Making Conversation

Conversation should not be "made". Rather, conversation should be the product of a reaction between two energies, two particles made up of neutrons and electrons and protons of ideas, opinions, feelings and experiences colliding a speeds faster than that of sound or light. Conversation should be explosive yet effortless.

Friendly

Whoever postulated this is very wise...

"To have friends, you must be a friend."

Even here in the city where I grew up and where I now reconnect with people I knew in highschool, all it takes to rekindle a friendship is to be a friend; to pick up the phone, send an email, arrange some time to spend some time together. We may not have much in common after ten years living separate lives, but just to share our lives gives us something in common: We are living in a world and sharing our lives in this world with each other makes us friends again.

These are also very wise words...

"Nothing is lost forever"

Let us be friendly.

Let us be friends.

Lost In Time

I'm on vacation. Holiday. Not working. I have time on my hands. Too much time.

I feel lost.

My days are not empty. I meet with a friend for lunch or a coffee. I read. I correspond with friends from afar through texts or email. I go for a run or a swim. I do. I act. Yet, my days are not full.

To be on vacation means not to work. Maybe I am so well trained by our capitalist system I intuitively understand time in a produce/consume paradigm. Unless I have 'worked', or unless I spent the money I have earned from working, unless I have actively contributed to the production and/or consumption of goods and/or services, I do not feel that the use of my time has been worthwhile. Maybe in our capitalist system we are taught without work, time has no value.

My psyche exists in a conflicted state: My time interacting with friends, reading, or maintaining physical fitness is worthwhile, but then why do I feel I am not making the most of my (free) time?

I am lost in time. How can I find myself?

Gift

These gifts I give you I give so even when I'm gone I'm still present in your life.

The scarf. The tea pot. The photo. Even the rack you use to dry your dishes.

I am here. In your kitchen. In your bedroom. Around your neck.

I don't want you to escape me.

Because I can not escape you.

I've Got Something To Say

The need to speak is irrepressible.

I'm back.

Packing

Before anything begins, something must end. This inevitably happens when packing.

Today I began packing my apartment. My belongings effectively disappear into boxes and bags. Like clever literary devices, my stuff representationally foreshadows: I will soon disappear from this place as well.

What an awful thought? With each item I place in the box, the more and more I fade away.

Why would I do this to myself?

But I must go. I have both resigned and embraced the fact I'm leaving.

I must clear my slate here before I can enjoy a blank slate in Austin.

Moving Up Moving Down

I am about to move - move on - move on up - move onward - move forward - move upward - move.

"Stop worrying where you're going, move on!"

In August, I will be moving to Austin, Texas. Moving up? Moving down. South.

"Once you've figured out where you're going, you've gone!"

My life will be changed - My life in Austin, Texas will inevitably be different from my life in Toronto, Ontario.

"Just keep moving on."

I will be attending the University of Texas at Austin to pursue my PhD in Performance As Public Practice. I will leave behind my job, my lover, my circle of friends, my community of artists, my city, my neighbourhood, my home.

"I made a choice and my world was shaken - so what? The choice may have been mistaken, but choosing was not."

I will be working toward a meaningful career in a field that combines several personal passions - academics, art, theatre, theory, and performance. I will have a unique opportunity to meet new people, make new friends, study new ideas, explore new places, learn new things, experience more life.

"Just keep moving on."

But as I move on - move on up - move onward - move forward - move upward - move, I think it necessary to try to define where it is I am.

Point of Departure

I currently work at a Performance Arts School of a national calibre. I provide emotional, personal, and health service support for the students whom live in the school's residence. This includes making sure they eat, they get enough sleep, they have access to counseling services, they have dentist/doctor appointments arranged and organized, as well as providing some informal counseling services and adult companionship.
I love my job. The students provide constant challenges - they continually force me to develop mentoring and leadership skills - each one, in their own special way, reveals their unique humanity - and, as children, they continually display the ineffable value of 'play' . My colleagues have a sense of humour and fun, while always adhering to their responsibilities and duties with a committed sense of professionalism. My job offers the paradoxical position of continual professional and personal development while simultaneously reminding me of the importance of staying young at heart.
This year, since I've acquired a steady and inflated income, I spend much of my extra cash to see theatre, films, art, music, and any other cultural event of interest that the city and it's environs have to offer. I've been a regular at the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, seen an opera produced by Canada's Opera Company, and attended both the European Film Festival and the Inside Out Gay and Lesbian Film Festival. I've attended plays and musicals here in Toronto at Soulpepper, Buddies in Bad Times, the Canon Theatre, the Princess of Wales, as well as seeing shows at the Stratford Festival. I've attend most all of the National Ballet of Canada performances, and this week I am participating in several of the Luminato events. Becoming an observer instead of a participant has both pros and cons: I have learned so much by watching, but have not applied what I've learned by doing.
On top of enjoying the cultural events my extra income has afforded me, I have done some shopping (though not much) and have taken a vested interest in fashion (though not terribly seriously). I am also proud to say that my extra income has gone towards substantially reducing my credit card debt (though my student loan debt still remains untouched). The remainder of my income is spent spending time with friends sharing drinks, going dancing, watching movies, eating out, throwing parties, and other general harmless mischief.
I also have started to exercise. Now that I have become a 'working stiff', I fear that my body will age and sag (as bodies tend to do when the regular routine of work imposes strict structures upon ones formerly free and easy life). I have started swimming three times and week and doing other exercises (such as push ups and sit ups) on days that I am not in the pool. I have noticed results and am pleased that I both look better than I did before, and I have improved my overall health.
I love my life. I love my friends. I love my job. I love my lover. I love all the art I see. I love where I am. But that is not enough to keep me from moving on, moving onward, moving forward...

"The World Only Spins Forward"

Trajectory

From here I move.
I literally move; from Toronto to Texas. This in itself is daunting. I only have a superficial understanding of "Texas". Gun totin', republican votin', George W. Bush ranchin', Lone Star statin' Texas. Such a overall vision of Texas is incompatible with what I know about Austin: the county which includes most of Austin was the one county that voted to oppose the ban against same sex marriage in the state. Between the constitutional right to carry a gun and gay rights activism, my new home is a paradox.
I move forward down a career path. Up to now, I've only had 'Joe' jobs; nothing serious, just a way to pay my cell phone bill. But now, I'm on my way to a substantial salary (Finally I will be able to afford to pay off my student loan debt). Now, I must commit. No more playing games. Pursuing my PhD is the real thing.
Academically, I move deeper. Deeper into ideas I have examined and explored. Ideas examined and explored from new perspectives - exposing something new and unknown to me. Learning to expound on these ideas in new ways.
I will move - not away from old friends - but toward new friends. Inevitably, some acquaintances will be lost - distance reveals that some bonds can be broken. But the strong bonds of true friendship - those unbreakable bonds that reveal their strength through casual emails, phone calls, online communication, occasional visits, and letter writing - will remain. Even when I move, true friends will stay with me.
From here to there - moving from one place to another. As exciting and scary as being an egg tossed from one pair of hands to another - if I am not caught and cradled on the other side, I will be broken.

Destination

Unknown.

All I know is that I'm moving somewhere toward something true.

Wear To See Beauty

Fashion is unavoidable. Like the wise man who claimed that "The whole civilized world is already designed, just most of it is designed badly", fashion is an unavoidable fact of every day life. We all wear clothes - and even if the vestements I wear as I write this and you wear as you read this were not purchased for an outrageous price at one of the many Fashion House outlets such as Prada, Gucci, Chanel et. al that pervade our consumer consciousnesses and dreams of luxury, what we wear is fashion nonetheless - hopefully not bad fashion, but fashion nonetheless.

The website The Sartorialist has opened my eyes to the unavoidable fact of fashion. (Thank You for the online introduction Neenia!) The man behind the Sartorialist travels the world and takes pictures of any individuals whom strike him as particularly stylish. He doesn't discriminate between body types, socio-economic status (though most of his 'models' must have some sort of middle to upper class income), race, or age. Nor does he discriminate the fashion of his 'real life' models: they could be wearing thrift store finds or haute couture - The Sartorialist considers only fashion, not brand names. Through his online fashion photo-journalism, The Sartorialist has revealed unto me that fashion is not only possible in my life, but also that it should not be ignored.

After being introduced to The Sartorialist, I have begun to see the world differently. Bodies that passed on the street are not to be overlooked. Each individual, either at the moment of purchase or at the moment they got dressed when they rolled out of bed that morning, has made a choice as to what to wear. And each choice reveals a personal aesthetic - either inspired by current 'looks' that pervade our cultural landscape, or something that is shaped by more personal influences. The world has become a playground for walking sculptures.

I have begun to take inspiration from The Sartorialist, and delve into my closet of clothes to produce outfits that I hope the source of my inspiration would approve of, and maybe even photograph. I have accepted that I am one of the many walking sculptures that roam the streets no matter if I put effort or thought into my daily wear or not. And by accepting this inevitable fact of civilized existence, by accepting that the choice I make every morning concerning what combination of clothes I collage on my corps, I see beauty: On myself and on others. I hope that the beauty the world sees on me reflects a part of the beauty that exists within me. Because, as I roam the streets critiquing, appreciated, and admiring fashion, I begin not only to see bodies walking by, but the hint of a person: The sculptural art of the moving, breathing individual living in the world.

Fashion has shown me wear to see beauty.

Pink

"What colours are these available in?"

"Well, we have the green, a purple colour, sort of mauve, red, and white."

"Do you have it in pink?"

"Well the mauve colour we carry is very close to pink. But if you think that she'd definitely want it in pink, I'll ask."

I'm taken aback. "No pink!?" I think to myself. I recover. No need to make a scene.

"It's just that I think that pink would match. I think that a pink teapot would compliment her kitchen and dining room."

"Well you could always go for the classic white."

I frown. "White's boring", I mentally scoff.

"Actually, maybe the red one would work. She has red china. With red pansies."

"It's always a good idea that the teapot match the china."

"I'll take the red one."

"I'll wrap that up for you. I'm sure she'll love it."

I'm sure of it too. The only thing is that "she" is a he. And he is my boyfriend.

I could if I wanted to...

I could lie, and cheat. I could keep secrets. I could break your heart.

But then I think of you. you. you...

and I can't.

Even if I wanted to.

Life's A Drag

I am not the man I want to be.

I have gone astray. Somehow, somewhere along the line, I am not doing what is necessary to be the man I want to be. I drink too much. I sleep in too late. I think negative thoughts. My life seems destructively haphazard rather than excitingly spontaneous.

This weekend I did not enjoy the life I want to live. I did not go to the opera, or the theatre, or the gallery. I did not enjoy long walks along the street in the gorgeous weather. I did not soberly enjoy the evenings festivities, but drank for distraction instead.

Time was wasted.

I do not want to be a man who lets precious time be wasted.

But all is not lost. Life still offers more. Even in wasted time.

Wasted time provides a reminder that I must create myself. I can do what is necessary to be the man I want to be: I will go to the theatre, I will enjoy the long walks, I will be satisfied by the company I keep and have no need for distraction. My life will be the world's greatest drag act - an act of positive beautiful self-creation. I will be the man I want to be. My life's a drag act.

And the world's greatest drag act begins now.

Splat!

"Forty two years ago today I was pushing hard. In labour. And after many painful hours, my daughter was born", my sexagenarian co-worker told me as I sipped my morning coffee.

My co-worker, on the brink of retirement but still as feisty as she was the day she turned twenty-one, had become increasingly open about her personal history as of late. She was born in Columbia, raised in New Orleans, had been divorced once, was in constant conflict with her son-in-law, and was a very proud mother of fraternal twins. Today, the glimpse into her personal life becomes even more vivid.

"The nurse kept on yelling at me. 'Push! Push harder!' He was yelling and yelling. 'Harder! You've got to get that baby out! Push harder!'" she continued.

Talk of birthing babies always makes me squirm: To much bodily fluid with names that are sanitized from unappealing medical language into clever street slang.

"I was so mad at him. Oh! how I hated him! He kept yelling and yelling. And then I started to punch him. Right in the chest. Oh! I was so angry with him! I just wanted him to shut up! But he kept on saying 'Push!', 'The water's got to break.' Oh, and then..." Here I see her smile as she speaks. "When my water did finally break... Oh! My water broke and burst out and hit him all over his sorry face."

I want to vomit. Giving birth to new human life is beautiful in theory, not in practice.

Her smile is broad.

"I was so happy I got him. All over his face! Serves him right for being such an ass."

Speak!

I feel the urge to speak.

But we are civilzed, are we not? We do not recklessly act on every urge that is part of the human experience. There are times when it is appropriate to eat, sleep, fuck and there are times when it's not appropriate. And even when it is appropriate, we do not just eat anything, sleep anywhere, or fuck anyone. Implicitly and explicitly, there are rules and regulations.
Rules and regulations that we willingly follow.

This is the problem.

There are no rules and regulations when we share our voices on the internet. Anyone can speak at anytime and say almost anything. Not only are we permitted to say almost anything to anyone at anytime, we are obliged to speak. To survive as a social being, one must have either facebook, myspace, or twitter, or even all three.

But unlike discerning taste that dictate our daily victuals, or so-called 'standards' that provide social guidelines regarding who we fuck and who we don't, the urge to speak via facebook statuses or tweets is not regulated for quality. (It seems as far as facebook statuses and tweeting, quantity is privileged). The mere fact that facebook status updates and tweeting are one sentence quips makes it difficult if not impossible to express anything worthwhile: There are few thoughts, feelings, or ideas that can be adequately expressed in one mere sentence.

Any declarations of completed or intended actions (ie: Bedroomprince is making his return to blogging!) should be ignored: Let these actions have their life in the real world, there is no need to 'validate' them by declaring them online.

But here I am. I have acted upon that human urge to speak. Here I share my voice online. But several paragraphs later, the thoughts I have shared are critical, nuanced, and have been situated in a particular context. I like to think that this is a civilized act of cyber-speech.

Here I am.

Bedroomprince has felt the urge to speak.

Bedroomprince has spoken.

Bedroomprince lives.

And those mere sentences above are not the fodder for facebook or twitter.

inFormAL Lessons

I will not be starting school again this fall. For the moment, formal education will not dominate my life. This has not been the case for the past twenty years of my life.

For the past twenty years of my life, September has always been my New Year. September has afforded an opportunity to start fresh and new - New classes, new classmates, new projects, new books, new clothes, new routines, and a chance to turn over a new leaf. (A leaf that autumn supplies in abundance as the foiliage turns golden and falls to the ground preparing for winter.) This year, for the first time in a long time, there will be no new classes or classmates, no new projects or routines, to offer a symbolic New Year to inspire turning over a new leaf. Because the fall inevitably comes leading the way for winter to make it's cold appearance before the warmth of spring arrives, renewal is never a new part of living. So without the symbolism offered by new 'news' of a new school year, I, again, aim to turn over a new (but old and dying) autumn leaf.

Declaration of Autumn Leaves
1) Leave the past behind: Do not forget the past - but do not let the shame, pain, and anger of former follies haunt your presence. Learn the lessons your mistakes can teach you, but leave the past in the past and move toward a positive future.
2) Leave the bad and the ugly behind: Not everyone will love you. Not everyone will like you. Those who have decided they share no love for you are not needed or wanted. Leave them behind; They have already left you.
3) Leave space to grow into the man you want to be: Though you are no longer a school child and have found yourself facing the responsibility and circumstances of adulthood, do not forget that, unlike the autumn leaves that have expired and fallen from the trees, you still can grow. Grow from the past into the future.
4) Leave space for Hopes and Dreams: Do not let former failures kill your hopes and dreams for the future. Let those hopes and dreams live and soar as the leaves fall and die to prepare for the cold of winter.

This fall, like Alice in Wonderland as she fell down the Rabbit Hole, I will receive an informal education. No symbolic newness for the renewal offered by this New Year. This New Year is a new New Year - one that accompanies the fall because I have decided for renewal.

I have decided to Declare upon the Autumn Leaves.

New, fresh, and beautiful things can come from the dying leaves of autumn.

You Can Never Go Back

It isn't that he has stopped growing up. It is just he has now grown distant from this place.

This is where he went to elementary school. And high school too. He learned to drive on these streets. Everyday, in a large white car from the 70s, he drove back and forth to school. He never knew such nostalgic value the 1976 Grand LeMans - complete with an 8 track AM radio, valeur seats, and two heavy four foot long doors - would have for him ten years later. Retrospect affords useless insight.

This is no longer his home. He has grown not up, but away.
(Do distances matter when growing? Does it matter if we grow up or away from? No matter what, growth means distance.)
He had grown not up, but way. Away from here. Away from home.

He lives far away from here now. He no longer needs an old out-dated car to drive him back and forth. He has moved on. Now subways, trains, and airplanes move him from place to place.

He is here but he can't come home. Home is never just a place - but a relationship between a person and a place. And he has changed.

Time only seems cruel if we look back at the past.

But here, it is hard for him to look ahead.

The Best Policy

Let's face it. We are always looking out for ourselves. Even Mother Theresea was working for the promise of heaven. Love is no exception. That's why honesty, though rarely ever achieved, is the best policy.

The altruistic act in a relationship is in fact selfishness hidden under the guise of selflessness. Any 'altruistic' act is performed in order to secure or inspire the affections and pleasures provided by a lover. In a relationship, a person performs such acts in order to invest care and kindness for profitable returns of security and affection.

Exposing seemingly selfless altruistic acts for the selfish self-appeasing acts they truly are eliminates any space for deception that could exist in a relationship.Understanding that altruism is impossible removes the dishonest, insincere guise of selflessness; honest and pure motivation for action is all that's left. Exposing acts of altruism as selfishness confirms that one person continues to selfishly want and desire the affection and pleasure of another person. In other words, one person performs kind and caring acts to secure the affection and pleasure of another person. By performing acts of caring and kindness to selfishly secure the pleasure of affection from another person, consequentially reveals the value and importance one person has for another. And that's love baby. True love occurs when ones desires not only include, but prioritize, the happiness produced in oneself by making another person happy.

By accepting that all acts within a relationship are selfish implicitly opposes deception: Selfishness becomes honesty. It is at this juncture that honesty becomes the best policy. We could substitute selfishness as the best policy, but that has an air of cynicism. Honesty is the prefered euphemism.

"I am somone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love. "

- Carrie Bradshaw

Closets and Alleyways

I turn down the back alley. The entrance to where I live exits onto a cobble stone lane running parallel to Toronto's major street.

A man walking casually down the lane says hello.

- Hello

- How's your night?

- Fine. I just heading home. Tired.

- Oh... Looking for some fun?

- Heading home.

- Not even for five minutes.

He motions to the dark area around the corner of my building.

- Sorry. You should head to Tango. It's fun.

Obviously a closet case. This guy needs some gentle prodding. Such a suggestion might help.

- I'm not gay. I just have never touched a dick before.

- Well, I'm not the guy to help you out. I have a boyfriend.

A lie.

- Just five mintues.

- Sorry.

- Ok. What's your name?

I give him my name.

- I'm Richard.

He offer his hand for a hand shake. He pulls me in. A kiss on the cheek is not objectionable.

- Good night.

He forces my head in order to kiss me on the lips.

- That was my first time. I mean, I'm not gay. I have just never done that before.

- Goodnight.

- What's your name?

- Goodnight.

- Five minutes.

- Goodnight.

I leave him to the alley way at two am in the morning.

Let us make meaning.

I Only Remember the Dead

I was suspicious of memory and history.

We carry the past with us at every moment. There is no need to give it the attention of photographs and journal entries. Even if we can not remember, the past is with us at the present.

My dog died last week.

Now I know why we remember.

I fear I will lose the memories. I wish I had a photo of my dog in my hands to hold.