Thursday, August 10, 2006

The Night

Class had ended or had it? I ran from Uptown Whittier to the house. Time to get ready on a night like this.

The past few weeks had blended together. I finally got my bearings because I remembered it was “hump day”, or Wednesday to the helpless souls who go to bed at federally regulated hour. Before the night has begun I found myself being an Internet predator looking for some MILF to take care of my burning loin. It is not as easy as it was ten years ago. When you could easily go into a chat room and thirty minutes later a beautiful woman would show up free of charge to bathe you like some dirty rat. Those days have long since passed I found myself debating should I masturbate now or when I get home.

The night was relaxing as I had not been at home during the 20th hour of the day in almost a week. Wretched bar to club, to subtle BBQ’s to the Lebanese brisk I attended early that day.

I sit here and write in the tenth day of August in the year of our Lord, 2006. For the first time in my employer asked me at nine in the morning if the glass on my desk was a Bloody Mary, my response was a quick, “why yes sir it is, would you care for one?” pointing to the refrigerator I keep in my office. Had the night ended? Or did I make it to work somehow clean-shaven and not smelling like some of the woman I danced with the night before.

Are the scars visible? I thought thinking back on the night before where it all went down. The small dive just two blocks from the place I had not seen in days, my house. No pressure and not a single worry as I arrived along side Mom and Dad like always. I gave not attention to the young harlots as we made our way directly to the front of the bar, service man, fucking service. My usual, a Gin and Tonic, hold the Tonic, on the rocks with no ice. Give me the goddamn lime! I thought as she made the drink, the burnt out Betty Page doll who I see week after week.

I stood there sipping my gin, and spilling it as I do every night and every time I am there, intoxicated even before I take a sip. More than likely it was the beautiful dame standing in front of me that took my mind away from the tonic and to her eyes. It happened then, the crowds, the dames, and the rats swarming the place. Jesus, this is the night? I thought, but for what. We made our rounds, hugging and saying hello to the souls drenched in their sorrows. How long could I go until I get caught? Who were the usual suspects? I lit up an Al Capone, cognac dipped smokes, it made the gin sweeter and my eyes water.

I had not even thought about the events that took place earlier that evening, the ringing of the phone. Hello? It was she, the ex. After seven months she rang to say hello, and ask if I had thought about her, my only response was, “Yes I do actually quite often, in fact every time I take a shit you cross my mind.” There was dead silence, and then a ring tone. As much as I thought it happened, it hadn’t or did it? I could not remember anymore.

Mom came over to me with a beautiful dame in her hands, I felt more Italian at that moment as I erectionally cried, AMOR!!! My loin was in flames as I spent the next three hours dancing to the sounds of… I can’t remember, there was a beat and we were so on it. Hips and hands, without hesitation the rest of the night, almost deja-vue, even the poor Portuguese bastard was making his way on the dance floor molesting the poor drunken harlots on the dance floor. She was amazing in looks, in moves, and it style. The fishnet stockings, the tight corset and the mod glasses made me explode with… Moments later returning from the little boys room, cleaning my stained pants I was ready to dance again, some more. Had the effects of the Viagra, Zanax, Gin, Goldenfinch, and the smoke worn off? Had I consumed anything at all? Was what I feeling emotionally driven?

Too many secrets and too many questions, and I realized I had been ignoring the real issue. Asking the questions, drinking, eating, and smoking up to avoid what I was feeling inside. It was time to face it, the truth and nothing but the truth.
I was making my way back to source. I realize we ask questions when we are lost, confused and especially in those moments in our life we are looking outwardly for answers. I headed back home, usually around 4am, the time I stop for a photo opportunity. I grab a pen and paper and write a letter to an estranged lover, I release my hard emotions and then burn the letter. I fall on my bed and I start looking towards my inner self. The weeks of non-stop drinking, smoking, and wastefully spending money I don’t have on the harlots who never were meant to be. I felt free and released for the first time in weeks. Waking up only a few hours later, ironing, bathing and getting ready for work. I look in the mirror and see a different man.

The questions subsided, and I had my answers. Class had ended and I knew I loved Lindy Hop more than ever. I realize I too can make the best fucking Bloody Mary, high quality my friend, just like Vegas. Yes it was the night, and I found myself one of the usual suspects. I found myself thinking of the phone call from my ex, which never happened, and never will, I let go and it just was. The effect of the drugs had worn off, because there were none. I was high of a few sips of gin and life. Dancing with this dame, I felt emotional and spiritual. We kept beat, we dance, and we moved. I was moved. The answers I needed were inside the whole time, connecting with my source, connecting with myself.

Thursday, August 3, 2006

Addiction, Depression, and Eating Disorders

Part of any healing process is being able to talk about or the admission of what has happened. Little had I known I once was an addict to diet pills for a period in my life from 2001 to 2003. Most did not know at the time that ephedra was being used in diets pills, which normally should be used for asthma. I had started to take these pills when I lived in San Diego and continued for the next few years.

Men feel the pressure of being beautiful Adonis figures, as women feel the need to be runway models.

There are certain advantages to the influx of hormones in the meat we eat, everyone will soon be fat, and fat will ultimately have to be beautiful. Although it will be sick to watch, because people who will have weight challenges will not look like Picasso paintings or Victorian beauties in tight corsets. That is hot!

There is nothing hotter than corsets. “Thick voluptuous beautiful women wearing tight tight corsets”. For some reason skinny girls don’t look as good in corsets, unless they are Harijuku Girls from the Harijuko district of Japan and that my friends is something I can only describe as nectar of the gods.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

What wo(men) really want?

What wo(men) really want?

The events of my life seem to unfold as dramatically as a Mexicano Telanovela (soap opera). What does it mean when a man such as I, finds that I enjoy the fabulous art of me.

I recently dated a woman who I was head over heals for, beautiful and oh so very young. Eight years my minor and we have the most incredible things in common, art, fashion, perspective. Not exactly identical, but enjoyably close. I found that I was deterred slightly by the age of this young woman, experience, and stability, but wouldn’t that be something petty?

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

I am hated for loving.

I sometimes wonder about what keeps a relationship together. After having recently gone out on a second date with the woman I am currently more than infatuated with, she received an unexpected email from another woman whom I had only dated twice. Irony? Was this some cruel joke being played on me by Fascist, hitmen, or by the damn Portuguese who work for Hallmark? What kind of greeting card do you send to someone in this situation?

This made me think of duality. Why had their paths crossed? What was the universe trying to teach me? Here I had in front of me two very distinct women who had nothing in common. On one hand I had a woman who I am so completely into and the other a woman I regret ever even had making her acquaintance.

The duality was strong, as I cared for one and loathed the other. So I shall refer to them as love and hate.

My experience with Hate was simple; a woman who lived 1200 miles away who I intermittently chatted with for a few months and who would visit her family here in Los Angeles from time to time. Two dates in total, a few hours of conversation and a whole lot of arguing. Arguing because we both wanted to be right. After the second date Hate told me that she did not find any romantic chemistry with me and that she didn’t even want to be my friend. After sometime of struggling to even have a friendship with Hate I was relieved. I was tired of hearing about the men that Hate dated, and the marriage proposals she received on a weekly basis. Not that I cared, but it gets old.

My experience with Love from the very beginning was amazing. For the first time in a while a woman sought me out and wrote me. As I began to learn about her, the similarities between us are amazing. I was she and she was I, just the packaging was different. Our first encounter was romantic and was something only I could have imagined in the movies. I have had amazing first dates and encounters before. But this topped anything proceeding completely. I was drawn in instantly by the beauty of her words and later by the beauty in her eyes. Needless to say I was completely smitten over this kitten. By the second date I felt we both wanted a third, forth, and many more after that.

My world was great until Hate got curious to read comments on myspace that I had left for Love and comments Love had left me. I can only speculate what happened next, but Hate became angry at what she saw. Perhaps it was the fact I was not distraught over not wanting to be my friend anymore or perhaps it was her own jealousy. Had she immaturely thrown a good friend away? The events the followed can only be described as such, immaturity. Not to mention hurtful for everyone involved.

Hate took it upon herself to write Love, she told Love that I was a beast to be dealt with and after calling Love a lil girl, she proceed to explain how I was nothing but a predator internet whore who would promise the world all for a piece of ass. As anyone can imagine after only been out on two dates with Love, she was distressed and flustered. In fact she was outraged at the possibility I had lied to her. Naturally when I found out what had transpired I was angry, sad but most of all dumbfounded the lengths a woman will go to interfere with the life of a man who she had already disposed. I was starting to feel the treatment I had given the damn Portuguese all these years.

I will admit once I realized it was Hate who had written love I felt a sigh of confidence, I knew truth would prevail. But could I prevail? Would knowing I held the truth set us both free? Something like this for a young woman is a red flag, not only for her, but those around her. At such an early stage in the relationship the influence of family, friends, and other spectators can change destiny.

Although Love and I had worked through this, she had everything she needed to see the truth as it was, I still could not help to wonder what this did in the long term to our relationship. What keeps a relationship together?

I realize in the great words of Moz, “I am hated for loving.”


Why is it that when you are completely open with someone they assume you are hiding something from them, yet when you purposefully try and hide something that mystery alone makes you more attractive?

Friday, July 14, 2006


It’s all the same trip man!!!

One of the things that was lacking in any of my previous relationships was God. When I refer to God, I am referring to energy, not religion. When we consider that we all have our own belief about the cosmos, life, and death we tend to find we either find ourselves part of a large majority taking part in a human created religion or we find ourselves on a more spiritual path. Neither is incorrect or correct but mere paths. How often when we date do we consider how our partner matches with us spiritually? My guess, especially when it comes to dating in Los Angeles, rarely. Why not? Why do we not think about the presence of God, or the lack of God in our romantic lives? On the average each of us individually prays hundred of times each day, whether we know it or not.

Some examples are:

If that light would turn green.
I hope she/he likes.
I wish I were not as sick.
Jesus, the fucking Portuguese.
God let me have this one thing and I will be a better person.

It might not appear to be a prayer, but when we say these things to ourselves we are really calling on a higher force to intervene, calling on that energy. This is prayer. When confronted with death or taxes we especially take the time to call on God to save us, deliver us, or make us better. You can use the word energy, Buddha, Mohammed, Christ, Mickey Mouse for that matter in place of God; they can all mean the same thing according to what you believe. Even atheist pray, they just do it in the form of wishing.

So if we all at some level have prayer, and at some level we have spirituality then why is this not something we look to connect with in our relationships. I know from my past failed relationships, and I am thinking of everyone of them. The one thing that was missing was God. Coming to agreement between my partner and myself that we were blessed to have met one another. The agreement in what ways the universe, cosmos, or God works in our daily lives. As I have found in my meditation and journeys, I came to realize I am God, not a God, not the God, but just God. By saying it as such I connect myself to being, which was never absent of being connected with God. Even when we fail to notice God/Energy in our lives it is still there. I believe when we reconnect with God we are merely reconnecting with ourselves and every other living thing in this universe.

Recently I met a young energetic woman who for the first time, made me realize how important it is to have God/Goddess connection in a relationship. Not just about connecting you to the divine inside you, but as a couple connecting to that energy together, inside both of you. This made me think back on my past relationships that have worked and still do. They work because we both recognize there was God inside each of us. The first that comes to my mind is my father, the first man to show me unconditional love. I was able to allow him to be my father and teacher because we allowed God in each of us to reconnect. We reconnect because as we make this journey into this life or manifestation of life, we sometimes forget how connected we truly are to God/Goddess.

As complicated as it may sound to reconnect to God or Goddess, and I say Goddess now as there is no difference between the two words, it is all energy. I am God who worships Goddess. Yes, even God or Goddess worship, as we worship, God worships us because in the great words of Ram Das, “It’s all the same trip, man!” It is all the same. Reconnecting is merely recognizing inside each of us, there is God/Goddess.

It makes me believe in love at first sight even more so, because I am now starting to understand that love at first sight really does exist. It is not about giving your heart to someone on the first date, or first encounter. It is that moment when you encounter God/Goddess in someone and they the same in you. You both reconnect to that energy at the same time. This is powerful, as you see God/Goddess in the other and you reconnect to that energy which we are all part of. An infinite pool…

As my father/mentor/teacher/student/God has told me over and over, you will just know. You know by just being on that level of pure energy or pure God/Goddessness. Being you from the inside out.

The sleeper awakens at many strange times of the day; the key is to stay awake because sleeping on this level or existence you will surely miss this wonderful dream called life.

So we reconnect to know ourselves, to know that God/Goddess is love, and to give love to another being is to share God/Goddess or reconnect to your very self. We are droplets of the same energy that find each other in this world to realize they are part of a much larger lake of energy, the same energy, the same trip called Life.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Violated on all fronts

Violated on all fronts. I heard the smacking sound of the latex glove as it went on his hand; this was followed by a quick swoop sound in the bucket of lubrication that was kept in some freezer. They like for you to pucker from the cold as they take that index finger and…

Moments earlier I was intrigue at my first visit to the Urologist. Considering I am only months away from being thirty and being in a waiting room full of geriatric men. Well…what was I doing here? I thought. Could I be getting older than before? The idea that I too was starting to decay at a faster rate entered my mind. How could this be I contemplated. I remember just yesterday I was doing my first hit of MDMA, or the night I first has sex in the backseat of my car. Was it that long ago? Had I grown up too fast as I looked down at my arm to look at my ink. Jesus!!! I screamed, realizing the ink on my arm, my first sleeve, had been there for twelve years. My god, I was eighteen when I had my first professional ink done.

Each morning as I looked in the mirror I had started to notice the white hairs on my head. Thinking how cute it was. Was it stress or wisdom that put them there? My youthful look was starting to feel the ages of time, the crows feet slowly starting to set in, more light sensitivity in my hazel eyes, and now I found myself realizing I was getting older as the doctor ask me to pull down my pants so he could fondle my private area. “No daddy no! I was thankful he was not some deprived Portuguese bastard who was seeking revenge on some poor half naked Italian for the outcome of the Copa Mundial (World Cup). I could feel the doctor squinting his eyes at me, or was it because he was Asian? The statement that nothing appears to be too abnormal was a relief as the doc was still in shock from the size of the ring I bore threw the head of my royal member. Too abnormal? I find that my normality is everyone else’s abnormality, but the doc didn’t need to know that.

I began to pull up my pants when I heard, Wait! Now I need you to bend over. Was this a question or a demand? I looked around the exam room searching for some flowers and candy, wanting to make sure this doc was a true gentleman. Nothing! As I felt that frost bitten index finger enter my tight…He ignored the sign that said, Exit Only and when straight for the prostate, which I had intended to be enjoyable. I was rudely mistaken. As fast as he went in he pulled out, the method most men prefer.

The next few hours I wondered around Hollywood waiting for the sensation from the cold to come back into my…. Violated on all fronts! No dinner, no kisses or candy, not even the gentle spooning I so desire after intimacy. No the doc was a professional, no games here. Professionals don’t kiss, God Damnit! Remembering a few Vegas ranches I had herded cattle before, however only good times for those who violate us poor innocent souls on all fronts. Final Diagnosis? Acute pain in my ass.