I guess my wish-making powers may be more powerful than I thought. We're entering our third straight day of rain. I can't remember in my 23 years living in AZ how long it's been since I've seen three straight days of rain.

I've been keeping my head together, reading "The Tao of Pooh" and "The Te of Piglet", dancing around to Massive Attack and Pet Shop Boys, and singing karaoke with Erasures remakes of classic songs. I'm allowing Western Philosophy and Music to lick clean my wounds. Tonight I'm going to see my ten-year old carrot-top nephew perform in his school play - I'm planning a standing ovation each time he enters and exits the stage.

Lucky and I meet on Saturday to tie up lose ends and decide the fate of dog ownership - that's gonna be rough - but somehow I feel very strong right now, not invincible...but humanly engaged.

...it's raining today. Pretty much - with out stop and only momentary hesitation - rain has alternately falling gently, briskly and emphatically, all day long. No curious beams of warm, glowing sun to slip cleverly through, just soft grey clouds with even softer white edges interlock over the visible sky.

I feel almost thankful that nature is edging me back into this gently - "Hey - let the guy have a grey, rainy day - he could use it!"

It feels good.

I feel like the earth is willing to sigh and feel sad with me - just so I don't feel alone in this.

I feel sad, but not unhappy. Does that make sense ?

...and so it goes.

It's over.

The conversation has been had and I have ended my relationship - the one that I - and many of our friends were convinced was the one that would really make it and beat the odds. He presented his side that despite the space of the past ten days that he still thought we could make this work. He reminded me of the good times, promises made, plans for the future. He noticed how my eyes would drift off when he spoke. I let his speak, I listened. When I spoke - I finally asked him to just let me go. I wasn't the man he was meant to spend the rest of his life with, for all I tried and hoped - for all his convictions that we were in love and I was the greatest man he had ever known - I'm just not the man for him. As we had both entered our 30's we had begun to grow differently and become unique to each other. I didn't fall apart and neither did he. Once I had spoken he said there wasn't anything I had said he couldn't agree with - we have been here before, we fought to turn this around - couples counseling, seperate residences, days off - despite our pride, our ego, and our geniune love for each other - our relationship was on life support. This time there was less shock, we had both been preparing this last week and a half for that fact that the next conversation may go just like this.

I didnt cry til he left. I went out to my backyard and stared up at the cloudy night sky and wondered "what's next?", I lit up the grill and grilled chicken. I sat down and had dinner and paid my bills. I watched TV. I resumed my life. Then they came - warm, salty tears moving across my cheek bones, falling then flowing along the lines of my neck, coming to a rest at the collar of my shirt.

I will be ok.

I feel sad - but somehow at peace with this.

I don't regret the past three and half years, I will filter out the best memories and try and let go of the hurt.

I think I'll go grocery shopping now.

Yep, kinda an out of control night - was that my group of friends starting a circle jerk at Padlock - uh, I know nothing about that - and considering how nasty 95% of the patrons were - no one beyond the circle would know anyway. Pulled the ghost and took off - I couldn't deal - I could inititate the trouble - but admittedly couldn't follow through. Sleeping really short hours lately - been up since what 430am - watched some crappy horror movie with William Katt (remember him - sing with me "...believe it or not I'm walking on air...bla, blah, bla...- something - flyyyyyyyyy") about pirahana eating kids at a day camp - I rooted for the fish.

Lucky comes by to get Baby at 8am - we haven't had the discussion yet - suppose it's inevitable - but neither of us want to talk to each other.

I'm gonna take off for either Palm Springs or San Diego tonight - hop in the car - veg' to some music. Hopefully one of my buddies will come - if not - I'll still go. Be some place else, anoynomous - maybe make up a name and pretend to be some one else for the night - how about Delbert, an Orthodonist from Sheboygen ???

Yeah - I didn't think so either.

I've got this naseaus feeling in my stomach that won't go away. As I sat in front of my therapist last night spilling it all out (oh come on now - you HAD to suspect that I was seeing a therapist) it became this red hot burning sensation. I thought several times of excusing myself to the bathroom - but to do what "lines"? (naaa, to 80's), "puke" ? (naaa, to Bulimia), "cry" ? (naaaa, something I should do - but honestly don't know how to). By the time I got home - it was just kinda there with me - this uneasy feeling. I suspected it was what it was like to have a premonition - but with less clarity to it's purpose. It's not even official, I'm waiting til March 1st. That's what he wanted. I could turn back if I wanted to - but it would be the same thing 4 weeks, 6 months, a year from now. I watched Trista (The Bachelorette) picking Ryan the Renaissance Fireman and thought "Oh No" go for the slick guy from LA - he's something you can chew up and spit out in 6 months, a year, when you get offered your first "straight-to-video" B-Movie called "Gee - I Hate the Camera" - but, not Ryan - you just know he would cry, and it would be heartbreaking to see that big lug cry. So I decided that I'm probably more a Ryan - to aware of my emotions, to sincere and open with my mind and heart, to different, from what I don't know - just to different ...

Trista really should have picked the other guy.

I'm the son of an Irish Alcoholic and a Norwegian Agressor (meeting the back of the hand was common place for any back-talk or teenage indescretion) - it's ok, I'm beyond it...well I am when things are good. Yet when things I hold true and dear begin to crumble - like my relationship - I will admit I can feel the vines of dysfunctionality, creeping like cats claw over my conscience and better sense of well being.

A child of alcoholism and agression does either of two things when confronted with emotional pain - they look to what they find "medicinal" or what they find "destructive". Dysfunctional sure - but you know what - I can admit to it instead of hanging behind some cloak of ignorance where I say I'm just "partying it up with my buddies". I snorted through 7 grams of kitty in 7 days, I sucked down two Bloody Mary's at lunch today and then came back to work - no, it's probably not terribly healthy - but I'm aware - very aware of what is going on. When a doctor isn't close by prescribing medicine for our pain - we find ways to cure ourselves, it's instinct, it's the human condition.

No maybe not for all, maybe you go play racquet ball and watching your relationship of the past 3.5 years end is ok for you. Good for you - fucking, eh - your god-damn amazing.

I'm real - I'm hurting. I'm sick of believing in love - that I can be everything to someone who isnt even sure what they want and less of all that I even fill the bill.

Am I falling part ?? - no.

If you - as a reader, having read my most inner thoughts and honest moments - have any clue what I have 'survived' in 33 years on this earth and still have ended up being a mighty nice guy - than you know this will not kill me.

Maybe I might be getting a little James Dean on your ass over the next couple of months - sure, but hey - it's just like TV - switch the channel if you fucking want.

...not that we don't have enough to worry about with well Sadam, Kim Jong and missing-from-the-axis-of-evil-but-certainly-belongs-there Micheal Jackson...there's this excerpt from Dan Savages latest column:

"Very worrisome, and not just for gay men in L.A. A few days after the L.A Times story ran, The San Francisco Chronicle reported that (surprise!) drug-resistant staph infections were appearing in gay men in San Francisco, too. Public-health officials in San Francisco are assuring people that this isn't "the equivalent of a new HIV disease," but this sentence, from the original L.A. Times story, should sound eerily familiar to anyone over 35: "Although the outbreak seems confined primarily to gay men, doctors say at least one woman contracted the infection, probably from a male sex partner."

scary.

LEO: As positive as that new moon may be, as you get closer to the middle of the month, your closest relationships become a bit rocky — just when you want them to be smooth the most!

No, Valentine's Day on February 14 just isn't likely to deliver the carefree feeling of fun you are hoping for. I feel so badly having to tell you this, but it's true. Old Uranus will stir the pot, trying to undo the best-laid plans. I am afraid I have to report that Valentine's Day is almost certain to be disappointing on some level, as your partner is apt to act completely out of character. Or it may be that conditions surrounding you will create obstacles to enjoying the day to the fullest. For example, your sweetheart may have to work late that night or may be away on a business trip. It's also possible that a lover's spat may spoil the day's mood, or that your partner will show a side of his or her character that you have never seen before. All this could be troubling.

Ever have an astrological forecast that was just a little too exact ?

A day before Valentines Day my boyfriend and I have pretty heavy fight - the day of Valentines Day (after not speaking to each other for two days) he calls to wish me a happy Valentines Day and tell me he wants to take some time off from each other - apparently two weeks is that magic number and he'll contact me on March 1st. I've been advised that "all boyfriend rules apply" during his imposed time off. Such an interesting choice of passive-agressive wording.

So not knowing if he's reading this site or not, let's make this clear:

I feel betrayed.
I feel hurt.
I feel angry.
I feel sad.
Is "crushed" an emotion ?? I'll try that one on for size - it seems to fit nice and snug.

But - I don't feel "confused" - oddly, not at all.

I know exactly how this 3 and half year roller-coaster ride is gonna end.

hmmm, I'm spending Valentines Day alone. Sounds kinda strange for a guy in a long-term relationship.

I'm getting a bunch of horror movies, some beer and getting stoned - fuck VD day.

roses are red, violets are blue
after a fucked up night like tonight
wonder if you think I'll hold tight - still to you

Saw these boys in concert last night - fucking awesome. Short - short, concert though. Of course it is always nice to know all the songs - I know, I know, I'm one of those guys who gets drunk and sings along - so sue me. Looked pretty ridiculous when I tried on my concert shirt when I got home and they had sold me a girls petite - Hey were they trying to say something there ?? I looked like Brittany's Trailer Park Back-up Dancer (way, way back!)
Painted my bedroom this weekend - Ralph Lauren "Snowdrift Suede" - awesome. Rearranged all the furniture according to Feng Shui principles - we'll see, we'll see. Really, really happy with the way it turned out though - especially for what a pain in the ass that Suede Technique is. Fairly mellow weekend, otherwise. Finally watched Luc Besson's "The Messenger" - not as good as his other films, but I think theres an interesting statement on the confusion between "pride and ego" and "religious faith" (but then again maybe I was reading in to it). So sad - it went by so quickly.

....alot of feedback - from many, many different directions on my recent post. Some really inspiring shit was shot back my way. I realize that I am incomplete in my effort to be whole. Yet, honestly I feel I'm trying - sometimes I tug the rope too hard, other times it's sandy musk and red, raw burns just hang on my hands - as if stubborn shadows against a reading wall.

Thoughts like what is self-respect? Give way to thoughts of, what is self-respect as a gay man (chew on the word 'compromise' a few times before you try and answer) ?? There's so much to think about on this path to - well fuck if I know - we'll say personally-enriching, life-affirming, hope-extracting, biggie-sized "Nirvana" - existance.

I don't know who the fuck I am - I can admit that.

So I cross-examine who I've been...
I read up on who I want to be...
and I dream of who I could possibly become.

"If the United States launches a surprise attack on our peaceful nuclear facilities, it will spark a full-scale war," said Rodong Sinmun, North Korea's main state-run newspaper, in a commentary carried by Radio Pyongyang.

There isn't one word of that sentence that doesn't give me the chills (though my favorite three are "Peaceful Nuclear Facilities")

(deep breath)

...ok...here we go again.

crap, now I feel like I'm gonna paraphrase everything I just wrote and it will lose it's sincerity and it's within the sincerity and shame I feel when I tell this story that I am empowered to forgive myself for having wronged another. This is the first time I've ever told this story. You see I've always believed no matter how good a person you strive to be or become - you should never forget your wrongs, sear your mental flesh with the pain inflicted on another. I've had this misguided belief that this keeps you from ever committing the wrong again. This behavior is limited and is restraining me from becoming a better person.

I realize now though - you can't slay the dragons (i borrow from mr 8LDJ here) if you see yourself as the dragon.

So, in an effort to let go of this I push my internal dragon down on the hardened ground - fire licking and spewing from it's mouth - kicking and screaming, and I slay it with my written word.

One hopes.

The cursor calls out to me - blinking, flashing, warning - to put this down on this vacant, pulsing, white screen is to jeopardize what others may think or feel about me. I make permanent and public a memory I've never shared with a loved one or friend. I do this though to show I'm honest when I say - this blog is about my personal growth - NOT - winning any popularity contests (nod and thanks to Jer here). You may not like the "me" in this story, but then neither do I.

So this is a story from history. My personal history.

A "me" I hardly know now - but maybe see an occassional glimpse of in a rash moment, or heated exchange. For all intensive purposes though - who I was then, maybe just for a few minutes, or a few collective days - I could, I would, never be again.

In my early 20's I was possessed by a streak of anger and self-hatred that was as wide as the blacktop of the autobahn and as dangerous as crossing it on foot. I was burning bright with a blazing red hot anger - fueled by booze and drugs. I had no sense of direction except a spiralling pattern downwards. I honestly never thought I would be alive in my 30's to be writing this - questioning wrong moves and worse mistakes.

I want to evoke the whole evening from that night - a sultry, summer night or a crisp autumn evening - but I honestly couldn't tell you. I've shut it away for so long, not wanting to remember - that I have successfully forgotten all but what haunts me about that night.

Have you ever wronged someone ? Truly - wronged ?

The wrongs that others have visited upon us live in us - until one day we visit those wrongs on another.

I often savor these words, pulling my tongue, scraping my teeth, across them - unable to swallow them, uneasy with their taste. I am not saying this is a mandate, or others aren't strong enough to not subcumb to this theory. But violence is known to beget violence, hate to be beget hate and so on. The biggest error within these words is that it transfers it's life on to others as we wrong them. It does transfer, but it never leaves you - it just grows stronger trying to take it's hold with each wrong you do.

I ran into "D" at Nutowne on a Sunday night. Sunday's were beer bust and by 9pm there were only two conclusions to make about the bars inhabitants - they were inebriated or out to get laid.

I was on that particular night - both.

"D" and I hadn't spoken in years.

He had been the first boy to break my heart. An early and first example of why they call them crushes. It had been a summer romance after graduating high school, when I was 17. He was my first "lover". Though I had already been dating and sleeping with boys since I was 12, this was the first that someone made me feel lost in them - that I wanted to live and breathe alongside their every breath. He was the first boy I fucked and once that started I couldn't get enough. I fucked him every chance we would get. Less knowledgable - more naive. We swallowed, we barebacked - all this in the bedroom next to my sleeping parents. After a few months he got a fake ID and was getting into bars. I probably seemed less exciting than the opportunity to feel grown up. He gave me Chlamydia and then when confronted broke up with me and told me he was going straight. I crashed emotionally - every car on that autobahn left treads across my ripped-open chest.

So here we were - was it 4 years later, 6 years - I've shut that out.

He was hammered and he wanted me. I had filled out, tight, beautiful muscles, evenly tanned. I wore my hair in a hassle free buzz cut. I had matured physically from the wirey 17 year old I had been. I was strong and I had lost any resemblance to the sweet, naive kid I had been. There was an edge to me now - an animal agressiveness. I supposed this all just made him more attracted - he had always been more attracted to the 'bad boy' cliche. He was a career bus-boy, a perpetually-stoned pretty boy, trapped in a high school hey day that had left him behind. He had failed to move on in any way from who he was 4 years prior. The eyes though were still so blue, the lethal combination of surfer blond and high school jock - but the years were passing and "care-free" had given way to "aimless".

I wanted him too.
I wanted to fuck him.
I wanted to hurt him.

We went back to his place - the whole way he was gushing compliments and praise. How together I looked, how hot I had become, how much he had regreted not staying with me - what shit, what fucking - absolute-I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you then spit in your face-bullshit. The anger was welling up in my chest - screaming like a tribal warrior - "let me out" - LET ME OUT!

We were all over each other the second we entered his small one roomed attic apartment. When he shoved his tongue in my mouth - I bit down - drawing blood. He let out a scream and pushed me off:

"Fuck - what did you go and do that for asshole??", he said.

I calmed him down - apologized - said the moment had gotten away from me. I kissed his forehead, his neck, lifting his shirt over his head. I pushed down his jeans and feverishly began to rim his ass. He was past the tongue-biting, moaning, pushing my face into his ass. I shoved him down - hard. He toppled over.

"Take it easy - your being rough.", he said.

Something inside me had clicked - someone had unlocked a door - the chants of "Let Me Out" had been silenced. I was drunk. I was full of hate. I was going to hurt him.

There are times in your life that you are pushed out of your own body - by fear, by anger, by pain. This was one of them. I watched from above - disengaged from my body - unable to find my way back inside.

I grabbed his arms and pinned him down. He started fussing, telling me to stop - I started spewing hateful things. What a fucking pathetic loser he was - that he would die a no one, die alone, what a pathetic whore he was, he wasn't good enough to deserve me. I became rougher - punching him, wrestling him and then fucking him. Pounding my dick into him - never releasing his arms - pinning the weight of my body against him. He started to cry. I was hurting him - He was hurt. Sometime during it - it blurred from consensual - to nonconsensual - and back again. I hadn't even considered a condom - I hadn't seen him as worth it. I blew my load inside his ass. I pulled out, released him. He screamed a wave of obscenities at me. I told him I had waited years to hurt him. I was all the way home before I felt like I was back inside my body again.

This is the worst thing I have ever done to another person. What had been done to me at 16 - I had now done to another man. Did I rape him - I can't say. He gave me his number afterwards - would you give your number to a guy who just knocked you around and forcibly fucked you ? It took years for me to see beyond that moment and see it not for vengeance - but something so indescribably wrong - that I shut it away.

I never called him. I never apologized for what I did or how far I had gone. He approached me a couple of weeks later and showed me the bruises, called me an asshole and walked off. He died a few years later. AIDS. I can't apologize to him now. Let him know the shame I've felt, the disgust I feel for treating him that way.

So a decade has past and it haunts me that even once I could have been that person, so angry, so cruel to have acted this way to another person - no matter how much I felt they had wronged me.

I am not that person - not now.

I never want to be that person again - not ever.

I try everyday - to not ever be again.

We say we want people to know us - to understand us, but then we only tell them the good things about ourselves.

We hide from people the things we've done wrong, the things we have to live with in the dark of night.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

there is nothing worse then writing a emotionally charged entry and then switching screens and losing the entry.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

...at best, I'm hiding out emotionally lately. too many small hurts. people i trust and people I knew to hate. i want to start putting words down on paper again, but I'm processing things I'm worried about saying aloud. I feel like i've stopped saying anything real or important - distracted by the fucking popularity parades on other sites. i worry about ways i've wronged others. times i've failed to be the good guy i've tried so hard to be. people i've done well by - mistakenly - to see what shit they really are.

i look at the picture of the little boy below and I wonder who he grew up to be - and what mark on the world - if any he'll make.

cryptic ? perhaps.

...over that background. easier on your eyes.

"In by March - out by June" ?????
Is this our governments idea of the military "Rythym Method" ?
Either way - someones getting fucked.