CopeseticNature

I'm leaving soon!

2009-03-17T21:26:00.001-07:00

There’s this slightly irregular wind tonight. I guess it’s the dawning of something we all know is happening: change. From time to time, the massive gale strikes the house, causing the windows to shudder, and the rest of the structures gives, just a little, but not enough to cause any alarm.

In my bedroom, I have a full view full of both of my neighbors. It’s been so long that it almost seems mundane now, that our relationships have grown predictable and stale. Much is life when you stay in one place long enough.

I’m not complaining, I swear.

In less than three weeks I will be heading to Argentina to see my ex. I’m excited for a number of reasons, the primary one being him. I know, we have moved on, I mean, we have no other alternative but to start our lives again, anew, with a vigor that silences any doubts of our choices.

There’s this small voice inside of me that still thinks it might work. It whispers to me to fall in love with Buenos Aires and want nothing more than to live there. I see this new existence, with my ex, who gets back together with me because I am willing to live in the same country with him, without fear. It’s rather romantic when you think about it.

I’m sure it will be different than that, but a man can dream, can he not? The upside is, no matter what the outcome, I am traveling to a new world, an entirely different culture, for 24 days!!! That in itself is enough for me. It’s enough to generate some excitement in my life, again.

I will try and write in my blog when I have a change and upload a picture of two. I will be without a computer so I hope to find one in a café or use Matt’s computer.

Wish me luck!

BA

2009-02-20T10:37:00.000-08:00

I write to you know in a world of unknowns. The global economy is taking a dive: Canadians, Americas, and people from all over the world are losing their jobs. There’s a lot of fear mongering right now. There are a lot of people who are unsure about their future. All I can say is: welcome to life.

A lot has changed since I have last updated this blog but a lot has stayed the same, unfortunately.

I fell in love again. Well, I can’t say again because it’s not something that happens to me that often. Maybe the three bout of love since entering this existance. He’s leaving, though. Or he has left. I can’t quite figure out when he is taking the plunge.

He’s going to Buenos Aires to study med school. A dream of his and something in encouraged. I had to let him go so that he could follow his dreams and it saddens me. Even if I wanted to be selfish, I don’t think it would have mattered because this is one of the most determined people that I have met in my lifetime.

I’m heading down myself in April to see him for almost a month. I am thirty now and figured I need to leave the contentent at least once in my life time before I die. My world has changed, my perspective, and hell, I don’t think I’m a kid anymore. For me, it’s time to wake up and live my life as a respectable human being. Matt taught me that.

All I can tell you friends is that it’s time to live. I think I have been afraid of change all this time. I have been holding on to the familiar and predictable because I don’ t think it’s something I had when I was younger. Well, haha, I’m not that kid anymore. I’m ready....
I’ll make sure to take lots of pictures and write my blog while travelling.

XXX

PS I miss you Matt

Anywhere

2008-09-08T14:47:00.000-07:00

I remember is standing outside of some foreign hotel, smoking a Marlboro and hoping that it wouldn’t end. The sprinklers of the building are on, and I get a steady steam of water slowly approaching me, and all I can think of is what I’ve lost.

The town is rather tiny: Bozeman, Montana. It has that small town feel. There are neon signs, cars driving around past twelve, liquor stores, and a younger, more rounded, American crowd. The one thing I notice more then anything is the climate. I'm out of the mountains now and it's a bit warmer. I could head out in a light sweater and not have to worry about the cold mountain fronts that come about in the evenings.

I am tempted to light another but instead I head back into the hotel. The lights in the building are dim and there is little to no activity. I walk through about three corridors until I finally find the entrance to the elevator. I head for the second floor.

As I open up my room door, I notice two things. First, how quiet it is, as I see my friend sprawled across the bed, his head is up, and he is making small noises (I grew used to this as the days passed). Second, I notice how much I will miss him. I really value his company, his friendship, and at that point in time I hold back my emotions.

I’m thinking the couch will be a safer place for me. I grab a pillow from the bed and bundle up, but all I can do is look over at him. It’s sad in a way, when you find something so comfortable - so great - and the universe steps in and takes it all way. It just gives me a taste of something, and adds to the struggle, because what else would life be if not for that struggle, it would almost be perfect then, wouldn’t it?

I lay in my newly constructed bed, with my forgein pillow, watching both the light from the bathroom come through a tiny crack, and ofcourse, how it falls onto the bed. I can make out parts of his body. He has a rather nice build when I think about it. I guess it's a rugby player body. His shoulders are wide, with a healthy waste line, and a nice height. You can tell he came from the quintisental American blood line - he came from the same people who helped build this great country, and his body is a sure sign of the toils and struggles of the previous generations. I'm thinking I love every part of him and how he fit so perfectly against me.

The couch isn’t as comfortable as I thought it would be. The material is itchy. It’s that Burberry kind of material that never did sit right with me. Now, I’m snuggling up against it, thinking the alternative would be far more painful but unavoidable. If I am to sleep tonight, I have to bite the bullet and jump back in their with him.

I don’t really deal well with goodbyes, especially when it comes to special friendships, or however else you may classify it. Whenever I have lost people in my life, well, I tend to just go off on my own and digress, maybe even romanticize it and make it feel more Hollywood or epic then it really is. I guess I like to be dramatic. It makes me feel that much more important. It makes my life seem special, or romantic, or however you want to see it.

I have given up on the couch. After thinking, I hoped to just craw into the bed without waking him and sleep peacefully. I don’t really want to look at him anymore. I don’t want to cuddle him. I just want to wake up at 5, with my bags packed and get on the plane. I don't really mean that but it's my headspace right now.

After ten or so days of hanging out, there is a part of my soul that now feels deeply for him. I don’t regret it. In fact, if anything it has made me feel alive again. It has made me realize that it’s not ALL bad in the world of dating, or that there are good, wholesome people out there for me to socialize with, and that there is hope.

It’s the end of a romance. The end of something that would have continued if he lived in the same country, and yeah, I think that is the real kicker in this situation. If we were in the same place who knows how this would progress.

As I craw into the sheets he immediately wakes and turns towards me, wrapping his arms around me - a protector - with a loving grip, with one of the kindest souls. How I could I resist him or his embrace? I give him a light squeeze back and decide that I will sleep in his arms after all. It feels too good to deny myself this one last pleasure.

It’s the eyes and smile that got me when I think about it. When I looked into his blue eyes, I felt nothing but kindness. I felt a gentle presence that I knew would never hurt me. I could be safe with him and that there would be nothing to fear. I think that is going to be the thing that will haunt me the most. Oh that sounded harsh, let me reword that last sentance: I will never forget the way he looked at me or how his smile would brighten my soul.

Thanks.

2008-09-03T21:16:00.000-07:00

I'm in Montana right now.

I'm sitting on top of a volcano with a caldera so huge, so massive, that if it blew, the entire park of Yellowstone would be wiped out. There are so many 'thermal events' occurring all around me. Yes, some of them require an hour of driving or more, but once you get there, you are so captivated by this alien landscape that all you can do is take it in.

The colors are amazing. There are lands purged of color, and all that is left are whites, reds, and the results of thermal microbes that kill most everything around them. The trees in these areas are dying, but still, in their death, beauty remains.

Nature has this crazy way of destroying and then re-creating. We are in the pre-destruction phase right now. In a thousand years or so none of it will survive, well, maybe the microbes. Wildlife, ecosystems, ecology, all these subsystems and systems, will no longer exists as we see them now.

This earth maybe old in most parts of the world but the lower crusts are still fighting to reform the upper crusts we live on.

I can feel the Earth below me struggle to hold back the large forces of nature that will someday overtake all types of resistance or friction. I can feel the power behind these events. The park, as subtle as it may look, is full of power. I can't even describe it to you really. It's one of those 'you have to be there' events.

All the while, I'm with some great people who I have met my happenstance. I'm accepted into a world of rangers, park workers, nature enthusiasts, and more notably, a very special person who I have had the privilege to spend my time with.

It's finally time to acknowledge that I am capable of love again.

Standing on the crossroads

2008-08-20T10:43:00.001-07:00

I’m covered in these sheets I don’t care too much for.

It’s layer upon layer or color, and then, above all else, there is the taint of red and off-white. They were once vibrant. They were once clean and sleek, without the build up of other materials after so many washes. They were Egyptian and amazing.

I don’t know what happened to all the pleasure. It’s a chore to me now. I feel as if I have to lie in this bed without choice. I have to become apart of the materials, without question, because I have decided to rest here, I have decided to settle.

I become so upset and uncomfortable while resting I have to strip it all off. It’s as if the material itself is corroding me. It can be one of the worst feelings in the world if you are uncomfortable, if you are unsure about your surroundings, if you want out.

It’s not so bad in the summer, though. Half the time I don’t even have to think about it, or my place of rest, because there is so much to do. My mind is occupied with so many outside activities, or visitors, or the sun itself can blind you enough to make you unaware as to what is really going on.

The sheets, well, they are usually on a piled on the ground

The Beach

2008-04-17T23:24:00.000-07:00

I’ve taken to going to the beach, surrounded by the like minded with my headphones on, blasting out the noise, the conversations of the people around me. I can’t take listening to ‘them’ anymore; the conversations about nothing, the expressions of want, the gossip, the internalized hatred so many have.

The things I hear are nothing but the ego making itself apparent. The point is proven with every new muse I find, and for that, I understand. I’ve battled with my ego all my life. I know the constant struggle.

I’m not inspired by people anymore; it’s been a while since my peers could do anything but become filler in my past time, or reinforce my need to separate myself from all this damage.

I don’t mean to be raw or harsh, or even superior about it all, but I don’t know, I just don’t feel many connections, or if I do, it derogates into these failures, into people I no longer understand or care to learn from. When I dig deeper, I tend to see too much and then become disappointed.

So yes, human understanding; I understand them plenty. But unfortunately it's viewed through the eyes of a cynic.

I think it’s me getting older. I mean, the older I get, and the more I feel that I need a break. I just need to throw myself into a tank where no stimuli could enter. I could feed off of my thoughts, and sooner or later, just have the nothingness I so long to feel, around me.

I said this in my previous post, but the whole world has been brainwashed by accomplishment. They all want the ‘six figure income’ and the promises of a lifestyle that the illusionary masses have. It’s not my world…

In the distance I can see a ship. There are crates upon crates of cargo containing all the useless things we consume. The ship, wow, it’s a’ long one. I’d say about 10 stories or so in apartment speak. I can’t tell you the furlongs, or whichever way boats are measured for that knowledge is lost to the common man.

The lower part of the ship has a large, light blue strop running parallel to an identical strip of red. The two lines of color span the entire length of the ship. I guess it’s to separate it from people who actually have some history with this vessel, an identifier.

The background… Oh it’s such a beautiful place to life. In the background I see snow capped mountains. I see the Olympic Mountains in all their glory. I see the wall that separates one city from another. I see myself on them at times, watching the view while huddling next to a light fire. There’s beauty in this country. I mean, you won’t find it right away but when you have a mental repositioning, you’ll start seeing things more clearly.

It’s too bad I am surrounded by irony.

I wonder how many people actually take everything in.

Untitled

2008-04-07T12:48:00.000-07:00

I never understood commercials. I mean, yeah, I understand how they make money, and how they convince the watching public that this is something they need, for either status or necessity, but why not advertise other things?

Instead of watching the next model of the new BMW sedan, in its cold and calculated approach, in its “this is what will make you live and be noticed” mentality, why not show a commercial about people who do good things?

I’d love to see uplifting messages, or tips on how to be a better person, or good deeds done throughout the world. I wonder how that would change the mindless views attitudes and outlooks. Replace a negative with a positive, and yeah, who knows…. There’s no money to be made, but redemption would be just around the corner.

That’s not our world though. They will stick to the buying, and the owning, and the showing; I wonder how I fit into such a mindless society. How can I wake up each day and pretend that everything is ok, when the reality of it is, I should be protesting on the streets denouncing the evils in the world.

What happened to spirituality? Or the denouncement of the ego? The sins of the flesh? What ever happened to our values?

I tell you; every time I see a new condo go up I become that much more repulsed by the strangers that surround me.

If this society is going to make it, we have to start thinking and living a certain way.

Wars are waged because of greed – sometimes ownership, or profit – it’s rarely fanatical anymore. We are not living in a world of emperors seeking the next conquest; our wars are fought with profit in mind. With the global economy teetering in the balance of who owns what, I think we are starting to see the motivations of our leaders.

So yeah, I feel awful every time I think about it. I’d like to just pack up, sell everything I’ve accumulated over the past five years, besides a few memories and books, and head out to the desert on my own. It would be very “into the wild”; although I don’t think I’d go around shooting animals and stuff. Yet, the world I live in doesn’t accommodate this.

The desert isn’t free anymore. There’s ownership, and permits, and space allotted to the people who abide by these rules. It seems like the world is be compartmentalized and rented out to the highest bidders. I know I’m just being bitter about it all because there’s nothing I can do. I can make my own statement and watch the glazed over looks I get from people who are already too entwined in the ‘systems’ around us. I could watch that, but it would only attribute to my sadness.

I’m going on a journey soon and it's going to be awesome.

You’ll see.

** We get no second chance in this life

Cat Power

2008-02-11T13:20:00.001-08:00

I suffer from bouts of romanticism, the kind only an artist wallows in, or a sensitive kid, or a man who has grown into something he no longer recognizes. As I struggle to make ends with being creative, to rip my soul out of this shell and let all see who I truly am, all I can think of are the words that have been already displayed, and taught, and respected – admired, when the only thing I wanted was to create them myself. I am not sure what story I can tell anymore, for all the good ones have already been taken.

Are you writing this all down?

2008-02-08T12:47:00.000-08:00

I think my life is this big romance with the unknown and slowly I get closer to it each day

Today’s one of those days, you know, when reflecting is the only thing you have, when you become wish-washy with life and start thinking about the bigger picture(s). It’s when all you see is house after house, person and person, neighbor upon neighbor of sameness, of locality, of all the things you despised when you were younger. And then, you wake up one day and ask the all important question “Why?”

There are some things that you just don’t want to realize, because realizing could very well cause you to see how fucked up everything is. I like the quiet life that ignorance brings me, as I forget about the rest of it, the seedy part of my existence; the parts that make me think I am less of a man.

Oh, the things I have done to be happy. You couldn’t imagine the depths one would go to; you couldn’t even suggest those things to someone considered ‘normal’ and even get an approving reply.

Departure and Worry

2008-01-23T15:52:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the world of technology, I am able to remove friends from my life electronically. I removed one today, and because I felt so much power from the action, I decided to remove one more. Now, there is no Facebook trail, no mobile phone numbers, no e-mails or msn history; I am now free and can begin my life anew.

I think it's a new time in my life. I'm letting go of all the bullshit, all the what-ifs. I'm not going to chase after the impossilbe.

To be continued....

Suprise, I'm cynical again

2007-12-13T15:20:00.000-08:00

I want to start by telling you I’m not a writer. I don’t have these dreams of one day making it big, being acclaimed and all. I just want to tell a story and hope that some of you have the time to read it.

I always begin in the same way. It’s always the same way. I talk about where I am, what I’m doing, who I hate. I want it to be different this time. I want to have some glorious idea that I can’t stop writing about. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll ever get to that point.

Mortality is slapping me in the face, taunting me, wanting me to just give him and announce to the world, yes, I will die. I’ll die alright, I have enough habits to ensure it will happen, but before I do, I want there to be some big deal, something that will turns heads and say, “Hey, remember that guy Charlie? You do? Or wow, do you remember the time when…”, as I’m six feet under and smiling at my accomplishments.

I’m not there yet, wherever that is. In fact, I’m still struggling with finding the beginning, the gear that gets the machine in motion. Fuck, sometimes I could just scream out of frustration. It’s the unknown that kills me.

Christmas is approaching and all I can do is bite my lip. I mean, I want to contribute but it goes against all of my core beliefs. I want to be like everyone else and mask my contempt of consumerism but I can’t.

I’ve disappointed a lot people because of it. They call me cheap because I have a hard time conforming to the idea of their Christmas. Instead, I chew on my lip and fill myself with anxiety because I can’t go to malls, I can’t be around the drones of people, and it makes me far too anxious.

The whole time I’m there I think about how sad their lives are and how I never want to be one of them. I think about how fat people can get, how spoiled their children can be, whether or not they washed their hands after going to the washroom; I think about fecal matter and traces of urine on every door handle, every item of food being served, on every snot nosed kid who doesn’t even have the decency to turn away and cough.

And you wonder why I hate the masses?

I’ve even tried shopping online. Oh boy, store after store of needless things. I could just pick anything. I mean, that’s all that way, some expression of monetary love, but I can’t even do that. Everything just looks so bland and I hate it. So yeah, I guess it’s another year of being judged for not ‘giving’.

I have a little nephew and a brother who are the only people I’d really shop for. After talking to dad, I find out my brother already is getting an IPOD Nano and a computer for Christmas. I mean, really… why should I even bother getting him more?

My stomach rolls over just thinking about how many thousand will be spent on him. I don’t think I’d feel good about it, to give him one more thing he can throw into his pile. I hope you can see why I find it all so sickening. So I tell him he already has enough.

Brad, my - insert defination of relationship here - suggested I should get carbon credits for my family members.

You can make a cash donation to reduce carbon emissions and put it in someone else’s name. It sounds like a terrific idea. Only, I know they’ll hate me for it. They would think I’m crazy and tell me what a waste it is and only I will see the irony of it all.

For Christmas this year, I think I’ll help save the planet in my family’s name.

About the other night....

2007-12-04T13:34:00.000-08:00

“So it’s like that, eh?”

“All this time together and we just part ways?”, as I search for something more. I try to read the unreadable, decipher something that isn’t there anymore. Find the only thing comfortable in my life all over again.

Today is a new day. I am tired from Hot Yoga, intense foods, great books, and a love for doing too much with so little time. I want to say today is glorious but I’d only be fooling myself. I know that everyone else knows how to read me so well - although I think I’m unreadable. I should take a note to fix that problem.

It’s a new day indeed. The sun is shining through the clouds, the rain; oh the down pour. Anyway, it’s shining dammit and the future is shaping itself all around me. The lush nature of living is becoming apparent and I am more then happy to continue on. I am more then happy to start a new path. I swear.

I asked an important question. What is fourteen divided by two? It’s a simple enough answer; you could even blurt it out if you want. It means a bit more to me. Fourteen divide by two is a number I’m not too happy with. It’s a number I approach with cynicism and doubt. It’s a number that has caused me much grief in the past week or so.

Fourteen divided by two is bullshit. How could you put a time on us? Are we that trivial? Seven days to think about whether or not we will spend the last seven days together?

I think you’ve already made up your mind. I think poking “your friend” in the head the other night didn’t help matters much either. Just for the record though, it wasn’t about you. It was my pride being insulted by an opportunitist.

You have no idea what he did. And if you weren’t there with him, I would have done the same thing. Because? You know me. You know I don’t stand for that sort of bullshit. I wanted a night where I didn’t feel bad, and I wouldn’t stop until I got it.

He added me to his MSN and said I should be his friend for his benefit, ha-ha. So I wouldn’t be uncomfortable when I seen him around. Because he met my friend Tino, and Giles, and you; He felt as if I owed him conviviality? And he wanted to ensure I wouldn't tell my friends what kind of person he really is.

I owe him that because he talked about me for the last eight months to not only you, but a number of other people? I'm trying to see the logic, I really am. Why do I owe him anything? I even asked God. And I quote, "God, please help me understand why I should turn the other cheek? I know Jesus did it, but does this apply to todays age? Does it apply to me, and if so, how will it make me a better person?"

He didn't respond, so I'm assuming he's stumped.

I want to tell you, I owe him nothing. And I had reasons for my behavior. God gave me clearance, and I cannot go against the divine. He's lead me true so far, why go against him now?

I'm sorry that was politically incorrect: Why go against him or her now? I feel better now. Don't tell me I'm selfish. I just included half the population in a mere paragraph...

I was never any good at forgiving. In fact, my parents taught me how to be strong, and how to pick up for yourself, and how I should never let people walk over me. From a very early age, people did walk over me. They taunted me. They made fun of my impediment. They took the joy out of my life and turned a sensitive kid into someone who hated the world around him. Why? Because there was no love around me. I let them walk over me for a very long time until I decided I’d rather be happy and proud of myself.

I don't want to hate anymore. I don't want to have these bad feelings. And sometimes, the only way I can feel good is to take the power back. I have to stand tall. Don't you understand? I have to keep the people who think they can use me and let them know it's unacceptable.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is: it wasn’t you. And I do apologize to you for the events that night. It started by me picking up for you. You didn’t even see that and it's another story all together. I went out of my way to pick up for you.

I don’t feel bad about the situation, though. In fact, I felt pretty good when my friends and I walked home. I was like, “Wow, way to go Charlie. Way to stand up for yourself”. It’s not childish. It’s anger. It’s pride. It’s passion. And it's me missing our friendship. Don’t degrade those emotions and blame it on youth, innocence, or lack of wisdom. It was me living!

I think it made me that much closer to personal self-fulfillment.

So long

2007-12-04T11:35:00.000-08:00

Tired but I ain't sleeping
Thinking about some sad affair
And why I should be leaving?
Some of these thoughts only seem to take me outta here
These habits are so hard to break and they're so easy to make
These habits are so hard to break and they're so easy to make

Thinking about tomorrow
Tired from all the time I spare
On what I still believe in
When none of my talk ever seems to get me anywhere
These habits are so hard to break and they're so easy to make
These habits are so hard to break and they're so easy to make

So long bye my friend so long
So long, will it ever happen again?
You know that I've been waiting for you
I've been creating for you, so long
You know the light ain't fading from you
Nothing could save me from you, so long

Tired but I ain't dreaming falling into solid air
And why I must be leaving
Or one of these days I'm gonna pull out all my hair
These habits are so hard to break and they're so easy to make
These habits are so hard to break and they're so easy to make

** 2 weeks divided by 2 equals an eternity

I get it

2007-11-22T14:30:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you have to lose everything before you realize what is important. I’m thinking about that now, about how I did lose something so close to me, so comfortable, and now after exhausting myself emotionally and mentally, I get it.

I see my faults. The things I didn’t do right, or the thoughts that I had that were unwholesome and never talked about. I see my shortcomings and I am happy to oblige each and everyone of them. I mean, what’s the point of being human otherwise?

I talked to my ex today. I miss him and I want him to know that I would do anything to have him in my life again. We aren't exactly talking but I know he's there for me and vis-versa. It goes both ways.

I tear up thinking about it. I’m one of those people who are so hard on the outside, but deep down inside, I am as human as anyone else.

I had became what I always hated. All the things I judge, I became. If you want the truth of it, I became that way because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the short period of time I have left – although there is probably is more – and I have been afraid of losing out on an experience or something that could change my life entirely. I try to do, see, experience, and feel as much as possible. I don’t think it will ever be enough and I have to accept it.

I am reminded of the time when I read Tuesdays With Morrie. It’s about an older gentlemen who gets Lou Gehrig’s disease and looks back on his life. A great book although I read it and ridiculed the story the whole way through until the end when he passed. I then cried through the last chapter or so.

Morrie was ok with it ending because he had no regrets. He lived a fulfilled life. He said what he felt, he did what he felt and because of that he had an enriched life surrounded by people who loved him.

The book made me think about whether or not I would react the same way - with no remorse. I feel as if I’d be clawing my way out of the grave. But I'm working on it...

I should have given you a reason to stay.

Songs:Ohia : I've been riding with a ghost

2007-11-21T10:56:00.000-08:00

While you was gone you must have done a lot of favors
You've got a whole lot of things I don't think
That you could ever have paid for
While you've been busy crying
About my past mistakes
I've been busy trying to make a change
And now I made a change

I've been riding with the ghost
I've been doing whatever he told me
I've been looking door to door to see
if there was someone who'd hold me
I never met a single one who didn't see through me
None of them could love me if they thought they might lose me
Unless I made a change

See I ain't getting better.
I am only getting behind
I am standing on a crossroad trying to make up my mind
I'm trying to remember how it got so late
Why every night pain comes from a different place
Now something's got to change

I put my foot to the floor
To make up for the miles
I've been losing
See I'm running out of things
I didn't even know I was using
And while you've been busy
Learning how to complain
I've been busy learning
How to make a change
I made it (almost) (again)

I'm not that predictable

2007-11-16T11:36:00.000-08:00

It’s that kind of afternoon again, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you felt like you were sinking every time you left the house, or the office, or wherever it is people congregate.

I do two things this morning. I shake my head because I realize it’s Friday; normally that’s ok, but god, time is whirling around me and passing by so fast that I can only fear that in a year or two: I will be eighty. The second kicker is that I am just realizing this now.

I pack on the layers today. First, jeans, then a t-shirt, a sweater, a scarf, and my black jacket with so many buttons and such a conservative design; one might think I were joining the military or some sort of ah-hoc feminist movement that hasn’t ironed out the “oh, by the way NO MEN ALLOWED” details yet. I am wearing too much black today.

We all need gimmicks.

I hear the muffled sounds of people today, sometimes I have more in-tune with my surroundings, but today I am blissful of my ignorance. I find time passes by quicker when I find something to zone out one. I’m a programmer most of the time so it’s easy to stare into the computer screen, filled with logic and possible areas of improvement, and then focus; minutes turn into hours, then the day is over.

I have these two screens, with various applications opened on them both, music on random, eyes have focused, and my brain constantly churning. Sometimes I find it a bit too bright. Sometimes I wonder how much radiation has passed through my body and whether or not it’s creating or killing the cancers that are at everyone’s backdoor.

I limp out to my car, depending on my knee, or foot, or back, and I may or may not be rushing due to the rain. I may not even think about how life could be so predictable this time of year. Because of the weather you have to compartmentalize your life, otherwise you become listless and susceptible to the ever popular seasonal disorder.

This is how it stands (work is a given Monday to Friday):

Monday is spin class with funny haired guy. It’s insulting I don’t remember his name but he doesn’t know mine either. Besides labels are better when describing strangers to people who may have seen the face but have not caught the name. I think it’s important to label everyone in your world.

Tuesday is gym day. There are far too many hot, straight guys that go to the Y. I need a new gym.

Wednesday is Hot Yoga. After the class I tend to replace a lot of the toxins I have sweat out with new toxins. Then I complain about how Hot Yoga is ruining my back.

Thursday is spin class again. This time it’s with Carey. We all know his name because he’s the only instructor that plays half decent music in the evenings. He’s the reason I started spinning. After the class my roommate and I go grocery shopping and watch America’s Next Top Model. I think after a few years of this show, I am finally getting sick of it. I don’t want to tell Michael for fear I will hurt his feelings. I will still pretend to love it.

Friday is work out day. Then martinis. I worry I am becoming too predictable.

Saturday is Hot Yoga. I tend to go out Saturday nights. It’s one of the few nights were Victoria is alive. I know, I’m getting to old to go out, but hell, I’m single and alive. That’s got to account for something? Please tell me I’m right.

Sunday is open ended and depends on a lot of things.

My life in the winter. I have left the summary of my days rather short. There may be other things happening like a trip away, or baking, or cleaning the toilet. There are a lot of other things I do, but this is a fine example of how things become unsurprising.

I'm fucked

2007-11-03T16:53:00.001-07:00

I lost my friend…

What can I say? I can’t communicate. I’m a wreck of a person.

I wish we could dance the same as before, but I don't have it in me anymore

2007-10-31T11:15:00.000-07:00

I’m preparing myself for a war.

I woke up this morning to a cold room. My skin is shivering with the thought of getting out of my sheets. I can almost feel my breath. The heaters are off, but not for long. There is a small glimmer of light outside my window, but my optimism fails me as I look out to see the grayness.

“Oh and to be loved”, I sarcastically whisper. “Oh to want glory”. There are no birds singing, none of nature's life scurrying about in the yard.

I frantically put on as many layers as possible before I head to the bathroom. I’m not accustomed to being cold. Well I am, but not in that sense. All the toughness accumulated in my youth has worn off. I have become mush. Weak and livid. Questioning and defiant. I’m looking at the back of my hand again…

And all the while, my God is laughing. I see him in the trees, changing the leaves of the eucalyptus tree in plain site of my window. He’s ravaging the garden, which I once thought was beautiful -- It’s not now, and I wonder if it’s ever been. It’s been depleted by the seasons. By him. Even the bugs can't take anymore of his scrunity.

My neighborhood is waking to the sight of God. He’s shining whatever light he can today into the eyes of his followers. The rest of him is covering the light, in plain sight we see it; a mass of clouds. He’s relentless in his approach. There is no bargaining, nor would I bargain, I have too much pride. I will prove to him I can withstand the onslaught.

He killed my Aunt Rita yesterday and God knows who else.

I understand death but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. I’m assuming she died in her sleep. I have to assume because nobody from my family has had the decency to tell me yet.

She was older and healthy, strong-willed and a caretaker. She died without regret.

The school yard is full of life today. The children are running into the school across from my house. They are clad in winter garb, there arms are flailing with their speed, their anxiousness to get to class on time. The kids range from 5 to 10. Most short, most stupid.

The parents are like zombies. They silently walk with their kid(s), a gait that is almost an acceptance of life lost, their defeatist attitudes, struggling with the lack of freedom and choice. There energy is sad at times. I don’t see the smiles this early in the morning; I see their grief and wanting, and there questioning eyes that sometimes look at me and wondering what my life is like. They are clad in discount clothing, probably from Wal-Mart, because now their looks and physical well-being are overlooked.

“God how I loath denim jackets and bright colored, cottony shirts that just aren't cotton. How I hate the sight of fleece and lulu lemon. This is everything that is wrong with society…”, as I stare at them with disgust. I want to walk up to one of the mothers and slapping and shaking her. “Wake up! The time is now. Free yourself from the clutches of youth. Live again! Make the revolution”. But I can’t. It’s not my life to save.

Oh parents, how I do not envy you. Your protectiveness and self-righteous behaviors that are non to apparent to us lowly beings. Because why? You created life? Pffft. I create life everyday. I change the world around me with a mere sentence and just because I didn’t give birth doesn’t make me any less of a creator. Abomination!

I do appreciate the fact that you have been closer to life then I. I have tasted it, held it, wondering about it…but it’s not for me. I don’t think I can come to terms with it. The fact that, yeah, my life would no longer be focused on myself, and that my fate is now sealed unless a mishap occurred. I can’t give up that easy.

As I wait for my car to warm, and watch the remained of the techno-colored generation that will become the leaders of tomorrow, I get it. I am pledging to be no longer weak. To no longer seek gratification. To whisk myself away from this ungodly pattern of thoughts and free myself from romance.

Breaking up

2007-10-15T11:29:00.001-07:00

“I think what you need is a rebound; it would probably speed along the healing processes”, I suggests over some green tea and gin rummy.

I find breaking up hard. You have to see your ex out around, especially if you live in a smaller community, and you have to adapt. It’s strange because you want to move on, but as long as the other person is around, it’s that much harder.

“Why did you have a rebound yet?”, he asks. I know the question well. It’s the sort of question I would ask just to hurt myself, just so I could hear the answer that I envision in my mind. The answer would help me push the other person away.

“No, of course not I answer…” As I shift uneasily in my seat. “I am not even that into sex, and you know how much I detest most gay men.” It’s enough of an answer for him to not press the subject.

“I don’t want anyone right now…”

I like to watch

2007-10-10T12:41:00.000-07:00

I watched a mother and her three young kits on Friday night when I staggered home after a night of drinking. It’s amazing. I was in awe of the fact that these beautiful creatures are among us, adapting, in a city of a million plus.

In Vancouver raccoons are apart of the West End. They swim in the ponds that Stanley Park has to offer, they cross streets, they hide in bushes; they could be considered a staple of the downtown area.

They were huddled together with their mother making cooing and chirping noises. I think when a raccoon coos they are content or happy. So knowing they weren’t threatened by me, I slowly make my way toward them to get a better look.

They smaller children are pawing through the wet leaves on the streets, searching the near by grasses, and making sure they aren’t too far away from their mother.

They are aware of me now. One of the younger raccoon stands on his two feet and dutifully stares at me. I guess they are accustomed to people, and they know that we are not a threat. Otherwise, I think the mother emergency call would be sounded and the kits would scurry off to their dens and burrows.

When I stand there in the dark, alone in a city of a million or so people, I know peace. I am so drawn to these creatures. I guess there were a lot of thoughts going through my head at the time. I’m thinking of the recent break up, and I am thinking about the near-distant future, with is empowering. I’m thinking about romance. About why am in this situation. I’m thinking about why I’m in Vancouver…

It seems that after every visit to the city I come back feeling a little down. I can’t tell you why. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t have community here. Maybe it’s the fact it makes me aware of my alienation. Or maybe it’s because I’m lonely. Or it could be something else…

I think I watched them for a good twenty minutes and then walked away. I left them picking through the leaves and scanning the lawns to find whatever it is they eat, you know, I don’t even know what they eat. I should.

I feel a little jealous of their lives. They are free to roam the city, doing the most instinctual things without too much thought. They feel basic emotions and don’t have to worry about who’s wearing what, who’s dating who, the bills they have to pay, and the job they have to work. They don’t have to worry about any of those things.

I hate Raccoons.

Alone

2007-09-28T21:42:00.000-07:00

Nobody wants to be alone. I mean, if I had a choice, I would choose companionship and it’s not because I’m lonely; it’s because I’m human. Yesterday I choose to be alone. Not by choice, it was by a need to discover myself again.

I find myself teetering on brink of a mild depression. It’s purely situational although I am no stranger to it. My mind sometimes relishes in the idea. It wants to feel bad, to write sad poetry while eating whatever ready made meals are at hand, otherwise I’d go hungry. It very romantic, you know. Some of the best writers, songwriters, creators were strugglers also. They were restless; so romantic, so in despair that all they could do was create the most wondrous things in our existence.

I have been known to head to art galleries. I wear my best hat, dress in a manner that suggests I’m a free thinker, and I ponder every which way, folding my arms, relishing in the colors, and letting out sighs of appreciation. I know sub-consciously some of it’s an act. It’s as if I’m stuck in this morbid fantasy where I would be picked up by the most wonderfully creative and handsome man. He would paint for me. He would fill me in on the history of art, and later he would because disillusioned because he would realize I am a fraud. The picture he painted of me was premature.

I’m heading back, you know. I think there is a new exhibit opening in Vancouver and I have a year long membership, and the card itself is dusty. It’s time to start grabbing a hold of things that will stabilize me mentally.

So yeah, I am finding a lot of things are becoming familiar as of late. I just recently moved back to the grassroots of Victoria. I have moved back to my first home when I moved from Newfoundland to the West Coast. Initially, of course, because of the culture shock, I found it to be a seedy area. Now, it’s everything I ever wanted. It’s so me.

God, I can’t stand listening to myself.

2007-09-17T11:33:00.000-07:00

I’m being blinded by florescent light.

Some studies have linked office buildings with this particular type of lighting to increases in depression and various other emotional disorders.

Some studies would go so far as to say: we are all slaves. We are all being harnessed for whatever talents we possess and there is no longer say. All we have are the hoards living their lives in some ‘unique way’ when in essence a larger percentage of the world does the same thing; something considered specialized isn’t really, only in our little cubby hole of the world. We want it to be special just to get through the day.

They say we’re all dying slowing; rotting away and we don’t even realize it until it’s too late.

I want to meet them, whoever they are. I need to know how to avoid this unavoidable trap. I want to ask them philosophically, rendered questions and peer into their notions of attainability. I want to know if they are happy, and if so, how did this come to be? I want to know if they aren’t bullshitting me. I need to know if there are alternatives.

I guess winning the lottery could solve these issues or even finding some sort of sugar daddy that would tend to my everyday needs.

But even if I were self-sustaining I would complain about other things. I would wonder why I wasn’t helping more people, or I would question the apathetic world we live in and point out the various differences of class and struggle. I would be an advocate for socialism and express my concerns about the starving children in third-world countries - we so early turn a blind eye, without cause.

I would then conform to the world of being rich. I would be selfish and buy furs. I would eat expensive cheeses without regard for my starving cousins, my friends on the zenith of welfare. I would think they were all trying to use me and revert into my own world where my every whim is met, without regard for the people who shaped me in the first place. We all become selfish in time. We all learn that without yourself, who is going to look out for number one. Who’s going to fulfill your needs and maintain the equilibrium of peace that we – oh so – desire.

I don’t want money. I couldn’t be that person. If I were that person and approached that brilliant light on my death bed, I’d probably feel the heavy weight of hell upon me. Oh no, I don’t want that indeed. I’d rather be the simple peasant. I’d rather be the conformism in today’s world, the guinea pig of corporations; the unseen man. I’d rather be humble then obnoxious and cold with fulfilled want.

I think when our rotted and overly consumed soul approaches the time to perish; we will look back and hopefully be satisfied.

Being satisfied could be as simple as seeing the world, or finding the right friends in my lifetime. Would I be happy just to spend my remaining days in Victoria in the routine I have grown so accustomed living? Would it be enough to make me die without remorse?

I talk about death like it’s at my backdoor. It’s not, you know. I mean, it’s possible I could drop dead tomorrow but I won’t. I’m not even thirty yet. I see friends sky-diving and speaking of their various trips to Europe, Asia, or any other continent for that matter, I become jealous and sad. I become envious of their lives and curse myself for being so practical. Then again, I think I’d have to lose everything in order to get to the same point that they relish in so freely.

I want more, you know. I feel as if sometimes I let the people down my life because I can’t break free of the struggle of livelihood. I can’t make that break between current life and the ‘life I am told I need to live in order to feel accomplished’.

I walked out to have a cigarette a few minutes ago. I am an on again, off again smoker. I smoke when I lose hope. I smoke when I no longer care about the people around my or myself for that matter.

When I started smoking, it started as some romantic ideal that was brainwashed into my wiring. It was the Marlboro man who sat on his horse, isolated and withdrawn, but still full of great pride and dignity. He was the thinker. He was the renegade (think James Dean, think Andy Worhol). He was the idol of ever teen boy, although if you asked them why they would shrug it off. It was the imagery, without question, that influenced our decision making process, and the funny thing is, we didn’t even think about why, we accepted it full-throttle.

There was also the lone house wife, dressed in the modern garb at the time sucking back on her minty cigarette while popping some cookies in the oven for the kids. I guess we didn’t realize at the time that she smoked because she was trapped by the system. She smoked because doctors told her it would help her lose the domestic fat she put on due to inactivity. She was fulfilling what was expected of her and no longer cared. So why not smoke her fucking brains out? All she had left of her was an overworked husband, her kids who were the product of post-war sex that would fill up the trades with vigor and later develop distain towards anything and everything; I bet you she wondering what the point was…

Now it’s more a cancerous causing chemical that eats away at my body. The romanticism is gone; it’s the habit that lingers and cannot flush out the 20 years of advertising that has brought me to this point.

We have all these traps set up at the office to catch crickets. It’s an epidemic this time of year and you can hear them rubbing their legs together in just about any nook you pass by. The trap by the one of the exits had a large spider in it. Its legs we’re stuck to the cricket-trap gluing and all I could think was “lucky bastard”.

No one sees the tragedy except for me.

This weekend

2007-08-07T12:01:00.001-07:00

Imagine this: a twenty minute hike through rainforest carrying our goods; there is a tent folded up on one arm, a back pack, blankets, and a cooler of food; this is followed by a small hike across the most magnificent landscape known to man; followed by a resting place found in the middle of nowhere, where time waits for no man.

I’m not a spiritual man most of the time. In fact, I hardly have time to think because my world moves so fast. If you strip all that away, leave me with nature and I can paint the most amazing stories.

I can take you back to that night. It is a night where we are camping on mystic beach surrounded by forest on one side and ocean on the other. There is no escaping what we have found. You can either move a few meters in one direction and meet waves, or a few meters opposite and start traversing the forest. There is no in between and we now realize that we are in a realm of our own.

I can see a few things occurring all at once, around me, that is. The tide is moving out, which is a good sign since the waves were nearing our post. The backdrop is full of tree-clad hills, rocks, and mist as far as the eye can see. A waterfall is about thirty meters down the beach, falling from a rugged and worn hillside. Everything is blue and amazing, and all I want to do is live on the shoreline for the rest of my life.

Yes, we lack visibility. Yes, we are alone minus a few like minded people, and yes, I am very happy. And I don’t even have to question that anymore. Happiness, that is. I know it when I curl up in my sleeping bag and listen to nature.

The neighbors are obviously on drugs. After borrowing an axe and making our campfire, we can hear the screams, roars of laughter, and the fire in the distance. “I’M SO FUCKING WASTED”, one girl yells. “WOOOOOTTTTT”.

I can see their massive flash light swerving in and out of reality. At one point it’s being turned off and on, and at other points, it’s not walking a straight lie, it’s veering from side to side while we see its target – the ocean – in the distance. I can see the three of them clearly now, they are huddled around a fire with a blanket stretched out. A male – who is the caretaker – and his two female companions.

I can tell you it was interesting. We paid a short visit to our neighbors a little later in the night. They were a bit too much at times but I laughed quite a bit. It progressed from meeting two boys, 13 and 15 buying pot for their parents, and then us lecturing them on good music.

“Sonic Youth, man. You have to look them up. No more of that Chemical Romance shit!” I yelled at them. Their eyes are fixated on the lot of us. I think they are amused and at the same time thinking they will never end up like us.

“Courtney Love is the devil,” screamed our new camping buddy. To be honest, she kind of resembles Courtney but we all know that she is a diehard Nirvana fan at heart. We play some trivia with them and take off.

I think the most gratifying part of the night though is when I’m laying in the tent and listening to the ocean. Sometimes you forget how powerful it really is. This massive body of water that can both create, destroy, increase, and diminish; it is an unstoppable force.

All I can hear are the large waves bringing a variety of different sensations, different noises, and finally when it hits the shore the sound of pebbles being eroded slowly. When it hits the shore we know that if it came just a few meters closer, it could drag us and everything else around us back into its body. I appreciate, and I can admit to being humbled by its majestic and long life.

The world is magic. The world and its beauty is everything I ever wanted and more. It reminds me that I am just a man, and that I am small when compared to everything we as humans take for granted and fail to understand. I can only ask permission to use it, and pray that it treats me well, for I have no control over it and it has my life in its balance.
How can I ever measure up to it?

The Trip Home

2007-07-20T14:13:00.000-07:00

I’m heading home in three weeks to that place I wrote about previous to this. That small town that I carved out in some of my earlier blogs . I’m heading home and am anxious. I’m not sure if I can play the role of an adjusted family person. I mean, my family can’t, so why should I?

My sister is now living with her boyfriend Ryan, who initially was my friend, but when I left for University they started dating. They tried to hide it, although they were together most everyday. They would initiate hanging out. They played me for a fool. The one thing I hated more then anything about the situation is the fact that they actually thought they were smarter then me.

I’m not sure where they are living, or what they are renting for that matter. I have a four to five year old nephew that I have seen once; I have family that I haven’t seen in close to five years besides. I owe them at least closure. I am on a different current now, and to be lead back into the bowels of my creation, into the land that shaped me and formed me, it will be a struggle to say the least.

It’s a shame I haven’t spoken to my sister over the phone in such a long time. I couldn't even give you an estimate as to how long it’s been. But to blame myself is selfish; we have both contributed to this breakdown in communication. The last few times we did talk, it was about negative things, and I called her on it. I called for her to gain strength over the situation, but instead of it being accepted, I was attacked. And after I throw out the line, I can’t give much more, I can only retreat, hoping one day reason will prevail.

What else has changed? American’s are now buying up cheap waterfront property in the smaller communities for vacation purposes. It’s cheap, and with a fraction of the cost, they can get the home they have always dreamed of.

Tourism has also changed the small output communities that litter the coast. Since the days of the moratorium Newfoundland has struggled to mark another industry to subsidize one of the greatest loses in Newfoundland history. Thanks to oil revenues, we are able to fund a lot of projects centered around heritage renewal, and with that, in floods the tourists.

--------------

To Quote Dorothy Allison “Two or three things I know for sure, and one is that I'd rather go naked than wear the coat the world has made for me”. When I arrive I will be a newborn again. I will be coming of age in a community that will know me truly for the first time. This time though, I have power.

So what has changed? The outer shell of a place that will always have the same spirit. The same energy, people, isolation will always exists. I will relish in the foods I ate, and the people who interested me, who inspired me to think differently.

And what do I know? Nothing. Something? I know I’m still here. I know that if someone calls me a fag, it will no longer break me. I know who I am. I know that nothing can ever hurt me again with respect to my sexuality. I know I’m full-formed, completely, and utterly comfortable with myself.

There are things that we never want to let go of, people we never want to leave behind. But keep in mind that letting go isn’t the end of the world, it’s the beginning of a new life.

So I begin again in a few weeks. I test the waters of all the relationships I recklessly left behind, without remorse. I hope I haven’t changed in their eyes, and in a way, I hope they have made changes. For there was a lot of things I left behind, being grateful, at the time. We will see….

I'm back

2007-06-19T14:45:00.001-07:00

"The world is divided into two kinds of people. People who divide the world into two kinds of people, and people who don't." - Gloria Steinem

Hello fellow bloggers and readers alike. I just want to tell you all that I am sorry. I will never let love come in the way of writing again. And you know why I am back, don’t you? I mean, it must be obvious. We’ve called it quits.

I just want to promise you that I will not dedicated an entire blog to this guy. He’s deserving of it, but the wound is still fresh in my mind. Let’s just talk about nonsense instead.

I have been reading the Best of the Craigslist the last week or so. There were times when I was sitting in the office, reading about some annoying Barbie doll from SoCal who annoyed everyone in the coffee store so much, that someone wrote a small essay about it. It was hilarious. I was envious that I wasn’t the person who claimed to have split coffee on her…

Am I ok? Yeah. I mean, kind of. I have some shit to figure out now. It’s like I went in hiding for so long that I now have to figure out all the things that made me satisfied before I met Brad. My life is already busy enough so I don’t think it should take that much effort, though. I am ok. I’m better then ok.

What else…hmmmm. Oh yeah, Global Warming, it’s been done. The summer is non-existent and all the old eighty year old fucks in Victoria are reminiscing about what a real Islander summer is like. I’m not saying it’s not happening or anything but hell, there are weather trends also. It could very well be a weather trend.

Ok this is sad. I’m gonna have to take my laptop out with me and spy on really annoying people for inspiration. Right now I have nothing.

I miss him guys….

What am I doing?

2007-05-16T09:38:00.001-07:00

There’s this forge and this ungrounded feeling that serves me ill. All along the paths I have taken, I have succumbed to the same broken thoughts, the doubts about who I am, where I am, what I am doing. My forge, which is within me, which could be around me, is starting to reek havoc on my well-being.

Whatever happened to the good ole’ days? The days when kids didn’t shoot up their parents, or when gays where secretly hiding and being miserable, or when the governments and our democracies hid their errors thanks to a lack of global broadcasting and free speech adjustments. What happened to the freedoms we once has in a time that was so restrictive?

This morning I awoke in my partners home. He can’t sleep without the aid of white noise, so I awake to the fan that is constantly churning in his bedroom. I’m on a single bed with a handful of sheets on top of me, red mind you; all I hear are the crows outside. I swear they get louder ever year. As I lie in his bed, awaiting his return, I know that this is all I want. I could make a life out of this and never question what I may be missing out on.

When I get up, I find him home already. He’s making breakfast for me to send me off to work. It’s a nice gesture but I am so out of it, I can’t acknowledge my thanks or even wish him a good day. I’m a stumbling fool at this point, but he understands, we had a long night celebrating his birthday.

I swear that everyday he gets even more handsome. Everyday I want to look at him even more, and the feelings I have for him are getting stronger. Everyday I am falling more and more in love with this guy. And trust me, I tried not to. I came up with so many excuses as to why I shouldn’t be with him. Even a month into it, I wasn’t that into him. I mean, I liked aspects of him but the entire package wasn’t there. Now, now I’m becoming more and more pathetic as the days go by. I’m officially convinced.

Relationship Update

2007-05-15T11:35:00.000-07:00

The world is so pale next to you.

Brad and I aren’t moving forward; in fact because of our busy schedules we are now taking a step back. He only wants to see me on the weekends and he has stated that he ‘wants to have his cake and eat it to’. I’m not sure how to handle this. Do I want to be a weekend guy?

We went to a party together this weekend and there was this really hot couple hanging out. I was introduced to one of the guys, and I also flirted indirectly with his boyfriend. They both were masculine, and the boyfriend, who I didn’t talk to, had a beard; I guess I could say he was REALLY my type. The temptation was very difficult. I couldn’t help but notice him and want to be with him. And I guess now that we are taking a step back in our relationship, I wonder, should I? Is this what I really want? Should I say fuck it and inquire about bearded guy and his bf? I mean, nothing would come of it anyway. And I think the only way I would be interested is if he were single. So why even bother?

I think the point I am trying to make is, I am very pissed off about where this is going. I though we were doing so well and then I get blindsided by him. I know he still likes me, and I know that he is in to me, and I also understand his schedule and the things he needs to resolve in his life, but at the same time I guess I don't feel as needed or appreciated as I would like. When I am with someone, they should be willing to be there for me any day of the week, not just weekends. It sucks because I have opened myself up to him and now, when I actually want to spend time with him, he pulls away.

The man in me is still fucked. I am one hundred percent committed but the one thing I can’t stand is temptation. It wasn’t like this before in my previous relationship. I all wanted was my partner and the thought of other men didn’t even cross my mind. Now, it’s different…

Dudes in a car

2007-05-07T13:18:00.000-07:00

I’m driving home last night after watching a movie with Brad. He’s caressing the back of my neck, which I love, and Brad mention to me that some dudes to my left took notice and said something nasty.

I look at the car to my left and I see three guys. A darker guy in the back giggling and pointing towards the guy in the passenger seat, and then to my amazement, I see what’s happening.

The guy in the passenger seat is getting the back of his neck caressed also. He's mocking us. They are ofcourse trying to put us down; they are trying to be complete assholes and make us feel bad for being two gay men who are publicly showing our affection; so I have to respond.

“Hey hot stuff. Looking good,” I say in a much stronger tone then my usual self. I’m looking right at the driver’s side passenger after giving a quick scan of the situation. The first thing I notice is the guy visibly jumping - I guess he didn't think we were on to their joke - and taking notice that my window is down.

They are obviously bothered now but they aren’t responding. In fact, they are not even looking my way anymore. They can talk the talk but when push comes to shove they have been dominated by one of their fears. A gay male has put them in their place. All I see now are the two people in the front of the car turn to eat other, whisper something and giggle.

I have to respond though and I do. “Yeah, that’s pretty hot man seeing your boyfriend rub the back of your neck like that. Man, I wish I could be a part of that!” Brad is in shock. He’s had bad experiences with men in the past. I guess being out at an earlier age gave him a few more experiences then myself. I haven’t had a physical confrontation before but am not opposed to it.

“HEY,” I say with an even more aggressive tone. “Maybe you should come over and rub my neck, hot stuff,” I reply. I look to Brad and I start laughing. And I see a few things happen. I see the power they once have slowly fade away, and then hand that was once caressing this guys neck is now quickly back on the steering wheel.

I’m furious and I am staring right at the dudes in the car. They, I think, are now afraid of how far I will go. What has turned into something so demoralizing for Brad and I has now turned into a situation where I have all the power. I am laughing and taunting these guys and they are too wimpy to take it to the next level.

I’m happy about this. I’m very pleased that I am at a point in my life where I am empowered and proud. I’m glad that I will not let people walk over me. After those three guys drove off, I was smiling ear to ear.

Lovely

2007-05-04T16:09:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I still listen to the American Beauty soundtrack and think about that damn paper bag. I think about how significant something so plain and ordinary can be. I think sometimes I’m finally here, ya know. I’m finally contributing to society, and, I finally have friends, a boyfriend, and a family who I can understand. I have it all…yet, I feel empty. It’s not depression, or being unsatisfied in anyway, it’s just that I wonder if this is all there is? Is this my life?

I really should do something brave. I don’t know if I can be stuck in the same job, doing the same things, living in the same place. It’s not my nature. I was never like this. I was a rebel and I was only happy whenever I had a new project or something to obsess about. Now, I obsess about a presentation I have to give next Monday or the garden in the backyard, or my relationships with the people I love. I’m missing out.

There’s this change occurring. We all see it, no matter how sheltered or disillusioned we have become, the ice is receding friends; corporations are getting stronger, and the world as we know is losing species at an astounding rate.

The honey bee in America is in trouble. The honey bee which pollinates almost every fruit producing plant, every harvest crop give or take a few things like potatoes and like matters; the honey bee is dying. If the honey bee dies, then our cattle, our pigs, our animals that rely on these crops will also die. And then we are left with nothing. You see, it’s not just oil and gas anymore, it’s not temperature increases and floods, and it’s everything our species needs in order to survive. We’re dying.

I want to leave you with these thoughts on my Friday evening. I want you to think about your actions, because if we don’t, we aren’t going to have a world where it’s safe to live anymore. Our children, our nieces and nephews will struggle; they will suffer. And at this zenith, this epic time, when all life is in the balance, you can no longer turn a blind eye. You can no longer be ignorant because if you are, then all is lost.

I beg you. Think. Take yourselves off the grid. Lobby our governments. Change the world. It starts at one person at a time. I don’t want the people in my life to know who affected I am by this, I mean, I’m sure they are also, but I can be all doom and gloom.

When I mention these things to my parents, who live in the backwards fishing communities of Newfoundland, they think I’m crazy. They tell me they will hang up if I keep preaching these things. I don’t criticize the fact they have an SUV and a large Ford Truck, or that they do not recycle as much as they should, or that they are wasteful with energy, or that we don’t have much time left. I just tell them things will change in their lifetime if they don’t start thinking.

The last Glacier in Germany is melting away. I watch the news today as the German’s were desperately trying to cover large parts of the mountain with a tarp to deflect the sun. They have a couple of years left really; the last glacier in Germany will join the books with many other countries that have already lost their ice sheets. The polar bears are dying. Parasites and opportunistic species are coming back in full force. In fact, the pine beetle in BC is stronger then ever and on the East Coast the Spruce Bud Worm.

I see acres and acres of land failing us. I see the trees we so desperate need to keep this global warming crisis at bay; dying…it’s all I see anymore. I see it so clearly. The death around us and I want to scream at the masses. I am so angry. I can’t do anything only grieve ahead of time so that when the big day approaches, it will be out of my system and I will be ready to react.

My life is nothing but a sham now. It’s going to change. I’m going to see the world before it dies. I’m planning. I’m almost ready. And I don’t care about the responsibility of it all anymore; I will be content working on a farm somewhere, harvesting the land until it can’t support me anymore. I’m happy taking myself away from all this greed and destruction; this consumerism that has brainwashed so many.

Television, Radio, Billboards, Buses, Schools, Sidewalks, anything, it’s all been taken by these giants of consumerism. We’ve all be taken and we don’t even realize it. So how can we do something proactive in a world that has brainwashed us so badly? How can we change when all our youth can think about is the next release of Play station or World of War craft? Our children have been sucked into this void. This awful and dangerous place where it will take strength to escape. They have so many of them now and the numbers keep going up. If you don’t see the dangers, then you are one of them also.

Hornby Island

2007-04-18T10:38:00.000-07:00

This is picture was taken on Hornby Island. Brad and I rented a cabin and also camping for a night while visiting this Island and it's brother, Denman Island. It was an awesome vacation. Very meditative and relaxing.

Enjoy.

2007-04-18T10:35:00.000-07:00

I went to Sombrio Beach this weekend. We hiked along the ocean, climbed down mountain cliffs using ropes and ladders, walked through some old growth forest, and finally walked across a twenty story suspension bridge.

Life doesn't get any better.

2007-04-18T10:32:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how to begin this one. In fact, I’m not even sure if I want to begin telling you what has happened. I do want everyone to know that I can’t wait for the summer and I plan on buying a bike rack and doing tons of camping and exploring.

The second thing I want to tell everyone is that I am in love with Brad. He’s a great guy, and, yeah, we have a few things to work on (mostly figuring out the sexual part of things) but regardless, I want to let everyone know how lucky and privileged I am to have met such a great guy.

I am still a little shocked about it all. I’m getting over it and really working on opening my heart to him. I’m not afraid anymore. In fact, I now understand what it’s like to have someone in my life that treats me the way people should be treated. I no longer want an emotionally unavailable guy who treats me poorly. I want to be with Brad, a guy who is totally into me, who cares about me, and who I know will respect me and make me smile for the rest of my life.

Ok, I’m being a little dramatic.

The new guy...

2007-03-30T15:25:00.001-07:00

hill, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

I remember a time when the city was full of architects and debutantes.

Brad and I are going strong. And yeah, I know, I won’t be writing every blog about this guy. I just want to let everyone see the good things in my life also. Most of the time I rant and I am judgmental, critical, dissatisfied; really I’m not though.

We were lying in bed last night and all I can do now is smile and look into his eyes. He smiles back and I start to get the ‘butterfly effect’. If you asked me how this would have played out six weeks ago, I would have told you I’m going to fuck around for a week or two and it’s over. Cause I’m not the settling type.

And here I am. I don’t want to mess around with anyone else. I am really turned on by the guy and my weekends involve planning things with him. We have our Sunday’s together – it’s common knowledge, and if we were to miss a Sunday, I would worry.

I have been saying some nice things to the guy. I first asked him what kind of guys he responds to; guys that treat him poorly and are emotionally unavailable or guys that are affectionate and kind? He picked the latter; I’m glad because it’s the way I generally am when I am into someone.

I told him that I enjoyed his company and with him all my problems and stresses disappear. I also comment on how handsome I found him and relayed the fact that I do ‘Like him”. I can’t say the other words. I am afraid of the response if I told him everything I am feeling. It’s too soon. One day.

Let me tell you all something. I’m a little scared. In fact, I’m terrified that I am going to fall for this guy and one day, he will get sick of me, or hell, he’ll cheat. I know he’s not like that though. I know a winner when I see one. But still, I think because of my earlier relationships with men, I am not used to dealing with someone who is actually an upstanding person. I’m not used to dealing with someone that treats me like a person. I’ll have to play it out. I mean, what’s the point of going through life without taking chances?

I can see a lot of things with us. I can see us settling into some small community and living a rather slow-pace life. I want some kids, a nice garden, and maybe start up our own business, travel a little…anyway, I’m over thinking things.

I’m seeing a new guy and he’s great. That’s all we both need to know.

I can't take my eyes off of you

2007-03-26T15:20:00.001-07:00

I think I'm falling for him.

My Imagination

2007-03-23T13:31:00.001-07:00

What's the immaterial substance
that envelopes two,
that one perceives as hunger
and the other as food.

I wake in tangled covers,
to a sash of snow,
you dream in a cartoon garden,
I could never know.

Innocent imitation,
of how it could be,
if when the music ended,
you did not retreat.

In my imagination,
you are cast in gold,
your image a compensation for me to hold.

Parallel lines, move so fast,
toward the same point,
infinity is as near as it is far.

Parallel lines, move so fast,
toward the same point,
infinity is as near as it is far.

Life, man

2007-03-23T09:47:00.001-07:00

Living is breathing full, opening your eyes to the world around you and not wasting time on the trivial things. It’s standing tall, full of conviction with thought provoking ideas and a smile that isn’t limited to a particular time and place.

Living is going to bars with strangers who know as much about you as you know about them. Living is dressing with zest, owning art, eating good meals. Living is pretending you know what you’re doing when you don’t know anything for certain and what you do know seems to be changing all the time. Living isn’t about a plan, it’s about an ideal.

Living is knowing when to quit. It’s knowing when to call your bluff and take a plunge into the unknown. Living is about being everything you can be, and, the best you can be no matter who or what is stopping you. Living is knowing your wants and needs. It’s filling Maslow’s hierarchy to the nth degree.

My hand is numb today, numb to the pain; the throbbing muscle in my carpel that seems to be getting worse. My fingertips are vibrating and my right hand is usually purple in the mornings. I keep thinking it’s going to get better. I’m an optimist! It’s not. It’s only going to get worse. One day, when I least expect it, it’s not going to be better and I will have to make the pilgrimage into the doctors office and request the snip.

There was a time when my hand was fully functional. It was before I started working and realizing that life is about entrapment. Life is about taking a person so full of promise, so full of expectation and love for the world around him, and putting that person in situations where he no longer has a choice. We have to beat them down. We have to manage and control, we have to take the people who grow up with promise and let them know that it was just a dream.

Living is rolling with the punches. It’s letting people take advantage, or even letting people lie outright and noy even skipping a beat when you find out. It’s about shedding all the moral righteousness that people wear on their sleeves. It’s about seeing past everything and finding a place that no longer affects. It’s about become cold and numb to the nuiances in life and becoming totally selfish and absorbed in your own pleasures.

The real world is a nightmare and as much as we want to wake up, as much as we want to acknowledge that this is just temporary – “I’ll work for a couple more years, save up, then I will do the things I want” – it’s just a dream. It’s hope that we all have; hope that we hold on to; we want purpose. It’s ok though if you are content. Obviously I have given it much more thought as you.

I want to live. I want to consume as many positive things as possible. I want to meet as many interesting people as I can. I want to smile constantly, live life to the fullest, pass each day knowing that I did as much as I could and it’s not lost. It’s never lost in my eye. I want to be surrounded with color, compassion, love; I want everything. I want my soul to be filled constantly with no downtime.

Want destroys perspective. I know I want too many things. It’s been with me all my life; I think it’s because I missed out on so much when I was younger. I was too patient, I was too timid, and I didn’t find strength and conviction until a much later age. I think I was 23 before I snapped out of it. It being everything in my line of sight, everything in my life. I didn’t see until a much later age, you know. And now that I see the beautiful, the promise, I want so much more.

I am in my office and looking from office to office, noticing my co-workers. I feel sorry for them, caged up so. Some are young and full of energy. They are fresh out of school with a “I will succeed attitude”. They want it so bad and they haven’t been in the working world long enough to see. They haven’t lived their lives. And, yeah, I know I am projecting. I haven’t lived my life. I am totally being a hypocrite as I sit here and judge them. Sometimes I feel as if this is all I know and will ever know. As much as I complain I have this great fear that five years down the road I will be doing the same thing: critiquing everyone but myself.

I feel anxious about succeeding in a mediocre world and I’d rather live.

Relationships and worries

2007-03-21T15:30:00.001-07:00

I used to be afraid of the dark, even until my later teen years. I would stumble home on a Friday or Saturday night and head downstairs to my bedroom. The whole time I would think about the monsters lurking in the dark, some unknown presence that could jump out and grab me and pull me away to its dark lair.

As I have gotten older, I no longer fear the demons in the dark but I want to be clear about this: I do have demons. I think they prevent me from getting close to people. They are my guards. They are the reason why I am so adamant about not falling in love or being in a relationship. They tell me I am better off alone.

I am fighting my demons so I can still be with Brad. It is a difficult struggle and I am constantly fighting my mind to rid myself of the doubt, or the strength I accumulated after my last devastating break up. Regardless, it’s happening, although I can’t measure it; I am in a different place right now and the future will only tell where it will lead me.

As I head out this weekend and enjoy St. Paddy’s Day. I can’t help but notice all the men – the majority straight – guys who are around. They are clad in the usual dress, and once or twice I manage to strike up some conversation.

One guy in particular approaches me at a small pub Brad and I went to. He tells me he’s bi and would love to fool around with myself and a girl. I flirt a little; he flirts back, and then behold, Brad steps forward to end our fun.

He tells me it’s because he thought the guy was being rude. The funny thing is, I really don’t mind. When he stepped in between us and had a talk with the other guy I was smiling. Normally I would be profoundly upset, but this act actually made me like him more. He was jealous although he didn’t admit it.

The past few weeks have been a trip. I have been very open to spending my time with one guy. We have cooked dinners together, went for hikes, watched movies, and even smoked a little pot.

He makes me laugh. He makes me a little jealous. He turns me on to no degree. I am asking myself why I don’t love him. Why I can’t – after 6 weeks – be totally and utterly smitten with this dude. Victoria’s number one bachelor and still nothing…well, there is something, but it’s not the unbridled passion I seek.

It’s for the best, I guess. I don’t want to be one of those people. I don’t want to fall into the trap of being head over hills. I like still having my wits about me. But oh, how I miss that romance; how I miss the gripping, uncontrolled, tumultuous passion I once had.

There is only one thing left to do. Play it out. Maybe I will find this same passion but in a different way. Maybe I’ll never find that passion again? Maybe I’m getting old and I really can’t be as picky as I once was. I still have my looks, and I have so much more, but how long will it last?

I see so many old and haggard gay men who troll it up at the gym. They walk through the bushes at parks, and they pick up hitchers, hang out in hot tubs and hot springs, and walk the local hiking trails.

They are everywhere. It’s so strange, you know. How five years ago I could go to these places and be oblivious to it all; now, it’s all I can see. I can smell them, sense their eyes raping my body, and, their desperation.

I don’t want to be an old troll and if it means finding something that is close to passion, which never equals what I once had, so be it. Besides, I don’t even like hot tubs.

Can't feel a thing...

2007-03-08T10:29:00.001-08:00

When did I realize that everything I ever knew in this world was false?

I’m 28 now.

I’m single – business as usual if you ask me.

And, I’m living the American Dream. Accumulation, wealth, material possessions, cars, good careers; God, when will it change?

I think most people are ok with it. I think I should be ok, but I’m not. If anything I am getting worse. I find myself wanting to retreat more and more and my mind is fantasizing about something more romantic. That’s why I write, I want to secretly be a great writer, or photographer, or join some sort of green peace organization where I travel the world empowering people with purpose.

I want more….

I’m seeing a guy named Brad now. It’s been close to a month and this is – on record – one of the longest relationships I have had. We don’t just spend a couple of hours together; we spend weekends together.

Brad makes me laugh; Brad makes me smile; Brad makes me realize that no matter how great someone can be, I still don’t think I’m capable of being in love again. And, trust me, if I were to be in love it would be with someone like Brad. He has everything I want in a guy…

I think some people are destined to live a different live. Not everyone is family material. I dream of the white picket fence with children, PTA meetings, soccer practice, but I don’t see a partner in my life when I live that life. I can raise children on my own and I don’t feel as if I need the family unit to do so.

This weekend I’m heading down to the naval recruiting office to fill out an application. I have my transcripts, which I will have to dig around for, and I think I am ready to do something completely different in my life.

Soon I’ll be 30…

A Tree

2007-02-20T15:43:00.001-08:00

You're dead to me

2007-02-16T09:57:00.001-08:00

I have had my first taste of gay drama! Oh God, how I loath the word drama. I want to give you two sides of the story, and then, you can form whichever opinion you want.

How I loath the word drama. So many people use it. Drama! I associated the word with really bad pop music and the gay culture. Everyone is screwing everyone else over, and in our culture, it can be taken literally and metaphorically. I am in one of the most competitive sub-cultures out there.

My roommate Sandy, who I think is a complete a-hole, is hanging out with my on Valentine’s Day. We’re having some wine and I proceed to point out a guy on my MSN that I am talking to. He leans in, takes a look at the picture, mentions he’s cute and then goes in his room for a bit.

An hour later, Sandy reappears telling me that he’s know this guy for a few days, but he didn’t want to say anything, and that the guy proposed sex, and blah blah blah. In other words, Sandy wanted me to stay away from him. So fair enough, he lied about knowing him…

The next day I decide to talk to my online buddy and I mentioned that he knows my roommate. Now, I get a completely different story. He tells me Sandy added him the night before – the night I point him out – and that Sandy tells him that he got his MSN from my computer.

To make the story even worse, Sandy is the guy who asks him for sex, and he even goes so far as to point out the fact that he is better looking then I am. All the while, I am sitting in my room… I had no idea someone could do something so devious. And, he even has the gull to come back to my room and make up a story, lie to me, and expect me to believe it. I’m not a stupid guy…

The first thing I want to talk about is who is better looking…haha. I have to. I can’t help it. I have been with a lot of hot guys, in fact, some of them – including my ex’s – have gotten to meet Sandy, and they find him gross. He’s a hairless, fake tanned, overly feminine Toronto boy with a nasty attitude. I think you get the picture…

Secondly, I was warned about Sandy. I have caught Sandy talking behind my back, telling people that I was after ‘his men’ and was talking to people online that he was interested in. From a psychological point of view, he is projecting. The only men I have seen this guy with were people I have already had dealings with. There is no competition; we are two completely different people. He’s gross, man.

Third, my gut feeling tells me to believe the guy online. He has no reason to lie, and judging from my past encounters with my roommate, I think there are a lot of issues he has to work out. He’s talked about me, he’s lied to me, and I have caught him lying to other people as well.

I was so angry yesterday. I yelled at him, slammed a door, and he hasn’t been back sense. I know he’s guilty and now we need to have a talk about how people should respect their roommates. I have been nothing but good. Seriously! But now, it’s over. He will see how I am with people I dislike. I want him out. I want the energy in my home to return to normal, because it’s dirty and depressing right now with this leach around.

I have heard the word Drama about 40 times this week. I think I'm going to pretend to like women for now on...

Wayfaring Stranger

2007-02-15T09:23:00.001-08:00

Bricks, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

I am a poor wayfaring stranger
A-traveling thru this world below
But there's no sickness, toil, or danger
In that bright land to which I go
I'm going there to see my Father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm just a-going over Jordan
I'm just a-going over home

I am a poor wayfaring stranger
A-traveling thru this world below
But there's no sickness, toil, or danger
In that bright land to which I go
I'm going there to see my mother
She said she'd meet me when I come
I'm just a-going over Jordan
I'm just a-going over home
I'm just a-going over home

We get no second chance in this life

2007-02-14T09:45:00.001-08:00

It’s Valentine’s Day.

My car has starter issues and I had to ask a friend of mine, who I have known for four years, to bring me home from work. I work with him and know his wife also. It seems like he has seen my life progress since I have arrived in Victoria.

Yesterday he told me he’s getting a divorce. Everything in his life, for the past seven years, has been a lie. They are both at this cross roads where neither of them knows who they are…We talk about this on the twenty five minute drive home and on the drive to work today.

What can I say? We’re all trying to figure it out. It’s a shock to see a couple, who I assumed to be solid, dissipate. Now they will have to explore the world again, fresh eyes, new intentions, and, it could be exciting or it could be the thing that brings them back to one another.

It’s not uncommon to divorce and share custody of a child. I am not worried at all, because I too am a product of a home that split apart, and fortunately back together again after a few years.

Its life, you know? We’re all just trying to figure it out. Sometimes people reach an age where they start questioning their existence, combined with the onslaught of issues of the future: the global economy, global warming, population increases, and the world of greed. I am bringing it up because it’s the same things we talked about yesterday. The world is dying and it’s changing the way we view our lives.

I know most people think we’ll be ok, but in twenty years when we start hitting the reserves, it won’t be. I won’t bother investing in real estate and I would think twice about RRSPs; I think you should start thinking about how to survive, maybe take a few courses on self-survival.

I think we need to start learning how to grow organic foods (crops), learning how to live off the hand, learn how to be human again, learn how to build shelters and heal ailments.

I don’t want to mix doomsday with Valentine’s Day but they are related. Flowers are being shipped all around the world this week for spouses, girlfriends, even boyfriends; this is done by plane and this contributes to our world problems.

If someone asks why you didn’t buy them flowers this holiday tell them you no longer want to contribute to the world’s destruction. Start talking about it. You have to. Time is running out friends.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Lazy

2007-02-06T15:23:00.001-08:00

“I know why he’s not standing... he’s lazy!”, my instructor spells it out to me, 45 minutes into the class, after I have did everything in my power to please her.

Not only did she call me lazy, she does so in front of twenty other people, half of which will never try this class again. I turn red; I am embarassed, but I direct all the negative energy towards my legs, towards the bike, and use it as fuel.

“I was spinning four times last weekend! I’m not lazy,” as I stand up one last time to do the last five minutes of class.

My legs are sore, in pain, it’s not because I’m lazy. In fact, I was pushing the hardest in this class. I am sweating the most. I have put a hundred and ten percent into this class, and what? I’m fucking lazy.

It’s good to be motivated. And, yeah, I made the mistake of asking this crazy, pregnant lady to push me when she sees me slacking off. It’s totally my fault.

I push my towel over the tension on the bike so she can no longer keep tabs on me and my eyes go to the floor. I’m infuriated and want to prove to her that I can do it.

Selfish Pricks

2007-02-01T10:33:00.001-08:00

The day breaks and everything is new…

I want a hybrid so I can scowl at people driving their SUVs and 4x4 trucks. I even feel like rolling down my window and giving them the finger while screaming "Wake up you retarded assholes!". I'm even tempted to spit at them. I need to do something, my conscience is giving me a hard time as of late.

The glaciers are retreating; even George Bush is starting to push for environmental changes, yet still the number of selfish people in the world increases. The temperature of the world is increasing, evasive species are now making a come back because of shorter seasons and climate change, diseases that were once controller (West Nile, Bird Flu, etc) will become more and more common. Where do we draw the line? When does it stop? When is enough, enough?

When I was in Calgary with Christa, I think back to dinner on night; I watched her open can after can and then proceed to throw everything I consider recyclable into the garbage. I was shocked. I mean, I recycle everything, including the more menial things, and as I watch the garbage fill up with waste, I ask her if she has a recycling program in Calgary.

“Yeah we do, but it’s a lot of effort…” she responds already visibly pissed.

She considers me a hippie. I am Green because I acknowledge the fact that our world will be destroyed if we don’t take action. I am because I attend green rallies and drive an energy efficient car, I hang my clothes to dry, I recycle, I am generally concerned and very passionate about the world I live in.

Driving to work today I look at all the vehicles around me. Gas guzzling machines with owners who choose to buy these beasts because they are selfish. Do you need a 4x4 truck in Victoria BC? To what, pick up groceries? I question their motives.

Why on Earth would anyone throw things you can recycle into the garbage when we have a recycling program that picks everything up at your doorstep once every two weeks? We have landfill after landfill filled with things that will never biodegrade. We could build an entire city over these wasted pieces of land.

There is this quest for adulthood in today’s society. We are measured by what we own, how we dress, how much real estate we own, and of course the size of our pocket book is very important. I think we are moving in the wrong direction. I can’t believe how people who are engrossed in the media and commercialism could be converted so easily.

So I have all these questions; I have all these problems with the world we live in. And, if I voice them I am judged, for the most part, unless I can find people on the same page. They should be the first to go. I want them eaten up by deadly flu viruses, and I want their bodies thrown into landfill next to all the products they refused to recycle, and in the end, I want the world rid of these diseased minds.

Grow up people. It's happening.

...

2007-01-31T10:01:00.001-08:00

Why wouldn't I be trying to figure it out?

Lights

2007-01-30T10:43:00.001-08:00

I'm traveling on a bus - I was 10, I think - after a student trip to Gander. We were all bussed in for the weekend for the Royal Conservatory Music Festival, where classes form choirs and compete, where young gay men are forced to share beds with their peers. I am hit with this great paranoia after spending the weekend in Gander.

My friends have distance themselves on the bus, and I am thinking back to the night before where I had to share a bed. Did I do something in my sleep? Did I give away the very thing I have been trying to hide since I hit puberty?

The world keeps flashing before my eyes. I am prone to these long boughs of depression, already at the age of eleven or twelve, and I know if it keeps up, if I don't resolve it, it will forever own me. Even at this age, I already have a few enemies and I am already an adult. I have them and they know me well. It's not because I am a homosexual, although I think it is; I think they know who I truly am. And I see one of them passing around notes.

I think the notes are about me. I think the enemy who I have shared a hotel room has finally discovered the truth and is passing around notes about me - he's outing me with little to no respect for my feelings. And I sink. It's apparent. The children around me see it and they ask "What's wrong?"

In my bought of paranoia, I even see a few kids look at the notes being passed around, then look at me, and whisper to one another that it is truly "a sin", which in Newfoundland dialects means "I feel sorry for you".

I'm sure it was something stupid. Like, a note saying "Charlie has nice glasses" or something along those lines. It's wasn't about me being gay. Although, in my mind, it was always about being gay. I have always struggled with it, and this is a small example of what I had to go through.

After that trip, and the two hour ordeal, I head home, crawl into my bed - it's four in the evening - and my mind is racing. I haven't had to deal with it in such a long time, but thinking back it was awful. It was so consuming I couldn't even function. My mother would visit and worry and I could only reply "I'm tired mom".

You see, just because I could pass, doesn't mean it was any easier for me. If anything, it was the most horrible experience of my life. I didn't have a city to hide myself in, or explore in, I had a small outpost community with nothing to look forward to. I had the worst despair you could possible imagine, the worst yearning, the worst case of depression I have ever experienced in my life.

It wasn't short term; it was from the age of eight right up until I left for BC. It was fifteen years. A lifetime. Don't ever say I can't relate, or I don't understand…

Horses

2007-01-30T09:19:00.001-08:00

I rode a horse this weekend and was labeled as a natural. Do you know how good that feels? I mean, I knew I would be a great horse rider; I could just tell that as soon as I sat on a horse I would know what to do. We have this psychic connection, you know? It's as if the horse knew I was a good guy and decided to let me take control.

I spent this Saturday helping out on a farm. My downstairs neighbor Alice invited me to go out and I decided to go - spur of the moment of course. When I arrived, the first thing I noticed was the view; they live on a massive farm with the mountains in Washington as the backdrop. All I could see was the rolling hills of grass and farmland mixed with a mountainous range that still retain elements of snow.

The second thing I noticed was the abundance of women. The farm was filled with about eight or nine women working together, communicating, being emotional, and looking great - I guess that's what women do. A few were lipstick lesbians sporting low cut shirts, with breasts, long flowing hair, smiles; they were gods, Amazonian wonders. And I was shy for the first time in a very long time. I was out of my element and I think considered shy and uneventful.

At first - because I am now assuming this is a lesbian dude ranch - they were a bit taken aback by seeing me. I am sure I was labeled as the straight guy who was checking out Becky's jugs. I was a little apprehensive and picked up on the energy at the ranch. They were definitely guarded towards me and I knew right then and there society still has a lot of differences we don't see outright.

My daily chores consisted of digging out a trench to redirect some water, digging another trench to hide some wiring - note: I was digging horse hit, and also setting up a watering area and redirecting a hose. One of the women on the farm wanted to make it clear that she was a lesbian. I guess, maybe, they thought I was really into all the hot chicks working the farm, but I then quickly responded, "Yeah, I know, I'm gay, and it's no big deal". Her eyes lit up and a smile appears on the corners of her mouth.

The delightful part of the conversation was seeing how a lesbian's demeanor can change. In fact, it was delightful seeing how all the women responded to me after I was ousted. They smiled, they hugged, and I was now openly accepted into this environment of women who were initially guarded. I was one of the girls!

Later in the day, after all the chores were completed, I dress up as a jockey. I have the hat, a pair of farm jeans and boots, and I proceed to take this large white pony out on the tracks. From first seeing the horse I could tell he was shy. He was nervous around me initially and would look away when I addressed him. I could also tell he was stubborn.

Riding him was great although whenever the other horses came around he would disobey me and follow the pack. They are pack animals and it's something inbreed. I think I need to be more forceful with him to relay the point that I am the master. So I grab a stick - I don't' hurt him - but he knows I have a stick which accidentally grazed him once and caused him to jump.

There is nothing more rewarding then riding a great beast that has survived throughout the ages. I was propped up in the air, feeling like a giant, and watching the beauty that surrounded me with tranquility. This will be one of the times in my life when I can look back and smile.

We rode for a while and I think I developed a relationship with this unknown. I want to ride horses again and work on the farm. I want to learn how to be a farm hand because who knows what the future will hold. I may just have to revert back to that style of living once global warming completely destroys our environment. I might as well cover all the bases, I think.

Vacations...

2007-01-25T12:30:00.001-08:00

After a recently dismissed vacation I now have a plane ticket to anywhere in Canada or the United States. Initially, I had a ticket to Florida to accompany my parents, but, it turns out my workmate booked time before me so I am stuck.

I know, I know, I would have been real keen on staying in a resort village, attending Disney World and other money grabbing intuitions that keep Florida going, and oh, the arguing, how I will miss the tears, the sun stroke, the competing to get other family members on your side. I will miss it all but right now I have a ticket to worry about.

The last time I was in Florida with my parents – 2003, I believe – we had a few major arguments and I remember my last words to them: “Hear me well; I will NEVER EVER go on another family vacation with you crazy fucks again”. I said it. It’s true. The whole point of vacation is to go and relax but when a redneck from Georgia becomes your best friend at the local resort bar while you share Sam Adams beers, you know you’re in trouble.

Yeah, I was pissed at first. In fact, I wanted to hunt down my work mate and have an all out confrontation but now I see the light. I now have control over my destiny and my precious two weeks will not be planned out by my overbearing father. I have the power.

When I phoned to cancel the ticket, which was under my name, they gave me two options:

A) Cancel the ticket and send a refund (the amount paid in taxes because it was an aero plan ticket) to my father.

B) Take back your life, regain control; cancel the ticket and leave it in your name. Note: if you choose this option your father may find out and start another argument. There is a fifty five dollar rebooking charge, period.

It was tough deciding what to do. The ticket was my Christmas and Birthday gift – although it was a bit grand – but I feel as if it’s still mine.

I’m thinking I’ll head back to Newfoundland. I mean, it’s what I really wanted to do in the first place when I found out we weren’t going to St. Pete’s or Miami and my father cheeped out and rented a condo in the fucking resort trap we call Orlando outskirts. I will go home and see ALL of my family. It will no longer be inclusive and I will get to revisit my past. My home. I haven’t seen my nephew, sister, brother, mother, aunts, uncles, grandparents in over three years. I think this is a no brainer.

I’m thinking April. I’m thinking I will rent a hot car, visit the fishing village I grew up in as an ousted gay male, and have a fun time with it. I hope to get into at least one bar fight, open a bottle of beer with my molars, have sex with a guy I always questioned, and not give two fucks about what other people think about me. The community will be tense and I relish in the chance to be there experiencing it.

After they chase me out with pitchforks I will proceed to a few more small towns where my relatives live, then, off to St. John’s for a weekend of partying in a city. I’m going to take my sister and Nephew and put them up in a hotel. The nights will be reserved for me…I don’t care what she has to say about it. I need to get laid at least once on this holiday.

So I’m excited. I’m glad everything fell through. I’m glad my co-worker booked around the same time I did – knowing full well I already had a vacation planned in Easter.

Sweet

2007-01-22T13:23:00.001-08:00

Style

2007-01-22T10:09:00.001-08:00

Tonight at the coffee store there is a cat sporting a waterproof, leather cape. The owner is surrounded by about 4 grown men who are absolutely enamored with the cat. She’s tabby, standing erect and proud, and looking quite eloquent and because of this absurd situation; it reminds me of my own life of style. I am thinking about my own behaviors and how they may be perceived by others. I don’t think I would ever draw the same amount of attention that a cat on a leash, sporting that slick, black cape could provide.

I find that Sundays are always the most difficult day for me. I am left with this day where I have absolutely nothing to do. Even if I think about what I could possible do out in the raining and dreary Victorian day, I am at a lost. So I choose to spend my evening sitting at a coffee store, next to an incredibly attractive man wondering…if he? I think so but to be honest I have no idea how to go about it.

My roommate Sandy is becoming interesting. He gives me fashion sense on a day to day basis. For instance, I wanted to dress up for work on Friday so I popped on my pin striped dress pants and was buttoning up my black shirt when he gives me the one over and says “Charlie, you’re worst then any straight guy I have ever seen. A straight guy wouldn’t even do a black on black combination,” glancing up and down with a look of disgust. He's not good at hiding his contempt of me facially. He is an open book when it comes to displaying emotions and I know right away when something is wrong.

I am rushed back into the room, amused but also insulted, because I like my style. I come back out with a white polo (with black stripes) and a pair of casual pants. Again the once over, and after some thought, I finally get an approval. “That’s much better,” as he gives me the thumbs up. A delicate smile traces the lines of his mouth.

I like my style. I think it’s my uniqueness that separates me from everyone else. It’s my fashion, and it’s characteristic of the West Coast, and to be honest, I think Sandy is the one who is more close minded when it comes to fashion choices. What he does in terms of personal style, anyone can duplicate.

"We need to take you shopping Charlie," there is no arguing that statement.

Today we go to the Guess store that he manages. My mission is to find a pair of jeans that fit me properly in all the right places. I have never paid more then sixty dollars for a pair of jeans in the last four of five years, and to look through the stock of jeans with prices averaged to about a hundred and twenty dollars, I have become a little overwhelmed.

Sandy is a pro and right away recommends two or three pairs for me and rushes me off to the change room. The first pair I try on are Falcons, which means nothing to me, but if you ask anyone at Guess they are the ones you want to wear. I am looking at this slim fit, faded, extremely lean looking jeans with a button fly, and proceed for the first fitting.

I find because I am not stereotypically a tight jeans kinda guy, even though I am a size 29, the jeans are very revealing. My butt is completely nude in these jeans, my legs are exposed, and I don’t mind it, but I am feeling a little naked. The buttons on the jeans give me very little breathing room in the stomach area. I am grasping for air.

As I waddle out of the change room to find Sandy, he sees me, and, looks me over and he tells me they look great.

“Ummm Sandy," as I cringe in fear a little, "I find them a bit tight around the waist and they are very nude on me,” I am pleading with him to understand that this is not me.

“They will stretch in time, trust me. You look great in them, you have to get them.” End of story, done. There will be no more pleading because I know his personality.

“I don’t know Sandy, maybe I should look at a couple more pairs. I’m not feeling too comfortable in these, and I am afraid I may gain a pound and they won’t fit anymore,” I’m chuckling to myself because of the absurdity of the situation and all I hear in return is a deep throated heaving sigh. It’s the “you’re impossible Charlie” sigh.

I default back to another pair that I eyed before that he frowned upon. They were a size bigger – note I need breathing room – and it didn’t feel like I was entirely naked. I try them on, showcase them to both Sandy and his workmate Leah, and I am given the OK. It’s not an “I love them and you should wear them forever” but it’s enough to satisfy him into thinking I’m not a complete unfashionable waste of his time.

Fashion sense is one small part of our relationship. In a way I'm doing it to find common ground; I know it interests him and I want to compliment him by gaining his advice. It is a “I’m gonna make you look good if it kills me” kind of relationship that I am open to.

As I left tonight to head to the coffee store, I dress up in my room, quite proud of the choices I made. My ensemble consisted of an Industry tight fitting, jockey, long sleeve shirt with a white front and gray sleeves; my new pair of jeans which I think are hot; a brown, blue, gray zip up sweater; a brown tight fitting jacket; and a pair of brown and jean bowling-like shoes. Whew, a mouth full.

I am excited to show him my style, and I know deep down inside that there is no way he could criticize this planned out combination that most people would think was cool. Ohhhh…I forgot to mention, I am wear a really cool green Aussie hat. I walk out to the living room and ask him what he thinks. There is no way he could tear this down, impossible, I guarantee it will go over well.

“You look like an old man”, he replies. I am stunned. Right then and there I know that I cannot rely on his opinion anymore. This is a great get up. I know, in my experiences in Victoria that this would go over well. I think I have learned that not everyone is right. Just because someone considers something to be cool or fashionable doesn’t mean that it’s what the general public will respond to in a positive manner.

We are all individuals and should live that way.

The Eurpoean Dream

2007-01-18T12:44:00.001-08:00

I have a confession to make, sigh, it’s a tough one; I have a feeling a lot of guys will have a major problem with me when I fess up. I wrote a note at the Y and placed it in the suggestion box, it said:

“There are gay men having sex in the sauna (steam room)”

-- A concerned citizen

Maybe I am a prude? Maybe I like going to an establishment that doesn’t have tons of gay men around having sex in strange places. I am concerned I may step on something. I mean, what if I went into the steam room and sat down in a spot that was just used for gay sex? I’m a person who dislikes germs; the thought of sex being carried out in a family-oriented establishment grosses me out.

Regardless, the gym is a place for people to work out. It’s not a place to make me or anyone else uncomfortable. I will also relate this discussion to other places such as parks where grown men have sex during the day, or public washrooms at malls, or government buildings, whatever. You know, initially I felt bad about leaving that note but the more I think about it, the better I feel - and the angrier I get.

We have this disease in our culture. It’s slowly degrading each individual man if he isn’t strong enough to think for himself – and what we are left with are people who have their souls chipped away. This posting is very judgmental and I know a lot of guys will hate me for my opinions, but you know what, I am entitled to it.

We all want equality. We all want to be a viable member in our communities, to strip away the stigma of being sex prevents, pedophiles, trolls, delinquents, but how can we if we continue these unfavorable practices? Most of my friends are straight and guess what? They all know about the park, most of them know about the gym, washrooms, etc and what we are doing is giving them reasons to look down on us, to judge us, to label us.

I think the younger generation is coming around, but the older generation is worrisome. They still have the “it’s just sex” mentality that will forever prevent them from having a monogamous, truly intimate relationship. Yeah, and if you read through my previous entries, I am not a prude; I have done questionable things in my life. But I DO not contribute to the labels associated with gay men (minus being free about casual sex which I think is something society reclaimed in the 60’s anyway).

My brothers, wake the fuck up. If you’re lonely…go to a spin class or buy some art supplies. I know people in my life who continually partake in risky behavior. If they were caught they’d probably lose their job and have their criminal record forever tainted. They would be labeled sexual offenders; try getting a job after that report. I guess I lack a firm understanding why someone would want to play with their life in such a way. It’s similar to the ‘my friend getting HIV story’ to some degree.

I hope now that we are being more accepted, and now that I see kids coming out earlier and earlier in life, and my knowing that kids think it’s acceptable, if not trendy to be gay, the next generation will be better. I want this utopia where we are no different that anyone else. I feel that way for the most part. I live in a very accepting place and it’s comparable to more progressive areas of Europe where it’s not even an issue anymore. I want that and WE will get it. For all of you that want to continue down your path of self-destructive behavior – go for it – but stay away from me. I have made an effort to keep all negative energy away from me, I consider you spoiled and uneducated – if not lacking in your own self-love.

It’s a journey my friends, choose wisely. Hate me if you will but I am what I am. I have a feeling the gay mafia may be coming after this entry :).

Warning

2007-01-17T14:32:00.001-08:00

Crew Only, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

Free NFLD

2007-01-17T09:57:00.001-08:00

I have to give a shout out to this blog I read on occasion. This chick is absolutely hilarious.

http://queserasera.org/

On a side note, this is day number three of NOT SEEING ANY GUYS. I feel free, you know? It's like this horrible weight has been lifted on my shoulders and I can now concentrate on me again.

I hope you detect the sarcasm in the last few sentences…but honestly, I need to start thinking about me and take myself away from it all. It seems like it’s one person after another lately, I mean, I’m not complaining but it’s strange; I am not used to this abundance.

I have met a fellow Newfoundlander a couple of days ago - he seems really cool so I'm not sure how much longer I can hold off. I know, I know, I'm sounding boy crazy…

I have always wanted to meet a fellow Newfoundlander that is gay. I have met one or two before but they didn't cut it. This one...seems really cute. I have these fantasies of settling with a small town boy like myself and entertaining our Newfoundland traditions like cooking Fish n' Brews on Sunday, having cold plates, going ski-dooing, importing some moose meat. I know it sounds lame but it's an important connection to my past.

We could both take trips back to Newfoundland to visit our family and yeah...I know he appreciates our home, I know that it's a place where he has strong ties and because of that I am very attracted to him. He looks 'Black Irish' like myself, and as we talk about our lives, I see a lot of similarities.

I'll keep you all posted how it turns out. Another loop in the complex matrix of dating Charlie. Sometimes I wonder if I am going about this the right way. I can see myself pissing off some guys in my life once I find Mr. Right. I'll have to learn how to make myself cry or something to seem apologetic when I do the break ups. He he. Seriously, I am not dead on the inside...I'm warming up, my soul is starting to come around again.

I went to my weekly Spin Class last night (I do this twice a week) A.K.A freewheeling. I have been avoiding the Monday slot because the lady who teaches is fucking Satan reincarnated. Not only does she make us climb hills for ten minutes straight, she also announced that she is three months pregnant. I want to stay away from that shit as long as possible.

The new instructor (Tuesday and Thursdays) is kind of cool. Although, she doesn't let us warm up and I find her a bit scatterbrained. Her music is better though. We even got to hear some 'Smells like Teen Spirit' for our wrap up. I am becoming addicted and lean. The two are great reinforcements for my obsession with staying fit. I guess I'm an official spinner now.

Because of my decision to stay away from the men in my life, during the spin class I found myself looking around. I was wondering what guys were in the class with me, I was noticing who was dropping by to watch, and once in a while I would look out of the glass front of the class to see men coming and going. I have to find a new hobby and fast.

Happiness is a warm gun

2007-01-16T09:59:00.001-08:00

My friend Leia stayed over with me last night. I picked her up after the gym and she packed her bag and headed to my place for the night. We had dinner, watched a movie, and then shared the same bed. It kind of feels like we are married.

Leia is an interesting girl. She is from Ontario and was a tom boy most of her life; she totally digs guys. She is the kind of girl who heads out with me, crosses her arm most of the night without a smile (unless she’s with me) and the guys proceed to flock all over her. I guess there are a number of reasons 1) she is a challenge; 2) she isn’t the stereotypical Victoria girl; and 3) she’s pretty hot.

I met her at the gay bar one night. I was with a friend of mine and noticed this chick staring at me. She would then turn to her friend and whisper about me. I was completely pissed off and was sure she was picking me apart in some way or another, so I approach her. I remember being upset and asking her why she was staring at me. Like, what’s your problem lady? The only response I get is “you’re hot”…, so now we are friends for life.

Normally I don’t get along with girls. I’m not a feminine guy and I think they find me frustrating. I am not the ideal gay friend that they dream of having. But with Leia it works out perfectly because she’s more like a guy. She is the kind of chick that would go to the lumber store, buy wood, and then build her own shelves (I’ve seen her do it). Leia is the kind of girl that would ask to start up a poker tournament, or talk about the guy she nailed the night before, or sit home drinking beer out of a can. My kind of girl.

She’s basically everything I’d want in a guy. Even her parents have this sneaking suspicion that she may play for the same team. When Leia moved in with her current roommates…one girl is a lesbian from her home town. Her parents congratulated her on the relationship and wish her the best. Leia quickly told them, “Mom, dad, I’m not a Lesbian…” Where they only respond, “Yeah…right Leia”.

Her room, oh God, her room. Let’s just say it’s more masculine then my own home. She has a black comforter, large guy-like shelves, a black lamp, two wall sized posters – one of a girl; and, yeah, what can I say, if I walked into the room I would have been shocked to find out it was a girls place. The icing on the cake is the rainbow blanket she has thrown on top of her bed – I keep telling her it’s a gay blanket but she tells me her mom gave it to her so it’s special. I’m thinking her mom gave it to her because she thinks Leia is a lesbian and she’s trying to support her. It’s a never-ending cycle.

Regardless we had fun. We talk about guys and life and…I don’t know, she reminds me of home and the people I am used to dealing with. Over here it’s different. People are so guarded and it’s harder to have an actual connection. It’s because we are all busy, and selfish, and absorbed, and…we’re just trying to make it and sometimes bringing new people into our lives may cause a distraction.

Right now I am in the middle of a love triangle. I have met a great guy from Nova Scotia. He’s an Iron Man competitor, has the build of a hockey player, is totally new to all of this, and is shy. He is totally non-scene, an architect; intelligent…the list goes on. And then there is Hunter who I have been seeing for a while now. Hunter has a lot of the above qualities (minus the Iron man and hockey player build) and on top of that he is totally unique. He is into the scene though. So the dilemma…what do I do? I think they both like me and I am not sure if I like either.

It’s the sad story of my life. I meet all these incredible people and then my interest waivers. Instead of thinking about them, I get distracted by a hot guy at the gym or someone online. I’m beginning to question whether or not I should ever be in a relationship. I miss Ben though (Iron Man) and Hunter. That just sounds wrong…I need to do something about this and fast.

I think Ben maybe something more long term. I don’t want to say it out loud but last night I missed him. And I want my friends to meet him; I want to include him in my life and get to know him more.

The night I met him I completely brushed him off. He chatted me up and I barely listened, and then cut him off telling him I was heading home with my friends. After I leave the club and head to the pizza place, he shows up again. We talk more, but I wasn’t interested at all. Now…he managed to find me online and we started to hang out. Right away he grows on me. And the more I hang with him the more I am interested in seeing him again and again and again.

It’s funny how attraction works. I would have never expected to have an intimate relationship with him. He totally wasn’t my type but his personality, East Coast masculinity, humor, intelligence, it all caught up to me and now I am left in a state of confusion.

So yeah…love triangle. Fuck.

Matinee

2007-01-15T15:36:00.000-08:00

You take your white finger
Slide the nail under the top and bottom buttons of my blazer
Relax the fraying wool, slacken ties
And I'm not to look at you in the shoe, but the eyes, find the eyes

So find me and follow me through corridors, refectories and files
You must follow, leave this academic factory
You will find me in the matinee
The dark of the matinee
It's better in the matinee
The dark of the matinee is mine
Yes it's mine

I time every journey to bump into you, accidentally
I charm you and tell you of the boys I hate
All the girls I hate
All the words I hate
All the clothes I hate
How I'll never be anything I hate
You smile, mention something that you like
How you'd have a happy life if you did the things you like

So find me and follow me through corridors, refectories and files
You must follow, leave this academic factory
You will find me in the matinee
The dark of the matinee
It's better in the matinee
The dark of the matinee is mine
Yes it's mine

So I'm on BBC now, telling Terry Wogan how I made it
What I made is unclear, but his deference is and his laughter is
My words and smile are so easy now
Yes, It's easy now
Yes, It's easy now

So find me and follow me through corridors, refectories and files
You must follow, leave this academic factory
You will find me in the matinee
The dark of the matinee
It's better in the matinee
The dark of the matinee is mine
Yes it's mine

I'm mad at you

2007-01-12T16:18:00.000-08:00

Everyone wants something epic in their life. Something to look back on and say “I did that!” I want to conquer the world. I want the people in my life to excel and be happy. I want a utopia that is blissful, where there is no suffering, where I don’t go to sleep at night with guilt hanging over me for the lives I overlook.

My friend is on an epic journey now. I found out this weekend he is positive as we lay in bed together in the wee hours of the morning. I have known him for a number of years – I have even dated his ex who broke his heart and forever changed him. We were on the town together, and at the end of the night, I went back to his place to hang out.

He pointed out some cancer spots all over his arms and immediately I knew that form of carcinoma. He’s fucking 26. 26 fucking years old and I can do nothing but hold back my sorrow. I don’t want to cry in front of him. I don’t want for him to see that it’s not ok. And yeah, you really fucked up, my friend. There’s no getting out of this one.

So we spend the rest of the night talking about it. We address the what-ifs associated with the disease.

“What if…when I get older…what if I have to start injecting myself with drugs, like Greg, you know Greg, right? I’d kill myself before I get to that point, I wouldn’t be able to handle it,” he tells me. I hear him sighing with grieve. I hug him and squeeze him and I tell him that he's strong. The drugs nowadays are much more advanced then Greg’s time. He’s had it for fifteen years. “I never want you to give up, man”. “I’d be lost”.

“Ok, ok…but what if I go on a date with a really cute guy, like Todd. How do you think Todd would react if he found out?” I know how Todd would react. He would hear the words, and then start thinking about an escape.

“Todd’s a complete jackass man. If he reacts negatively then he’s not the right guy for you”. He has this opportunity now to do something unconventional. This disease will ground him severely and I think at the age of 26 he will finally become an adult. It’s sad to see it, but this is his path in life.

It’s still around guys. And I can name about ten other people I know, who are all close to me, who I have dated or befriended, who also have the virus. I don’t want to see anyone else suffer. I don’t want to see gay males fall into the trap of self-destructive behavior. We are a minority, and yes we ARE NOT accepted, but that doesn’t mean you can’t travel this word seeking self-love and acceptance. It’s out there. I have it.

“Its’ ok man. I love you. And I want you to know that you have me for life now. I will forever be loyal to you,” I’m fighting back the tears. No, why bother, I’m fucking crying and I don’t give a shit. It’s one more person I have to worry about now. I’m going to see a lot of friends die in the upcoming decade. And every time a death occurs it will take another piece of my soul with them; I’m afraid it will get to the point where I will no longer be affected, and when I react that day, I will be scared out of my wits.

It’s a wake up call. It’s something that has plagued me again and again in my own life. Getting calls from disease control because someone I had a relationship with is now positive, or dating someone who is positive and then having myself go completely wacko because or it…or…what does it matter. All I know is, I am twenty eight years old and I will do everything in my power to stay healthy.

I’m not an angry guy but when I see the hurt, pain, suffering, whatever…when I see the lives of my brothers fade, I want to scream at God. I want to ask whatever force create this elegant universe, WHY? Why do you want us to suffer?

Without suffering we are nothing.

New Years is approching

2007-01-02T11:45:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting on one of the Vancouver Island Ferries today waiting to take off. I’m headed to Vancouver to see Hunter. I know it’s been a while since I have written, what can I say? I blame the Christmas season among other things but assure you I will be back at it on a regular basis as soon as possible.

I’m not sure where next year will take me. I’m not sure if I’ll be in the same position, or a different position at the same company, or if I will be doing something completely different. I hear change calling miles away, and more and more, it’s beginning to tug at my soul. I am not one to just stay stagnant…

I have a feeling this weekend could change my life. I could be in love by the time I get back, or I could be disappointed that Hunter wasn’t everything I thought he would be. Only time will tell where this path in life will take me and when it all ends. I guarantee though, this will be one of the last times I will open myself to the possibility of being with someone for some time.

I’m looking around the ferry, noticing who’s who. I’m watching the dynamics of loud children, watching the hot guy in line to get a bus ticket - I want to offer him a ride - and finally the destitute hordes of people who will never be as fortunate. I didn’t realize how many ugly people there were out there until I arrived on this ferry today. It’s good for the soul and the male ego. In Victoria you are surrounded by so many beautiful people that it messes with what is real and what is normal in this world.

I’m glad to be away from it all. I’m glad to once again leave – although this is my third time off the island this month alone. I’m not that isolated; I keep wanting more. I keep wanting to find something amazing and meaningful in this life. I don’t know if I will ever find it but I assure you that I will never stop looking. To do so would only be admitting defeat.

I don’t really have a New Year’s resolution this year. Wait, come to think of it, I do have one: to no longer fear change and the unknown; or all that is associated with it. I will be brave once again and I will draw strength from the person who escaped the shackles of conformity and judgment. I wonder if I am still the same person who moved 7,500 Kilometers away to find himself, desperately in need of something purposeful. I am still that person but I think corporate Canada has given me a beating.
I
I’m deep today, don’t mind me, it comes in phases. I guess it’s the anticipation of meeting a possible long term relationship. Or the knowing that a New Year is approaching and I am perhaps in a rut? I’m not sure. The only thing I do know is that I will end this year with a bang.

I always wonder how easy it is to tell a straight guy from a gay guy. I mean some are blaringly obvious and others mend in so well that they are like one of them – the breeders, that is. I tend to think I blend in, then again, who knows how I am perceived by others. I eat politely, dress in style, and take care of myself, then again, so does the majority of people in my age in Victoria. I wonder though…Small things like shoes, the choice of jacket, and mannerisms are sometimes deal giveaways as to how straight a person is. I tend to think that I have a strong sense of who is who and silently hope that the men I am infatuated with are in fact gay. They aren’t. I chase the pipe dream of having something normal and I know full well it would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

I think we are up to speed, yes no? I always wondering how much is too much? Am I too open? Do I think too much? Or am I normal and I am behaving the way the majority of people who think behave. I hope for the latter; I hope that the majority of people out there actually have something to contribute. As I am surrounded by loud children, the dulled out voices of nearby passenger, the turning of pages, and the onslaught of handsome men roaming about, I want freedom.

There is this guy sitting across from me on the ferry. I’d like to suck him off. He’s sitting right across from me. Dark featured, nice height and frame although I can’t stand the way he talks and his look is a bit unusual. Still, I think if I could forget what I have heard so far I could anonymously take him in the washroom and have my way with him. It look like he has a big package. When I say big, I think it would be more then enough, more then a handful. I want it so bad. He’s leaning back now and I want to keep staring at him.

He’s with these old fucks. They are both conservative and they have good posture. I would guess they are both approaching their 60’s. God, to think that they have made it through all these years together. I am amazed, and hopeful, that the rest of society could use these absurdly boring people as an example that things could work out – although I can’t imagine who would want that kind of life. Ah, if they only knew what I was writing; if they knew how disturbing my mind is I doubt they would be sitting next to me. I doubt that they’d even want to share the same ferry with me. I mean, I would be horribly uncomfortable if I were the guy sitting across from me. I practically raped his crotch with my eyes. I’m glad he didn’t stand up, it would be open season then.

Oh God, they are talking about cruises now. How stereotypical of someone their age. Why not talk about their recent travels to China or India? No, it had to be a cruise and because of that last statement I will judge them for the rest of the trip. God that old man is so opinionated. He is spewing trash out of his mouth and I’m biting my tongue not to jump on him. I hate people who generalize.

And come to think of it, the guy I liked five minutes ago, well, he has a funny shaped body and bad teeth. He’s kind of fat also. Not that I’m superficial or anything, I could be open to getting to know him…if I were drunk enough.

To all my fellow readers, have a great New Years. Think about the year ahead, but not too much, ignore the polar ice caps melting – did you see the News today? A large chuck on the northern ice cap broke away today. Depressing. I wonder what the next fifty years hold. Will we be no better off? Will genetic testing take over and disease rum rampart? I see so many new things occurring, and I also see the world turning a blind eye to it all. I pray that green energy takes over and we start thinking about the future of the world. We are no better off when we were apes. It’s still dangerous and unknown to us all. Have a great year and wish me luck on my journey this weekend.

Hunter

2006-12-22T13:41:00.000-08:00

I met a guy (surprise). I think this time he’s a keeper.

His name is Hunter, and after arriving back from Calgary, I take a trip over to Vancouver with my friend Paul. We head out Friday night and I am out on the dance floor minding my own business when I see this guy… He is different, he’s dancing rather EMO, and we stick to each other the whole night without exchanging so much as a glance. I am terribly shy and so is this dude.

“But now it’s come to distances, and both of us must try…your eyes are soft with sorrow, hey that’s no way to say goodbye.”

We say hi to each other late into the night, which leads to us finding a quite place to talk. I quite enjoy him because he’s very nervous and shy. To me, it seems as if he’s very grounded and down to earth. I know my fascination with shy people – my fetish, one might say – is in full effect. The more and more we share this awkwardness the more I want to be with him.

The night at the club we both go our own separate ways. I am with my friends and am showing them around Vancouver. It would look bad if I left them for another guy. So I say goodbye and plan to meet the next night.

Night two: we meet and I must say after seeing him for the second time, I like him even more. After a few drinks, some leg rubbing and a polite kiss we part ways once again…this time with a brief kiss but nothing to sexual and plan to connect again at the end of the night. I know that he doesn’t think I will actually live up to my promise, but I do….and four in the morning we head back to his place to hang out.

His place is very interesting. Before entering he pulls a Charlie and tells me that it isn’t as clean as it should be – it’s something I would say and I smile. As I enter, everything is clean and put away and as I look around I see so many creative ideas. He has some old televisions stacked on top of one another, and the icing on the cake, a manikin that has been dressed up – half the body at least, and it’s standing, commanding, over the highest television.

The guy is so shy he won’t even look me in the eye. It takes him a right to make eye contact with me and to smile – to laugh – I am overjoyed and so turned on. I love it. I’m drawn to shy people and I find him to be interesting, I want to explore him, I want to be with him, the connection is undeniable and we spend as much time together as possible.

His style is very Hunter, he is unique and beautiful. The next morning, around twelve I guess, my friend phones me and wants to leave Vancouver. I had to peel myself away from Hunter, literally, and I was sad to leave. I wanted to do nothing more then stay in bed with him and find out more and more. I wanted to keep connecting and to keep feeling more and more intense feelings towards him. We both agreed its a good thing we live apart from one another or it may move too fast. I don’t want to rush anything and at the same time I want nothing more then to be with him – only him.

I’m spending New Years with Hunter. He wants me to meet his friends and I want to make sure if he is the one or not. I think he is…I know these things. I knew the first time and I know now. Much like I knew that the umpteenth time quitting smoking was the final time, or how I knew it was over between my ex and I, or how I knew so many other things; I know it and you’ll see it all unfold.

Xmas Party!

2006-12-07T13:02:00.000-08:00

"I came by myself to a very crowded place; I was looking for someone who had lines in her face”

I sang Leonard Cohen’s Lady Midnight at my roommates Christmas party the other night. I had a few drinks, and the crowd was pretty much cleared up, the karaoke monitor was out of operation, and I decide to get up and do a number from memory. I’m normally a nervous person; it took me half the night to work up the courage to do it, but as I looked around, belting the tunes, people actually enjoyed it.

One of the managers, who reminded me of one of the Judd’s, ran up to me while I was singing and planted a kiss on my forehead. She tells me I sound just like him and that I was amazing. My confidence is boosted. I start dreaming about my future life as a musician. Looking around at the tables of people, I see them all focused on me. There is no more chatter, everyone is deeply immersed in my singing – and they are actually enjoying it. I had no idea…

“Whatever you give me, I seem to need so much more”.

After the song finishes, I head back to the table of friends, including a bi guy who has been flirting heavily with me all night. He tells me he’s jealous and I blush nervously, and I am complimented by my friends also. All eyes are on me and I’m relishing on my job well done. At this time, the manager who complimented me earlier, approaches me and asks who I was singing…I guess, I didn’t sound that much like him after all.

The bi guy is strange. He arrives with a gay pastry chief, and I only assume that he is an escort. I find out they are friends, as we sit side by side, feasting on rare lamb and Fillet Mignon. The night is amazing. His arm is around me; we are joking, looking into each others eyes, holding our gazes. I’m getting more and more excited about the after party.

All eyes are on us. I guess, we are the two best looking guys are the party. Some of the women are looking us both over – and the gay pastry chief is becoming more and more friendly. He reeks of perfume and I am getting more and more annoyed as he rubs my head and hugs me repeatedly.

The bi guy is sitting one chair away from me and I am starting to get turned on. I keep gazing into his eyes as he keeps talking into my ear, and I can feel his whiskers on me, his breath is on my neck. And, after a few jokes, I find my hand occasionally touching his leg and knee. He doesn’t mind at all.

"Don't try to use me or slyly refuse me, just win me or lose me, it is this that the darkness is for."

It turns out the bi guys enjoys my good friend Camilla also. After a failed attempted to show him where the washroom is, he jumps on a chance to talk to her. I see it all falling apart. I see how the two interact; I see how Camilla and I are in direct competition and I want no part of it. As I approach her, she merely comments “You can’t have it all” and I eagerly give up – I mean, I may see him again – but alcohol, bi men, and friendships do not mix well together.

“So I walk through the morning, sweet early morning, I could hear my lady calling, you’ve won me, and you’ve won me, my lord.

Camilla views me as a fiercely motivated individual. She has mentioned I can be intimidating because a) I am so focused; b) I am talented; and c) I have accomplished a lot in my lifetime. By no means are these my words, but I see how she could perceive me that way. I will not compete against her.

I remember one of the first times we hung out together. We head to the YMCA to work out. Camilla knows how focused I am when I work out so I challenge her to do some circuit training with me. Forty minutes later – and I am shocked – she is still going. I know right then and there, she isn’t going to give up until I do. So we are competing. And, I am drawing from her energy and her determination to prove to me that she can win, that she has enough motivation to pull me down from this pedestal that she has put me on. I beat her that night, so I guess it’s only fair she proves to me tonight that I don’t always win.

The night was amazing. The food was superb and I like the fact I showed up in a really tired and worn out mood, and, at the end of the night had befriended and entertained half the staff. I have a feeling some of them thought of me as upper management. I was assumed to be one of the invisible operaters of the organization. The fact that I was rubbing elbows with the managers didn't help either.

At the end of the night and after having a few drinks we stagger home. My roommate Paul asks me how my night was and I can only reply “I smell like a gay pastry chief”.

Title and Registration

2006-11-20T14:37:00.000-08:00

High up, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

The glove compartment isn't accurately named
And everybody knows it.
So i'm proposing a swift orderly change.

Cause behind its door there's nothing to keep my fingers warm
And all i find are souvenirs from better times
Before the gleam of your taillights fading east
To find yourself a better life.

I was searching for some legal document
As the rain beat down on the hood
When i stumbled upon pictures i tried to forget
And that's how this idea was drilled into my head

Cause it's too important
To stay the way it's been

There's no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it's gone it's like it wasn't there at all
And here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
Lying awake at night

There's no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it's gone it's like it wasn't there at all
And here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
Lying awake at night (up all night)
When i'm lying awake at night.

Cat Power

2006-11-14T12:46:00.000-08:00

Victoria Cinema, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

When I’m drivin’ in my car,
And the man come on the radio,
He’s tellin’ me more and more,
About some useless information,
Tryin’ mess with my imagination.

When I’m watchin’ my TV,
When a man comes on to tell me,
How white my shirt’s can be,
But, he can’t be a man cause he doesn’t smoke
The same cigarettes as me

When I’m riding around the globe,
And I’m doin’ this and I’m signin’ that
And I’m trying to make some boy
Baby, baby, baby come back
‘Cause you see, I’m on a losing streak
When I’m ridin’ around the glove
And I’m doin’ this and I’m signin’ that
And I’m tryin’
And I’m tryin’

It's just a rant, don't worry...

2006-11-08T11:54:00.000-08:00

And this is my world, your world, the world now, tomorrow, and forever, until it’s no longer bearable. I am asleep most days, even if I am awake, I am in a different state of mind. My mind is hazy, out of focus and can only be awoken when something visually pungent comes my way.

I am a born soldier with a work ethic built on the blood, loss, and natural selection of my East Coast ancestors. They were the pioneers, dropped off on the shores of Newfoundland to die, malnourished, cold, without food or shelter, to be the work horses, slaves, of England. My blood is fueled by their loss, by their strength, and I am nothing less than what they are. I am strong because of it and their voices echo in my veins. They were the ones who I look to proudly to, and I thank everyday with the zeal that most have lost in their own family trees. I am not blind to what was sacrificed for me.

I am stark raving mad. I laugh in the face of stupidity. I carry my ego wisely, and never! will I let people know how much I think, for then, I will never be able to taken them for the fools they are. You want redemption, it’s too late. All hope is loss and you are spiraling towards an even greater problem: repentance, for you will need it soon. Don’t look to me guidance, for I am, and will be, the greatest hypocrite that has ever lived. I will go down in history in a state of utter contradiction.

Now, stuck in this mindless world, struggle with new technologies, more absurd and artificially created foods, polluted oceans and atmosphere; I am but a struggling pioneer once again. Where are the days of old? Where is the age of innocence? We are but a species that is more lost then ever, never mind the dark ages of Europe, the collapse of the Roman Empire, never mind the forging of mankind, it’s the here and now that is most volatile. We say it’s an easy time to live, but I don’t see it that way.

In this volatility I do nothing but watch the hoards. Those parasites who are stomping though their lives and missing the larger points. The consumers will always be consuming, and without any foresight, they will die with a mass of nothingness. They will die and pass it on to the next poor victim who will consider it a blessing.

Lets rape the land together. Lets form clubs where we can go out to the ocean fronts to dump our chemicals and finish of the ritual with a large bowel movement. It’s better to see it directly rather then mask the problem. I will be first to help out. To show the masses their foulness. I want to salt the earths and cut down random trees, burn them, still alive and dripping with sap. Why not? They will only be plundered anyway. Why do we use so much paper? Why do we live in a word that wastes?

Lets feast on tainted meat, chickens caged by the dozens who know nothing but disease. Shall we eat fish filled with mercury, regardless of the health warnings? I wonder how many birth deflects will come forward this century. I want to see it all. I want to see you affected, beg for your sins my friends, for you are to blame.

As the population grows so does our need for even more sea life, more farms, greater numbers of organisms that produce meats. I wonder how the next fifty years will treat our food reserves. Already East Indian and China are over a billions worth, who is next? Will we keep growing? Right now the only sure fire way of minimizing population is wide scale war, or start dropping the nukes. I know, in our resource rich Country, they will move out of need soon, morals will not come into play, it’s going to be a free for all when life is challenged.

-----------------------------------

I am a free thinking mammal with nothing to contemplate. I am a smoker who smokes too much. A lover who is loveless. I am immortal and will die. I am your worst nightmare and best friend. I am…just a man, disgruntled, scared, depressed, anxious, happy, fearful, and I don’t trust you, I don’t trust the government and I want out.

I think Sweden would be nice. Maybe I could learn the language, ski all day long, eat their horrible foods and hope not to get paddled. I don’t want to be the neighbor to the most horrendous state ever created. I could even dye whatever is left of my hair a blond color to fit it. I don’t want to be regarded as a foreigner…that guy from Canada. I am Swedish now, treat me as your brethren. I love meatballs and Ikea, although I haven’t shopped there; I think Ikea is getting worse as the years go by, but at least they take their raw products and form industries rather then ship all of their raw materials out of country, to do what? Lose even more of our economy. Gain fair, handshakes?

So if I resist, will I be noticed? Will it be meaningless, maybe taken on film by some Japanese tourist? Will it be on the papers controlled by the liberal governments? Will I be forgotten like everything else?

I want to start a protest, I don’t even care what it’s about, I just want one, and it should be memorable, historical, significant, with children, parents, gays, blacks, Chinese, I want all cultures, all sub-cultures, even animals, and I want it to strip us of all needs and wants. I want a unified struggle to change something…anything. I want to breath again. I’m not breathing - I’m dying here. It’s boring and I hate you all.

Zee crazy Germans

2006-11-07T12:41:00.000-08:00

My neighbor is a crazy ass, German bitch. I’m thinking about where to began, or how to even word this, so please, bear with me.

I think it all started the week I moved in. I parked my U-haul out in front of both of our houses and she comes running out. “You can’t park there, it’s my spot!” Which is fine, I turn to her and ask her if I should move. I explain that the truck will only be parked for about twenty minutes and I’ll be out of your way. She tells me its ok, only because she likes my roommate Paul. “Paul’s a good boy”.

The next incident is a little more off the wall. A few of the pickets on her white fence are old and deteriorated. I head home one day to find her picking at them, staring, musing over it. When she sees me she points out that my landlord has destroyed her fence.

“He did it, I know he did”, speaking to me as if I even cared. “He doesn’t want to mess with me; I’ll phone the city counsel and take him down”.

“Yeah, you do that”, I respond and walk by, as she is still talking to me. It was a long day and I’m starting to see what type of person she is.

Before Ryan – also known as dirty, straight dude - moved out, he was changing in one of the bedrooms. The blinds were taken down because of the move, and half of the window is frosted glass. I awake about eight thirty in the morning to overhear the conversation.

“I can see it”, in a high pitched, German accent. "I can see you naked".

“Oh, Hi Mary,” Ryan replies. He just got out of the shower and was removing his towel only to find Mary staring right at him. The conversation pursues but I am now thinking forward in time to the next night. It’s eleven or twelve at night, my curtain isn’t put up yet, and Mary is flicking lights on and off, waving to me, through her window. I am shirtless and couldn’t give two fucks.

“Paul, this bitch is crazy”, I tell him over dinner one night. “She is spying on me through her windows late at night”. Its absolute insane and he acknowledges this.

Yesterday, the icing on the cake, there is a great deal of rain in Victoria. Our backyard is starting to collect a lot of water and the landlord comes in with a sub-pump. While I’m at work Paul logs in to tell me that Mary is going crazy. She is yelling at our landlord Cam and is causing a lot of trouble. This is about nine in the morning…

I arrive home at five to find Mary still yelling. She is screaming at cam, her shrill voice is yelling “I don’t care, get off my property!” Cam himself is defending himself and telling her that it’s not her property; he is on his own piece of land.

I head into the house only to hear her screaming, with broom in hand, for another twenty minutes until the pump is shut off. “Get off my land!” “Get off my property!” “This is not your land, get off”.

“You’re nuts Mary,” Cam replies. “You need help,” as he fends off her attacks. He’s a part of the city working core, he’s here to stop the flooding. He is a kind, sexy, football player looking kind of dude.

“I’m not nuts, you’re nuts. You get off my land”, Mary screams. Her voice is echoing the neighborhood, and at this point in time, I want to gas her and bury her in my backyard.

Cam knocks on my door to apologize. He explains that he has to phone the police because a) Mary took a swing at him and made contact and b) she pushed his father, who is in his sixties.

The whole time I am shocked and can still here Mary in the background. Mary makes me realize that this isn't the East Coast anymore. Crazy East Coast ladies would take up all your time in conversation and follow you around the yard; I'm thinking so much for neighborly love.

The funny thing is, water is running into her property also, but she doesn’t care. Cam tells me she blames the house for the death of her husband; the house is blamed for everything that had done her wrong in her life. She wants to burn it to the ground, my friend Paul tells me. I’m thinking I need insurance.

This morning I hear Mary talking to my downstairs neighbor. “You should apologize for what you put me through”, in her now insane, annoying, calculated, and dreadful German accent.

“Mary, I live here too,” she relies. She actually sounds human today, sporting a spine and the courage of her convictions.

“I live here!, Mary replies sharply. “I live here too…”

I believe in you Lord!

2006-11-06T14:48:00.000-08:00

It has been raining for about a week straight now. The sky is clean and full of clouds, vehicles drive by more slowly with all the summers dirt drained off. I’m getting that claustrophobic feeling again. It’s as if my body has a great deal of gravity and pressure being exerted on it. Maybe I’m overtly sensitive? This feeling comes and goes and for the next four months will be a struggle for myself. I have to be domestic again.

I just found out there is a Church of Scientology next to where I live. The building is sporting a Roman-Greco architecture – it screams of pretension – and I want to infiltrate it. I always hear about this group and am curious how different their religion is in comparison to others. Maybe I should try to track down a service, show up unannounced and see what the reaction would be.

Worst case scenario, they think I’m the prophet reborn and they start to worship me with zest. Or best case scenario, upon sneaking in, I discover they are not really human’s but instead aliens who shed off their skins when the doors of the ‘scientologium’ are closed. I still haven’t figured out how a science fiction writer such as L. Ron Hubbard could be a founder of a religious movement.

I have been rifling though all my previous religious crazes. First, my United Church, glory bestowed upon me, it was my first taste of something holy and pure. I only attended this church for funerals, weddings, and school trips, minus a brief stint in Sunday school, I do feel as if I evolved greatly as a religious being. It was a church that bestowed a great deal of pride in me when I would mention my denomination to friends.

Secondly, think about this statement: JW galore. Yes, it’s true. I have a connection to the Jehovah’s Witnesses. My mothers side, at least half of her sisters and one brother are ‘Jehovees’, and they have just recently got my grandparents. Whenever we visited our aunt Charity in Gander she would always bribe our family to make us attend a meeting with her. Now, first we would be scrutinized on our clothing, our hairstyles, even our general cleanliness, and after a promise of treats and/or pizza we were off.

Now I have met some crazy fucks in my day but this church was quite the social experiment. I’ve never seen so many wide eyed yet vacant people in my whole life. My aunt would parade me around and keep my sister and family in the background. My selling feature was the fact that I was young and very knowledgeable about the bible. One might say I was even interested in it.

My religious knowledge went a long way in the community and when question time came about, I would put up my hand, grab the mike, and answer questions, only to hear a hall of applause afterward. I was hooked! I wanted the fame. I wanted people to approach me after a meeting and ask about me, her smart, young nephew. What can I say I was a whore for attention.

After leaving Newfoundland and heading to BC, I decided I am a man of great spirituality. I don’t need a specific religion to become closer to God. So I formed my own religion and had my own views about the world around me. I would define spirituality as taking a bike ride along the ocean and clearing my mind, or swimming laps, or…going for a hike up Mount Finlayson. To me, spirituality was being one with nature, keeping my body strong, and active. There was one thing missing though...

I was traveling on the ferry back from Vancouver; I think I was coming down from a harsh weekend of … well, let’s not go there. As much as I wanted to sleep, all I could hear was the sounds of laugher. One seat up from me were the happiest people I have ever seen in my life. It almost seemed unreal in a way. Four smiling and well-adjusted, young adults were entertaining themselves for an hour now. I had to investigate.

As groggy as I was, I asked “Excuse me, I can’t help but notice how happy you all are, not that it’s abnormal, but …. why are you so happy?”

“Well,” the younger guy, with blond hair and perfect teeth turns to me, still smiling, still radiant, “it’s simple, we’re Mormon’s”, and once again they surprise me with an uproar of happiness. I must say, I love Mormons. I met another group of them – notice they travel in groups – on a bus to Vancouver once. After my first experience, identifying the next group was easy. All I had to do was ask “Are you all Mormon?”

So my next stab at something more concrete as a religion was the Mormon faith. They gave me a bible on that bus trip and wished me the best. I was interested. I kept the bible close, looked at its thickness, watched a South Park episode on it, and realized it wasn’t for me. I mean, yeah, I could have made the effort of at least reading one page, but really, I know they won’t accept me. I’m not as…innocent as they are. I have had a much more enriched life, and I’m not sure if I could life by their rule set.

Religion is a great thing. It’s great to have some sort of omnipotent force supporting your everyday life. It’s cool to ask this unforeseen force for guidance, to use this spiritual being as a vessel to judge and blame others. It’s great…but I think I have a busy enough schedule.

Moving...

2006-11-01T09:54:00.000-08:00

I have officially moved into my new place with my friend Paul. We are in a two bedroom character home on the main floor. I love it and I get along with Paul quite well.

There are a couple of issues right now though: one being the existing roommate. He hasn't left yet! We have two sets of furniture in the house right now and everyday when I get home a little bit more has been packed away and moved; I am slowly reclaiming the space as my own.

The second issue is our roommate’s adulterated concern for others. When I arrived home yesterday my expensive bike, which I cherish, and a large plant was moved out on to the outside deck. I was enraged and I decided to redirect all of the rage out on cleaning.

I emptied the dishwasher and proceeded to fill it again with all of Ryan's plates and glasses that he left on the countertop. He is one of those people that just leaves things around. I spent the day before cleaning up the kitchen and when I arrived yesterday it was back to the original state of disarray. This guy will never get married.

On to the bathroom...it was a mess. I don't think they ever gave the tub a good scrub or the toilet for that matter. I spend a good hour cleaning the base boards, the tub, the sink, toilet, windows and ledges; when I poured out the bucket of water it was completely black. I have never lived this way...and now that it's OUR place, I am going to set some rules up for Ryan until he moves out on Saturday.

He managed to walk all over Paul and destroy him with his uncleanliness; I will not left him do the same thing to me. Two days of living with Ryan and I already want to kill him. I had no idea how disrespectful and messy one person can be.

This morning when I woke, I came out to the kitchen, which was pristine the night before, only to find plates, an open package of sandwich meat, a knife in the sink...etc. I picked up the plastic meat package intended for the garbage and placed it next to his bedroom door. I hope he steps on it when he gets up. I have little to no patience for laziness. He is my guest now. He is now a renter.

I also took the liberty of picking up all of the things he has left around. Irons, clothing, laundry baskets and threw them on his bed and shut the door.

Paul is concerned he will get mad. To be honest, I really couldn't care less, he should be ashamed and apologetic. A healthy home is positively correlated to a healthy mind. I cannot portray myself any differently and need good Chi in my life. Ryan drained Paul and destroyed him by being the messiest person I have ever met.

My life....haha, I don't think it will ever get dull.

Life in a nutshell

2006-10-31T12:27:00.000-08:00

I have a lot of news to fill everyone in on.

Firstly, I want to address the workmate situation. As it stands, we have let him go. He came into the office - after my boss popped by to ask him if he had a minute - and came back a few minutes later. Visually, I could see he was distressed and probed, “Is everything alright?”

“Well”, he responded, “he pretty much let me go”. It looked as if he was going to cry and his head sunk down. I had a mix of emotions. I do realize that when I get into situations that make me uncomfortable I sometimes break out into a smile or giggle to myself. After hearing him, I got up and walked out of the office for a half an hour.

He couldn’t understand why he was being let go. He said he thought he was doing a good job and didn’t see it coming. He complained about not getting feedback, etc. I heard him express these things and became a little upset. I shut the office door and talked to him for two hours. I think at the end of his conversation he was like “Oh, I really did fuck up, you’re right”.

He applied for a new position at the company. It’s in the other building and it’s a lesser role. Guess who created this role? Guess who oversees its operations? It’s me. He told me and my jaw nearly dropped. It’s ok though, I don’t mind, but once again I will have to train him on a process that is less complicated but still….I am happy he isn’t left out in the cold.

The second big thing is the move. I have moved about seven blocks down the road. I’m moving in with a buddy. His straight roommate Ryan isn’t leaving until Saturday though and we have two sets of furniture stuffed into a character home. It’s a bit unnerving but I have learnt to be tolerant and let go. They are both great people and I’m happy to be in that space regardless of how disorganized it is.

I like having fun with Ryan. He’s a really attractive guy and I throw out comments like “Ryan, I have one rule…after ten nobody wears pants in my household”. He takes it with a grain of salt and tells me to fuck off. I love our relationship.

In about a week everything should be settled away. I will have a new phone and my things will be sorted. I’m not too concerned right now.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I met my father in Vancouver. It was fine. We had a few nice dinners, one small argument, and he is totally cool with me being gay. In fact, nothing has changed at all; I can’t pick up any apprehension or tension. One night at a restaurant I pointed out a cute waiter and he had a conversation about it. My dad thought he was too feminine. I agreed but pointed out I’d do him just for the body and the look. He doesn’t have to talk.

Sorry to summarize this so much. I’ve been too busy to devote a lot of time to blog lately. Hopefully in a week or two I can return to this and elaborate a bit more about all these epic events.

No kind of life

2006-10-23T11:59:00.000-07:00

You rely on someone else to make you feel alright.
As far as I'm concerned, it's no no kind of life.

The Fall

2006-10-12T09:10:00.000-07:00

It's here.

I'm heading to Vancouver on Saturday to visit my father who I haven't seen in over three years. He has conferences all day long and I will be living it up at the Mariott (one of the nicest hotels in Vancouver). I plan on heading to the spa, ordering room service, lounging in the pool, hiking the grouse grind, biking around the city, and doing some hardcore shopping on Robson Street.

I have a feeling nothing really happens in Vancouver during the day. I will have to try to set up a few dates for the early morning when dad is away at work, lol.

One more thing, I'm on Zyban to quit smoking. It's been ten days on the medications and each morning I awake extremely early with a jumble of horrific images in my head. The drug itself changes your serotonin levels which regulate both sleep and mood.

Low levels of serotonin have been associated with depression, migraine, bipolar disorder and anxiety. Now, I am not a depressed person, nor do I ever get depressed; this drug makes me sink once in a while for brief periods. I know I shouldn't be playing with my mental state but I really want to stop smoking. I will handle the visions, the mood distriburances, and hopefully I will no longer smoke in a months time.

I'm really optmistic about ending this habit this time around. I have no need for it anymore. Wish me luck!

People...

2006-10-11T13:31:00.000-07:00

There are so many of us. One city can house millions of people in various stages of life, with different tastes, jobs, lives, and we have one thing in common, we are all human.

My friend Scott passed away last weekend. He was in his 40's, HIV positive, in excellent shape (he was a gym rat), and was quiet and shy. He would hit on me when I went to the gym but he was too shy to say hi to me. I would gingerly walk by, nod, acknowledge his smiles and hope I didn’t come across as interested. Scott didn't even know I was gay until he saw me at a party with mutual acquaintances.

Scott had a heart attack. Its ok, I knew him but I didn't know him that well. It got me thinking though how many people would miss Scott. Did Scott have a group of friends and family in his life? I have no idea really. I always took him to be a loner. He seemed to always be in his own quiet, little world; this was my impression of Scott.

Will he be missed? I mean one life out of billions that blinks out of existence; in the great scheme of things it doesn't really matter. I knew Scott, Scott's dead; life goes on...It sounds shallow I know. But I look at the vast number of people in this world and I finally realize none of us really matter. That’s not entirely true, we affect the people around us, and hopefully we live really awesome lives but unless we hold a position of power or social influence our life is meaningless to 99 percent of the world’s population. We are but a speck.

Maybe I’m taking the pragmatic approach to it all. I won’t wrap it up in romanticism nor will I give it a more positive disposition, and I want to stress this, you’re life is meaningless. If you are reading this instead of helping third world countries in Africa, or at least thinking about helping them, then I feel sorry for you. If you are reading this instead of trying to climb the ladder of your countries political system, or develop a cure for cancer, or work in the field of AIDS research, or anything worthwhile for that matter…I don’t want to meet you.

In fact, if you sit around all day long and complain about life and expect everything to be handed to you, then you will never be worthy of a life. If you give up easily, or complain about mundane things, such as your steak being medium instead of medium rare, then I am sickened to my stomach in your presence. If you are on welfare, you suck. If you are too stunned to get an education, so be it. If you wake up every morning and rush for your remote control instead of to your window to see how the day is…you should think about what is more important.

Ground yourself friends, be humble, give thanks and thank, you only have one go of it and you may just drop dead of a heart attack, get hit by a bus, or have an aneurysm that could pop at anytime. What are we fucking doing? Sky dive, base dive, fuck strangers, eat unhealthy foods, and have more than one glass of wine a night; take a few vacations even if it breaks you financially. Don’t hoard your money, don’t gossip about your friends, and for fuck sakes smarten up and start looking around…look at things, don’t just walk by thinking about how you need to lose weight, or how you want a condo real bad in the downtown area; just fucking think about life, not the material things.

Please, don’t take it for granted. Don’t be a shy person who is afraid to take risks. Don’t let disease defeat you and always try to look for the good in every situation. Don’t be what I thought Scott was…alone. And the great Plato will tell you “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle”. Fitting isn’t it? In other words, the world has enough assholes, let’s try as hard as we can to rid ourselves of ego, selfishness, and the shallowness we all encounter from the people around us. It’s a hard fight.

I rant when people die. It’s my nature.

My Workmate

2006-10-06T10:28:00.000-07:00

I came into work this morining only to see my IM opened with a message from the young guy I'm mentoring. As it turns out, he was trashing me and sent the message to the wrong person. HAHA. Check it out:

Geoff [5:02 PM]:
try being on charlies (5 questions a day) rule

Geoff [5:02 PM]:
that's so annoying

Geoff [5:02 PM]:
im learning a bit more finding the answers myself, but it takes ALOT longer

Geoff [5:03 PM]:
which is one of the reasons i'm helpin ya

Geoff [5:03 PM]:
hahah

Geoff [5:04 PM]:
lol

This is hilarious. The minute I read it I question him about it. "Ummm, Geoff, I opened my IM today and noticed you had a few things to say about me", and I must say this is the funniest thing that has happened to me in a while. He turns red and suddenly starts covering his own tracks.

"Yeah, I meant to send that to you...", still red and obviously telling me the biggest lie ever.

"Interesting, I don't think so, it seems to be addressed to someone else. This is why it's important to be meticulous Geoff...", and I go off on a rant. Here I go again trying to father him.

"Don't worry Geoff, I'm not pissed off, it's actually quite funny", but as it sinks in, I realized that a) he has lied to my face about this, and b) he was hoping I would be dumb enough to fall for it.

As I'm writing this he's scrambling at his desk to try to find the location of a meeting that he just missed. God, he's not that bright.

I'm glad it's Friday.

Lady with Baby

2006-10-04T13:07:00.000-07:00

This song is about two closeted, young gay guys getting it on:

god bless the daylight, the sugary smell of springtime
remembering when you were mine
in a still suburban town

when every thursday i'd brave those mountain passes
and you'd skip your early classes
and we'd learn how our bodies worked

god damn the black night with all its foul temptations
i've become what i always hated
when i was with you then

we looked like giants in the back of my grey subcompact
fumbling to make contact
as the others slept inside

and together there
in a shroud of frost, the mountain air
began to pass from every pane of weathered glass
and i held you closer than anyone would ever get

do you remember the JAMC?
and reading aloud from magazines
i don't know about you but i swear on my name they could smell it on me
i've never been too good with secrets
no…

and together there
in a shroud of frost and mountain air
began to pass through every pane of weathered glass
and i held you closer…

Messy People

2006-10-04T13:02:00.000-07:00

As you may have read in previous entries, I have a new study project. It's my workmate, and I am completely entranced with his lifestyle. Right now as I type he is drinking pop from a mug, while finishing off his deep fried chips (with hot sauce) and a two patty burger; he licks his fingers as eat bite goes down.

I don't mean to be critical...When I asked where we are going for lunch today he suggested "Wings!" and we left it to a vote. The wing idea was thrown away but we ended up heading across the street. I mentioned I wanted something healthy and decided to have a wrap with chicken, beans, and brown rice; my other co-worker followed me, and this dude decides to order a burger.

"You eat like a 12 year old girl", he tells me. I roll my eyes thinking about my eating habits.

"No, I usually eat three times a day. The difference between you and I are our choices in foods".

All my friends think I eat a lot. I mean, I'm constantly having fruits, some sort of healthy stir-fry, or some reasonably planned meal with healthy foods. Just because I'm not eating MacDonald’s or greasy burgers doesn't mean I'm starving myself.

People are turds. Well, some people are turds.

"I want to start collecting all the take-out menus for restaurants in this area. I mean, that way we can all get together and pre-order so we don't have to wait", he tells us after obviously thinking heavily about this.

"That's great, man. Fucking wonderful". We are very different people. Once again, this is someone who is a lot different that the majority of people at my workplace. Maybe it’s youth, maybe it’s upbringing, personally, I have no idea what it is, all I know is I find it really entertaining.

I miss you Jesus

2006-10-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

I found a guy who thinks really deep thoughts, what’s so great about really deep thoughts?

I haven’t seen my family for over three years now. The last time I saw them we vacationed together in Fort Lauderdale, which is the vacation spot of their choice. The last time I saw my parents I was still in the closet but just beginning to reclaim my sexual identity. I was on vacation and going through a major life change – I was gay and I was ready to tell them.

The last time I saw them I was twenty three and they still affected me. They could make me argue, anxious, and yeah, I wasn’t the bigger adult – I guess most of us aren’t when it comes to having a dysfunctional family.

Since then, I have came out them and I haven’t seen them since. When I meet my father in two weeks he will be meeting a different person. I am now not just his little boy, I’m a gay male who wants to be respected, and, I want him to be proud of me. I am a little nervous about the whole meeting but I don’t think anything has changed between us.

It will be interested to see if he treats me differently. Regardless, I’m excited, and it seems like a lot of great things are happening in my life. I have met some great guys who I will explore and hopefully something will come of it.

Churchy Church

2006-10-02T18:41:00.000-07:00

Flooded

2006-10-02T10:33:00.000-07:00

My workmate…enjoys food.

We hired him over a month ago and it’s been an adventure people watching this one. His desk usually as an assortment of plates that once contained food, two litre bottles of coke or coke products, a large bag of chips (probably still with the trans-fats in them), and an assortment of subway wrappers, forks, and crumbs.

I’m having a hard time mentoring him. I have had years of experience first being a product plant worker, then trainer; a tour guide turned trainer; and now, in my current position I automate processes, develop applications, and I train people on applications. I sometimes give presentations, and I think I communicate my ideals quite well; I am a configuration manager/software developer though, that is my title, the training is secondary.

I have found that if people know the lingo and take the opportunity to learn, they excel and we are able to discuss the complexities that exist in our business. And other times, I find other people have their head in the clouds. They are more concerned about getting a good deal on a two litre of pop or how big or small the deli sandwiches are at the grocery store. It’s all fine and well but I wish the same exuberance was expressed when dealing with work.

As you can tell, I’m having a difficult time right now. I have exhausted a lot of avenues trying to find common ground. I have tried to access whether or not my co-worker is visual by drawing diagrams and mapping out procedures; I have tried to communicate verbally our processes and expectations; and, I have tried to point him to various documentation and literature. Am I missing something?

I sometimes think people just aren’t driven or motivated to want to excel and learn. I can only hold someone’s hand for so long before I expect people to be able to learn on their own or take initiative. There are systems and procedures we have in place that I have had to explain multiple times, expecting him to remember or write it down properly, but I find myself having to go through the processes too many times. Someone that should have taken up double my time is now taking up much more.

The barrage of questions…oh my God. This morning alone, I think I was asked about ten questions in the period of an hour. Some of them obvious with the answer staring right at him…and what does he do…he asks me instead.

I’m venting, I know. I’m just frustrated. Not everyone gets it, I have to understand that, but still, my little brother could have figured it out by now. I have more confidence in a thirteen year old.

Where do I see him in six months when we review him? For one, he will have probably gained about twenty pounds, he will be still working on some of the projects I have given him, and he will be reviewed. It all depends on how he handles the next four and a half months. Right now I have my reservations and will keep them to myself.

His question asking may be attributed to a difference in schooling. I went to an institution where answers are not fed to you. You are given an assignment with very limited information and you have to make an effort to understand and learn. They don’t make it easy for students and at times it can be a constant struggle.

He went to a college that spoon fed answers and you can see it just by the questions I am asked on a day-to-day basis. I am to the point where I reply “Figure it out yourself” or “Don’t ask me simple questions like that without first trying to find the answer”. I feel bad about the way I am reacting but at the same time it’s “sink or swim”. There is only so much I can do and I have to make sure he starts learning on his own and is able to adapt/survive.

My vacation is coming up in a month or two and I don’t feel comfortable having him left as the main go to guy.

10:23 Nietzsche

2006-09-28T10:33:00.000-07:00

Nietzsche said "We are like shop windows in which we are continually arranged, concealing or illuminating the supposed qualities others ascribe to us - in order to deceive ourselves".

“I want a dog”, my friend blurts out at a coffee shop last night. We are surrounded by friends, most of them with at least a cat or dog in their life, and then as I look around, I see the vultures waiting to decend.

“Paul, dogs are expensive, they chew on furniture, they require a lot of your time, and you have to groom them”, I respond in a supportive, non-judgmental way.

As I’m speaking on of my friends is passing Paul an “adopt a pet” document from the SPCA. My words dissolve, nobody listens, and I see Paul become engrossed in the paper.

“Ok, fine, well I want a pet. How about a cat?”

“Paul, remind me…aren’t you the same person who has banned all the neighborhood cats from entering your house? Aren’t you the same person who claims that cat scratches will give you worms? You can’t even pick one up.” I’m becoming on edge, only because we are moving in together in a month, and I’m not sure if a cat or a dog will benefit my life in anyway.

I want a dog, I really do, but I don’t think I have the time or the patience to own one. I want clean furniture, I do not want to come home and discover Spike chewing on the leg of my table, or dog hairs on the couch. I don’t think it’s going to happen.

“Paul you have to be realistic about this…you told me you don’t even know where you are going to be in six months. You maybe teaching in Japan or headed to England; I’m just wondering how a dog/cat fits into this?” I plan on exhausting this conversation, I want to know a dog or cat isn’t going to mysterious going to appear in my life one day.

“Until you can commit to living in Victoria, or at least the West Coast, you can’t have a pet”, there, that’s that, end of conversation.

I guess I feel like I’m parenting at times. We are the same age and our thought patterns are very different from one another. I approach things cynically, rationally, and I think out situations before I jump into them. I wait a day before I make a big purchase and I check my bank account to ensure it won’t make my life uncomfortable.

Paul jumps. Paul can hit the town on a day of shopping and buy things on sight. I love the guy to no end, but I pray we don’t clash when it comes to responsibility.

I am open to a dog. I am, but I’m not going to let him know that, it would open up too many opportunities to be impulsive. And, I always worry about people with new puppies; there is this stigma that people with new puppies have emotional issues. Whenever I see someone with a new pet, I think, oh no, I hope he’s ok. We all know animals are sometimes used during emotional periods for comfort and security.

I just want to make sure we are both ok before a cute, little puppy comes into our lives. And if I do get a dog it will be from an animal shelter, there are so many dogs out there that need homes, it breaks my heart.

We try but we don't belong

2006-09-27T10:02:00.001-07:00

I’m having a hard time getting through Annie Dillard’s “Pilgrim at Tinker’s Creek”. It’s a good read, very descriptive, but I don’t think it’s my style.

The entire book is about Annie living in Tinker’s Creek and taking in the nature around her. She talks about egg casings, bull frogs, spider’s that spin webs, and the passing of the seasons. I’m all about nature, mind you, but I am having a hard time figuring out how this novel won a Pulitzer Prize in literature. I would have given the prize to her other work “Holy the Firm” instead.

The book speaks of human conditioning and our relationship with the Divine. I must admit her prose does wrap you up in the event. Every time I pick up the novel, it takes some time me to get into it, but once I do, I am deeply involved and taken on a journey. And, the references to physics, literature, numerous religious traditions, anthropology, medicine and folklore are astounding.

The book itself was indirectly influenced by a near fatal attack of pneumonia which she was stricken with in 1971. After she recovered, Annie decided she needed to experience life more fully. It’s debatable whether or not spending four seasons in a creek would be “living more”. Life is in the eye of the beholder, I guess.

I had a Tinker’s Creek when I was younger. It was my sanctuary, a place I could go and see the world for what it is, without the confusion of cities, commercialism, crowds; it was my sanity at times. As I get older, I want it again, but I feel the draw of urban life and am conflicted.

I wish there were balance. I wish a city planner like Jane Jacobs could make my dream a reality. Jane is now dead, and a lot of her ideas will be rendered useless, because Mrs. Jacob’s was the driving force and we are a world without leaders now. Our leaders are greedy and power hungry.

“There is a quality even meaner than outright ugliness or disorder, and this meaner quality is the dishonest mask of pretended order, achieved by ignoring or suppressing the real order that is struggling to exist and to be served”

–-Jane Jacobs

"But look what we have built low-income projects that become worse centers of delinquency, vandalism and general social hopelessness than the slums they were supposed to replace. Cultural centers that are unable to support a good bookstore. Civic centers that are avoided by everyone but bums. Promenades that go from no place to nowhere and have no promenaders. Expressways that eviscerate great cities. This is not the rebuilding of cities. This is the sacking of cities."

-- Jane Jacobs

I miss her...

The Coast Line

2006-09-27T09:08:00.000-07:00

Even if I'm shouting, even if I'm shouting here inside.
Even if I'm shouting, do you see that I'm wanting,
that I want to be so,
bright,
bright,
bright as yellow,
warm as yellow.

It's over the hump day at the company. Today, because of a 5KM Cops for Cancer run last week, we are having a Salmon BBQ. I do realize I have sold out to Corporate Canada, but I really like Salmon. Is it wrong for me to get excited about these things?

They say 30 is the age in which you cannot be trusted. It was coined in the 60's during the revolution (AKA Hippy Movement); the premise was when you hit 30, you are no longer free-thinking, and you have sided with the man.

In today’s age, I'd say it's now 40 or even later, people are no longer turning to the man after a quarter of a century of living. Have I sold out to Corporate Canada? Am I now one with the man after 27 years of living? I really hope not.

I still think of myself as the "Carney in the coal mine", I will expose all social dysfunctions and feel like I'm a contributing member that doesn't conform. Yes, I will be eating the Salmon and veggie dogs, but I assure you I won't be making small talk, I will be real, and the company will be secondary to my need to get to know people on a more personal level.

I was inspired by another blog to come up with a really fetching catch phrase or slang. I'm rooting it over in my head...and I have ascertained that all the good ones are taken. Wicked, Cool, Sweet, That's Hot, Eat me...I need something that'll raise eyebrows and be used day to day.

Maybe I'll just bring back the high five; people didn't really give it an honest effort. I think if the right people were high fiving, it would be cool.

Architecture

2006-09-26T19:18:00.000-07:00

The Fall is here

2006-09-25T22:25:00.000-07:00

Heaven holds a sense of wonder...

The Fall/Winter is coming. Our fall is winter…yeah. Anyway, I was at the coffee shop tonight after working, then working out for close to two hours; I wonder where I’m going with my life.

Yeah, so the coffee store. As I was biking down Cook Street I see Diana, and she yells for me to come over. I quickly veer my bike over and catch up to her.

We head down the coffee store only to meet Michael, another acquaintance. I am amazed that in the short period of four years…I finally am able to recognize people on the street and form relationships. We talk, we make jokes, and after a couple of hours at the coffee shop, we head to smoke a joint.

Now, mind you, I’m not a drug smoker. Two puffs of a joint and I’m completely high – in a manageable state, but stoned nonetheless.

We talk about the coming fall. We talk about why it’s so enthralling to be in such a beautiful place as Victoria, how lucky we are, and how we handle the winter. I have to give you some background first. In Newfoundland, as much as it snows, we can see the stars on winter nights, the days still have Sunshine, and the only thing that stops living is the snow, which is unbearable at times.

In Victoria it’s different. It rains, the sky disappears, I can’t explain why we are sometimes covered by clouds for weeks on end, or how I wonder if the Sun will ever shine again; I can’t tell you how many times I have woke in the morning only to see it pour, and to see the clouds so low to the ground, almost to the point of making me claustrophobic. That’s how we feel. That’s why I need to head away and find places where I can see the sky again.

There is an upside, a beautiful and agreeable one. The fall helps us to gather ourselves back together. I lose myself in the summer, in the weather, the beaches, the biking, hiking…and everyone else around me is active. It’s a time when I forget everything. In the winter, I regroup, recharge, I start to reorganize my life and take care of myself again. I get to write, to think, to once again feel as if I’m completely involved in my domestic and personal lives. In the winter, I am now focused.

We talk about these things, and we all agree we are lower, and we lose apart of ourselves, or do we just feel human again? I don’t look at it as a stale time. I think positively about the upcoming season. And I also see a different side to these two people. They are complex and somewhat unhappy beings.

The more people I get to know, the more I think, am I one of the few happy people out there? I mean, I have my bouts of problematic thoughts or situations, but really, deep down inside, I am content and happy. And saying it just validates it more.

I do want a boyfriend though…

Something that's never been done

2006-09-25T14:27:00.000-07:00

Shorts, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

I'm a coldplay junkie today.

Oh brother I can't get through...
I've been trying hard to reach you cause I don't know what to do
Oh brother I can't believe it's true
I'm so scared about the future and I want to talk to you.

Are you lost or incomplete?

I'm going to stop there. As great as coldplay's music is, the lyrics are fucking awlful. Whatever happen to great lyrics? "You can climb a ladder up to the sea...". I cringe everything I listen to the lyrics, although the Thin White Duke Remix is pretty amazing.

The song speaks of wants and needs. Although ineffective, I can see a lot of teenagers hugging into their pillows, dreaming of a world outside of the norm they are bought up in -- tears and the periods...yeah.

I think my friend was right when he describe coldplay...two types of people like his music...troubled 13 year old teenage girls and homos.

There is this gardener doing landscaping on our company grounds today. Lets just say I really don't need to see it today. He's a walking sex machine; hairy legs, redneck tendancies, in shape, well tanned, and I'm sure he's a lawn mower: No fair!

I was bold enough to flirt as my lunch crew walked by...

Smile on his face

2006-09-22T10:14:00.000-07:00

He’s got a rose in his smile
He says he knows and he does

And his mind aches
And his heart breaks
‘Cause he’s silly

Gonna teach him to sin
‘Cause I’m always knowing where he’s been
Livin’ on the wrong side of the tracks
And you know he’s never
Coming back

He’s got a smile like a flower
He looks so fine by the hour

But his mind aches
And his heart breaks
‘Cause he’s silly

Gonna teach him to steal
‘Cause I’m always knowing
How he feels
Livin’ on the wrong side of the tracks
And I know he’s never
Coming back

Nature

2006-09-15T18:25:00.000-07:00

"The world is full of creatures that for some reason seem stranger to us than others, and libraries are full of books describing them--hagfish, platypuses, lizardlike pangolins four feet long with bright green lapped scales like umbrella-tree leaves on a bush hut roof, butterflies emerging from anthills, spiderlings wafting through the air clutching tiny silken balloons, horseshoe crabs...the creator creates. Does he stoop, does he speak, does he save, succor, prevail? Maybe. But he creates; he creates everything and anything."

-- Annie Dilliard, Pilgram at Tinkers Creek

I enjoyed taking walks along the shore, along the banks, coast land, and the only road our town had. Most of the time, especially in the summer months, it’s quiet, vast, entrenched, and slow. The lakes were always calm along the single road that made up the seven or eight villages that were slung together. Einstein said “The human mind is not capable of grasping the universe. We are like a little child entering a huge library”, and as I think back to these times and agree. I see so little of nature, only bits and pieces, with life working it’s intricacies in the background.

One day on a trek along one of the small lakes that we boast are pure and clean; I hear a splash. Normally you heard birds chirping, the sound of the wind brushing against trees and leaves, the occasion call of an animal, but a splash was something different. As I look into the lake, I see a ripple, it’s small and I know that the object that made this splash couldn’t be that big. Then another splash makes me jump, as I peer out past the cloud of black flies in my vision, I see what’s finally happening. The trout are jumping out of the water to catch the mess of flies that have infested our neighborhood.

These beautifully flecked species, glinting in the lowering sun are making their way of the lake to feast, and unbeknownst to me, it was a common occurrence. Suddenly the whole lake is alive with splashes, clouds of flies hang over the puddles, and now I get it. Quoting Frank Lloyd Wright, I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.

Some of the happiest times in my life, and the most isolating, was when I made these treks around the small community I grew up in. I was surrounded by nothing and everything at the same time. There were days when I was hiking up the marsh only to find a litter of wild kittens, with their ferocious mother, crouched, knowing full well she has to fight for her kittens. All we see are domesticated cats; it’s rare to meet others who have seen such sights. Upon finding the cats, I ran back to my dad and told him and all he said was “leave them alone, let them find their own lives”. Sometimes it’s better to leave nature alone, let the life around us have free will. Who are we to takes these wild cats out of nature, the place where they belong.

Other times while swimming in Business Pond with my dog Reno and friends there would be beavers allowing along by our sides. My father would never scream at us and tell us to the leave the lake, he would only say don’t get to close. Even Reno, our dog, would be respectful of the animals. A beaver, I’m told, are found to be gentle; there is even an Indian word for “beaver-like” which means “affable”. Their tails would always crack the water and their stride was amazing. Even though they are a very dense creature they are able to rake through the water at a very surprising speed.

I miss Newfoundland.

Short Shorts

2006-09-11T19:28:00.000-07:00

I think the last few entires have been way too serious. I just want to show everyone I'm not a complete turd.

I did this on a dare to myself while visiting Montreal.

Morality

2006-09-10T19:54:00.000-07:00

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s done. Finished! If you bring it up one more time, I swear, I will delete you from MSN”, it’s three days into this news and I have to constantly fend off the nice people in my life.

I think I am a giving person. I think of myself as an open person who is caring and compassionate. If you look at it through the viewpoints of my friends, I have far to go; I'm not afraid.

“I’ve been thinking about this situation I’m in Jake (Mark, Paul, whoever). Initially I was 95 percent sure that I am completely sound and there is no way in hell it can be me”, as I take a drag from a cigarette and let my mind wander even further. ”The more I think about it, the estimate declines and anxiety sets in...”, my words disappear as my eyes lower to my knees.

“I think I’m scared and when I have time on my own to reflect, I keep losing my sanity, it trails behind me, and I grasp for sight, smell, origin; I hate it”.

I think I’m a hopeless romantic that welcomes these monumental events. Otherwise, there would be no purpose, my life would be predictable, and dullness would set in. And now, after one life changing event after another, I wonder if I am strong enough for it anymore.

This is one of the first times in my life that I have let myself be vulnerable to others. The only other time was my ex, he would dismiss whatever emotions I felt. Now I feel as if I can let go. My friends will listen and support me, and the fear of rejection that causes us to be guarded, is waning away.

I have let them in and this time I see that the people in my life do care. I see genuine concern and emotion. I know that I’m in a good place; finally, I have people in my life that love and care about me.

The greatest struggles in life occur when there is a battle, of the mind, body, whatever; I don’t need to define it for you. My struggles occur when I feel my life is put on trial or when I am given a challenge. It could be losing a loved one, or winning the lottery, or in the worst case scenario, having to come to terms with our own mortality.

I don’t live that way. I don’t think about the negative things and I push most problems out in the open so I can pick them apart, so they no longer seem intimidating. But, how do I handle the unknown? How in the hell can I justify this?

My friend once told me there is a lot of good in me. That it would be unfair for me to be giving a restriction on life…and I think about these things and wonder, why not? I am no different than anyone else. I am not special. I am the same as everyone else in the world. If anything, I am more fortunate, which isn’t a good argument for a person in my situation.

So why not me? I can’t answer the question; the next ten days of my life will be retrospective and careful. I will avoid any self-destructive actions and I will pray to my God with every spare minute my life has to offer. I mean, what else can I do?

I won’t bore you with the spiritual rant that I save for people who are fortunate enough to see me drunken and nonsensical. Today is a day of glory. For now, I know that whatever happens to me, I am without fear. I will relish in any struggle thrown at me, and conquer it with the fierceness I am known for. I will not be a victim and I will not let it destroy me.

And, I’m saying this while sitting on Cook Street in a small coffee store, surrounded by cigarettes, idle conversation, and the steady stream of vehicles passing me by. There is an eclectic mix off people as usual, and now, just because, I finally feel normal.

I can see my face getting older. I see the lines, slowly becoming more real, although I have the face of a child, the lines of my forehead are becoming more pronounced, and to the point I know that I am no longer youthful. My eyes change color depending on my mood, depending on the season, and they give far too much away with respect to my emotional well-being.

Adulthood seeps in without warning, my eyes, and my mouth, they are forming lines; it’s because my life has been good. An old buddy of mine said “whatever expressions you use in everyday life will be carried over to your senior years” and I believed him. If I ever see an older person, with a blank face, naked of lines, I’d worry about them. I’d wonder how many times they have smiled, how many times they expressed ire, or angst, I’d wonder if they have even lived at all.

The multitude of emotions any one human could express is staggering. I cling to the good ones, and embellish all the others; no one has ever accused me of being inanimate. And, as I look around, that is what I see, emotions, some more subdued, more quite gregarious, but I am surrounded by expression and am thankful.

I’ll leave you with these thoughts as the Chestnuts fall around me announcing the end of summer, as the blossoms of nearby bushes fall on my table, and one of the last remaining summer nights this year beings in the first inklings of the cold winds ahead.

I want you to know, I will not take my life for granted anymore.

Shades

2006-09-09T10:21:00.000-07:00

The Last time...

We had a company event where the booze was flowing and free. Company events are great because a) everyone's guard is down; b) I get to see people in a different light; and c) there is a new coop that is fucking sexy.

Regardless, we took it to the next level and after the get together I met up with some friends on the street and it just got worse. I did something I consider ethically wrong - and his boyfriend would agree - and today and feeling bad about the whole situation.

There are a few things that are in the back of mind this early Saturday morning. One being the disease control center that phoned me asking me to get tested for HIV - it was abrupt and scary, I still don't think I'm over that episode. It turns out someone from my past has contracted the virus and my name was given out.

When I think back to the past year and my past test, I'm OK, I mean, I'm very sure I'm completely healthy, but the thought still lingers in the back of my mind. I don't think I have done anything risky since I had my last set of results back. I should be fine.

Secondly, my grandpa who passed away... Grieving is a funny thing, now I'm starting to wonder about the distance I have put between my family and I am thinking about who I hold dear. It's been close to four years and I need to see them. My life is passing me by at times and without my family, my base, I am nothing.

Third, dating! What can I say? I was turned down for the first time in my life this week...and it hit me hard.

Even when I avoid being busy - I am still busy - and escape from this 'busy' lifestyle is maddeningly impossible.

Passing...

2006-09-01T13:55:00.000-07:00

It’s hard living 7,500 Kilometers away from your nearest relative. As independent as I am, as much as I tell people I’m better off without them, I’m not.

My grandfather, who shares my same name, passed away a couple of days ago. When I first heard the news, I simply lashed out; holding on to grudges and refusing to even feel a bit of remorse. This is the same man who didn’t attend my cousin’s funeral when he killed himself. I forever held on to that grudge…until now.

He was funny, smart, and wasted most of his life away drinking. People stole from him, people took advantage of his drunken state of mind, and all he ever did was put up with it. My grandfather wasn’t someone I bragged about, and when people told me how much I was like him, I would cringle and become deeply offended.

Still, he was my grandfather. The one thing I did this week was let go of grudges. I let go of the fact that he wasn’t an ideal grandfather, I have forgiven him for not attending my cousins funeral, and I send home a goodbye for the church to read aloud during service.

I was respectful and I made an effort to look at the positive things.

My grandfather sailed around the world twice; he served in World War II on a navel vessel off the coast of Germany. He became on of the first millionaires in my small town and had a knack for taking advantage of opportunities. He painted, made fantastic blueberry wine, and when he finally sobered up, made great efforts to seek forgiveness.

I didn’t do it until he died, but now he has it.

There are so many funny stories I could tell you, so many pictures I could paint with the whimsical stories surrounding this man, he was a legend and everyone knew his name. I will leave you with the assurance, he was the only person I found intriguing throughout my childhood and it shames me I didn’t spend more time getting to know him.

Death to me is different. I have seen so many pass. I have lost my uncle to a drowning, my grandmother to a botched operation/possible suicide, my first cousin (who I regard as a brother) to suicide, two first cousins who were caught at sea, a classmate from leukemia, and so many more. I no longer mourn, I am totally desensitized to it and I am respectful that it was their time to go. I am sure they are still out there someone, although I can’t saw where or how, but they are, and I will see them all again.

I was happy he passed. No more suffering, no more old age homes, he is now in a better place, with the people he held dear in his life…hopefully sober.

I love you grandpa.

Death...

2006-08-30T13:30:00.000-07:00

My grandfather passed away two days ago.

I owe him an entry besides the previous "My Grandfather's a drunk" blog:

http://copeseticnature.blogspot.com/2006/01/my-grandfathers-drunk.html

I wrote this entry some time ago. It is very characteristic of him and I have no doubt he would find it amusing.

Stay tuned...

Last night in Victoria

2006-08-25T11:47:00.000-07:00

You’d have a happy life, if you did the things you like.

Its quiet today, quiet and I feel completely absolved to the world around me. Since my trip to Montreal, my life has been out of sorts, coming home only to have more obligations, more company, and my domestic life is suffering. I am down to my last pair of underwear, my sports socks are all used; I am wearing t-shirts that I would consider worthy of the Salvation Army Thrift Store, and I’m fine with it.

The past few days I have been gingerly exploring two new acquaintances in my life. They are quiet, hesitant, and pure in mind and spirit; I am the loud one, who makes decisions, who dictates likes and dislike, and I am the one who was trying to break their shells, just to get a little more depth.

They are gone, and now, I’m sitting at my office, chewing my finger nails, haunted with the realization that it’s time to get my ass in gear and organize my life again. The weekend will be sunny and brilliant though, maybe I should put it off…yet again?

Last night we went to the Empress, which is a well known and very formal dining area in Victoria. The food was amazing, and Ben, one of the visitors with me, gets fifty percent off the meal and drinks; the meal now is reasonably priced.

I love the Empress. We are surrounded by the higher echelon of society. We are surrounded by turn of the century architecture, impeccable service, great food, and the expectation that we know the etiquette associated with formal dining. We do, and I think the night turned out to be fabulous.

I love looking around the restaurant and seeing the different groups of people. There are a group of boys, all under 18, who are well dressed and polite; their posture is commendable, and the only thing I could critique are the cans of coke sitting around the table. I’m surprised cans of coke would be outwardly displayed at a restaurant like the empress.

Around us there are singles, eating their meals, and I’m guessing they are on business. I hear thick American accents, I see the older, social elite in Victoria entertaining out of Towner’s, and a mix of people who are dressed well, who know which fork to use, and who are intelligent and worthy of the pleasures this life can grant.

It’s nice to step inside of this environment at times, to dress up, approach it with sincerity, and enjoy what it has to offer.

To even out the night, after the meal, and a lost parking ticket that was to be validated, we head to Big Bad Johns. It’s another ‘must see’ tourist spot in Victoria; and now, instead of lush wallpapers with polished diners, agreeable teas and deserts, we are thrust into a completely different environment.

The floors are sticky and littered with peanut shells, the people are bordering on redneck, and the ceilings are covered with women’s bras. I think people get their tab paid for if someone is willing to strip off their brassiere.

We sit around, drinking, more loosened up after two days of hanging out, and a fake spider falls onto my friends shoulder. We all start laughing and look up and see that there are small inventions, such as the spider, supported by a string that is controlled by the bartender.

Our last night in Victoria…we go urban-sophisticated and then redneck.

I think they had fun…

Dating...part II

2006-08-23T10:11:00.000-07:00

This is the beginning of the third week of being asexual…

There is one problem: I have a visitor from Winnipeg and he has a crush on me. I mean, it’s fine, and yeah, I have self-control. I let him stay at my place last night after we hit the town and had one too many drinks.

We both agreed beforehand, that if he did stay at my place, it would be purely platonic. There would be no kissing; no nakedness, no fooling around, and I think we held true to the majority of those agreements. I don’t think I’m asexual anymore.

This morning, after waking up way to early and being hung over, we snuggle some more, we kiss, and I am left feeling guilty. I’m guilty because a) I also did the same thing to his ex about two weeks ago, b) I’m not even sure if I want to do this with him, and c) I have broke a promise to myself.

In the long run, it will be meaningless, and just another experience, but now, it’s causing me to think into this situation far too much.

“Can I sleep over again sometime?” he asks as I’m dressing for work.

“I don’t know. We’ll talk about it later, ok?” I go over to him and give him a hug goodbye, not knowing how to approach this situation.

We had a fun time yesterday. I left work and met him and a friend at a sushi place downtown. Mostly, I talked to Doug because Mark was too shy.

He was just sitting there smiling and being fidgety. At one point after Doug and I gave summaries of our lives up to this point, I put Mark on the spot. He turns red, fidgets even more, and proceeds to give us the quickest overview out of all three of us.

I shouldn’t tease him so much. I know he is shy and I guess I’m prodding him a little so he can come out of his shell.

After sushi, we go for a run. We start on Dallas Road, running about 4KM along the ocean, over to a breakwater where a single lighthouse – painted red and white – stands. It’s a beautiful backdrop…and, I think we both appreciate the here and now.

Later that night, after a work out and a shower, we head downtown. The streets are empty for the most part; it is Tuesday after all. Even at eleven some of the local tourist shops, gelato houses, and small pubs are still open for business. I don’t venture down here that often on the weeknights, so I guess I’m pleasantly surprised.

We head to a pub called Irish Times and order a couple of Guinness. The pub is nice, quoted as being Irish, but the architecture, and interior, well, I’d hate to say it, but it’s more English.

The take away is the fact there is a stunning performer on stage. The minute he starts playing our conversation with one another stops, and, I’m drawn into his beautiful Irish ballad. His voice is pure, and it reminds me of a Celtic Bob Dylan without all the frills and tangles. He’s wonderful and I’m taken back to the good ole days in downtown St. John’s.

I think he had a good time. I mean, I know he had a good time. I always enjoy it when two strangers, who barely know each other, get together and discover whether or not they can actually be friends and tolerate one another. I think we can.

Dating...Part I

2006-08-22T10:44:00.000-07:00

“So, how did you meet him?” I ask, and he thinks I’m prodding. In a way I am, I mean, I want to know how this man spent the last 38 years of his life before me. “Did you meet him while cruising the park?”

“No, of course not”, he replies, acting as if it’s the most hurtful and disgusting judgment I could ever make. He sneers at me and upset with the question I asked.

I feel bad about the comment, thinking, maybe his life was normal and he wasn’t as big of a sex addict as I thought. Maybe I’ve been looking at him in the wrong light; I can only go by the stories and relationships that he has told me.

“I met him in a bathhouse”, he replies.

“Oh, yeah that’s much different than looking for sex in a park. I’m sorry I made that assumption …and I thank you for the clarification”. I’m thinking the whole time this man is a diluted asshole.

Why is it so hard to meet somebody ‘normal’? Why has the gay culture taken away wholesome and meaningful events like monogamy, dating, trust? Why can’t I find ‘Mr. Right’ at coffee stores or social event?

I guess the biggest question of all is: “Why do I still care?”

The Seasons

2006-08-16T11:25:00.000-07:00

Rocky crags littered the coast lines. The rocks were worn, discolored, and suited no purpose but fending off the large vessels that tried to settle this wasteland upon its discovery in 1497.

I was a lonely child. I would sit upon the shores while the other kids were out biking together and playing guns; I would become one with the ocean. I would smells its salts, watch its movements, and take in the water and its surroundings as if I were mapping it out in my mind.

Along the coasts of Newfoundland you can smell the sea salt miles away. The humidity in the air would spread the familiar stench throughout the community. It would also spread the salts to our vehicles and homes, and after a few years, corrosion would set it. Most everything rusted after time, the bottoms of cars would be eaten away; the windows and siding on houses would turn brown and rot. Even the faces of people couldn’t resist the elements; aging set in quicker, and although salt is usually a preservative, it would deteriorate the living.

The crippled coast line had little aquatic life. The sea barnacles would attach themselves to the crags and build up mountains of white, crusted life. The marine life consisted of scopies, rock cod, shrimp, lobster, and the occasional jellyfish plotting they way along the shore. We could pick mussels and cook them during the summer months – provided the ocean was clean of red tide.

There were four seasons in Newfoundland; this is a long withstanding joke, but a truthful one nonetheless: winter, still winter, almost winter and construction.

In the summer, instead of a barren wasteland of snow, there were barren wastelands of bog. Up behind my house, there was a trail, forged so long ago by my ancestors, which led the way to the bogs that surrounded most of Newfoundland.

In order to get there, I had to pass behind my grandfather’s hotel, and trek for some time through the rocky and sandy trails. There were two large hedges of weedy trees, thinking back, I remember calling them alders, but I am not sure what the appropriate name would be.

There was nothing special about the bogs. They grew bakeapples (or cloudberries to some), blue berries, pitcher plants, marsh berries, and was a breeding ground for black flies and mosquitoes. In the summer clouds of black flies would torment us. Camping, although plentiful in these areas, was discouraged during certain times because of the abundance of biting insects.

I was a lonely child, and I would go to the bog for refuge. I would sometimes grab a gallon bucket and pick berries for my mother. I would fill her in on my expedition and tell her I would grab some bakeapples for her, and with that said, she would run for the bucket.

The bog was so barren the only things that lived on it, or inhabited it at times, were black bears. I think there was a dump nearby and the bears would forge these areas for berries. Most of the bog was acidic though, not even pine trees would grow there; if they did they would only be stumps and would only grow a few years before their bark turned white and started rotting.

About 20 minutes of hiking would bring me to a solitary lake. Nothing surrounded it, and it was like an oasis in a desert. The lake would reflect the sun beating down from the blue sky above; all that surrounded it was the brown, orange, and red boglands, no trees, no life, just berries as far as the eye can see.

Sometimes when I sat around the lake, a pool of water with no life, and I would hear the call of a bear or moose. It was the single to pack up and leave. A bear could easily out run a person if the need arose, and because their food sources were limited, I wouldn’t put anything pass them.

The winters here would transform the bog into a ski-doers paradise. There were many intersections and roads, the plows would smooth out most of the main routes with a small donation from community members. And, after school, the bogs, and most of the community, was transformed into a very unique transportation system. Everyone had a ski-doo, and if they didn’t, they would find a friend who would take them out.

Most of the road systems that we had would be covered in snow, so taking the snow mobile out would be the sensible option to getting around. Gas stations would be lined with motorists, people would go to grocery stores on ski-doors, to the liquor stores, and as you make your commute on the ocean or lakes, groups of five or more people would have their snow mobiles parked together having a yarn or scoff (a talk).

This was not a men’s only environment. All walks of life would be out around; bankers, teachers, fish plant workers would all be out, they are equal, and the only thing that separates the middle class from the working poor are the quality of your ski-doo and the type of dress. Women would float by, their hair done, make-up applied, speeding down the trails just like everyone else.

After a long day of ski-dooing we would head in, with our hands nearly frost bitten, our noses red from the cold, and would relish in the front of warm air as we barged into our home. Our mother would be waiting, smiling, and asking if we were cold. We would sit down and have a cup of coffee and home made bread to set us right.

One winter, I’m guessing because of the harsh cold, the arm (Inland Ocean) had frozen over, and seals were making there way down to the shores on ice sheets. Driving along the loop where we lived, we could see one or two battered seals strewn out on the ice-laden shores. Their blood would soak the white snow, their pelts dirty and unkempt, and someone in our small community ended their life, just because they could. The seals were a harmless nuisance.

The occasional polar bear would find its way down also and the communities affected would be put on alert. They weight a ton, are very wild, and if they want to get into a home, they will. Most polar bears that found there way down to the coast were shot on site unless an animal rights activist found them first.

It’s a raw environment. There were no wal-marts, sport checks; commercialism never existed until I moved into the city at 17. If we were bored, we would go on hikes, explore nature, or hang out with friends and play some sort of sport. I still don’t understand the need for people to shop; I don’t understand the need for people to surround themselves with this ideal accumulation. I don’t understand television, being idle, or complaining about life. I understand the simple things, and although I live in a moderately large city, I think the life I had, shaped the life I have now.

Montreal

2006-08-14T11:05:00.000-07:00

Slowly, slowly, I am drifting.

I am back from Montreal and my mindset is different.

It took me a week to write this entry, only because I have been recuperating and bringing my mind back to a more positive place.

I had a great time, but most of it was in a haze of drugs, without food for periods of 12 hours, without sleep at one point for about 48 hours, and myself, partaking in superficial relationships that came and went as the days passed by. I am without remorse.

The gay scene in Montreal, especially with the Out Games and Pride taking place was something I haven’t witnessed before. There were streets upon streets blocked off; events all day long, people from around the world, athletes, mind you, participating. Masculinity, real men, everywhere.

The parties were fine. I saw some of the most prominent DJ’s in the world, rubbed elbows with the elite in our community, and met some accomplished people. At the end of the trip, I was so polluted by my surroundings; nothing was real anymore. I was devoid of emotion, four pounds lighter, stripped of morals, muscle, body fat, and was just a shell of a man. I was a shell that once was in love with the world and myself.

Now, I have witnessed debauchery at its worst. I don’t want to go too much into it, I’d rather talk about the city and how beautiful it is.

The churches in Montreal are amazing. Montreal itself is 95 percent catholic and the entire religious base is utilities these old, architecturally stunning cathedrals. I went to the church of Notre-Dame one day with my friend Clay. Walking in to Notre-Dame was like walking into some sort of illustration. There were stunning blues, reds, elaborate carpets, stained glass, pews and pedestals, it was a dream. I couldn’t imagine how a group of architects and builders could produce something so beautiful.

I knelt at the alter of Notre-Dame and thanked whatever force created this magnificent structure and teared up. Maybe it was the past night without sleep and on E. Maybe it was the fact that I know: this is living.

I then went old Montreal. The streets are filled with cobblestone, the buildings are old; Old Montreal consists of significant period pieces in a city that is fending off change. The streets are lined with tourist shops, old brick walls, fine dining, churches, and to the right a magnificent waterfront filled with activity.

Mont Royal, which is actually a hill in my option, was ok. We hiked it in no time at all and ended up in a circular view point which overlooked most of the city. Some of the banks, apartment buildings, and businesses were house in sky scrapers that towered over the remained of the buildings in the city center.

To be taken out of the gay scene and St. Catherine’s, even if it was for a small period of time, centered me briefly.

The city is beautiful. I just can’t get the images and sounds out of my head. The pounding dancing music, the men who are so stoned they forget who or where they are, and the couples…couples from around the world who should be proud and monogamous, finding their next fix. Everyone had a drug of choice, and because of the number of people, everyone was packed together for each venue.

I did some things I wasn’t proud of. But, at the same time I met some wonderful people and it helped redeem my faith that there are decent people out there. One man in particular, a gay Newfoundlander, who shares my birthday – Christmas Eve. I think I’m going to visit in Toronto during thanksgiving.

Urban Redneck

2006-07-24T14:36:00.000-07:00

“You’re an urban redneck”, my friend points out to me as we stagger home drunk on Saturday night. He mentioned this after a few too many drinks, then taking my shirt off on the way home, and cat calling men.

I would shout “Nice ass, dude!” Maybe I should be a little more subtle about it all. I remember walking home one night with a bud and seeing this drunk hunk on the street. We kept joking out loud, “No, we aren’t going to take him home. He’s too hot. I don't think I would be able to handle it”. “No Paul, we can’t take this hot stud home, I don’t care how much you want him!” And so on. He over hears and gets upset.

I’m not afraid. And, the redneck in me would welcome a fight. After he turns to me and replies “What did you say?” I eagerly reply “Fuck off dude”.

Then there was the time with the cops. We were eating pizza early in the morning on a busy street and these three cops were doing crowd control. I couldn’t help but stare at one of them and challenge him. We made eye contact, and would look away, only to make eye contract again.

The officer didn’t know what was going on, so he asks me if I have a problem. “Is there some problem?” I immediately turn to him, walk to the three cops slowly and face him. “No, there’s no problem officer. I was just telling my friends how hot you were”.

“Oh,” as he steps back two feet, and visibly uncomfortable, “well, never mind then”. I could have sworn he blushed. I turned away smiling, and thinking, this is total freedom and abandonment.

I could recite stories for hours. They are all the same. Myself having a big mouth and being drunk, getting over my head in a situation, and using my intelligence to get out of it. I can’t help but lust after straight men when I drink. I can’t help it. The asshole in me doesn’t give a shit and it makes for a fun night.

I didn’t realize until now, I’m a urban redneck, and proud of it.

Reno

2006-07-13T14:20:00.000-07:00

Everyday I approach the zenith of manhood with repugnance. The crisp air stings my cheeks, the cold ground frosts my boots, and there is no amount of cotton or Gore-Tex that can protect me.

Everyday I wonder if this is it. I’m in an icy prison where the sun is fleeting and the people hibernate. My boots chafe my sock, in turn my socks irate my pants, which hold a belt that hooks my shirts, layered, one by one, atop of a wreck of a man.

My breath is streaming the air, and everything smells so fresh and clean. The sky’s are vivid, filling me with the image of the sun, beyond belief, I open the back door to drift into absolute beauty.

I never realized how good I had it until I left this place. I didn’t realize how much destruction cities caused, how much pollution we are pumping into the atmospheres of urban centers. I didn’t realize that we dumped fresh sewage into some of the most pristine and inspiring waterfronts in Canada.

My dog Reno doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she doesn’t really seem to be aware of anything. I envy her at times. Even at six, I have to worry about my speech impediment, my effeminate characteristics that my father is picking up on, and my isolation, which seems to be getting worse, and my stunted growth.

I’m six and already I feel alone. Reno is too stupid to pick up on any of this. She’s content to live her life in a snow filled, dog house, wagging her dumb tail and panting nothingness. She doesn’t have the same free will that man adopted early on into our evolutionary mess.

I go out to the shed about 5 meters away from the house to check if she is still breathing.

My mother hated animals, claiming, “they are a fucking mess.” Reno would be left out in the elements at times, this rocky, unforgiving climate, and every night, when I curled up in bed, sleeping on my stomach and wishing I had a different family, I would think about her survival.

Some mornings she would be covered in show. A husk of a dog, with her coat completely engulfed with wet, hard snow. I would smile and greet her, and look into her makeshift dog home. I would start to pick off clumps of snow to free up her fur, holding back the tears and I would never shed; I’m too strong for that now. Some of the crayon colors we used the summer before are still standing out on the planks of her poorly construed home.

When she gets me in her sight, she jumps with enthusiasm, knowing full well I will release her. I could never chain up an animal like my parents. I run to her; I am grasping her chain and sliding on the leash, hoping to go for a nice walk; it's sunny out today. Today I will take her for a walk through the snow laid streets and hills. There isn’t a piece of land that isn’t covered with this mess of crystallized water.

I unhook Reno. Suddenly she bolts! I’m takin' off my feet and am being dragged for a few meters, my hands and elbows have been skinned, and I’m laying on the ground screaming “You goddamn fucking dog”, and all I see are the paw prints and a bolt of black furry, running off, hoping to gain as much freedom as possible before hunger sets in.

Being a six year old in a town full of simpletons was quite fun. And, being six in a town where there was no crime, no worries of being kidnapped and cut into pieces, was surprisingly freeing.

I would be the bait. I would follow this dog come hell or high reckon, and I would reclaim what is mine. I have nothing better to do, and I don’t even think Mom will realize I have left the house. She had a tendency to overlook us.

Being six in a town that never changed, made our lives unthreatening and predictable; it made caring for us easy, and non-existent.

I see Reno from afar. She’s nearing the hill close to the Humphries’s house. My mother always said they raised pigs and lived like them too. They ate their animals and were poor off, mind you. Not like us, my father does well, mom never has to worry. But these guys are in for some hard times.

I’m halfway up the hill calling out to Reno in the best unobtrusive voice I can muster. “Come on girl, come on. Let’s go for a walk. You like walks, don’t you?” She’s so close to me now, the leash is almost touching her. One fell swoop and I could claim her again as my own. But she bolts! I’ve never seen an animal run so fast in my life. And I scream at her, “You fucking dog, you’re gonna get it”.

I spent the remainder of the day climbing banks. Hunting Reno in all the recesses of our small village. The snow was so high, nobody ventured outside on this day. The chimneys were towering smoke from the woodstoves most families had. Occasionally, I would see a line of footprints leaving ones' door to the woodshed. Not once did I run into anyone.

Reno, by this time, was wagging her tail as she ran into me, some 4 kilometers away, near Reverend Moss’s house. This man was the strangest church official I have met in my life. Apart from having three strange kids: a hemophiliac who seemed to never have spent a day in the sun, a rock and roll dude (who I had the pleasure of seeing having sex one night as we spied through their window), and Greg, a massive lump of a man, who goofed around on old texas instrument systems programming basic code.

Reverend Moss always reminded me of Rex Murphy. His hair was curly, his voice was high and whiney, and he was skinny at that. I always got Goosebumps whenever I was around him, and would protest every time my mom made me visit his pale white child.

“It’s a sin by’, he has no friends. You should at least be courteous to your neighbors,” as I was pushed out of the house to abide to the deal my mother made on the phone to Myrtle, Mr. Moss’s wife.

I was in fear of Trevor, the pale one, seeing me on this day. I kept having this aching feeling that he was in the window watching, reading to yell out for me to come inside and watch him play with his wrestling figurines.

Rage was building as I dashed after Reno. I kept wondering if she would ever give up and let me win this battle.

I didn’t catch her that day. Instead, after being drenched in melted snow, four hours of chasing the elusive dog of my past, I head home for some baked bread and tea. Waiting at the porch of the house is of course, Reno.

I approach her, staring eye to eye, holding our gaze, only to deliver three hard smacks to the head. All the while her tail wags and she’s looking at me as if nothing ever happened.

I don’t think she was ever a smart dog. Most labs were, but this one, if I had a dollar for every time that fucking dog didn’t listen, I’d have my own fishing boat.

You know you've hit rock bottom when...

2006-07-13T08:56:00.000-07:00

You know that you’ve hit rock bottom when you’re sitting at a bathhouse, talking to a complete stranger, explaining how faithful you are to your partner, who is sleeping in one of the rooms.

“We don’t normally go to things like this, but I was curious. Dennis and I are completely dedicated to one another. I mean, yeah sure, sex with other guys is important to him, and it hurts me, but we are more evolved, you know?” I’m saying this to some skinny, bitter, gay boy who is looking me up and down in my towel. He has no interest in this conversation and is silently planning his escape.

“Dennis recommended that we go to a sex club last night. There were all these guys around, roaming in the dark, and finally we were trapped in this small room with them.” I recalled to this fag who was incisively taking drags on his cigarette and nodding at the right times.

“We didn’t finish! I thought it was a gross experience and I made Dennis leave with me.” I had to make note of this and hang on to whatever dignity I had left.

“You went last night?” He finally spoke up and after I confirm the hard date he replies: “Dude, it was AIDS night, everyone knows that.”

My face turns an ashy gray color and I yell what? AIDS night? “Nobody told us this. Don’t you think they would warn us if that were the case?” I’m completely enraged right now and retracing the past night's events.

“It was in the paper dude,” he gets up and leaves only to say “You’re hot, man!”

“You’re disgusting,” I rally back, feeling free and liberated. I’m so sick of being objectified. He only turns to me again with a stunned look and walks off; actually, he wobbles off in his clean white towel, never to return again.

You know you’ve hit rock bottom, when you're standing by yourself, in a bathhouse, with your partner asleep in one of the rooms, thinking you may have just contracted HIV.

I run back to our room and shake him away. “Dennis, Dennis, get the hell up. We are leaving, I’ve had enough of this,” his lids flutter open and he’s obviously upset that I woke him.

“What?” he asks.

I explain the newly founded information about AIDS night and am in a panic. Laughing, he replies “We didn’t do anything unsafe, and I doubt it was ‘AIDS’ night. You’re over-reacting.”

“I don’t care I want out. I can’t take this anymore. It’s insane,” I’m picking up my things and dressing, expecting him to follow suit. “I’m done Dennis, its over.”

Why do so many gay men fall into this obscurity? Bathhouses, sex clubs, anonymous online hook-ups, these are the things that I have to deal with on a daily basis when facing men of my
proclivity .

Why are we so consumed with sex? Is it loneliness? Boredom? Is it different for everyone who partakes in the sinful side of being gay?

When I first came out I was so ignorant to it all. The only role model I had, the only man I could look up to and learn the ropes with, was Dennis. He taught me a great deal, most of it disturbing and wrong. I was taught that I needed to partake in the debauchery of our culture. He told me I needed threeways, and to experiment; I needed to get my heart broken by countless men, and then to finally collapse and become one of them: an emotionally, unadjusted gay male. It’s something we all strive for.

My role model. How I absorbed it all and questioned nothing. It was funny looking back how lost I truly was. Now I know what’s important and I am not tainted by love and utter conformity. Now I can look at these venues we went to, these acts that I can honestly say, I was forced into, and think how stupid I really was.

We don’t have to conform, nor will it make you happier. The only thing it will do is make you less human, less caring, and you will loose the most important parts of being human: emotional sensitivity, sexual intimacy, and trust. I don’t want to treat my partner like a porn star, and I don't want to be viewed as just another lay.

The weekend in Seattle ended with me punching my partner in the stomach, storming out of a bar, never to return again. That weekend was the breaking point for me, and I would never venture back into that dark side of the gay scene again.

I’m surprised I’m even writing this. I’m embarrassed that people may read it or judge me for my comments on this scene. I will not apologize. These are my thoughts and you cannot take my viewpoints away from me.

The only thing I can do is urge people to respect themselves, and respect your partners. We don’t need to have threeways and open relationships to appease our partner. We should be dedicated and respectful or each other; no bullshit. It’s an easy way out of making an actual commitment, and it certainly isn’t a healthy way to grow with someone and form intimacy. I see so many lost, lonely men who have chosen this path. The only advice I can give you all is: grow up.

Conversations

2006-07-12T11:02:00.000-07:00

“He could be gay, you know. It’s kind of weird that a 13 year old boy is afraid of the dark,” I say playfully, waiting for the appropriate reaction.

“Why would you say that Char?” my mom is obviously uneasy about the subject and can’t even say the word gay or homosexual around me.

“I’m just saying it’s strange that he is still afraid of the dark. I’d almost say abnormal”, I am still waiting for her to keep the entertainment factor up.

“I don’t know why you would say that. This is the second time you have brought it up.” As she pauses, letting her mind churn it over. “Are there any signs I should be looking for?” as I burst out in laughter.

Are there any signs I should be looking for? What if there were signs. Would it make a difference? If my mother knew that my brother was gay, even now, there is nothing she could do about it, only accept it.

I always try to push limits with people, especially my family and friends. I tend to throw out various topics, or entertain bias notions to see how they will react. To summarize the whole concept so you can understand, I do it because people bore me, and I look for more substance.

“Mom, I was at the gym tonight and there was this really hot guy there. I’ve seen him once before, and damn, I was too shy to say hi”. I’m trying to let her into my life and take away the stigma of being gay. This should be an everyday conversation, in my opinion. “There was one point where I was sure he was going to say hi, but I walked by as he started to open his mouth. What if I never see him again?”

My mother listens contently on the line. I know deep down in my heart she still wishes for me to be one of the breeders. She listens to my conversation and I know there will be a less accepting reply.

“Why do you have to discuss this with your mother? Do you think it’s appropriate to tell your mother about these types of things?” There is discontent in her voice. I don’t care though. I want her to suck in this part of my life, and the more I share, the less obtrusive it will be.

“I don’t mind sharing at all. I want you to be apart of my life, and I should feel comfortable discussing these topics with you”.

The man at the gym was around forty. I am saddened at the fact that I have only seen him once before in the past year, but this time we both acknowledged each other. I feel a spark, which is rare and wonderful, and he is onboard. Yet, we didn’t say hi to each other. He made the attempt but while he was forming the conversation, and starting to approach me, I jet off in another direction.

My Aunt Car (Carol) and my mother are visiting Paul and I in September. By that time, I will be moved in to my new place, and I will be further practicing my interior design skills. I want the place to be wonderful, and I want Paul to feel comfortable having my crazy family over.

I plan on having cook dinners; traditional Newfoundland meals, lots of alcohol, time on the deck at night where we all sit around smoking and drinking. I miss them so much, and I can tell you I’m looking forward to this reunion. It’s the first time since coming out that I will have seen some of my family.

My aunt and mother curse and use vulgarity at ease. It's second nature to see one of them sitting at the dining table and asking someone to "pass the fucking pepper", only have downing a few glasses of wine of course; they aren't complete rednecks.

I’ve been trying to fill Paul in on what type of people he should expect, but I don’t think he takes me seriously. They are the most unconventional Canadians you could imagine.

I can see some great times ahead. I have company next weekend. It’s a young lad who currently lives in Vancouver. He is an ex tennis pro who grew up in Australia. I’m very intrigued by him. His voice is sexy, and he is a bad boy, much like myself. I love situations like this. There is no commitment, no expectations; just two guys who want to get to know each other.

Relationships are over-rated. I prefer this way of things. I prefer having this non-conventional way of thinking, and I relish in the attempts at forming subtle bonds with other gay males who have no interest in relationships.

Besides that I’m off to Montreal. I have only been to the sister city Quebec City and am looking forward to it. I will be traveling with two friends; one of which I can’t take to, and I don’t plan on having a group vacation. I play on blending into the city as quickly as possible and meeting interesting people. If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s blending in, and forming superficial relationships.

Onions sacks and kittens

2006-07-11T15:01:00.000-07:00

My grandparents had - on average - five cats at a time throughout their lives. When my family and I would visit their house, I would see white cats, tabby cats, pregnant cats; bowls were strewn everywhere, along with various fishes and meats. On my trip to my grandparent’s kitchen, to nose through their fridge, I would be attacked by these purring beasts that knew only absolute gluttony and laziness.

My mother would sometimes get a phone call telling us that they had a new litter of kittens. Even in the late eighties and early nineties, small town out port communities would not spade or neuter their cats. Most animals would roam around freely with all their reproductive organs in tact.

She had a distain for her mother's fetish with cats. “Crazy old bitch,” as she lit up a cigarette and plunged us into our Oldsmobile Cutlass Sierra. “Your grandmother is nuts.”

Seeing the cats would always excite my sister. She is a great animal lover. There were times when we would be highway driving and a squirrel would pop in front of us. Normally, if it were me, I would not flinch and keep true to the lane. My sister on the other hand would suddenly jerk the wheel in any direction, grind the breaks, and scream at the top of her lungs, only to see the squirrel make it’s way to safety. My heart would skip beats and I would always be anxious with her behind the wheel.

I’m ok with the act of saving a member of the wildlife. I mean, I can’t judge her for wanting to save a squirrel; for my life, and for the lives of her passengers, I would have expected her to check the left lane for oncoming traffic first. I value my life more than a squirrel.

My gleeful sister and I would run into my grandparent’s home to see the kittens. The women together adoring the pile of sickly kittens, and my grandfather and I would prepare for the journey.

For some reason he would always wait for me. Maybe it’s a rite of passage? Maybe it's an age old tradition that made boys into men. I’m not sure, but he took great pride in letting me be apart of the population control

We would walk into the musty old basement. It was in need of a dehumidifier and smelled of dampness. The bottom part of the house was carpeted and there were many doors leading into smaller rooms. Pop would grab a large neon orange onion sack and make his way upstairs.

The kittens by this point were tired of my sister’s relentless efforts to pick them up. The mother cat, in all her glory, would hiss and display her displeasure of this festering creature. Milk would run freely from her breast as she swayed over to the last kitten touch; she would smell and then lick the scent of my sister off of the kitten.

They say cats do not possess the same emotions as we do. I disagree, I mean, I think cats are more cleaver than we think. That cat knew that was going to happen, and I’m sure it isn’t the first time her cradle has been robbed by Grandpa.

My Pop would gather all the small kittens up and throw them into the onion sack. Seven or eight, small kittens, making panicked sounds, away from their mother, and not knowing what will happen next.

It would always be a sunny day. Summers. We would track down the lane, past the dog berry and evergreen trees that will always be stunted and sickly. Passing Uncle Larry’s house we would take a right down Blackwood’s lane. The lane itself slopped downward to another small cove of houses. And in the middle of this isthmus we would stop by the shore, gazing down into the reflective water. I know there are countless graves here. This will not be the first or the last time, and this place holds meaning to all men to come by this part of the shore.

He would look at me, almost asking with his eyes, if I wanted to do it this time. I would always look back with hatred and disgust. I would want to scream at him, “Why don’t you just fix your fucking cats. This is an atrocity”. I would always have this anger inside of me, this hatred for this act, and I know I could never talk back.

He would take the sack of kittens, which didn’t cease their crying, and fling them over the bank, into the icy ocean. A great splash, a ripple, and than calm. The air bubbles from the kittens would then float up from the buried sack. We would stand there in silence watching; I would hope that the kittens could escape somehow, but I think my grandfather watched to make sure that the deed would be completed. The last thing he needed was another kitten finding its way back to Nan.

“Those Goddamn cats,” he would blurt out. It would be the only words exchanged until get got back to the house.

It’s such a savage land. People ask me all the time how it differs from the rest of Canada. Growing up in a small out port isn’t something I would wish upon any person who is accustomed to the world. It’s a hard place.

Obsession

2006-06-28T10:20:00.000-07:00

I’ve spent the last few days painting. I was shopping around with my ‘friend’ Paul on Friday when we walked by an art store that had twenty percent off its merchandize. Paul decides to go in looking for a frame, and I leave with a bag full of art supplies.

It wasn’t a bad idea. I mean, this was something I have had a strong interest in for a while, but I know because of my addictive personality and my uncanny ability to be a perfectionist, it would probably cause severe mental trauma.

I have created four pieces of art. Each one different in their own merits and each one constantly in my mind. I have deemed these two as finished pieces that I am truly satisfied with as finished, and the other two…lets not think about it right now.

All my life I have put my soul into various projects. When I was a kid I would collect both stamps and comics. My collections are well organized, well thought out, knowledgeable and organized. At the age of eight I would peruse stamp collection magazines, whip out my fathers credit card, and proceed to order stamps until I reached the threshold: punishment.

My father was good about it all. He encouraged both collections, although holding the costs over my head, and nurtured this creative environment I was in. I loved him for that, even though I took advantage.

The collection of stamps is immense and it spans over a period of about six years; the comics span about ten years. I want both of these items in my life again, but sadly, they are in Newfoundland, and my father is hesitant to give them to me for three reasons. One, it would occupy me again, and he would consider it a waste of my time and energy. Secondly, he did invest his money into these projects also (although when I started working at the age of 13 I supported my own habits). Three, shipping is expensive. I did opt to pay for whatever shipping costs incurred.

Now, I have four pieces of art, and I also have a deep desire to run to the art store this afternoon and buy a massive canvas. It would keep me up for a few nights, maybe talking to myself about the proper colors, constantly working and reworking the piece, and thinking: I am as crazy as Jackson Pollock.

One of the things I am missing in my life is an artistic/creative outlet, and this would accomplish this yearning desire to produce. Unfortunately, I always take it to the next extreme and I don’t know when to quit.

I have four pieces…two are questionable, and I will bask in the enjoyment of creating something that I truly enjoy. I consider two of these works purchasable. I would buy them, and because of that I am truly satisfied and happy about the whole process.

The memory of being stoned and drunk, with a set of tweezers, arranging stamps according to their history and date of conception into a gigantic collector’s book still flashes in my mind. My back would ache, I would almost cry at times because I couldn’t escape my work, and the sun would eventually appear in the sky. I don’t want to do that again. I never want to be that obsessed again.

A real eye opener

2006-06-22T10:37:00.000-07:00

He had a conspicuous smile. I never quite knew whether or not I was coming or going half the time. The morning, lying together side by side, and knowing that I would have to leave him to a day of listlessness; he would be sprawled out on the bed, in and out, and hoping I would leave him to sleep.

Most mornings the window would blow in cold air, the birds would chirp, and I would leave his place and allow him to enjoy it all, but only for as long as I could. We lived on the lower portion of a house up in View Royal.

The area resembles a park, tree clad, green, and eventful but slow. The ocean was about a block away with little to no traffic at all times. It was one of the most romantic settings I have ever been in, and I’m sure part of it played into why I loved him so much. The peacefulness around us was breathtaking. Dennis, myself, and our two cats were the only things in the world for a year of my life, the rest of it was so inconsequential. The rest of it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was him.

Have you ever had a friend and lover that totally threw you for a loop? I came into this relationship completely oblivious and skeptical with respect to love. Love was something you see in movies; nobody could possess such a powerful emotion in real life. It just didn’t seem like something tangible, and still it’s not tangible, it’s something that we were given as thinking organisms, and it has allowed me to explore sides of my spirituality I never thought possible.

I remember the night I came out to my parents. I was living in British Columbia for about a year, and at the age of 23 I finally started exploring who I was. I finally started breaking down all my mental guards and I met someone.

He was the fourth guy I had ever slept with and I fell for him immediately. The night I saw him at the club my heart leapt. The first night I saw him, he was with a group of his friends, and I assumed he wasn’t from BC. I was so shy and uncomfortable that I didn’t make an attempt to intercept his attention. He wouldn’t have wanted me anyway…

A few months went by and I was just getting back from a vacation in Fort Lauderdale with my parents. I head out to the club and I see him again. He is leaned against one of the poles talking to a friend of his.

His dress was unusual. He wore checkered shirts along with standard jeans you could buy at a Winners location. He was 38, had a goatee, about five foot nine; he was someone that I wouldn’t consider hot, but there was something about him, some sexual presence and aura that I was drawn to.

As I walked into the club and saw him, the same complex emotions set in again, and I began to clam up. I almost turned around and left immediately, but the driving force inside of me pushed me forward. As I walk by, I make an effort to let him know that I am interested, I make direct eye contract with him, but unfortunately he is more focused on his friend.

Turning red with embarrassment I run to the bar and order a beer. A few minutes later he is on me, and later he tells me his friend told him that I was sizing him up. I’ve never been chased to the degree Dennis had perused me.

He stood in my eye view and just smiled, staring until I flushed and looked away. I quickly ascertained that the idea of subtly never quite was grasped in his long life. But, I play into it nonetheless.

After about ten minutes of idle conversation, I tell him I’m leaving and put on my jacket. I proceed to the exit only to be cut off by him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. His stance is challenging and his playfulness is all too aparent.

“Home,” I reply, knowing full well I just want to be with him. “This bar makes me sick. ” All I can do is notice his bedroom eyes, the cut of his jeans, his arms which are dark and hairy, along with a smirk that would piss off the best of people.

We spend the next year together. We move into together after three months. There were highs and lows, great travel experiences, some intimacy, and a great learning experience. This man brought me out of my shell and made me realize what is important in life. He made me set a standard so high, that I fear I will never find such a connection again.

On the third month of the relationship, and after one significant break up, we decide to move into together. My parents tried to reach my apartment all that week, unbeknown to them, I was never home; I was always with Dennis.

I phone them after the move somewhat distraught; I'm upset that they have such control over my life. “Mom, I haven’t been home for a week, I’ve been really busy.” She expresses how worried she has been and that they were ready to phone the police. “How could you not check in after a week? What have you been doing?”

“Mom, I have some good news. I’m moving in with someone. It’s a one bedroom apartment and I’m going to live with my friend Dennis”. I hear the gears ticking and there is silence on the line. Dennis is sitting in the background watching contently, and wearily lending his support. He is more afraid of the consequences than I am.

“A one bedroom? Where are you going to sleep? Charlie, this makes no sense at all. We are worried about you, come home!” Right then and there, I guess after years of being controlled and put into a society that prevented me from both loving myself and being loved, I knew then and there, I will no longer hide who I am. I spend far too long in the shadows and this moment will change me for the rest of my life. For the first time in my life I felt truly alive.

“I’m gay mom. I’m in a relationship with Dennis, he’s my partner, and we are gong to live together”. My soul is screaming this out on the inside; I’m grinning and happy that I, the boy who was awkward and sad, the boy who never had a place in this world, and I have finally found something viable and meaningful.

“That’s gross.” She hangs up only to phone again twice telling me that I shouldn’t joke with her. She’s pleading that I change my mind, and that I’m confused right now. British Columbia had changed me, in her opinion, and it wasn’t for the best.

We all come around in time. In less than two weeks we were talking again, and in less than a year, we had the same unfounded relationship that had always existed between us. It takes time…for some people. Gay is a small part of the world I live in, and I’m glad. To analyze this culture I’m in would only upset the general population. I am much more old fashioned and respect myself far too much to follow their viewpoints.

I loved him more than you could possibly imagine. It took a year to get over it, and then, another year to regain who I was and to finally be in the proper space. I am finally complete and he was a big part of my life journey.

My only regret was being too logical in our relationship; I refused to accept his disability because I couldn’t reason his claims. He has a ‘sleep disorder’ which I couldn’t understand; I couldn’t find enough proof one way or the other, and because of that I grew skeptical and mistrusting.

The prediction early on was that we could never be with someone due to his disability. His doctors said it would ruin any relationship that he would make efforts with; although I disagree with his self-fulfilled prophecy; I believe he was the one who failed to make it work, not the disability.

Even so, I miss him so much.