A Look Back

In the summer of 2006 Martin and I reached and impasse in our marriage. I left him, in fact [this, the first of a few times I left the marriage cage]. That first time, the death of our dog brought me back to the marriage. During this time, I started a secret blog to document this turmoil in my marriage. I spent some time Monday evening poking through that blog. I've compiled a few of these posts for you below. See if you can catch the story through the words I've written.

~ written 30.04.2006 ~

how i felt just after leaving

shreds ...

that's how it all turned out ... shreds. how, exactly, did this happen? i mean, it feels like i woke up and found my life like this ... shreds. WTF??? where, i wonder, was i when it all fell to shreds? drowning ... ? perhaps. drowning in a sea of identity thru others. velvet, mother. velvet, wife. velvet, existing only in relation to the others in her life. velvet, brutally wounded by the bayonettes called anger, grief, parenting. parenting ... we all want it. that's because we have no idea how horribly difficult, isolating and painful it really is ... and because we don't count on getting a child that's defective ... unable to fit the mold we so desperately want it to fit ... unable to even love its parents.

shreds. each and every day. the defective child ... the one the parents grieve, despite his physical presence. each day a new feeling of loss superimposed on top of the old feelings of loss. each day, the violent slap of unrequited love ... the painful desperation of knowing i love and do not receive any in return. shreds ... each parent, consumed in grief, anger, desperation. grief, with no closure. never closure. only a dull aching and a feeling of failure. FAILURE.

consumed. this thing ... consumed us. or ... we allowed ourselves to be consumed. does it matter now? we are empty nesters ... empty being the key word. we are left in the nest ... feeling empty, they have emptied us out ... the children of this marriage. what remains? two empty shells ... formerly known as ourselves. who are we? who am i? who is he? what are we doing here? besides brooding, brooding, and spewing unhappiness. when does love become habit ...? when does need become habit? habit ... an action one engages in without consideration. is that what we have become?

how does one extract oneself from the tangles of grief, anger, isolation, guilt, emptiness? can there be salvation? can there be redemption ...? i mean, redemption for the relationship ...? does anything remain to be redeemed? does whatever remains WANT to be redeemed? that, dear readers, is quite the question. isn't it?




~ written 4.05.2006 ~

10 days into it ...

that's how long since i left. i haven't left entirely, i suppose - for i still go there frequently. where do i reside? well, for now i reside inside myself. i sleep in the spare room of my mum's place, and a few of my things dot the room that had become the great book depository before i crashed mum's gate. the bulk of my belongs remain in some damp, cold storage locker 3 km from here. and shreds and shard of my life ... they still reside at that other place, along with the man, a co-pilot whose life grew into my own. and the dog ... 10 years old ... the last remaining dependent. pieces of me ... tender, blazing shrapnel ... lie in waiting. in waiting for what? for me to shine my shrill and shrieking light on them. waiting for me to rescue them. to rediscover them - you know - the way one discovers a cherished possession thought lost and gone forever?

what have i discovered, upon re-emergence?

1. this solitude - well its not really a solitude but it sort of is - this rediscovery ... it leaves me awe-filled daily. i listen to myself, to my body. it tells me things. i suppose it has tried to tell me these things all along - but, submerged, i could not hear. or perhaps i heard, but failed to listen. what have i learned? my body - every cell in my body - wants to grow, nourish and deliver a new life. without a doubt. i love. i'm amazed ... but i love. i think of myself as a shell enclosing a shriveled and blackened heart. yet, i find i have the capacity for enormous, voracious love.

2.epiphany! i see now that i have secretly (secret in the sense of unbeknownst to me) focused on and searched for what's missing. as opposed to finding happiness in what remains. comfort, habit, the enduring ... i had sunk so much into all of these ...to the point of submergence. this trivial life ... it sort of swallowed me - like Jonah, swallowed by the great whale. assimilated - i think i got assimilated. where do i begin and where does this life begin? this life ... its just circumstance ... its not me - not my essence. what a simple thought. and a truly startling revelation.




~ written 19.05.2006 ~

unchangeable entity

EDIT: realization. that running never solves anything. nor does distraction. the longing. from where does it originate? i have know, deep down there somewhere, all along that i could not live without lupin. maybe i didn't fully realize it. at all times.

this sad, visceral longing, that has loomed over my soul for these past few days - it's fear. i believe that its fear. of even thinking about changing the unchangeable. of challenging an entity that has weaved itself into the fabric of my heart. its like ... trying to envision living without water ... or oxygen. simply impossible. i cannot live without him, my lupin ... he is my water, my oxygen. as long as he is on this planet, i must exist with him.

but ... things do not have to be so black and white, do they? i like to think they do not. and think that ... i can choose to explore uncharted territory without wreaking complete havoc. i'm so glad in a way that this deep aching longing, which sat in the pit of my stomach for the past several days, i'm so glad that it has turned out to be my own fear. my own fear of changing the unchangeable.

yes ... there is a burning longing ... for ? feeling, unbridled passion, and possibly ... for one so far away - an escape? this ache -- it wants to know itself, that's all. know all the dark and tender secrets of my mind, the raw sensitive spots on my soul and ... whatever else i am willing to share with myself.

we must dare to dream, fantasize. i think we must.

but for now ... i wait.



 ~ written 13.07.2006 ~

and i said to lupin ...

"... you have served me so well. and i ... i have not served you nearly as well."

a profound realization.

and ... i'm truly convinced blazer had everything to do with it. convinced. and ... i'm no cracker jack .... just a soul who senses what others may miss. my darling and beautiful shaggy angel hound .... thank you .... it seems small to say so, considering all you have done. godspeed my hound. i feel you around me.




~ written 14.07.2006 ~

a dialogue with myself

and? shall i expect forgiveness? shall i expect all will be right again?
forgiveness is so much harder than being remorseful. it involves surrender.
i think that there shall be no grand absolution only forgiveness meted out in precious, tiny sips which lupin shall feed to me in spoonfuls.
and ... i think that it shall be enuf.

In less than 60 days one year's separation will have past. And I can then file for my divorce. I have begun the process of taking back my maiden name. And ... I will reconcile with Pilot. Its interesting, and worthwhile, looking back at the words I carved onto the screen, almost three years ago. It seems that, when a change must occur in a facet of one's life, it will occur, eventually, even in the face of one's personal protests.

my polarity

~ september 22th ~

It’s happened. After 9 months of separation, living under the same roof, He has moved out. I feared, even just a few weeks ago, that the dissolution of the partnership would dissolve me. For … who have I been these many years? Someone’s wife. Someones’ mother. Someones’ nurse. An employee. A student. A patient. A victim. A fuck. An income. Defined in relation to others. Defined by a role I assume in daily life. Defined by an affliction. Defined by an action. Valued for the pleasure others can derive from their interaction with me.

I feel liberated. I feel relieved. I feel renewed - like I have the energy to sort through all these material things and purge, purge, purge. An external activity and process that mirrors my internal processes. Scatter and gather.



~ now ~

I have decided to revert back to my maiden name. I even purchased the letters to place on the mailbox ... to replace my married surname. I sleep alone ... I awake alone. Except for a grey feline ~ a female feline. She likes to wake me up by sitting atop me ... and kneading my hair with her paws. Personally, I prefer this method of wake-up to manipulative demands for sex. Making myself a man's prey quite hinders my sense of self worth. I'm no man's fucking pleasure vessel. I'm me. I don't know what exactly that entails yet, but I think I like it.

I have learned that it really doesn't benefit anyone to remain in a sparkless, lifeless marriage. No one ends up a winner when one sacrifices one's happiness for the longevity of a marriage. When life becomes a series of habitual scenarios and people strung together, as opposed to a mindful challenge, we've lost. And ... do we need to exist solely in pairs? Who says?



The other day, I drew the Death Tarot Card. For those of you unfamiliar with tarot, this card symbolises transformation and rebirth. And, so ... the end becomes the beginning. I see my life and the people in it thru an entirely different prism. Soon, I will mark a year of separation from my husband. No chance of reconciliation exists. He has chosen another path. A dark path. He has become a stranger to me. He's stolen from me [yeah, cleaned out my bank account, days before rent day!], and then told me prefers living on the street, where he gets robbed, than 'get fleeced by [me]' ... and he constantly insinuates that i am faking this depression and mental illness stuff. Yes, I do not know this person. And ... he does not know me. Irregardless, I forgive him. And, when he appears at my door, seeking food, I always share what I have. That's turning the cheek, ain't it? And, FUCK, it's DIFFICULT!

I have overlooked myself in favour of others for far too long, now. Its time for me to look after me. I have felt suicidal for the past 2 years. No kidding. My doc diagnosed me with Bipolar disorder. And, until very recently, I have suffered so from sleep deprivation. I had no idea what a solid 8 hours of sleep felt like ... really. The Seroquel works ~ within 30 minutes of taking it, I am passed out, sleeping. I take care, now. I monitor ~ what surrounds me, what enters me, what passes through me. I avoid the drama of others. I feel easily overwhelmed. I remind myself feelings demand me to feel them, and not fight them. My disappointment at how Martin has turned out has devastated me ... I fantasized about self-harm quite a bit over the past week. My meatspace friends, thankfully, will not leave me to my own devices ... they challenge me to forge ahead. Joy defines pain and pain defines joy.



Only the dead fish always swim with the current.

... a strange pain inside ... ?

imagine if, when you started your car each morning, it would either rev up really high, just racing, racing ... or not start at all. in each case, you'd find it impossible to use this car to transport yourself reliably to your destination, wouldn't you? such a car seems non-functional, really.

well, if you can imagine ... that's what bipolar feels like ~ no baseline, just red-lining it, or inert. confusion, and cloudiness, linger. can i really, objectively, analyze the workings of my own mind and its chemistry? there's the rub.

somehow creative genius and madness seem to hold hands, in some dark shadows of existence. does the force of creative genius create a strange pain inside ... leading the individual to madness? or maybe creative genius and madness exist as siamese twins, inseparable ... fused to one another?

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Bipolar Type 2 - I am

soaked

i hear the universe ~
softly and steadily
she breathes
thoughts
into my soul.
softly ~
like the glistening petals
of a rain-drenched flower.
steadily ~
like the unceasing energy
of the rich torrents
that cascade
from the heavens.
i feel the universe ~
she infuses me,
soaking me ~
like the heavens
permeating
the deep, red earth.

~written by the.red.mantissa~

a curse of sorts?

*i am quite pre-occupied with school deadlines, having three in a span of just as many weeks. i have almost reached the end of deadline purgatory ... then i shall return to participating more fully in the blogosphere. missing you all, if you still bother to visit this site ... know i'm thinking of y'all ... here's something i wrote in may and never published ...*

a family curse, perhaps? perhaps. mental illness, thy name spells mystery ... and cursed, searing pain. not the simple, physical kind. oh, no ... i speak of the more elusive, the insidious, mental, spiritual, emotional sort of pain -- anguish. desperate anguish. the type of interior sensation that will eat you alive ... the type over which a vulnerable, frail psyche has no control.

a maternal uncle had a labotomy in the 1940s. that's what the course of treatment consisted of, for the ills of emotions and the psyche, in those days. just cut out a piece of their brains - they don't need that part anyhow. of course, i don't have to tell you that it only exacerbated the problem.

my maternal grandmother had the curse, too. i recall her energy as feeling quite morose, quite 'heavy' of spirit. i do not recall ever seeing her smile. a soul in torment, i believe. mother speaks of grandmother simply having these times when she 'took to the bed,' leaving grandfather to tend to the household and the five kids. recall, this is @ in the late 1920s, the 30s, 40s and 50s. not typically an era in which men did anything domestic.

in fact ... all of her children have the curse ... the darkness ... the beast that feeds on souls. lifestyle - a cummulative manifestion of choices and attitude taken through out the course of one's life - appears to influence the severity of the beast's affect upon daily living. in my humble opinion ... i'm sure those of whom i speak would vehemently disagree. of course ... of course they would.

my mother. waged life-long struggles with the beast. some she won. many she lost. and her children ... all touched by this darkness. in some manner of speaking. and ... history repeats itself. lifestyle remains strongly related to the beast's strength and his influence on daily living. how does this pattern get disrupted? can we disrupt it? i wrote in an email to a dear friend recently that i believe mental illness/imbalance has a spiritual original, in addition to a physiologic origin. if we change our spiritual behaviour patterns, can we shrink the beast?

EDIT:
can the spirit provoke changes in physiology? do some of us require chemical assistance, to tame the beast? or, to tame those external visions - (i.e. = pathological awareness/channeling of external energies)? i summarize my eccentric Self by writing, 'i know things and i don't know how i know them.' this knowledge frightens me sometimes ... sometimes thrusts me in deep black pools of despair ... sometimes compels me to drown my spirit in comfortable numbness. and still, as a stoner the sense remained. though the visions had less clarity and intensity.

if you want feel good, see previous post

otherwise ... take a look. take a good look. its real. its not a political statement -- just ... the best thing i could find to express what i feel like inside.

untitled

perhaps this lady had the right idea?

perhaps ...

tuesday evening bells

it did not escape me that this .... metamorphosis my spirit appears to be moving toward ... commenced around the beginning of lent. it did not escape me. nor did it escape me that, mere moments after i arrived in the park, and took my seat on the concrete overlooking the pond .... that the cathedral bells began joyously chanting. chanting a vibrant light into the descending darkness. this did not escape me. each time i step out of the building, the first thing i see is the cathedral, and our lady perched up there, near the bell tower. i listen to the bells ... contemplate them. as though vessels that carry the our lady's sentiment ... wisdom ... to the four corners. one only need to reach out and grab a tendril ... savour a rich morsel ... of this energy.

and so i sat, as night unfurled its petals before my tired eyes. and i watched wilbur the goose (read about him here ... and here gracefully contort his neck. i stared deep into the black of his lovely swan-like neck. as i watched its thick sheen dance onto itself it made me think of a thick, plush, black velvet rope. the feathers of his dorsum glittered faintly, as though he'd mucked about in gold leaf and got most of it, not quite all of it off. the stippled brindle of each individual feather i found mezmerizing. as he flared his wings to jump into the pond, i held my breath. and then he gently floated away. sort of like a paper boat floats - effortlessly.

[still planning a "silver harbour - pt 2" post ... stay tuned]

the blindness of abundance

an eagle in brackendale, british columbia
photo by living wilderness and found on flickr

[NB: part 2 of silver harbour will return tomorrow ...
this post, inspired by AUNTY,
just demanded itself and so i share it with you.]

"I'se wearin' these ashes for the times I did the least I could git away with when I shoulda and coulda done a heap more. Fer the days I'se mewlin' around thinkin' about what I did not have when I have such a wealth of love and light and laughter that I need ter count my blessin's, but was blind to 'em. These ashes keep me from flights of fancy about my own worthiness.

"Why Lent is a time we'uns is called away from our self-absorption, excesses, and petty complaints about each 0ther. We'uns is called out of our dark lairs, out of our comfort zones, out of the moldy corners where we hide what we don't want to admit about ourselves--Ya' could say Lent is a house cleanin'! We are called in from the cold, off the moor, out of alienation, away from the precipice.....invited to come sit by warmth and light of the hearth, be kind to our neighbor, do good to our crotchety boss, forgive our mother-in-law, encourage the fainthearted, console the grieving....see how we can be good and useful to those around us.

"These ashes remind me that I did not make myself ...

a certain aunty belle wrote this ... on mardi gras. sure ... we all know mardi gras - which means 'fat tuesday.' and which really is the party to end all parties .... before the more serious and contemplative lenten season descends upon us. but .... do those of us who believe (or even sort of believe) really stop and think about exactly how lent translates itself ... manifests itself in our everyday existence?

i have been around this place for over a year now. and have known you all in some capacity or another. but ... in all my self absorbed, dark-stroking, alienated and arrogant posturing ... i failed to know you, really. the simplest ... most obvious little details, little hints of you ... that fell within my grasp throughout this past year ... i am ashamed to admit i did not see these. i, roxanne, who does not miss a beat, or so they say. and i have been blind. to the splendour that's so close, its gonna poke me in the eye! weeeeellll ... the dawn breaks ... AND ... i see ... little by little. ever-so-slowly. i see.

thank you all. as i battle my own crazy-making demons, i want to be a better blogging neighbor ... friend ... human ... and ... helper to you all. the cravings for the drug are strong. they are purely emotional. pyschological ... they leave me feeling like the little child that's been deserted. i know i am not that child. and i am certainly anything but alone. still, the funk of all that is lurking.

my rosary sits on the windowsill. like some sort of talisman or dreamcatcher. will it catch the bad energy and spirits? only if i use it. [here's a confession - when i am in the throws of physical pain ... or abject fear ... i unconsciously begin reciting the "hail mary ..." - its not even a conscious choice i make. its something i just do.] when i venture outside ... i gaze up at our lady of the holy rosary. perched way up high, on the grand stone wall of the cathedral ... centred between the bell towers. she's wearing her golden crown and she's clutching her golden rosary. i gaze ... and wonder ... and contemplate. in wonderment. and awe. i sometimes do not know that i know what i believe.

what i believe. what i believe? its .... all of YOU.
and ... also, that dog is g-d backwards.
and ... that this is not a coincidence.
for, a sacred, special spirit lurks within dog.

a portrait of my late 'brownie'
artist: laura pelick

it all starts today

i am going to quit smoking weed. i've decided. i thought about it. about the fact that it costs so fricken much $. money that i could apply in so many better ways. i thought about it. like ... with the $ i would save from 4 weeks of going without weed, i could treat myself to a weekend of solitude in the mountains. when i think on this scale, it occurs to me just what i am giving up to stay high. its ridiculous. i notice i don't really wanna smoke when i blog, do blog hacs, design and/or tweak templates, and work on my digital art. so ... i guess i need to get more expressive and less stoned.

i went to the market to get some groceries with a $10 bill. i got a nice assortment of stuff. call me crazy, but there is nothin' like some black beans on top of good ole maci-cheese ... all topped of with piquante salsa sauce. and so i feasted. i am so hungry - have not eaten well these past few days. and it seems, today my body demands recompense! and so ... what can i do, but bow down? i have learned, by now - one must listen to one's own body. and one must stop ... long enough, to hear the the message.

i cannot believe how far a $10 can go, if you don't buy drugs. a simple statement ... but you must understand - a monumental one for an addict. and so ... this merely reinforces my decision to stop. or more accurately - re-priorize. its not so much about whether or not i smoke weed. its about setting accurate life priorities. and maximizing my potential.

i emerged from the underground tunnel mall that makes me feel like a prairie dog, popping out from a hole in the ground. as i began my ascent, i imagined that the furious collective sigh i heard emanated from the ocean. and i imagined myself not walking up a concrete staircase, but along the shore of a restless sea. i imagined that the splashes which emanated from the shiny metal boxes zooming north on seymour street were, in fact, the splashes of the tide slapping the shore. i imagined ....

and all the while - my heart longed.

a smoky-silver velvet blanket
still cocoons
my immediate exterior world.
i still feel like
a magenta dot
in a sea of monotone murk.

my wish for today

I can't help getting the feeling that we are rodents burrowing underground in our mammoth concrete tunnels, with our shiny metal boxes. My gaze strokes the scarred ravine @ the tracks' edge. peppered with garish yellow plastic crates, discarded clothing that's been tossed on the low lying brush, and assorted other trash. i'm sure if i could see up close, i would see discarded, empty sterile water containers and used insulin needles - a tell tale sign that junkies live here - everywhere ... here. the trees - they bow down, as if in painful deference to skytrain number 234.

misty rain and a velvet gray sky inhaled existence today. the world felt hollow - emptied of vibrance. i felt like a solitary, flaming magenta lily pad, floating in a murky grey monotone pond. that's what the city makes me feel like. i long for solitude. quiet solitude. and the song of the gentle mountain breeze lazily whispering ancient secrets thru the trees. i long to hear the loudest silence ... the collective silent sigh of the forest. and ... i long to see those brooding summits. and, most of all ... the crisp salty scent of the water's edge. and to hear the sweetest sound - the fretful sighing of my beloved pacific ocean.

quiet. peaceful solitude. that is what i wish for. right @ this moment.

a wolf and a moose

why wolf? as a child in swiss boarding school M - always the smallest - earned the nickname 'petit loup,' which means 'little wolf' in english. wolf - curious, peristent, a social creature that mates for life. i have a wolf, the love of my life ... my universe.

why moose? for my 37th birthday, i requested from M only the simple gift of a stuffed animal from build-a-bear. a moose is what i received. the moose accompanied me on my very lonely sojourn in this urban wilderness. i clung to him @ night, and during many lonely times. as though moose somehow had captured part of M's spirit to carry with me.

and that is the story of a wolf and a moose - the loves of my life.



[following is something i posted in my myspace blog, the first weekend after M's arrival in vancouver.]

we stood in cathedral park, enjoying each other's company (after 11 weeks apart) and also sharing a joint. we looked on, as we saw the reason the cathedral bells rang so jubilantly at 10 am on an ordinary saturday morning. a bride and her entourage poured out of the church. of course, the bride looked like a princess, in her white dress. and it occurred to me. how truly blessed am i. i did not have a princess-like wedding dress. or a princess-like wedding. that's because i did not need any of that. i am not just princess for a day - ie my wedding day. i am adored. i am a princess every day.

the sacredness of birds

i have a sort of quiet, hidden passion for birds. really. why? they have wings. wings that take them to heights, views and places that we can only imagine. close to the heavens their wings take them. the knowledge their wings afford them gives them a sort of sacred place, i believe. and i have always sort of mythicized that birds are somehow linked to the spiritual world - carrying or guiding souls to their next destination. i feel this in my heart and soul. tho you may think me absolutely INSANE.


so ... here is are some shots i got with my cell phone last week, when i was sitting in the park, smoking a spliff. a gander came out of the pond and walked right up to me, flared his wings, opened his beak and began to honk @ me. just before he could make any sound, i spoke to him in a firm voice - told him he would not bully me. told him to lose the attitude. he closed his wings, stopped honking.


a retreat, of sorts. he lingered by me a little and these shots i got as he began to walk away.

a thought in my heart

i sneak a gaze at his picture
every now and then
just to remind myself
that he does exist -
tho, truth be told,
he seems too perfect
and beautiful to be real.
i FEEL his real-ness.
and wish he absences
did not seem so lengthy
and ... lengthy.
i long for you, A ...
not in a possessive
way ... just ...
my presence longs
for yours
and i dream of the day
when you and i
will find ourselves
sitting across the table
from one another -
enchanted by one another,
immersed, in one another.
that day will come.
A - i know you are out there
i know you will come back to me
i know. i feel. i long ....
to tell you that sometimes
i feel as though
i do not deserve you.
_ _ _ _ lives here.

i will NOT snort COCAINE again!

days of agony
hath i suffered
at the hands of
my decision
to insufflate
... the white stuff ...
... and ....?
for what?
for about 3 hours
of a buzz
a mostly
painful
buzz -
that scorching sensation
of the nasal mucosa;
that irritating
and obstructive
nasal congestion;
BREATHING -
suddenly a challenge.
its just not cool to
have conscious awareness
one's own breathing.
and then, there's
the lingering fever -
on again, off again;
fever brain makes one sooo
restless, unfocussed,
unable to cognate, really.
and the agony -
its still not passed -
well not entirely.
it lingers -
in my gut, now.
and my nose -
still feeling allergic
and mildly congested.
the fatigue -
its fading
slowly.
the sneezes
that feel like
they may accompany
some vomit
still linger,
tho they are
fading, too.
but never
the lesson
i have learned.
once again,
i have learned
the hard way.
i do not
plan
on ever
touching
this stuff
again.

self mutilation

that's what its called
i guess
when one bites one's lip
until the skin breaks
until it hurts,
obsessively ... compulsively
leaving a faint trace
of a scar

you can't see it
- the scar -
unless
you know its there,
like - M does
he notices.
notices
when i bite
mindlessly, numbly
... without even realising
that i am biting myself.
"its part of a thought process"
i say,
justifying
my own
masochistic gesture.

6 wierd things about myself

1. i currently sleep a mere 10 or 12 feet away from the exposed blessed sacrament. i'm convinced its the reason i sleep like a baby in this bed i have here. before getting here i felt afraid to fall asleep. not here, though. i know its the blessed sacrament. i know it.
2. i feel intimidated by other people alot of the time - their energies overwhelm me. the same way having my head dunked in water overwhelms me. i can feel what people are thinking ... what they feel ... their emotions.
3. unlike the rest of the human race i have no requirement for sexual intimacy. i just don't. i'm convinced that sex is designed to take things from women. not make them feel connected.
4. weed is a necessity for me. i'm not being flip or silly. i'm dead serious. weed, to me, is just as necessary as food. anyone who thinks this is a bad thing is fucking ignorant. i wish people would stop patronizing addicts and just get it, already.
5. i'm confused about religion and the JC thing. the exposure of the blessed sacrament ... the peace it gives me when i sleep ... the peace it fills me with ... it makes me wonder. about g-d. about JC. about the trinity. if you asked me ... i'd honestly say i'm not sure if i believe. but ... somehow ... strangely ... i know. i feel like i just know.
   
6. trees and nature speak to me. in fact, they possess a lot more wisdom than humans. the wisdom of being for ages. the knowing that comes with waiting. that's what i get from nature.

world AIDS day - december 1st

i'm sick and tired of hearing this fucking bullshit about how abstinence can solve the bloody AIDS problem. that's right up there with 'the war on drugs' is the way to combat addiction. AND ITS FUCKING BULLSHIT! too bad that most of the people spewing such nonsense don't know what they're talking about. really. can we get passed ideologizing sex for a moment? can we? can we get passed all the judgementally loaded rhetoric? and see the issue?

the issue is this - a disease that's killing an entire generation of humanity. all around the world. and you think ... oh well, they're marginalized ... no one will notice. and you think ... well, tough shit, they brought it on themselves. and you think ... fucking faggots, serves them right for fornicating. oh ok. that's narrow, ain't it? do yourself a favour. learn about AIDS. do you know anyone afflicted by HIV/AIDS? do you know anyone who's died of AIDS? i keep sensing this insidious implication that it doesn't matter. they're all a bunch of faggots anyhow, right? who cares? besides ... abstinence will solve it all. what about the here and now?

here's a little tidbit for you.

he's got the mind and age of 56 years old. and the body of a 75 year old. ravaged by a disease that has depleted most of his immunity to fight off anything. many of the antretroviral meds have damaged his liver ... sending his bad cholesterol levels sky high. they have also damaged his gut, rendering it unable of processing any solid food without nausea, vomitting and profuse diarrhea.

he lives on kool-aid and protein power sprinkled into a shake made from soy milk and bananas. he's tired ... so tired. and sleeps 12, sometimes 14 hours per 24 hour period. and not in a row. his gums have receded. he's lost his teeth. he's not eligible for another set for a couples more years. will he live that long? good question. he's frail. it scared me - to see someone waste away. he's weak. i worry constantly about falls. he's toast if he falls. he's toast if he gets sick. i'm aware that i am a potential danger to him and must act accordingly. in so many small ways that many of you could not even imagine.

and that is the tip of the iceberg. i have not told you about the incredible pain. the pain that 130 mg of long-acting morphine taken twice daily barely keeps at bay. and the loneliness. who wants a partner dying of AIDS? and the fear of persecution. he's convinced that people will treat him with scorn if he discloses his true diagnosis. he's convinced he's unacceptable to the world at large. save for the GBLT community. even his own mother fears him because of his diagnosis.

now ... think. think. think. can you see how the issue of AIDS goes far beyond a debate about abstinence vs condoms? of course, i'm assuming you've dropped that ridiculous notion that homosexuality as a causal factor of AIDS. not everyone needs to ideologize sex. not everyone sees the bible a written-in-stone instructional booklet. not everyone sees life thru such a filter. please ... please ... please ... take this day - WORLD AIDS DAY - as an opportunity to drop the ideologizing about sex and sexuality. just LEARN about AIDS. and what's it like to live with.

image originally uploaded by casa de woof

1 comments:

Bob Souvorin said...

Hi,
Wow, you write with a great deal of feeling, fervor, and more than a dollop of anger and resentment. Please, that is not meant as a criticism, but as something to be proud of. Our blog world is filled with so much tepid silliness, that it is refreshing to read a passionate call for change.
I write a blog on accessing creativity:
ArtQuest1.blogspot.com
and the reason I bring this up is I maintain lines of communication with a fair number of visual artists and writers. Based upon your latest post, I have one woman I will recommend to you:
Her name is Nancy Bevilaqua
http://holdingbreath-nbevilaqua.blogspot.com/
Thanks for posting.
Bob

30/11/06 20:37

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