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!