King Kong Is a Lesbian?

They all scream in terror. The huge ape is menacing and aggressive. Are they screaming in fear? Or are they screaming because the huge ape has a huge ape cock?

In the film King Kong, there is never any proof given that King Kong is, in fact, male. The average audience assumes that the ape must be male. He is after all violent, agressive, loud, rude, and in love with a female.

But what if....
What if...

King Kong was actually QUEEN KONG!

(I must admit that I have seen worse looking Lesbians at the gays bars I have frequented in Regina, Saskatchewan, so it is not out of the realm of possibility.)

What were are left with is a very subversive film, that would probably not just be condemned for it's lesbianism, but also for beastiality, which I remind you, was never a considered a criticism in any of the versions of the film that have been made to date.

Lesbiansim implies homosexuality. Homosexual romance, unlike heterosexual romance, implies sex. Therefore lesbian homosexual romance, must mean that sex is involved which would conclude the taboo act of bestiality. ("WON'T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?")

So if you venture out to see this season's holiday hit, King Kong, use your imagination and watch the greatest lesbian love story ever told!

If you are reading this, I suspect you may wonder why I haven't written in the past two weeks. I wish I could supply you with some profound answer, but the only response I can give is to relate unto you the activity of my life for the past while.

A show I was working on went on Tour to Ottawa. We spent four days in our nation's capital. The show was very well received and I had a great time. It served as a Pre-Birthday treat for myself.

The weekend back from Ottawa, I celebrated my birthday. I shopped and spent time with friends and wrote an essay. Responsible, but selfish and enjoyable - the best a Birthday can be (?)

The following week I caught up on all the school work I missed from my week in Ottawa. I have been productive.

Yesterday I auditioned for two commercials. It really is a crap-shoot, so who know! God I hope I get it. I hope I get it ! Cross your fingers.

Now I am here. Caught up (for the most part). Enjoying the fruits of my Birthday celebrations (I still have three bottles of wine to drink). In anticipation (Cross your fingers - one of the commercials shoot in Budapest!)

My long distance relationship of sorts (we aren't really boyfriends, but we do have a "relationship") is taxing. He reveals things about myself to me which are not easy to deal with. Is this healthy? It is difficult to tell the difference between dealing with the inevitable things of life, though they maybe difficult, or dealing with problems we construct for ourselves. I would assume the former to be healthy and the latter to be something requiring a "cure".


Am I happy?
No

Am I unhappy?
No

Life goes on...

Happiness is... Lessons Learned from a Musical About Charlie Brown

"Look! I've found a pencil. That little red-headed girl that I like dropped it. It has teeth marks on it. She chews her pencil! She's human. I guess is hasn't been a bad day after all.
(singing) Happiness is finding a pencil"
-from "You're A Good Man Charlie Brown" by Clark Gesner (1963)

Yes, Happiness can be derrived from things. From stuff. Physical inanimate objects can be the source of joy DAMN IT!. This is true for me.

I am happy.
Why?
Because I am now the proud father of a new iPod nano.
Because my sleek cell phone has polyphonic ring tones.
Because I purchased a new outfit from the sale rack at the GAP.

In our current culture, we are constantly bombarded with the ethics of finding happiness only through meaningful relationships or experiences.
I do not disagree with the importance being able to find happiness in those admirable ethereal things, but I think it is also human, and therefore beautiful, to be able to find happiness in those other things. The things we can buy.
Those shining new things.
Those new things that make us look cooler and more stylish.
Those things that are frivolous and luxurious.

Being happy is not a crime. You Will Not Make Me Feel Guilty!

Happiness is buying an iPod...
new funky ring tones...
a sale at the GAP...

Six Degrees of Separation OR the Magic of the Magic Oven

"I read somewhere that everybody on this planet is separated by only six other people. Six degrees of separation between us and everyone else on this planet. The President of the United States, a gondolier in Venice, just fill in the names. I find it extremely comforting that we're so close. I also find it like Chinese water torture, that we're so close because you have to find the right six people to make the right connection... I am bound, you are bound, to everyone on this planet by a trail of six people." -John Guare

I have found the right people. Or at least I think I have. They are at the Magic Oven. That is where I work for just above minimum wage three times a week.
I have the privilege to work with a 47 Year Old Romanian Gypsy, a Sri Lankan who looks like Ron Jeremy and wears an acid wash jean jacket all the time (we call him the Jean Machine), a Musical Theatre loving Phillipino who was educated as an Engineer in China, and a Persian hunk with gorgeous eyes who has a girlfriend in England. My bosses are a husband and wife couple from India and their families live in Paris, California, New Jersey, and Asia. Between my colleagues listed above, and the many others whom I have worked with over the past three years, I think there may be less than six, maybe even four degrees of separation between me and the rest of the world.
Even if that isn't so, I have had an amazing opportunity to see into these unique and varied human lives. All have experiences so far from what I could have imagined growing up in Regina, Saskatchewan.
Everyday is a revelation.
I think many a CEO, World Leader, Artist, and teacher could benefit from seeing the joy, diversity, and community that is the Magic of the Magic Oven.

Eye Opener: A Repsonse to My Wake Up Call

A friend of my sent me an email responding to my latest Blog posts.
It read:

Two things after reading your email:
Don't you mean you missed the Hindi holiday of DWALLI?

Also, if you've had such a pleasant few days I don't understand why you focus on the negative in your blog. Maybe you're focusing on the negative generally in your life. That's a problem.

First: The Hindi Holiday, which my Hindi boss informed me was the Hindi New Year, is called DWALLI

Second: Ultimately, self-awareness, which is what I feel I have articulated in my past Blog posts, is empowering. Being empowered is a positive thing. I would agree to see that focusing on the negative is problematic, but I would say that I am not focusing on the negative, but considering solutions.

PROGRESS!

The World Only Spins Forward.

It is only possible to focus on the negative if you give up.

I am empowered.

I feel good!

Wake Up Call Part II: Bad New Beginnings

I roll over, half asleep, expecting to see I have more time to sleep, this should be true because my alarm has not yet gone off. But instead, I am unpleasantly surprised. I am late. My alarm has failed me. This is a shitty way to start off the month of November.
I have a bizarre desire to start months, weeks, days off right - If it starts out bad, how am I supposed to hope that the rest of it will be any good? On this November 1st, the one the has somehow ruined the other 29 days of the month for me merely because I got up late and missed a class, I headed into work to not only realize that it was the first of the month, but for Hindi, it was the first of their New Year. Thank God I am not Hindi, but still, it would have been nice to start the New Year off, in whatever culture, as best as I can.
I have twenty days until my Birthday. I have failed to get the month of November off to a good start. I have failed to get the Hindi New Year off to a good start. But in twenty days, I will haven taken charge of my own life, so that I start off my twenty third year on this planet as best as is humanly possible.

Wake Up Call

I rolled over, opened my eyes to look at the digital clock next to my bed. My biological ticker usually was good at getting me to wake moments before my alarm was to go off. At the point that my body feels it has slept for too long and that I had other things to do, it usually steps in a takes over. My natural instincts are to wake up just before my alarm forces me to deal with the day. Most days my biological clock jumps the gun and wakes me a little early. Not today... Today all three of my alarm clocks failed, for reasons unknown to me.
This was an alarming alarm I couldn't ignore.
This exemplifies the lack of control or structure there is in my life. I am too eager to go on a whim and pass up the other responsibilities that I have taken on in my life. I am too social. I am too spontaneous. I need to step back, organize what needs to be done, set out the time I am to do it, write all that down the day planner I purchased months ago but haven't used since three days after I got it.
I can do well at school, I can do well at work, I can do well with my art, if I just bare down and put the effort in. I must be as committed to my life as I expect my life to be committed to me: If I want anything out of my time I have to put something into my time.
I will not deny that some of my experiences as a result of flighty spontaneaity have been incredible. But not it is time to take time for these other experiences that I have deemed valuable and worthwhile. If they are worth the while I should give them the while they deserve.
My alarms did not go off this morning, but I definately have heard the wake up call.

Cactus Tree

Presently, I am dating many men.
My sexual/social adventures merely remind me of the fact that my true love has gone.
I have rewritten the lyrics to a song by Joni Mitchell.
The song is called Cactus Tree.

There’s the man who loves the animals
he loves the ones that fly
He watches him on the playground swing
all the while wondering why
Thinking he will soon going flying
away into the night
He clings to show emotion
He jests to hide his feelings
He stares at him for hours
and doesn’t watch the stars
upon the movie screen
While he’s so busy being free
There’s the man from Minnesota
whose lonely being here
He wants and needs some company
and someone close and dear
He wants to be in Canada
and tells him he is it
He is scared but yet he kisses
He calls him almost daily
He wants to start a new life
in a new place to love
and he chooses him
While he’s so busy being free
There’s the man from on the subway
he left his business card
He’s older and he’s tired
and he knows it isn’t hard
to find another lover
it is easy if you try
He is safe and he is sterile
He is patient but not stupid
He really wants to love him
but knows that he is young now
and will be for a while
that’s why he’s so busy being free
There’s the man from the parade days
There’s the pretty doctor too
There’s the one that is a virgin
he’s unsure on what to do
There’s the one he knows
from friends of friends
and many others too
He is busy with his art now
and will be so forever
Will he always be so lonely?
Or will someone someday ask him
for eternity
or will he be forever free
Could he ever answer yes?
Could he have just one?
Or will he roam and never settle
until his time is done
or is he merely waiting
for the one that is away
He wants him to come back soon
He misses him so much now
He’s given him all of his love
which is why his heart is hollow
like a Cactus Tree
and now he knows that he can’t be free
like a Cactus Tree

LOVE ME!

I just want someone to love me. That's not true. I want everyone to love me. And so I have been systemically become a serially dater. I put on my charming disposition and go out several times a week, with as many different men as I have time for, and woo them.
I am not a nice person. I have no intentions of commitment. I woo them until the point they show signs of affection. And then I encounter a problem: They are interested in something more serious, but now that they have proven to me that I am worth their care and interest, I just wish they would disappear and leave me to the other men who don't know they could love me yet.
I don't want to break things off. I don't want to tell them to go. I am not that kind of guy. I don't have the courage to be up front because I fear that if I do so they won't like me anymore. So here I am in dating limbo...
It is not that I conciously want to hurt anyone. If I could have the world love me and not committ to all of them but one, I would be content, but there is a cost to my vanity.
I am vain. I am insecure. I am fragile.
Here I am:
I am dating everyone.
I am committed to know one.
I am not satisfied (nor are any of the men in my life).

I have come to terms with this and it time I move on.
I must have the courage to do what is right.
Please help me!
I need your support. I need your love...
Love me...

The Guilt of Poverty

I live the poor student life. I live pay to cheque and am frequently calling my parents for money. Needless to say, I rarely buy anything for myself outside of the realm of food (I rarely even buy clothes for myself and find most of my furniture on the street)

Here I am: I have just paid my tuition, some credit card debt, and will be receiving monthly rent aid all from student loans. I have an ample sum of cash left over to do with as I please.

What to do... What to do...?

This becomes a problem. Having grown accustomed to my poor student life (this is the first time I have had any left over cash after paying my tuition), and growing up in a lower middle class home, I have never spent more than fifty dollars on myself at any one given time. My cell phone I received for free when I signed a contract, my CD player (which I have applied tape to hold it together) was a Christmas gift, and I got my T.V. and VCR (which I rarely use) for my Birthday. I am, for once, actually in a position to buy myself something beyond my life's basic necessity.

Here I am: Feeling guilty about spending any of this money on myself.

I can afford to purchase a MP3 Player for myself. I am definately in need as my Discman is on it's last legs. But then that money would be gone, and I wouldn't be able to use it to purchase a plethora of other items that I would like to own. I could go to New York City, but then I probably couldn't afford an MP3 Player. I could buy clothes, but then I wouldn't have any money to use to go out and show off my threads on a Saturday night. I could give it to charity, but then I would be in need of that charity's help as soon as I made my donation.

I could save it, but then I would just be putting off this conundrum for another date in the future.

All of these thoughts, all of these choices, all of these options just leave me stressed. There is a responsibility implicit having money. I have the power to do some much. Money equals power and all power has responsibility closely attached. Sometimes I wish I never had this responsibility in the first place, but then Iwould never have an MP3 player.

Here I am: With money to spend and guilt that led me to my computer to write this and avoid spending it.

What to do... What to do...?

Is the only answer to make more money?

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving: I give thanks for all I have. I am fortunate to be able to live in a vibrant, exciting, culturall diverse city, go to a challenging, reputable school, and have loving friends and family.

This Thanksgiving evening, my friends and family are elsewhere. I sit here, alone, in front of my computer in an empty apartment. There is no sound other than that of a passing street cars and the click of the keyboard as I type.
I give thanks for this solitude.

In my solitude, I am not distracted by the fragments of my existence, but I am able to take the time to search my mind and soul and consider my life as a whole. Complete. I can concentrate on my school work and acknowledge how fortunate I am to be passionate about what I am learning and appreciate how fortunate I am to have the opportunity to study at such a great school. I am able to remember the love of my family out West and the Thanksgiving Dinners I had growing up. I think of my family here, my roomates, and the silence that is representative of their absense. They will be home again.

This solitude is only temporary. I am able to be thankful for that too...

I think that only when everything is taken away can you really see it for what it is. It is times like this, times of solitude and reflection, that I am able to see my life for what it is.
It is times like this that I can truly be thankful for what I have.

I give Thanks.

Plague of Purpose

In the current cultural paradigm, we are guided to pursue success in the form of a satisfying, high paying career. I think it is reasonal to desire success manifested as such. (Note: Even here I propose that it is a "reasonable" desire)
I am even more fortunate and have been able to conclude (with as much certainty as anyone can conclude anything) that my career gives me a sense of purpose in this world. Many people are not as fortunate of finding a "purpose" as I have been, especially finding a purpose that conincides with ones career. I feel I should treasure my revelation and not abuse the impetus that gives direction to my life.
Yet, I also desire to travel and study abroad, which ulitmately have a minor, indirect influence upon my career/purpose. I fear that by doing so I will botch the career momentum I have acquired thus far, and be forced to start back at nothing upon my return from a year in Europe. But this maybe be the only time I am able to take advantage of the opportunity of studying abroad. I can come up with no logical or reasonable reason why I should go abroad other than the fact "I want to."
The fact that "I want to" should be sufficient to confirm my decision to study abroad, but in the face of such logical arguments that support career advancements, it seems impulsive, rash, and unappealing.
I conclude that purpose can limit freedom, but only if I let it. Maybe it is the idea of career that is limiting. Purpose is fulfilling, but restricting that purpose into a career is limiting. I am no longer autonomous. I must consider how I relate to a select group of others by the choices I make. These people could hire me someday...
If only I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Ignorance is bliss...
What to do? What to do?

The Best Policy?

In a relationship, When is honesty not the best policy? In terms of the best sex you've ever had, or the inevitable issues that arise from insecurities about ones body, or even regarding that big question "Do You Love Me?",
Can you spare your lover's feelings by avoiding complete honesty?
(Can honesty be incomplete?)

Is it possible to spare the feelings of those we love?

If we avoid honesty, there is the risk of being found out. And if we are, the attempt to spare our lover's feelings has failed. We hurt our lover not only by being discovered to be dishonest, but the revelation that we attempted to hide from them to keep from hurting them will hurt them as well. But what if we do get away with our avoidance of honesty?

If we are sparing the feelings of our lover, is dishonesty the best policy if and only if there is no chance of being found out?

Is there a difference between being dishonest, not completely honest, and/or avoiding honesty?

Is true love what we share when feelings don't need to be spared and honesty is the best/only option?

Or should those ask questions like "Do I look fat in this?" been punished by having their feelings hurt by an honest response?

Is it a hard a fast rule that Honesty is the best policy?

Where Have All The Pilgrims Gone?

Pilgrimage: a person who travels to a holy place for religious reasons.

There are many holy places in the world. I do not know all the places that for me are holy. I do not know of any "religious" reason why I would do anything. But I feel it is necessary for me to go on a pilgrimage of sorts.

I would suppose that the purpose of a pilgrimage is to attain either some sort of spiritual enlightenment or cleansing. Because I am not sure of any specific religious associations for myself, the purpose of a pilgrimage is elusive. Yet, the prospect of travelling to some place that I would deem "holy" upon visiting to attain some sort of spiritual cleansing or enlightenment seems necessary and therefore important.

In the past I have considered going to the theatre a sort of pilgrimage. A journey we take for spiritual purposes. I have taken many theatrical pilgrimages, but I think it is time for something more of the world itself, instead of artistic recreations.

The questions is:
Where to go?

The Sweet Smell of Success?

Some people believe that human attraction is soley based on pheromones. Oxford dictionary defines pheromones as a chemical substance released by an animal and causing a response in other animals. If it is true that sexually attraction is based on smell, then I may have discovered the sweet smell of success.
I assert there is a natural occurring scent to effortlessness. If one does not put effort into attracting others, and is comfortable with this lack of effort, then their bodies naturally produce that specific pheromone that succeeds in bringing on some lovin'.
I have often headed out to the bar on a Saturday night, dressed my best, looking for love, but inevitably fail to find it. I have heard of similar complaints from both men and women alike. It always seems that as soon as you stop looking, and are not aware that you have actively stopped looking, love comes along.
Like today on the subway for instance. After spending a lazy low-key afternoon out with a friend, I was making my way to work. I had just thrown on a t-shirt and shorts when leaving the house. Sitting on the subway platform, a gentlemen walks by. I see him see me, but make nothing of it. The train arrives and I make my way on and find a seat and continue reading. Several stops later, someone drops a business card like a bookmark in the center of my book. I look up and see that same boy (who was attractive I confess) walking out the door of the train. I look at the card and low and behold it has a picture of him on it, along with his phone number and email address on oneside, and a note on the other. The note reads:

You're cute. We should go out for coffee.
No expectations - just good conversation.
Yours truly,
Peter

I am extremely flattered, especially because this was all so unexpected. And that is the key. Expect nothing.
Relax.
We have no control over our own pheromones nor the pheromones of others.
Let your body do it's work.
Let love happen on it's own
What is the other option? To stress out over it.
There are better things to do. And once you start doing them, love will follow it's nose.

Being Young and In Love

It is a plague to be young and in love.

Our current social paradigm has taught us that the next logical step of being in love is to proceed to create a life with that person that you love - you are expected to "settle down" once you've found your "true love". Youth in itself is the anti-thesis of "settling". Both in the sense of settling as a) to accept something though it may not be the ideal or b) to calm or quiet ones life - to stop moving. Youth implies the adventure of exploring the world and oneself. Someone who is young and in love finds themselves in an unavoidable paradox - to settle with/for your "true love" and to continue pursuing the adventure of life. The result of this paradox is many broken hearts, disappointments, and betrayals. I am young and acknowledge the perils of this paradox yet it is within me to pursue my "true love".

How can I resolve this paradox?

I propose that I can find true love.
True Love is the adventure of life that you share with another person.

Don't Settle.

Live.

Love.

Great Expectations

"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into the Kingdom of Heaven" Matthew 19:24


"If I had a million dollars, I'd buy your love." The Barenaked Ladies

I want to win the lottery. I do not want to worry about money. I want freedom from financial constraints and limitations. But apparently, if my dreams come true, I won't be hanging out with J.C. or GOD after I am done with this world.
My lover told me that if I won millions he would not return from a year abroad to be with me and my wealth. What put me off by this rejection, is that I would never ask him to do so. He needs to live his life and he needs the freedom to so. No money will make me ever want to change that.
Some have asserted that "Money is evil". I can't agree. What money, or the lack their of, does to people can be evil. I am glad that, in theory, my lover and I are free from the temptation to think that money can solve all of life's problems. I believe it is a human need to want and desire love. Money can't buy you love. Money can't buy your way to heaven.
Money isn't evil, yet it still does not have a place in GOD's crib. Here is the loop hole: Spend your money. Use it to make art. Use it to buy art. Take your lover out for dinner. Give to a charity. Buy your mom a card to tell her how much you love her. Spend, spend, spend. So by the time you are on your death paid, you won't have a cent. Just hope that GOD accepts the wealth you acquire by enjoying the riches of the world he created for us.

So You Think You Can Dance?

I am addicted to the new Reality TV contest show "So You Think You Can Dance". One of the choreographers hired to set a dance on a pair of contestants remarked that "dancing is an extension of being human". After thoughtful consideration, I believe this to not only be true, but be an important sentiment for everyone who ever shook their booty for themselves and God in the comfort of their bedroom.
To be human requires a body. Bodies come in all shapes and sizes and colours. All bodies have a unique physiology. I am neither a doctor nor a scientist, but I believe it is true that a body in stasis is not a healthy body. Be in through exercise or the rise and fall of the chest through breath, movement is a necessary requirement for life.
The requirement of movement for life, combined with an artistic and creative need for expression brings joy to my heart, not just as an audience, but as gay kid dancing at night clubs, a theatre performer, and even a guy who busts his groove in the comfort of his own home. I know people like me. I know there are those out in the world who know how I feel. We want to move. We need to dance. Movement is joyous. Dance is living.
Yes I think I can dance.
I know I can dance, because I am alive.
For all the people out there, that can't help but bob their head along with the music, no matter how you look or how you move, I think you can dance too.
I know you can dance.
Be Alive.
Love Life.
Dance.

Playboys of the Western World

We drove in one of these







(a Mustang Convertible) through wine country here














(The Niagara Region on Ontario)

The car was snazzy: soft top two door convertible with a feature that turned up the music the faster the car went. We travelled from vineyard to vineyard tasting wines (I feel I am somewhat of a expert after tasting so many different wines in such little time). After seeing a show at the world reknowned Shaw Festival, we drove into the tourist den of Niagara Falls to see if there would be any open rooms at an inn, hotel, or if tragedy was to befall us, even a motel. Lucky, one of the three attractive gentlemen on this sojourn ran into the chi chi Fallsview Casino and Hotel (here)















to see if they could provide us with accomodation. With his charm and good looks he secured us an eight hundred dollar suite for one hundred and fifty dollars. Before going to bed we indulged ourselves at the Casino and played the part of three stylish high rollers. We were Playboys of the Western World! Waking next morning, we realized that in the light of day, the view from our hotel looked right over to the mists of the Horseshoe Falls.











We continues with our carefree holiday and drove through the rolling vineyards tasting wine and being fabulous. Seeing what there is to be seen and being seen seeing it.

It was a weekend of excess. Money spent on frivolous things like gambling and an unnecessarily styish automobile (is anything unnecessarily stylish though). Music so loud we wanted the kids on the street dancing with us (Children like the song Hollaback Girl). An excessive amount of sipping wine that succeeded in making me inebriated (Even though it was a wine tasting tour, after awhile it all tasted the same). Even the Falls are excessively powerful and stunning.

It feels as if I had spent an excessive amount of time and energy on our bender. I am exhausted. I can’t remember what it is to live an ordinary day. Yet with all that I spent on this holiday (time, energy, money), I feel full and alive with an experience that I had only dreamed of before I left my ho-hum job at three o’clock on a Friday afternoon.

Dolly Parton!

Dolly Parton is Fabulous. I say "Fabulous" in the gay sense of the word; she is camp, outrageous, larger than life, and entertaining. First off, she has an accent - THE ACCENT. She actually said "Gee-tar" and "thee-ay-ter". I thought that the southern drawl was a stereotype and that it was subtler and less offensive. Not on Dolly! Secondly, she called the Jolene (the girl that tried to steal her husband from the song of the same name) a "Shameless Hussy!. Thirdly, she is very funny. For instance, whenever she talked on stage, she had a cough. "I am singing from my diaphram," she says to the audience," with this cough, maybe I should be talking from my I. U. D." She is wonderfully wholesome, innocent without being naive, and a joy to watch. More on Dolly later!

The Story of A Dying Man

He loves to share stories of his year abroad all the time. I appreciate his passion and excitement, but for whatever reason(maybe you can have too much of a good thing...) , I have little appreciation for his descriptions of the Colliseum in Rome, or Night Clubs in London, or the canals of Amsterdam. He has most recently left to spend a week in San Francisco before spending a year in Korea. The stories will continue.
My house guest shared a story of an evening at work at the Emergency room at the local hospital. "A young black man was shot in gang violence and was laying on an operating table dying," he says to me at breakfast. "He was wearing nice new Nike shoes and had his cell phone clipped to his belt. He looked like he was trying to look really good and he did. But none of that matters when you're dying.."
These are the stories that move me. Something profoundly human. Something about dying. Something about living. Anyone can go to Rome or Seoul, but few people watch a young man die while looking his best. Maybe these stories are the ones that especially move me because I wouldn't want to be in the position of my house guest. I can be privy to something I would never be in the position to, or would even want to, ever experience. Tell me a story. But if it is something I want to personally experience, tell me what you have to say, but I would rather experience it myself. If you want to move me by your words, tell me about a journey you've taken without even leaving the place you call home.

California

The diaster of New Orleans is tragic. New Orleans, with an entrenched history of Mardi Gras, the French Quarter, and Creole culture is gone as we know it. In time the city maybe rebuilt, but the years of history and culture can never be salvaged. It just goes to show how fragile civilization can be. The wrath of Mother Nature can topple years and years of human work and effort in a mere day.

The New Orleans tragedy has inspired me. I want to go to California.

California lies on the San Andres Fault. It is only a matter of time until an earthquake shifts the fault and the entirety of the West Coast will be destoryed. Much like New Orleans, California, with the history of the film industry, the majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge, and beaches galore, will be gone. I want to see it while I can.

The Government of the United States spends billions on a potentail threat from Iraq while they spend very little on preventing very real threats from Mother Nature. Now, both New Orleans and Baghdad will never be the same. Things of history are lost forever. I hope that the President of the U.S acknowledges this crisison before it is too late for California.

I want to walk on the Walk of Fame before everything is washed away.

Hippy Dippy Groovy Love

"Something tragic happened this morning", my house guest says to me after waking me from sleeping in, "I went to get a bowl of cereal and all the cereal I bought was gone. I just bought it yesterday!"
I explain to him that, whenever anyone brings anything into my home, it becomes communal property. Food, furniture, clothes, and even some toiletries belong to all the inhabitants of the apartment where I reside.
Even personal space and privacy are shared between me and my three other room mates. There are three bedrooms divided by four of us. Of course we describe one room as being "My room", and the other as "{Erica's} Room", and the other as "{Sandra's} room" merely because our respective beds, dressers, and shelves furnish the rooms. But other than our furniture claiming the space, we can hardly stake ownership of any room in the house.
For instance, for the past three weeks my house guest has been sleeping in my bed in "My room". Which means that there are now five people sharing three beds. So I have often squatted in the other too bedrooms available (sleeping next to another of my room mates). If we define one's bedroom as where one sleeps, then I either do not have a bedroom or I have three.
We see each other naked often. Between showering and dressing (we also share clothes), just lazing about for the day, or just because it's too damn hot, my home is what some would consider to be a "naked house".
Bathroom space and time is also shared. It is very rare that the four of us ever lock the door. We've plucked, shaved, styled, and manicured while sharing the bathroom space with a room another. We have showered together, and even brushed our teeth while another took a shit. Admittedly we aren't exactly privy to each other's sexual lives, but when we need to claim a space for a roll in the hay we are straighforward and blunt. "I don't know how to say this, but I am going to your room (where the computer is) to masturbate, so don't come in for a sec," my room mate confesses to me on a Saturday afternoon. "I'm coming in", a room mate yells from behind my door, "so stop touching yourself!". Needless to say we are all very open with our personal lives and possession.
Our "Naked, hippy, commune" (as one of my room mates call it) is the single best protest against our capitalist consumer society that I can think of. Ownership is completely overlooked. "What is mine is your and what is yours is mine" is the apartment's mantra. And this mantra does not make special exceptions for any special (house) guests.
Because we don't "own" or "possess" anything, or maybe it would be better to say that because we "Own" and "Posess" everything, we rarely fight. We all accept the rules of the land and we have learned to love it. And because of this unique arrangement, my room mates and I have developed a family of sorts, with all of us playing father, mother, brother, and sister at different points in our time together. We share with each other the intimate personal details of our lives. So, like everything else in the apartment, my love is your love and your love is my love. Multiply that love by four, and counting our house guest (who is getting used to the situation three weeks in to his four week stay) making it five, that's alot of hippy dippy groovy love.

I Am Single Again Damn It!

Fuck them all (I think "Fuck them all" maybe to hostile. Damn Them! feels excessively offensive as well. Maybe Pshhhah would be best) Psshhhhaah, I say to them.
I am attractive.
I am stylish.
I am intelligent.
I am interesting, damn it! (The "damn" was appropriate in this case.)
Why would they not want to love me?
I am not concerned with their shallow, selfish reasons for not being into me.
I hate that new book, "He's Just Not That Into You". I hate it because I don't care why they aren't into me. If they aren't into me, why would I want to read about their feeble reasons for not finding me irristible.
I am irristible!
I'm single because no one else meets the high standard required for being my lover.
In this case, nothing (no one) is better than something (some one).
I am enough for me!
I know that now...

My Love Is Gone

My lover has left. He is going abroad. For enough time that we can no longer be together.
Now we are both able to experience all that we could not while in the confines of our relationship.
We can have a taste of the forbidden fruit. We can be where the grass seems to be greener.
This is a mixed blessing. Being in love is the greatest gift of all and we have given it up for the hopes of something more. Only time will reveal the extent of our sacrifice.
Each experience beyong this moment gives us greater perspective on our past.
We are free from the obligations of love for each other.
Is freedom the greatest human condition?

Still Alive...

I am tired of hearing pseudo-existential, philosophical arguments about how nothing has meaning in this world, how everything is a construction, how nothing is true, how life has no purpose, how words are hollow, how nothing is real, how nothing matters.
If nothing matters to you, then I don't matter to you.
I would rather spend time with someone who thinks I mean something.
Why choose a world, a life, a word that has no meaning (Meaningless in itself is a meaning?)?
Choose a life that means something.
Choose a world that means something.
Choose words that mean something.
Have faith that it matters.
Because if it doesn't matter to you, what's the point?
If there's no point, do away with yourself.
If you don't have the courage to do away with yourself, I would venture to say that things in this world do matter to you.
Then why the pseudo-existential bullshit?
The world matters Your existence matters.
That's why you're still alive.

I HATE THE WORLD!

Sometimes I hate the world in the morning. Nothing pleases me. Everything irks me. I hate myself. Which irks me even more. I think of everyone in my life and I hate them too. Which makes me hate me more. Which irks me even more. Sometimes I hate the world in the morning.
But then I leave my house...
And no one notices me
(FUCK YOU! Notice me now before I leave you forever. I will be reknowned and infamous one day and you will wish you stopped me on the street for an autograph! Even if I hate me right now, YOU should love me. Love ME damn it!).
And I get hungry cause I haven't eaten, so I stop for a doughnut on my way to where ever I'm going. (Doughnuts always taste good first thing in the morning.)
And I realize it isn't that bad.
Someone will call me eventually. I have a doughnut. And soon it will be noon.
I only seem to hate the world in the morning.

Before I Read This Poem...

The Assignment: To create a piece of theatre out of a collage of poetry.
The Premise: A young man tries to confess his love to a girl he has admired from afar.

Before I Read This Poem

(The Young Man stands with a piece of paper in his hand. He unfolds the piece of paper. Looks at it. Looks at the girl. Looks back at the piece of paper and then re-folds the piece of paper.)

Before I read this poem, I would like to tell you some
things
About Myself
I know - I’m like you
I want to hear a poem
I want to say "yes" at the end
because I am sick of saying "so"
I want to see the thirst
inside the syllables
I want to touch the fire
in the sound
I want to learn something I didn’t know

I want to hear a poem
where ideas kiss similies so deeply that metaphors get jealous
I’m going to crumple this word
I’m going to twist it
yes
It’s too smooth
I want to hear a poem
I want to feel a poem
I want to taste a poem

(The Young Man's passion grows. He is almost yelling.)

Realizing
Each moment is history
Each moment is passion
Each action is meaning

(The Young man is embarassed. He unfolds the paper again.
Looks at it. Then speaks to the girl)

Before I read this poem, I want to tell you some
things
About Myself
Sometimes we don’t understand poets
They can’t have normal conversations
Without slipping into flowery language
or turning everything into a metaphor
The fact is too often the poet’s imagination
is overactive
We admit word smith’s aren’t
so bad when push comes to shove
But a lot of poets are like awkward cunnilingus
They tend to beat around the bush
it’s just that getting caught with your similies
exposed can be totally embarrassing
We aren’t opposed to all metaphors
or turning everything into a metaphor

(The Young Man is embarassed again. He looks to the piece of paper. Then speaks to the girl.)

Before I read this poem, I would like to tell you some
things
This is the first love poem I have ever written
Maybe you will forget about it by the time you wake up
tomorrow

(The Young Man is frustrated and exasperated. He folds the piece of paper again.)

Before I read this poem, I would like to tell you some
things
I know - I’m like you
I can’t stand this confessional poetry crap
My life isn’t a poem
And you still don’t know me
and I still don’t know myself
So if you want your poems to stay fresh
and clean (clean)
sometimes its better to just say
what you mean

(The Young Man rips up the piece of paper.)

Sometimes
Poetry isn’t Enough

(The Young Man watches the pieces of the poem float to the ground. He looks to the girl)

I fell in Love with you.

When the Sky Goes Black...

When the sky goes black
And storms start to rage
I think that the world is ending.

Which reminds me I am alive.

I like when the sky goes black.

Zen and the Art of Looking for Love

I have to learn to be single.

I heard once in a musical that "You can't love another till you love yourself". The thing is I don't think I don't "love" myself. I think I am worthy of love. But I still am a "relationship" guy - I am always either in a relationship or am looking for one.

Is this a problem?

My intuition tells me "yes!", but I don't seem to have any evidence to support my definitive answer. It's just a gut feeling. I should listen to my gut, right?

So if it is the case that I should learn to be single, then why is that the case?

I don't mind spending time on my own. I don't fell dependent on a lover. I can make it through on my own. What's the problem?

In my defence, if I love to be in love, if I love to have someone there for me, if I love the company, then why not want to be in a relationship?

I think it comes down to ZEN AND THE ART OF LOOKING FOR LOVE. This philosophy (which I am in the process of developing) espouses the view that one must live their life for themselves, free of any need or desire of another, free of any expectation or obligation to or from another, until the individual finds themselves crossing paths with another with whom they have developed an intimate relationship that merges their lives, needs, desires, hopes, and dreams together.

My desire is like an elephant. It has the capacity to be a gentle creature at the command of his master, but if provoked has the power to trample his loving master and go on a destructive rampage.

If I could be a ZEN Master then it would be like this photo:

Finding peace upon the calm the elephant.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT SEX

Someone commented that my Blog was far too concerned with sex.

THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT SEX.

There you go!

Mother

I have a good mother. She loves me more than anyone I know. Her love is a selfless love. Her love is pure. She believes in me. She thinks I will do great things in my lifetime. She wants the best for me. I cry to think of her.

I love my mother.

My mother loves me.

If anything is true, it is this.

Sunday Afternoons

Let me wake up to a sunny afternoon after sleeping in just enough but not too much.
Let me roll out of bed, shower, throw on the most comfy cut off jean shorts and a t-shirt.
Let me go for Brunch with friends and family and eat French toast and homefries.
Let me watch episodes of Sex in the City and laugh and converse about love, life, sex, and existence.
Let me drink Iced tea and go for ice cream to pass the time.
Let me walk down the street to the bookstore ever so slowly.
Let me do nothing.
Let me be lazy without being guilty.
Let me relax.
Let me let go of my weekly worries.
Let me know what I want and be happy wanting it.
Let me have time for myself.
Let me have the perfect Sunday Afternoon.

Lists

Reasons Lists Are Good
- They help me organize my life
- They help me remember things
- I feel a sense of accomplishment when I cross something off my list of things to do
- I make them at work to help pass the time.

My Favorite Kinds of Lists
- A List of Things to Do
- A List of My Favorite Songs, Books, or Movies
- A List of Movies I should Watch
- A List of Books I should Read
- A List of Songs I want to Listen to
- A List of Potential Baby Names

* I also like making a Budget for myself.

I would recommend making both Lists and Budgets.
There is something about taking it from your mind and putting it in words.

Is this why I blog?

I am...

I am an Uncle.

Choose Choice

* I wrote this months ago, before I began blogging. I would like to share it with you, despite how it may be out of date with my current situation. I think it still provokes interesting questions.

I am single again and free of the confines of monogamy. Indulging in my new found freedom, I consider the options before me: boyfriend, fuck buddy, summer fling, husband hunting, one night stand, or even to forget love and sex for awhile and be on my own.
With the wide range of choices available, I can’t seem to decide what I want. Do I want to pursue a committed relationship so soon? Then I wouldn’t be able to have the fun of making out on the dance floor with a nameless hottie. Should I find a fuck buddy to keep me sexually satisfied but free of emotional attachment? It seems that ever since coming out I just leap from man to man, so maybe it would be best to be on my own for a change. The amount of options disable me from making a decision. If I choose one option, then I am missing out on all the others.
Coming from the prairies, the plethora of choice the city offers is daunting. Both my brothers, who stayed in Saskatchewan, married before the age of twenty three. The dating scene seems simpler there. There are less options and so people are more open to find happiness with the lovers they can see a potential future with. In the prairies where everyone seems to know everyone, there isn’t the allure of "what’s behind door number three" to tempt potential lovers from running off.
It’s like television. People in the prairies don’t have cable and the people in the city have digital satellite. The people in the city channel surf, but it takes them so long to get through all the channels, that by the time they have scanned everything to offer, the new shows have started. While the people in the prairies take a couple seconds to go through the channels offered, make their choice, and enjoy the program. I am jealous of the simplicity the prairie life has to offer.
Either way, a choice must be made.
As I sit here and write this, the most available option is to find a man off the internet. I can test the pool of available lovers by scanning the profiles of the local chat room to help me decide what to do. My profile pic of me in sexy undies immediately brings the attention of many gentlemen. There is: 19, 5'10'’ 145lbs, Just checking things out. Or: 36, have cam, white top, 6', 185, looking for slim twinky bottoms. Or: hot masculine, muscled, versatile bottom downtown, 5'9'’ 160, 32w 42c, brown hair green eyes, looking for white/latin top. So depending if I choose to find a lover, fuck buddy, boyfriend etc... or not, there are a vast amount of men to choose from out there. Everywhere I turn, I am bombarded with the pressures of a multitude of choices.
I am tempted just to decide not to decide. That is, decide to be on my own instead of enduring the rigourous process of finding someone sexually, emotionally, and/or spiritually compatible. The confines of monogamy don’t seem so stifling from this perspective.
Then the thought occurs to me. I can decide not to be on my own and also not to go hunting for a new man in my life. Maybe it’s best to wait, and see what comes to me. I decide to take the Zen approach to finding love and happiness. And after all, how do you know what you want until you’ve had it?

Everyone Has A Story

I attended a party last night. I was there with people I thought I knew. I guess I do know them, but there is so much to know about someone. I keep learning that everyone has a story. There is always something we don't know about the people we spend time with. That's why I want to hear a story. Tell me something I don't know.
At first I wanted to share these stories with you. About these people I call friends.

But then, I think no. You have your own friends.
Ask them to tell you a story.

Learn something about someone you care about.

Learn something that you didn't know about someone who you think you know well.

Learn something that matters.

Remember AIDS?

Last night my ex and I walked past the AIDS Memorial on our way home for the bar. Thousands of names of the dead are displayed on plaques that are posted on tombstone like monuments that follow a path in this small city park. My ex and I followed from the first plaque at the beginning of the path with the names of those who died in 1983. We follow the path.. 1984. 1985. The lists get longer. 1991. 1992. More and more names flood the plaques. So many names they resort to using a smaller font to make room for them all. 1998. 1999. Some names have nicknames like "madame" beside them. Some are merely first names. 2001. 2002. There are the end of the path stands a gentleman. He has been watching us the whole way. As soon as he sees us see him. He turns slightly to the, feigning an attempt at being discrete. And he unzips his pants and smiles at us.

He wants to fuck. 2005

Does he remember AIDS?

Swiss Chalet?

What makes Swiss Chalet swiss?
What is swiss about roasted chicken?
Roasted chicken is a common entree in many different cultures is it not?

I guess it must be that "Chalet Sauce".

What the fuck is that stuff anyway?

Someone I Want to Have Sex With

To accompany my latest Post.

Obsessed With Sex?

I think about sex all the time. I want to have sex with many people. People I know. People I don't know.
I am not sexually satisfied.
I have sex about three times a week presently, but this is not sufficient.
I want to have sex with men. With many men. At the same time.
I look for it on the street. At the bar. Online. With my exes. With my friends.
Despite my desire, I am not ready to sleep just with anyone. And not just under any circumstances.
The time, place, and person all have to feel "right" (whatever that means).
It is the tension between my obsession for finding sexual satisfaction and the need for the right elements all to be in place that is the soruce of my angst.
I just want to fuck and be fucked.
Other than a moment of orgasmic bliss (which isn't always a guarantee), sex adds little to my life.
Why do I feel I need it so bad?

I Just Want To Say "YES!"

I am a "social butterfly". I have managed to accrue many different sorts of people that I would call my friends. This often is the source of tension, guilt, and disappointment.
Some friends are not compatible with others. Some are good one on one and some are good in groups. Some are good for Monday afternoons and some are more suited to sharing a Saturday night out dancing. Some are once a week friends and some are once a month friends.
The issue is not all my friends can appreciate this.
They call and ask if I want to hang out or whatever but I can't always say yes. I am a busy man. I have many friends and have obligations to them. I have a job. I have a career in the theatre. I need time to myself. Yet, some friends can not hide their disappointment or annoyance with my inability to make the time to spend with them. This tension forces me to feel guilty. I don't like feeling guilty.
I just want to spend time with all the great people in my life.
But it is just not possible.
Dear Friends: Please understand this.

Addicted to Coke

Work was tough. I needed something to help cope. I didn't know what could help me get through.

So I drank a can of coke.

Am I addicted?

All signs point to yes.







Killer Cola Indeed!

Chameleon?

I often see people on the street and I am unable to get their attention. Why don't they recognize me? I wave and my familiar face does not pull them out of the fierce rat race on the streets. All I want is to say hello. Sometimes I think it's because I wear glasses. Sorta like a Clark Kent syndrome. They only know me with my glasses and so when I am sporting contacts they do know it is me, or the other way around.
Am I a chameleon who just blends into the world?
or
Do I just having many physical identities that are inconsistent and therefore never familiar?
Am I too familiar and am lost in the crowd
or
Am I not familiar at all?
Could you tell if someone else somehow posted an entry on my blog based on writing style and/or content?
Who am I?
How am I who I am?
(This got too deep and too profound too quickly)

Saturday Night

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night! (ala Bay City Rollers)

alas, if my Saturday night was as good as that song is, I wouldn't be writing this sitting alone in my bedroom.

Where is love?

Maybe I like being single better anyway...

Liza Minelli is My Hero

When I crash and burn from fame and success, I want to do it like Liza.
Sometimes I wonder if she is oblivious to how everyone thinks she is positively campy and ridiculous.
Listen to her sign New York, New York with Pavarotti. She cheers him on.
"Go Luciano Go", she yells.
"Just keep singing it, just keep winging it", she sings to him.
I wonder if she is one of those people that is drunk all the time. I think so...
Even if she does know, she just keeps on going on doing what she's doing and that takes guts.
Go Liza Go!

Ramblings of a Love Life Continue Part Two

Is the need for love and desire part of being human or just something to help us pass the time?

Ramblings of a Love Life Continue

My ex from London is back. I want to have sex with him because it is hot. Maybe tomorrow...

My date was nice. "Nice" in the mediocre sense of the word. It wasn't terribly romantic, or terribly fun, or terribly interesting, or terribly terrible. It wasn't anything really, just nice.
We could be friends or we could be lovers. Only time and another date will tell. I just hope the next date is more than "Nice".

I miss my ex (the one taking a tour of Montreal and New York City). Do I just want to be loved?

I will never see that beautiful janitor again.

Woe is me?
(Despite my woe I am actually quite happy)

Addicted to Coke

I think I am addicted to Coca Cola.
I drink it to quench my thirst.
I have made a pact with my friend to stop.
I will not drink coke for the Month of August.
Is this possible?

Ramblings of a Love Life

I have a cruch on the Starbucks boy because he has large beautiful eyes.

I have a date with a boy (with whom I share a name) tonight at ten thirty.

My ex keeps text messaging me.
Example:
Apparently I am more curious about you then New York City.

I had bad anonymous sex with an online trick this afternoon.
Will my date be just as bad (without the orgasm)?

I would like my other ex to return from London so I can have a for-sure good lay.

Where is love?

Anonymous Sex Epilogue

He came over.
I came. He did not.
He was not as attractive as I thought, but he turned me on. Sorta.
It was quick.
It was bad.
Awkward.
Embarassing.

Anonymous sex doesn't work for me.

Why do I keep inviting blokes over then?

Cause I want to get laid.

Woe is me!

Anonymous Sex

Today, I am horny.
Today I feel I am looking good...

Today, I went online to a chat room and found someone who is willing to come to my apartment and have sex with me.

He is attractive. Tall, fit, masculine. I think he will turn me on.

We will see if he does...

I am nervous.

Why? He has already agreed to come over. I am not rejected.
Why am I nervous then?

Another adventure and another Blog Post.

I just hope that the sex is good.

A PLEA FROM A BLOGGER!

Dear Strangers:

Comment on my Posts.
PLEASE!
This is one case in which I do care what Strangers think.

Share Your Thoughts, Feelings, and Opinions

PLEASE!

Yours Truly,
The Bedroom Prince

This is Not Necessary

There was a note on a automatic sliding door.
"CAUTION: Sliding Door."

Why caution for a sliding door?
It slides from side to side. It is difficult to get hit by it.
It's automatic so it is difficult to run into it.
If you were to run into it, it would be like running into a window.
Why no "CAUTION: Window"'s then?
Regular doors are more dangerous. It is very easy to get smacked by a regular door.
Why no" CAUTION: Regular Door"'S then?

Maybe it is cautioning stopping have way through and getting shmucked by the closing doors. Would the sensors know you are there?
You would have to be pretty stupid for that to happen though.

I just think it's excessive.
The only thing more excessive than that is me blogging about it.

Ignore this blog!

The Paradox?

He is beautiful.
I desire him.
I do not know him.
This is the first time I have seen him.
But from one glance I know...

He is beautiful.

And he's a janitor.

Is this a paradox?

Maybe if I call him a caretaker. Or a custodial engineer.
No. The truth is he cleans up after us.

This does not seem right.
Such beauty should never have any connection to a toilet bowl.

"Your beauty is enough!," I shout in my head.

"Stop what you are doing.
You should be a slave to nothing.
You are too beautiful.
You must be free"

My inner-rant is futile.
His beauty is only enough for me.
His beauty means nothing to the world.

sigh....

I Haven't Been Here Before (Part I)

There seem to be infinite worlds in this metropolis. I continue to find myself on the way from here to there and stop and realize "This place is new to me. I have lived in this city for over two years and not once in that time have I ever been here before."

This is another tale of the undiscoverd wonders of out vast urban landscape.

It is raining and I am at the mall downtown. I have a rehearsal in an hour several blocks away. I opt for the underground system to get to where I need to be. There is a complex set of halls underground in the downtown core where I live which will help me get to where I'm going while avoiding getting wet from the rain. Off I go....

The underground system reveals an unknown world to me. Stylish, yet unnaturally lit halls lined with marble and granite. It is impeccably clean and almost sterile. Time does not seem to pass under the skyscraping towers: You can not see the light of day here. Men in suits pass on their way out of their offices heading home to work. (I am attracted to men in suits. I am glad I have found this corner the urban landscape.) This world is much different than my dillapitated apartment in the artist-student community in which I live.

I have lost all sense of direction. I must use the map to guide me from the lower levels of one giant tower to another. The colours of granite change from gleaming white to rich red to sparkling silver-flecked gray. This is a place of money and wealth. Even the floors are expensive. I look left and then right trying to figure which route to follow. The paths seem to go on forever. This is a place of bigger, longer, faster, harder. It is a place of excess. The shops and food vendors are closing their doors even though it is only shortly after five. This is a place where making money is the main concern.

This is a new world to me. It has it's attractions (men in suits) and I can sense it has it's flaws (the pursuit of wealth?).

But best of all, I haven't been here before.

I Don't Owe You Anything!

I like being anonymous.
Online I can be anonymous.
I do not show my face.
I do not share my name.
I can appear and disappear at a whim.
I do not owe anyone anything.
I do not owe you the truth.
I do not know you.
You do not know me.
We are free from any obligation.

Yet
I share with you.
I do blog.
But it doesn't have to be good.

I don't owe you anything!

WHERE ARE THE GAY BLOGGERS!?!?!?!

HELLLLLLOOOOOOOOOO!
ARE YOU THERE?
GAY BLOGGER?
IT'S COOL.
I HAVE A BLOG AND AM A HOMOSEXUAL.
(There must be others out there like me)
WHERE ARE YOU?
Where are you?

Late Night Calls From A Friend?

"Hey. Did I wake you?", he asks.

It is two am. My ex-boyfriend is calling from Montreal.

"No. I was spending quality time with Harry."

"Harry?"

"Harry Potter and the elusive Half-Blood Prince."

"Oh", is all he is able to say.

I broke up with him a week and a half ago. He is spending a week touring Ottawa, Montreal, and New York with an old boyfriend he dated while studying abroad a year and a half ago. His apparent need to holiday with his European ex was one of many reasons I felt our relationship needed to end.

"How are you?", I ask.

"I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news I can't find someone who wants to touch my penis and the good news is I can't find someone to touch my penis."

It is Pride in Montreal. I can appreciate his desire to have some boy "touch his penis" during the most festive time of year for gay men.

" I don't feel attractive. I have tried everything to pick up, but no one is interested. Then I look at {European Ex} and notice that he's attractive and that boys are interested in touching his penis. And even though I could touch his penis, I don't want to. I want someone to want to touch my penis. And what's worse is that I am getting so upset over something as trivial as trying to find a random fuck in a random bar."

I can't deny that I am pleased that he has lost interest in the ex boyfriend. The same ex that was a point of contention between us in the last days of our relationship.

Yet, I find it odd, but comfortable that it was me he turned to to express his disappointment with himself and his gay lifestyle. It is unusual to call an exboyfriend about the woes of finding random sex.

"And all I could do was think of calling you. I miss you."

I can't deny that I am pleased that he misses me.

I can't deny that I am satisfied by the idea that he still loves me.

"I don't know what to do with my life. I need to move forward but I don't know how. And here I am getting upset by not being able to find someone to touch my penis. I just want someone to want my penis in their mouth. And then there's you. It scares me to think that you are greatest man that I will ever have in my life. I am not prepared for you to be the one. I will feel like I am missing out somehow. I wish I was there to hold you."

I can't deny that I am pleased by his rant.

We continue for an hour longer. He goes on about the existential crisis of being a young gay man: the desire to be desired but the acknowledgment of how superficial that desire is. It seems all very Oscar Wilde-esque to me. I offer as much support as I can. I, being a young gay man, have encountered this existential crisis as well. But, as we are both implicitly aware, all he is looking to do is rant, and so for the most part I just let him go on the rant.

We don't want to say goodbye. We like each other's company. I suppose he wants my company because he's still in love with me. I want his company because I want to be loved.

Finally we have exhausted the moment and say goodbye in soft hushed romantic tones.

I consider the events of the previous night while at work today. My ex decided that I was the person he would like rant to about the angst of being a young gay man. This is a common rant I hear from gay friends, not ex lovers.
Why should I, his ex lover, care that he isn't able to find a new lover?

I would have never thought it would turn out like this, but I believe that my ex and I are becoming friends.

I don't know if I am prepared for this.

Want (Part II)

Why do you stop wanting something once you have it?
It would be much cooler to keep wanting it and keep satisfying your desire for it by realizing you have it over and over again. Sorta like having the three second memory of a goldfish. Or it would be much cooler if the feeling of wanting sorta lingered for a long time and you would always remember how happy you are to have what you want.
I want to write better Blog Posts!

Want (Part I)

I want a new job. I want to win the lottery. I want to fuck. I want to be fucked. I want pancakes and maple syrup. I want to go shopping for myself. I want to see my parents. I want to write a great play. I want my great play to get produced. I want people to see my great play.
I want a poster for my bedroom wall. I want to go to Spain, Paris, Rome, Venice, London, Bejing, Quebec City, New York City, Hong Kong, Saskatchewan, Vancouver, Berlin, Prague, Amsterdam, the Czar Palaces, San Fransisco, Sydney, and St. Johns Newfoundland. I want to see the world! I want to live in a hotel for a month. I want a blow job. I want to be hired to be in a commercial. I want a metropass. I want to be well read, well cultured, and well educated. I want to star in a sitcom. I want to get in to English 290 or English 273. I want to make out with someone. I want to speak french, italian, spanish, and portuguese. I want better arms and a more muscular chest. I want an MP3 player. I want to go on a date.

I want more than I have. Can't I just be happy? I am happy. Maybe. Why do I want?

My Little Kingdom (Part I)

This is the bedroom of which I am the crowned Prince.
I am master of this domain.


I decide when it's smoking and when it's non smoking.
I control invitations to the parties thrown in my bedroom.
I establish the laws and enforce justice here.
I sleep, eat, fuck, read, write, jack off, talk, dress, watch, and play here.
I do whatever I want when I want to here.
I run customs and immigration.
I live here.
This is my bedroom.
I am it's Prince.

The Guilt Of Lazy Days

I woke up late. Purposefully. I guess you can say I "slept in", but because I regret "sleeping in" I consider it "waking up late". I lost precious hours to do something (I am not sure what I would have done) while I was sleeping much longer than necessary. Eight hours of sleep is sufficient. Ten hours is excessive. I think I managed eleven hours of sleep last night (and this morning). And despite feeling remorse for the time lost while sleeping, I've not done anything of note with my day. Yes I have read oodles of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, but for whatever reason, I don't think that counts. Yes I've made a CD of random pop hits for a co-worker, but somehow that doesn't count in my mind either. And here I am, blogging about how I should be doing more with my time. Somehow blogging about it doesn't seem to count either.

Here is my Blog!

My friend told me I should blog. Here is my blog. He said that I could write entertaining provocative things that would interest strangers. Here is my blog. He thinks that bloggin would help me be a better writer. Here is my blog. He inspired me to blog because of his blog. Here is my blog. Stream of consciouness is good. Here is my blog. Not knowing whom you are talking to. Here is my blog. Telling secrets to the world and knowing they'll never tell. Here is my blog. Documenting a fractured tale of my own life. Here is my blog. I want to be a "Blogger". Here is my blog. I like typing on my computer. Here is my blog. Blogging is a good way to pass the time? Here is my blog. I will write my blog in my bedroom. Here is my blog. All I am currently wearing is my bedsheet. Here is my blog. When I die, this will still be here. Here is my blog.

(Insert Picture of My Blog)

Here is my blog.