by, liquid and shiney, ebbing into the slightest crevices, seeping into the invisible cracks, working its inevitable path past the minutes and hours, etching the caverns of time and leaving the subtle markings to be read in the future, perhaps, by the meticulous efforts of those who eek out the tiniest grains of curiousity.
It is the character of humans to think linearly, from past to present to future. In fact, most people have a blindness to thinking about their present with the same curious detachment or analytic constraints applied to past and future. "Living in the moment" is difficult for most, providing for the dicipline of meditation that requires such a perspective. Living in the past, with one's sepia toned poignancies and other yellowed memories, leaves a person haunting one's own life- unaware of the passage of events and unable to evolve toward a truer refinement. Those who live only for their futures, always expectant, with a furtive, nervousness generated by a painful past, neglect their present and never realize that those glowing futures they await must become the present at some point and will then summarily, be overlooked.
A prevailing and accepted theory concerning time is that it is not linear but rather all inclusive- that all time exists at once- it is the persective of the viewer that creates the linear appearance and therefore, experience. Accordingly, we all should be able to perceive all possible futures as we do with our pasts. But there in is a possible answer. How much of our pasts do we really perceive? Under what kinds of very obvious filters do we see that which is right in front of us? How do each of us interpret the same events differently- all very "real" to the individual?
I ponder over my own past, present and possible future(s). How do I learn and capitalize from each? Which filters are acceptable and which should I heave on the pyre of my spirit? What have I learned/experienced from my past? How do I live in my present more effectively? Which of the number of futures presenting themselves do I choose? The world opens up for those who are able to take the initiative to do so. The effort is not always easy, probably seldomly so, but it is required or one must acquiesce to whatever falls in one's path. I prefer choice to leavings.
July 10, 1999
Happy Saturday morning... Another week of school passes and I manage to survive. I now look to thrive, to succeed, to bloom in full, explosive creativity. I'm finding the attempt to manufacture the exceptional requires the extra time and effort, of which I'm willing, but also I must manipulate the limited capabilities of the machines I have access to at those times. Summarily, I have a Mac and in class we are using PC's. So. I must find new ways to save my work in formats and avenues that I may use to transfer my work...
My fellow classmates seem very talented. I've seen much of their work in the very short time and using the very few tools available to us at this point and they have created beautiful pages and pieces. This is inspirational and exciting. I feel very little jeolousy or envy, experiencing the promise of our class as a whole. Eventually, we will be working together as a group on an actual client site or two and certainly at this stage we will all reap the benefit of what is becoming an obvious motherload of creative energies.
Each brings his or her own creative experiences- one woman was a fashion designer, we have two photographers, an art history enthusiast, two fine artists, a 3D buff. And everyone is dedicated as well as helpful and willing to share their insight and histories.
My housemate, former partner and sometime patron saint of this huddle mass is in the hospital. He's having surgery on a cist that has been aggravating him on and off since I've known him. Lately, it's been very painful and finally we had to take him in to the emergency room. Now, there is an adventure.
Because neither of us has much money and he has no insurance we are required to use the county hospital- San Franciso General. This hospital has one of the busiest emergency/trauma wards in the nation and to their credit rated one of the best. But the case load presses the overworked staff to tend to the most critical patients first. My housemate did not fit into that category, per se, though to him he was critical, the pain now excruciating. We waited five hours to be seen and after a short diagnosis were told that we had to come back the next day for treatment. This meant going through another waiting game. Very frustrating. Arriving at the hospital at 8;30 am, he was finally admitted to the hospital yesterday afternoon and went into surgery at 8:00 pm...
Today, I'm working on making good on the promise the acceptance committee sees in me, taking a short break, perhaps, to share a long-distance movie experience. That's it for me. Have a good weekend...
July 06, 1999
Home from a short of 4th of July trip to Lake Tahoe. What a beautiful place- all those evergreens, fresh air, natural rock formations and blue blue water... The trip was too short, as far as spending time in the gorgeous surroundings. And they have a wonderful fireworks display- I DO love sparkly stuff. But...
The morning after my friends and I arrived, I came down with some small fluish thing. I recovered well enough that evening to view the terrific, annual fireworks display. The next day, we all went over to the beach and after slathering my all-to-white skin with #45 and listening to some cute boy's bored recitation of instruction, I climbed aboard my first jet ski. I gentled myself out into the water and out past the safety bouys, testing what little skill I had and trying to secure some bond between us. I throttled her down and took off in a flash slowly easing the bumps out of my ride. My confidence was beginning to grow as I executed a speedy turn in a new direction. Laughing and proudly brandishing my masculine pride in taming this throbbing wild beast between my legs, I let out a "whoop" and sped off. I saw one of my friends on his own Ski-Do coming past me in the distance. I slowed to wave and to turn again to move off in a new direction. The turn was a slow one and I gave it gas at a moment that turned out to be most unfortunate. The machine bucked and turned, flipping me off into the cold, cold mountain water. It was a slow enough process that I laughed as I dunked. I surfaced only to hit my head on the awaiting jet ski. Smiling to myself, I attempted to get back up on the machine as I was instructed only to turn it over and over. It was just about this time that I started to feel very dizzy and the temperature of the water began to feel physically painful. I guess I may have been weaker than usual due to recovery from the flu. I waved my arms for assistance as I'd been instructed. No one came. And my dizziness was getting worse now conjoined with a growing nausea. My fear now set in. Out load, I calmed myself and waited. I waited ten long minutes (which seem longer, believe me, when you're in perceived trouble) until my saviors arrived in a small power boat on their way to the dock. I climbed aboard, threatening to spew by that point, and one of the passangers managed to board my jet ski to ride it back. Making it to shore, my friends took possession of and soothed me. After a while, Rex (my housemate, former partner and loving patron) and I left to go home. A few miles into our trip, I'd calmed down about my perilous escapade and we had a good laugh about how inevitable this accident had to be with me in the picture. I reserved the right to never jet ski again...
I start my second week at school. It occurs to me that I haven't really explained about that. I heard about an intensive training program in web design certification offered to low income people. This has been one of my desires for many years but I never could afford to go back to school (never mind being physically incapacitated for much of that time). I jumped at the chance, hurredly putting together the required application, resume and letters of reference needed to apply. All this three days until it was due. After basic computer testing and an interview, I was happily accepted.
It's great to be back in school for many reasons- learning, meeting new people with common interests, and having purpose- among them. I, of course, am putting a lot of pressure on myself to complete this course. I fear not feeling well enough to participate. The HIV thing isn't really the problem since I'm quite healthy in that area, but along with the healing of a past rife with abuse comes much pain and anxiety which manifests itself physically. I get very nauseous, have at least some general low level nervousness, experience vertigo and headaches pretty much daily. Sometimes it can be overwhelming (as my silences in my web site tinkering will attest to). And occasionally I have to add med side effects into the mix. But I am a fighter and push myself, sometimes too hard- which may be especially ineffective when it is detrimental and really not necessary.
So, I fight and smile and laugh and enjoy what I can. I cry sometimes and huddle in my bed holding on to my big, stuffed elephant, Elmore, until the fear passes. I heal as I go, striving for the days when I feel powerful and on-fire. I know I'm coming along, really healing, and even when the fear/pain/discomfort is greatest- I'm aware of that and take comfort in it. Not easy but necessary.
Hope all is well in your house- the day calls me. Take care, all.
June 29, 1999
It seems that I have caused quite a stir with a few people. I had expected that there might be some difficulties with my decision to bare all here on this site. What I was not prepared for was the vehement witchhunt to which some would subject me to. I can only hope that this is some weeding out process that will devide those who profess their evolved state and those that truly are.
Here, I present to you a letter, with the only ommision being the name of the sender- removed for his privacy, and my response as an opening for discussion and perhaps a shortcut to those who should just not bother to contact me. My intention is not to shame or degrade anyone or their feelings with these letters but to perhaps state my points in different ways and to stem any flow of abusive rhetoric. The colors chosen represent nothing but for visual distinction.
"How sad it makes me to hear you speak to me of "your pain" and "your feelings" yet you want to claim back "your" integrety and negate my feelings and with words try to twist that around as if it does not matter and make me feel that it was me who created this relationship alone. I hear you say that it was for your own well being that you ventured on this webpage charade however it was "your" feelings for this other person that you fell in love with that tormented you to come clean; be damn the many others (as I gather from your journal) how they feel, you smuggly say "it's their feelings, not yours".
"Yes, I feel justified being angry, take away the me, me, me from "yourself" and see what you have done however innocent you may have intended it.
"If your integrety is what you want; it should dictate to you what you did was shameful in any level or for whatever reason. I will get over it life is that way.
"Please do not articulate yourself out of the reality of what you did; words sometimes can be just that, a fornication of the senses, the pain I felt was stupid on my part, but I will not let you degrade me further by having you tell me however gently you attempted that I was the fool and that you had nothing to do with it. If you truly are intuitive and hopefully gained much with your life experiences, you must know that life has a payback and one will reap what one sews.
"My wishes remain as I have said for your health and as easy a life you can possibly live with a deadly disease, that saddens me for you, more so that you have done such a thing that must weigh heavy on your person.
"I am outta here ! no need to respond..."
"How dare you just try to cut me off from my life. It is you who have misconstrued and made what you would of MY site. I do not suffer fool or abusers. And you seem to be both.
"I don't need your pity or your permission to live my life as I must. It wasn't some "feelings for this other person that I (sic) fell in love with that tormented me (sic) to come clean" I had made this decision independent of any person. I used my letter to him as a model for ALL those I cared for- you included. I did it because that was where my life had come to. Perhaps it's your jealousy that has led you to your position- after all as I said- what did I really do wrong? Not tell you my true age? Not spread the fear and pain I was feeling to those I communicated with? I never made light of your feelings, not once, but you seem to take this as some advantage to work your rage and pain against the world on people like me. I don't accept it. Get over yourself and your pain,(sic). You were never my friend if it required I be something for you. Really.
"My words are carefully chosen not EVER meant for any other reason than to tell as accurately as possible whatever it is that I am trying to. Your bullshit patronization of wishing me good health is just an attempt to assuage your own guilt. Give me and the world a break, (sic) and stop your abuse here before YOU hurt some one. Perhaps it is YOU who must think long and hard on what you will reap...
"Please do NOT respond unless you have something accurate and pertinent to say.
"Good day to you, sir."
Again, I feel I must apologize for whatever I might have done but I must look at the facts as I see them- in as objective a way as I'm able and this will not include further self- deprication or abuse. I'm open to hearing from anyone on this. Just be warned, this is my life and I welcomed you into it promising nor asking for nothing.
June 26, 1999
It's been four days since my last entry. A number of questions keep recurring from the email I've been receiving. I figured there may be more people out there who haven't written yet or won't who would have these same or similar questions answered. so, to you all- here you go:
Again, I reitterate that I am open to communicating with anyone who has questions and a need to clarify and or air their feelings, views, objections and of course, support. But I must add here, and it has unfortunately become apparent that this must be stated, that in my striving to be respectful and caring to others I require the same treatment to be shown to me.
It is my fervent hope that these moments will pass with peace, respect and care. And toward that day I work.
June 22, 1999
The following are excerpts from a recent letter sent to someone whom I am deeply in debt for his loving understanding, advocacy and willingness to accept that the price each of us pays for survival can be quite different and costly. This is dedicated to him and to all those who feel they must hide in the dark because the chances of harm in the open are so great. To all of you have known "me" rest assured that this excerpted letter is for all of you- to whom I encourage open dialogues with me when appropriate. Thank you in advance for accepting this gift of love to you and, finally, to myself.
(Underlined words and phrases represent additions or changes to original text.)
How are you today? I am reeling from my conversation with you last night. I went to bed crying and feeling so damned lonely. I have a mission to complete with you and I can not let my fear keep me from it any longer. This is so unfair, this servitude I must bear to circumstance but my hell must not drag you into it. I refuse.
So here's the truth as unabridged, naked, and vulnerable as it comes:
My web site was/is for entertainment and experimental purposes, really, having never done one before and being a novice on-line. My presentation of myself and my world centered from that as well as a genuine desire to make what small difference in the world I could around me. I took liberties with some of the facts of my existence to invigorate my site and, as has become so painfully obvious, make myself feel "normal" again.
"Razing Kainne" was/is the best of who I am- the art, photos, writing, design all me and mine. All the views and opinions are truly how I feel. The journals, if not actual outright day to day events, allegories of what inhabits my mind/life. What little is left came about by accident and/or "sinful" omission. I built on
all of it.
I never intended to hurt anyone with presenting "Razing Kainne", in fact, just the opposite- I thought I could entertain and perhaps help a few people along the way. I thought I could just "wing it" and give the people what they and I wanted. Everything would be okay, I'd convinced myself that my site, my presented self, was just that- a presentation, a gift or art project to share with the world. And then you came along.
You honored "Raze Kainne" and gave so much of yourself to this man who is enough of me that I could entertain that your feelings were really for me and not for this character. And I fell in love
with you. No doubt in my mind. And no doubt that I could not continue such a potentially hurtful charade. Even without my love for you, I could not allow another to be hurt by my "presentation".
Two months ago I bailed, hoping that it -you- all of it would go away, reasoning that you may become angry perhaps but not drawn in any further. My life experiences have overwhelmed me and once in a great while I run. I'm not proud of that and I'm finally forcing myself to do the right thing and explain myself to
you and let that truth stand as it may, taking my punishments and trying to undo my wrongs.
My real name is Raven Xandre Darkholme. I am 36 years old and two and half years ago during an incidental screening, found out that I was HIV positive. I stand 5' 9" tall. My father and twin are dead. My uncle is a reflection of my "mature" self. My mother is a good, earthy sort who has been trying to overcome the violent, abusive past she subjected me and my two younger brothers to. We grew up very poor. I live with my former lover who has helped take care of me since I went onto disability four years ago
with a shattering anxiety disorder caused by the events you're already aware of and, unfortunately, many more.
I was molested by my male baby-sitter weekly from the time I was five until I was seven. My step-father made me suck his cock and choke on his sperm at 13. Five years ago, I was raped/beaten by five young men in an alley way, I made it home by dawn and told no one. The few friends I had abandoned me (anxiety disorder was just no fun to be around). I lost a good job as a fitness instructor and became homeless, living out of 9x6' trailer for over a year. No doctor would help me. I couldn't qualify for any kind of governmental assistance. The last vestiges of societal dogma were ripped away by the realities of my disenfranchisement. But still I fought. When I found out about my HIV status, I misplaced something inside having struggled all my life to make sense of my world and feeling the final betrayal of my own stupidity and body. I was and am a fighter that's how I've made it this far, but I just gave up. I gained weight and dropped out of the fringe of society on which I'd lived. I've dealt with cocktail side-effects and the impending healing that for whatever reason, I've decided to do as painfully as possible.
I've always lived apart from even gay society, being shy and not really fitting in. I made my living for over a year as a go-go dancer thinking that my dance craft would be appreciated for its art. I was a rebel in high school having come out at 13. I've marched and protested and shouted until I just couldn't remember why I was doing it. I think it was the allowed-for air and expression of anger. My good looks have always been a mystery to me and I've made the mistake of trying to find love through sex (though there is nothing wrong with "just sex") which is what most people wanted from me. This ,too. has broken my heart.
I hang on tenaciously to life, battling back to some point from which I can finally put away my painful upbringing and kick -ass.
That's me, the real, "ugly" story. I have an immense sensitivity to life, lots of raw talent in many areas and whether you still can recognize it or not - a familiar discordance and honor for all things as you seemed to. This is no sales pitch and no excuses are offered. I have no expectations of any of you and require only that you've been informed.
I trust you will tell me the truth of how you feel about all this if you feel so inclined.
Take care. Always.
Raven (Raze)
June 16, 1999
Yes, it has been two months and two days since my last entry- chalk it up to the ever-challenging vagaries of life. This time out- a long vacation, two bouts of flu, colds and a deep depression. This seemingly never-ending laundry list of 1999 is getting WAY old for me. Again, to you who've wondered and stood by my silence I give you my undying thanx and ask a million pardons- your email is on the way. For those of you who are angry with me- I understand and hope to do better by you.
One of the inherant limitations for me with interacting in this fashion is the necessesity of having to be "up" to communicate. I have discussed this character quirk of mine in these pages before- I go underground when I get to a certain depth of depression. I continue to overcome this propensity but feel inclined to argue with any who can not understand it. The best way to put this is- 'I is who I is..." And I hope to change what I can.
This is a short entry but I promise to return soon. In the mean time- something to think on:
- Nathaniel Branden
Till tomorrow...
April 14, 1999
The weeks pass and the dubious joys of the unpredictable continue unabated. These last weeks proved a total breakdown of the computer I use. Crash. Capput. And this left me in the dark, computationally speaking. A mini Y2K, perhaps.
Last night, we finally bought a new computer. This was precipitated by much grumbling on the part of my uncle who had lost much of his recent data since he hadn't done any back up of late. This morning I managed to finish connections of peripherals, loading software and getting on-line- all in time to take my much needed vacation to the south lands.
We leave tomorrow morning for a whirlwind week of road trip. First we're off to Disneyland then to Las Vegas and finally ending in the Grand Canyon. I can't wait. I've been to Disneyland (about five years ago) but not to Las Vegas and I was in the Grand Canyon when I was very young (no comments, please). I hope to actually write on the road to give an account as we go. Stay tuned.
I'm finally feeling much stronger in body which translates to much stronger in mind and spirit as well. I will start doing a little gym work soon and get back to doing light work with my uncle when we get back from vacation. I'm quite sure that my uncle will finally get to exhale and the world will turn again for us all.
Well, that's all that's in me today. I'll write one more entry before I leave tomorrow. Wish me well as I do you all. Always.
March 21, 1999
First day of Spring by old calanders. Out my window, I see the clouds from last night's shower rolling back to wherever storm clouds go when their mood takes them. The air is fresh and somewhat sweet, of course, it could be the donuts frying down the block...
I'm up super early this morning- even went shopping at the local Safeway, which seems so curiously bright and cavernous at these times when very few shoppers are present. I walk down the wide, clean aisles marveling at the enormity of choices presented so appealingly for the picking. A veritable cornicopia of Olympian proportion. I think of the huge amount of energy reflected by what I see: sowing, growth, harvesting, shipping, stocking- the first three alone represent the entirety of a persons waking life still in many parts of the world. Our ancient ancestors scrounged every waking moment for food, eeking out the most inferior bits to eat. The true measure of the material wealth of a nation, communitee, village is surely the size and quality of it's food markets...
I came home with four boxes, seven bags, five cartons, two loaves and two solitary pieces. Specifically, Kellogg's Sugar Smacks (for my bad days), Post grape-nuts (for my good days), Nabisco Cheddar Cheese Nips and Ritz Air Crisps, five Granny Smith apples (I've noticed it's almost impossible to find a crisp red apple anymore...), five medium tomatoes, one and a quarter pound of mushrooms, a bunch of red leave lettuce, twenty-five small carrots (I love carrots), Cape Cod Premium White Cheddar Cheese Popcorn, Baked Ruffles Cheddar and Sour Cream Potato Crisps, two Safeway Qick Oats, three Hilshire Farm Deli Select- two Smoked Chicken Breast/one Honey Ham, Oroweat Country Oat Bread, Nature's Cupboard Raisin Bread, one lemon and one red sweet onion.
I've had my bowl of Smacks and am running on a sugar high. I have to make a salad for the Oscar party that we're having this afternoon. There'll be the obligatory scrutinizing of the gowns and jewels, the dollar per vote pot for winners (the winner of the most right guesses on their sheet wins the pot), all-day feasting and lots of laughs. It's fun and steeped in one of the oldest of gay traditions. Oscar Night serves as one of our holidays.
Of course, my parents are into it, too, thanks to my uncle's influence over the years. I'll miss them this year... At least I'm feeling "up" to the celebration and participating with my fellow revellers. So, it's a few minutes of weighing the nominees, casting my vote and buck into the crystal bowl (for the glamour, you know) and we're off to the races. Until tomorrow, wish me luck, papa needs new art supplies...
March 16, 1999
It's been nearly a month since my last entry and as it turns out, a month since I've felt like doing anything of substance. This all has been VERY peculiar- my summer/fall of illness and my recovery process (which has turned out to be more difficult than the illnesses themselves). I have found my character wanting and this alone has caused me much psychic pain and depression.
It is true that Misfortune tests one far more than Fortune, it is easy to be gracious of life when there is little distress. I have found my boundries of comforted and been pressed to cross them. My duty now, is to survive these days of bitter vinegar and thorns and then set about restructuring my boundries, testing them in safe environs under limited duress, dropping as many as I'm able that have proven inadequate or faulty and construct new, more life-enhancing and enduring extremities.
I do have to give just and due homage to those who have proven of quality character, those who I've come to understand have much to teach me and whom I could hope to extend their gift to the world by striving to emmulate. Some of you know who you are, some I have yet to acknowledge, all I must honor. I will gather your spirits to my center and meet the challege...
So, I've given up today's tantrum and managed to produce some new stuff for my site: a new "Tank" toon, new Question of the Week (which has been staying up lately for several) and a new book for this quarter. I've also cleaned my room, answered lots of back mail (if you've written and I've not answered- expect something), finished three paintings I'd promised for a male couple who married in August, started two new projects and actually did my taxes. A regular American go-getter...
I have hassled my doctor and my long suffering uncle to go back to work (like, I have no dough, dude!*) which should relieve some of my pent up energy and frustration. I have also decided that I should start some sort of therapy- at least a cursory amount to gain some introspection. I have survived a few very difficult periods in my admittedly short life and I've become aware that I have not really integrated some of these experiences into my psyche.
Well, that's all for today- don't want to freak myself out too much, after all. Thanks again for all the concern and kindness, patience and laughs, suggestions and well-meaning terseness. I am, as always, in rapt preoccupation with our species. Love and Peace.
*I would like to add my personal note of extreme distaste for this word- "dude"- which I find to do little to enhance the brainless prattle to which it is attached in most circumstances...
February 18, 1999
I'm asking for forgiveness. It's that simple.
I have once again found myself walking the lone, dusty canyons of dark lunar surface- kicking moon rocks and straightening the various banners of multi-national claimants. This was my second trip in as many weeks.
The problem from such "luxury" has become one of responsibility: to my uncle, parents, friends and those who've offered up their cyber selves to share with me. And I have royally blown it. The strain between my energy level, sometimes wild mood swings and normally intense desire to work has brought me up short where I have done next to nothing in weeks. Perhaps the dark mood I've wallowed in is my way to escape- to find some peace- to STOP!. And I guess that it has, indeed, served it's purpose...
The intrinsic value of those I leave behind at these times is not lost to me; actually, the dichotomy produces an acute poignancy that only deepens my mood and in reflection, reminds me of the paradoxes of the human mind. And at these times, my mind seems all too human, painfully so.
But I digress, I was speaking of responsibility. Those of mine vary from everyday household chores that I've left to my uncle to responding to correspondence from this very site. Both of these examples are just two of many that require the necessary attentions that help to build and maintain a strong, healthy persona. I fail miserably when I find myself strapped in and staring out the rocket's window watching helplessly as the Earth dwindles below me on my way to.., well, you get the idea... And I'm failing, now.
This brings me to the "forgiveness" I asked for at the beginning of this entry. The sincere asking is as important to my general formative health as the neglected responsibilities for which I'm seeking clemency. This is a facet of my initial recovery and reintergration into my society, in conjunction with the requirement of the ernest, dutiful pursuit of those responsibilities.
So, with a heavy sigh I ask and I will pursue, with sweat and affection. To those of you who've worried and made me feel special- loved- cared for- in my hours of need, thank you and forgive me, I hope to always make my efforts worthy of the feelings you've given me.
February 07, 1999
A beast has decended upon me. It came like many do- in the night while I was sleeping. I awoke to it's handywork: dulled disinterest in everything of personal value, food found tasteless, flowers paled, television a challenge. What little energy I had was gone.
I lay in my bed for hours, at first trying to read, then just huddled under the covers, staring out my one lone window at the wind blowing the greens. There were no real cogent thoughts, none of dispair, or sorrow, or even rage. I felt suspended in huge, puffy, cotton balls of melancholy- cushioned from all sharp edges, reality muffled and far away.
In it's way it gave me the rest I was so furiously fighting against, yet I would awaken after hours of sleep feeling drained and gummy. The lethargy never seemed to leave. I would perform a similar ritual- relieve myself in the bathroom, cursory pass through the kitchen for an apple, glance at the headlines, then back to my "cave". Managing to eat just half the apple (ALWAYS just half!), I'd hrumph and sigh and burrow in for another few hours.
My uncle occasionally knocked and offered nuturing of one sort of another, his voice calm and quiet- a betrayal to the worry on his face. But he's been here before. He's experienced this mood with me, taken care of me and gentled it out at other times in our lives. He knows this pattern and in many ways is the only person I allow in when I'm deep inside of myself. We even came up with a phrase to descibe it when I was younger: taking a trip to the dark side of the moon. There is no sun or sky or color there and communication to Earth is cut off.
This morning, I awoke at 5am, pulled out my acrylics and canvas and started to paint. 'Arting', for me, has always been a first sign of life, like painting my own wings to fly when I emerge from these caccoons. It's been a full morning- painting, a full breakfast with my grinning uncle and a shower and shave after a week.
My body still feels the drag of the anemia but it's far better than it has been. In a few minutes, I will be spending a much needed day of bonding with my uncle and try to make HIM feel loved and nurtured. I finish this, albiet- short, entry with thanks to those of you who have written in with support and concern. I really appreciate the e-mail, jokes and occasional nudie pix (I'll be using THOSE later) and hope to make your efforts worthwhile in the next few days. I love you all for it.
January 27, 1999
Just a little note to say: CLOSED DUE TO ILLNESS Nothing too serious... I will drag my sorry butt out of bed in a day or two and manage to string a few semi-coherent lines together for you. Till then- be good to yourselves and each other...Peace and Love
January 25, 1999
11:21 AM. It should be obvious that something might be amiss with yesterday's entry. Now, as many a well-meaning person has tried to instill in me- "it's not the quantity but the quality that counts..."- (to which others have answered- "so speaks one of little quantity...")- I do struggle to incorporate the former attitude, the latter, I suspect, has much to do with the ills of the world. There is/was little "quality" or "quantity" in said entry. I just got tired and that sums up much of what's on my mind lately.
When one is tired, and I mean REALLY tired, the world spins at an uneven rate- I stumble over my little feet, I scratch my head in confusion at the simplest of problems, I'm punch-drunk over EVERYTHING I'm not irritated with. And then I'll laugh at what had just pissed me off. Thankfully, I'm not allowed outside. I think that might be down-graded soon to not being allowed to interact with anyone non-familial- at the very least, not the impressionable or easily disturbed.
So, I just got tired, which lead to confused, which lead to irritated, which ultimately lead to a snorting "hrumph" and a quick trip to bed. I was rewarded with turbulant dreams of morphing bed-mates, fingertip lightning and winged flight.
Again, I marvel with the deepest respect for those who must live in the prison of their own bodies. What cliffs through Hell some must cling to and edge along just to stay alive, just to exist. Many make it through to go on and that amazes me. Many hang by their nails until some ultimate ending and manage full, vibrant lives. That humbles me. It is from the capacities of the very ill where we all could draw the meanings of LIFE.
I mean no romantic disrespect. I hope never to diffuse the power of the experiences of pain and loss and betrayal. It's the honor of their very breathing, one after another, in stubborness or anger or love- all a communion with "being", perhaps a greed for LIFE that I must see even through eyes tightly closed over by the skittishness of my own experience.
My childhood mostly behind me (and of course, that opinion would vary among those who know me), the sheer joy of spirit is no longer as automatic, it requires a maintenance, or more precisely, a cultivation. We live within systems within systems within systems etc. that tend to strip away the simplicities of joyous living. A full breath, drawing cell energizing oxygen deep into the lungs causes one to cough in our modern air. Natural, wooded, inspirational vistas are corraled into parks which most of us feel encumbered upon to drive around during the rush hour to get home. Our tomatoes taste like water and our water tastes like metal and our metal now stalks us in canyons of glass and concrete.
Yet even in these systems, the profundity- the explosive, niche-cramming profusion- of life flourishes. Many times we are, if not told out-right then casually impressed, that we live in a sterile, care weary, poisoness society that by it's definitive proliferation is anathema to us- it's progenators, it's servitors, it's broken, spoon-fed, impotent lords. But there are molds and pigeons and rats and flies and alley-cats. All fat and seemingly busily living. There are the urban raccoons the sizes of large dogs raiding our pre-packaging, homogenized cartons and additive-rich cellophane wrappers. Spiders weave, mate, eat and evolve generation after generation- all in a small ill-lit corner of a twentieth floor office. And computer viruses spring into being. Even our machines experience enough life to be threatened with illness.
I walk at night sometimes to this high point near my house and marvel at the twinkling gems of light, a man-made reflection of the living sky itself. I hear hums and honks and squeels. Occasional voices make their way up, a babble in my ears. The wind blows city-smells and I can taste the air. And all of it feels alive.
And this is from what I must cultivate a sense, a strong sense of LIFE from. It exists "out there", everywhere, I just have to slow down (or wake up), remember and perhaps learn at the foot of a hospital bed.
January 24, 1999
10:50 PM. I've decided to place a time moniker at the beginning of my entries mostly because I have found that I am influenced by the time of day and would like to bring any patterns that exist because of that fact into focus. Whatever- it's my journal, I can do any weird-ass thing I wanna'. And I think this brings us to today's topic.
January 17, 1999
It's an early foggy morning, here in SF. The tops of trees and buildings are hidden in the age-old mists. The world continues to renew itself, the Decartean clockwork continues to tick. I can almost feel the pulse of existance inside of me beating beneath all my layers. An easy smile of calm "being" rests on my face with a warm hum circulating in my veins. I am alive.
My house is all but silent- with my uncle and his BF sleeping in his room. A car or two passes every several minutes- the wet pavement hissing into the distance. The clock on the kitchen wall gently adds its rhythm to those within me. This is one of my favorite parts of the day; everything seems soft and clear, breathing fully in and out.
I'm think about my unc and by extension, my parents. Tim and Rachael had reached as far as they were able in the time I, their restless colt (excuse the immodest metaphor), would allow them. Finished with their primary responsibilities, they gave me into my Uncle Tom's trusted care for the next phase of which they were not as well prepared. It is now up to Tom to initiate me into the mysteries of being a responsible gay man. I wonder sometimes, if this is really asking too much from him. I know I can be, at the very least, a handful, and my histories have proven out what kind of heart ache I can bring.
This time of forced immobility has invariably lead to deeper reflection with one result being that I need to take my own responsibilities to and affect on my loved ones even more seriously. Sometimes I have a very narrow field of vision- thinking only of an experience's effect on me. This year's "adventures" with resent illness, moving away and into, losing Sandy and just plain orneriness on my part has me aware of just how taxing it must be to be around me. I have a great need to consider those others who have invested so much of their proverbial blood, sweat and tears into me and what my experiences might mean for them. I try to remain conscious but sometimes I fail
I've taken to a new daily routine that feels health- inspiring: a long walk- most often in Golden Gate Park, some light stretching, a soak in my gym's sauna and jacuzzi and beginning meditation. The walk clears my head and gives my muscles a chance to work. Golden Gate Park is sorta' like being home, too. Those same muscles have been very tight and weak since coming home and the stretching has proven to be most necessary. And then there is the soaking. Wonderful. The heat, jets, and scenery give me the relaxed (and not so relaxed :) ) bodily sensations that I'm attributing to keeping myself from going over some edge. Finally, the meditation I've taken up because I have the time and interest. This is by far the most difficult of this new routine. Relaxing my mind is quite a challenge and quieting my thoughts near impossible. From the reading I've done, I know that this is natural and might take some time and most definitely, effort. I feel that meditation is well worth that time and effort. Another life-long pursuit. Another cog in my wheel...
I hear my unc (and company) stirring. There are football play-off games on and the house will soon be filled with hooting, grazing and other masculine expressions. I'm smiling. I've been granted another day in paradise...
January 12, 1999
Days drift by with the sousance of a Brahm's sonata. I sit in the window watching the clouds and drinking hot tea. The strays outside play silently in the long grass, rolling, rolling rolling. The occasional sheet flaps in the stiff wind and I can imagine the smell of sunshine in linen. Someone whistles busily somewhere off to my left and a distant hammer counts out a pleasant irrhythm.
Then my uncle leaves. And the moment passes. And my minds begins to spin and sputter and steam. A restlessness sets in. It journeys from some far place, advancing like a worm turning slowly and slowly and slowly until like some dripping Chinese faucet finally enmaddens me. "I gotta' do something..!"
The miracle of life is a heavy and near irresistable scent for me, made more so by my recent awakening from Charon's' tender embrace. I'm also quite sure that it's one of those cases of desiring something that is unattainable. Am I acting just the most spoiled, cranky of children? Is this the edge of a tantrum I'm dancing about? Or is this the "healthy" outcome of months of incapacitation?
I feel the strain in the air with my parentals (this always includes uncle) and I feel so very childish and unreasonable. I resist their careful councelling and blanch at their near-constant hair-pulling. I feel guilt and irritation. And considerable frustration. Perhaps it's time for a family meeting..?
January 08, 1999
I'm watching "Jeopardy" while I type this- I love this game- and trying to answer the questions while I'm thinking of what I shall right tonight. Very tough so, it may work it's way into tonight's entry.
I'm moving mighty slow these days, though I keep trying to "overdue" as my uncle keeps frowning at me. I admit that I'm usually a handful when I'm up to my usual speed, it must be hell for those around me, right now. I've been threatened with a tranquillizer gun, incarceration and a babysitter. And I've only been home less than two weeks. I swear my uncle is spiking my milk with St. John's wort...
There is no real need to worry, I tell everyone- I usually get too tired to get into much mischief anyway. The most strenuous thing I've been doing is masturbating and for all concerned it's just as well that I haven't revealed that daily activity. I can only imagine what kind of blank, red-faced burbling that would illicit.
It's the boredom- the sheer mass of uncountable hours that loom over me daily- and as Sir Edmund said when asked why- ("because it's there"), that I feel pressing deep within my bowels as an enwilding desire, nay, lust- to overcome and conquer. Or perhaps I am as my frustrated and somewhat imperious parentals describe me- a devilish imp bent on sacrificing all for a go at Heaven itself. (Shrug) Go figure...
And just what does "recuperate" mean anyway? There is no "proper" way to getting well just as there is no proper way to grieving. But there seems to be a whole subtext of expectations put upon the "recuperating" as well as the "grieving". Pisha, I say. I don't like rules many times, especially those that are nonsense. Well, putting the rules of etymology to the test, let's just look at that word- "recuperate".
"Re" = again. Okay, now "cu" must mean a brilliant stratagem and "per" is for each or my means of. "Ate" has to be an office, rank or station in life. So, "recuperate" can only mean regaining one's staion in life by means of a brilliant stratagem. Hmmm. I interpret that as needing to try out all kinds of plans to see which one(s) will work, hence, my admittedly ornery preoccupation with "overdueing" is justified. you think I could sell that to them..?
Television, itself, is a formidable incubus constantly calling out to me in seductive tones just try to suck the life out of my inertia addled brain. I catch myself looking at it almost hungrily- I must remember to set up holy trinkets to keep it at bay. Does a garlic garland keep the undead Magnavox from it's cursed rounds?
I'm going to give this new "Providence" a try- it looks sentimental but (or "and" depending) intelligent (for television). I'll give it a chance. Have to go, now, uncle's made dinner. Maybe I'll ask if we can go out for dessert. To a nightclub. Hmmm...
Love and Peace.
January 02, 1999
Well, I'm back. Welcome to the second volume of my journal. And to 1999. It's been a long haul and I have to thank all of you who were concerned and sent me e-mail. Though I've contacted most of you- I want to apologize once more for not getting back to you sooner and/or alleviating any fears or concerns...
This story begins way back in late August when I got back from Hawaii. I'd managed to get myself an unhealthy dose of solar radiation and was still suffering when I arrived in San Francisco. For a few days, I lay around then started back to work with my uncle. A few more days passed and I started to feel awful. Eventually, I went to the hospital and was diagnosed with an appendicitis. They yanked that baby out and I rested up for a few days till I went home to uncle's (now my home, too). That more or less took care of September and into early October.
A week or two later, I was still not getting all that better, so I went to my doctor and had another check up. My appendicitis scar was doing fine (no infection) but I couldn't shake the fever, headaches and nausea. I was tested for hepatitis, mononucleosis, and even HIV. All tests came back negative. Definitely greatful for that. I was told to just rest that it was probably the effects of the operation and maybe I caught a small bug, as well.
So, I waited and decided to start light work with my uncle. After a week or so I began to full worse and after one particularly bad night- I began to vomit. The following day was just horrible- my fever burned a scarlet Hell in my semi-conscious mind. The headaches had crushed into one all-consuming rage of pain. I vomited almost constantly- even when there was nothing left in my belly.
Again, I was taken to the hospital where I poked, proded and given endless numbers of embarrassing/excruciating examinations. Finally, after being subjected to what I thought was the worst of it- the doctors came up with something like a meat hook to thrust into my spine. The diagnosis was spinal meningitis.
I don't remember a lot of what happened for a couple of weeks. There were tubes and wires and mandatory awakenings. I do remember being very thirsty and hazy images of busty white uniforms and crisp-smelling linens. I became fully conscious again a couple of weeks later.
My parents came down (actually, they had been down already) and drove me back up to Siskyou to recover under the tender ministrations of my mother. I lay in bed for a few more weeks and reaped the benefits of home and hearth- mom took a leave to take care of me and dad spoiled me when he came home at night. I spent Christmas there and we had some snow and my uncle came up for the holiday. I was able to come back to the City last Monday, December 28.
I missed Sandy's molifying presence- she'd always been there for me whenever I felt low and she always made me feel safe. And Christmas time was one of her favorites. She loved the lights and tinsel and romping with me in the snow. She always remembered that she'd get something special whenever those decorations went up. I really miss her...
As I told some of you already, I felt (feel) lucky even as ill as I was. While watching daytime tele, I saw an episode of Roseanne's new talk show on which this woman spoke of how we all can do something for those in need and it needn't even cost much. The idea is to just give what you can- if many people did this, it would be a much better world and if everyone did, it would be a paradise. She showed how to make homeless "baskets" with a large bath towel and inside- a pair of shoes, extra shoelaces, a bar of soap, hand lotion, tooth brush, tooth paste and a hand towel. The large towel is folded over in threes and then wrapped with ribbon. I decided that was what I wanted for Christmas, so I asked for money to apply to making some of these instead of gifts. I got enough to make twelve of them and in addition, I put in a bag of candy, dental floss and a closable, plastic soap dish.
It made me feel much better and though it's not a solution for the thousands in our country alone, I hope it will haelp a few.
157 homeless people died just in San Francisco this year due specifically to having to live on the streets. That is not acceptable...
- The Books Wisdoms
Till tomorrow, find a way to give a little...
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