Regrowth

There comes a point in life, sooner or later, where you’re forced to look back – and I mean really look back – at where you’ve been in your life to get to where you are. Today’s just one of those days, I guess… One of those days where you kick back, relax, and reminisce while wishing you’d done things a little differently: like a certain diet you never followed, a certain religion you never practiced, a certain school you never attended, or a certain someone you never loved back. It’s hard to establish, when you’re in the moment, when something is good for you; and usually it’s a result of being so accustomed to some other bullshit routine you've convinced yourself is for you. More often than not we’ve snuffed some of the better influence(s) of our lives away for the sake of some premature, ill-mannered ideal. Things like that often make you believe that “everything happens for a reason, and that we learn from our experiences;” making a lesson of everything we’ve done. But what happens if what you thought was a lesson learned, was actually learned later on in life, causing you to rethink some of the decisions you’ve made? I’ve never been one to dwell on the past, but when you’re just starting your life and becoming the person you’ve always known you’d be, you’re left with this void; this insipid little feeling that maybe there’s some things you can go back and change: like an education you gave up on all for the sake of not knowing what the hell to do with yourself; like that one good job you turned down because, at the time, it didn’t “suit” you; like that Yoga class you turned down because convinced yourself you could do it on your own; like that small-business idea you completely recycled because your “business partner” you had in mind turned out to be a complete joke; like the book you’ve been “writing” for 4 years but never actually gotten passed the very first page; or the lover who gave you their all and continued to do so in your darkest days – but you snuffed away because you felt suffocated and inadequate – as if you couldn’t do the same. In a perfect world, there are no faults. All is forgiven and all can be amended. But let’s face it – this isn’t a perfect world. This is reality. We are held accountable for every breath we take, every decision we make, and every action we allow. We’re only as reliable as the defendant’s defense is defendable, as one would say. It’s inadmissible to go back and change things. And that’s the cold hard truth. We’re left with nothing more than to accept what is done, and hope for what will be. It is our sentient will to evolve and carry on. But when you trace back every moment, maybe this was the lesson – the illusion of grandeur – masquerading as some petty sense of morality and subjective consciousness.

Turning The Page

Each relationship in one's life serves as a stepping stone to lessons learned, obstacles triumphed, existentence prevailing. But the ultimate test in a relationship isn't in fact the ability to communicate and articulate, but rather the limit to each individual's devotion, and testing the wills.

I must have been a sucker; thinking for nearly 4 years that he and I were destined in some time that wasn't precisely the present, but rather (hopefully) soon. Love never hit me as hard before. It used to just pass my by, barely grazing me but getting close enough to entice me to the idea, albeit feeble or not. I was always just on the precipice of something greater, willingly looking down at the peak at which I'd bask in the benevolance of this unfortunate love-high. They never really warn you not to get too close to the edge, though... Or you'll fall.

Much like relationships, seasons come and go just as easily; as time flows almost seamlessly. This season marks my move back to the promiseland that is Kansas City, particularly next week. To say that I am not excited to the point that I could almost puke, would be a grand understatement. I haven't seen my two bestest friends in ages, some 3-4 years rather, and I've been lost and miserable without them. It's kind of hard to make friends in other places when you've made quite frankly the best of friends you can make in two others. It's pointless to say I didn't try to, because I have tried befriending people... But it's just not the same. The whole process is a drag; getting to know them, accustoming yourself to their standards, knowing their ins and outs, and just getting them, and vice versa. It takes months, sometimes years to form that solid, nearly unbreakable bond with whom would no sooner become the most important person(s) in your life. I got a lucky break with my two. It was almost synergy from the start.

I'd be a liar if I withheld the sore truth that my venture back to where I consider home wasn't tinged with the notion that, it wouldn't just mark my reunion with my best friends, but somehow that 4 years of interloping foreplay with almost no end would finally become a reality with whom I thought might just be my soulmate. Colour me selfish, but I guess I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too. That is, of course, until he decided to tell me tonight that he'd met someone else.

Earthshattering doesn't cut it. And even now my heart still lingers in my throat suffocatingly. 4 years of battling the roughest of demons, soul-searching, improving ones self, planning this vision of a life to share with this person incessantly, just float on by into nothing at the arms of some stranger he'd only just met.

Life is full of surprises. Just when you think you'd figured it all out, WHAM! It pulls the rug from under you, tumbling you back to Square One. But as Ghandi once said; "Whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it’s very important that you do it. Because nobody else will. Like when someone comes into your life and half of you says you’re nowhere near ready, but the other half says: make him yours forever." I aimed for forever. I guess it wasn't an option... But I see now more clearly than ever. I see that I am capable of abstaining and preserving my spiritual essence in the name of love. I see that I am capable of devotion with no end. I see now that I CAN love and exceed the limit of devotion the average human barely even touches. My heart may be shattered now, but I know now that my journey wasn't meant for that just yet. This is a journey for my self, and to reconnect with those who've really been there from the start.

I may hate you now, but I will more than likely thank you later; because at the end of the day, you showed me exactly who I wanted to be and exactly who I don't want to become.

White Flag

I took a little visit back into the online publication of the Dictionary and came to find something quite amusing. It really got me thinking, "It's no wonder we've got it all wrong."

RELATIONSHIP /riˈlāSHənˌSHip/relationships, plural.
1. The way in which two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected, or the state of being connected

Over the years I've constantly found my way of unwillingly encountering guys who are already in relationships, be it online, at the bars, etc. It always spun my head how the internet deviates people from traditional values and points their moral compass due south. I happen to frequent a couple of online "dating" sites with absolutely no agenda other than to see who or what is out there. I almost never actually meet anybody offline, and conversations I may or may not have, tend to fall short upon their breach of respect and courtesy, when they entertain the idea that a relatively harmless conversation can easily be turned into a transcript from a porno flick.
"You top or bottom?" ; "Wanna have some fun?" ; "I'm playing with my dick right now..."

I can't help but laugh at how broken of a record it can play it out to be with guys. It's always the same one track mindedness, always the same agenda, always the same god awful six-pack that--not matter how hard they try to sculpt it differently--is still a six pack, always the same bitching sob story of how they just got out of a relationship and don't want to jump right into one, or rather that they're IN a relationship and like to play on the side, whether or not the boyfriend is away. Oh god, and the penises... There's nothing ever new about those. It's true, when you've seen one, you've seen 'em all.

I'm truly starting to think I'm the only homosexual alive that actually believes that two men alike can be friends, and not have to fuck each other to determine that.

The only argument I have left in me anymore is that men, if you're in a relationship, value it. Do yourself a favor, deactivate your Grindr and A4A accounts until you're single (again). You can paint the picture how ever you want it with pretty words and even prettier pictures, and tell the whole world that the two of you are "happy" and "commited" but truth be told, I, along with half of the rest of the internet, see not only you, but your "boyfriend" on these sites everyday and you still have the nerve to call it a relationship? Just break up and spare yourselves the bullshit. And for the love of bob, stop tainting the true definition of commitment with your corrupt, tasteless, unethical approach.

Bad Blood

We live in an age where two generally interested people get lost in the translations of their interests. Where one might hope to be asked what's on his mind, the other hopes you'll be the next one on his dick. Where one might hope to find intellectual stimulation, the other hopes you'll stimulate his anatomy. And where one hopes to find some form of emotional stability and connection, the other only hopes to connect his dick to your ass, or what have you. It's truly a shame the level of dignity people are so eager to give up all for the sake of gratification. Men are more quick to tell you they're horny, but ever so elusive to ask what's on your mind, or how you're feeling. We set the standards in our prerequisite quests to seize whatever emotion or notion we go through, but never justify those same standards with anything more than an interloping bland dignification that we're just human beings with needs. Whereas in a perfect world, I see those "needs" pertaining to activities more substantiated in less morale deviating behavior instincts, like a walk in the park, writing, laying out in the sun on the beach, visiting a boutique or an art exhibit, eating delicate foods and drinking fine wines. But in this not-so-perfect world, people are generally driven to the more selfish hand their moral compass points to; sex, partying, eluding emotional connection to satisfy sexual urges, denying friendship for a new sexual partner, closing their minds, spreading their legs and their moral disease.

It's really no wonder why there has been an epidemic of gay suicides lately, and I sincerely hate using that as an example. The new generations who are just now noticing or experiencing their sexuality are being misled into believing it's all about sex. What happens to those less adamant on sex, more dominant on getting to know a person newgens who just want to connect to another person? They're fed this image of what Gay existentialism is perceived by in the eyes of media and society, and taught to let go of the image they want for themselves and eventually just follow the stereotype and flavor of the month. Ergo, the result becomes a destructive shattered self-image and people generally begin to lose faith; not just in others but also in themselves.

I guess you can say I'm one of those guys. I've lost my faith gradually over the last year two.

I used to look up to and idolize interaction with other men, and considered it an art. I've always had this idea that each new person will bring something new to the table and leave some kind of imprint on my life, even if their presence was only temporary. I took each acquaintance and savored the experience, collected somewhat of a faux-memoir in whatever moment(s) might have been shared, platonic or not. Nowadays I find myself repulsed by the idea of interacting with anyone in any shape or form, because all you're left to wonder is, "Oh god, let's see what cheesy overused pick-up line this one will use." And more often than not, it's never any more than just 5 words... Want to have some fun?

I find it amazing how distorted the word "fun" has become in our lifestyles of choice. When I was a kid, and even up till this very day, I find myself defining fun to be harmless things, beaches, video games, museums, photography, writing, swimming in the ocean, camping, amusement parks. But I guess the irony is attempting to date in this post-modern gay community is quite the park of amusement. You've got your twinks, your jocks, your leatherdaddies and juiceheads, your barhoppers, club rockers, party monsters and sex slaves, your wannabe porn stars, and the even trashier so-called "escorts"; not to mention the exponential increase in tweaked out druggies who sell their bodies and souls for even the slightest fix, and anabolic steroid pumpin' gym junkies who let their napolean complexes get the best of them.

I find it amusing when anyone of any of these categories approaches me with their bland excuse for "fun" -- cuz frankly -- No. I don't want to have some of your "fun."

But maybe you should try some of mine, for a change.

They crucify Romantics, right?

To my pleasant surprise, my pops told me of an event that occurred at his workplace the other night. He was never much of the open conversationalist that acknowledged my sexuality type.

At his restaurant the other night, there were two men having a nice delicate dinner together. After some time, one of the men eventually stood up beside the table and got down on his knee to propose to what would be his future spouse. And after the jaw-dropping public display of obviously more than affection for each other, in the form of a passionate kiss to seal the deal, everyone had gotten up to cheer them. This isn't a common occurrence you'd find in a 4-star restaurant, let alone anywhere in public.

Just hearing that coming from the words of my pops, with a smile on his face, uplifted what little hope I had buried deep down. To think there are people out there, gay even, who will go the distance to show his lover how much he means to him, and how much he wants to spend his life with him, rattled the cage that I had locked my inner subservient in; the silent slave to the idea of true romance and unconditional love. Maybe it rattled me, or maybe it caught me off guard, just as I was teetering on a very thin thread and a loss of hope for love in the gay world. But somehow I find myself refreshed and rather hopeful for my self.

Maybe it was a diamond in the rough, this incident, or a needle in the hay; or I could be playing my cynics card and pretending to basque in my belief that they'll probably not last for more than 2 months. But I'd be a liar if I said I'm not sitting here, sulking, wondering when something like that would happen for me.

Monogamy is a beautiful thing, whenever its elusive grasp is finally gripped. It's a shame so many men avoid it like a disease. Men revel as interlopes and writhe at the thought of being tied down with another person. Ironically enough, we tell ourselves at least once a day that it would be nice to settle down and fall in love, but when push comes to shove, we run in the other direction. We beg and plead, to whatever god we may not believe in, to help us through the assholes to get to the good guys; and when the good guy comes along, as rarely as it ever happens, we push them away when they start to get too close. Why is it that we can hope so much for something, but the minute it gets too close for comfort, we push it aside and chew up our words?

I'd like to think that in theory, men are born with a complex; one that nullifies their sense of security with other people. Naturally we have trust-issues with anyone intimately interested in us. Sure the sex can be great and bedroom antics can skyrocket to a borderline "match"; but as soon as opening up to that person on a level far more intimate than sex comes into play, we tick. This tick is more of a tourettes response to emotional inquity, and as a result, we indecently turn the tables on a person in an effort to push them away, without directly having to do so.

Too bad they can't prescribe us Haloperidol for our emotional tourette syndrome. But I guess for now, we can strap a rubber-band on and slap ourselves on the wrist whenever we might tick. Who knows what may come of a person we push away, for the sake of some proverbial trust-issue we pretend to have, to spare ourselves the trouble of getting it wrong.

Recessed

If we’re born with the mission to leave a legacy behind in our lives, what’s left for the generations after us, if all we’re leaving them is a mess of an existentialist socialite bankruptcy?

We’re setting up for a recession far worse than our current economy; one that will deprive our next generation of any kind of moral compass. We’re so strung out and confined in the idea that, through all of our conquests, nothing matters more than getting our dicks wet.

As I see it, nobody cares to befriend anyone anymore if there’s no sex involved, and certainly no genuine interest in stimulation that goes beyond the precipes of physical, more intimate settings. We’re neglecting not only the expansion of the synapses our brains can uphold through the simple spark of courteous conversation, but also the emotional maturity and progression of connecting to another human being on a basis that isn’t governed by sex.

It’s both amusing and depressing in the same breath. Nobody will approach you on the streets just to causally chit-chat and make an acquaintance, or even a friend. And, of course, online? That’s a joke. The online social networking and dating sites don’t offer much of a support system for those who are genuinely interested in meeting other genuinely interested people. Internet dating is a masquerade that revels and basks in creating, or even unleashing, an alternative persona to glorify some sense of security. But often times that masque becomes a leading role. And often times people blur the lines between who they really are with who they want(ed) to be to other people. To our social demise, these internet "social networking" websites seem to only harbor sexual deviants who make it a point to base their lives on simply just that.

If sex sells as much as it does today, tomorrow for our new comers, what will be of the human race if we sulk and thrive in sexuality and not our sensuality? What will be for that poor adolescent, depraved at home, staring at his computer screen, hoping for interaction – contrary to the lack of courtesy and general interest from those around him in the flesh – when he’s got nothing left to rely on, as a result of detaching and becoming disinterested in the status-quo?

I’d like to play super-hero and tell a story of a boy who has lost his hope for socialism in our divided post-modern society, but I can only sing to that beat so many times. It’s up to us, the orderlies, to sanction what little bit of hope we have now because before we know it, tomorrow’s generation will be tainted before they even know it.

Existentialism on a Two-Way Street

They say a relationship should be a two-way street; each partner should be entitled to their own voice to validate their stance in the relationship, which should sanction a firm line of communication -- and furthermore -- embody a distinctive comprehension they have for each other. But a two-way street goes hand-in-hand with each story having two sides to it; a parallel jurisdiction and a defining line that sets the two off in two seperate directions.

When you're stuck standing in the middle of that dividing line in the middle of a collision course, you're left with but a moment to accumulate your options. Do you cross? Do you stand there and wait for the crash? Do you step back and wait for another time to cross? A relationship is a two-way street, and much like a car accident; you know it's wrong to sit on the sidelines and watch, but can't help being intrigued to do exactly just that and find yourself consumed by the sight. Maybe this two-way street ideal we're taught about relationship really only suggests that each relationship is a crossing road. Often times you're meant to cross, but somewhere in between you get caught in the crash and become the victim of a human collision. And just like an accident, you exchange information(s) with them and leave the rest to insurance claims.

I guess in a sense the idea is that in life, you often find yourself at a crossroad and you have every intention to cross, but often get distracted by naive superficial things like men, or sex, or even dating and relationships. You bump, or crash in this case, into a person you couldn't keep your eyes off of to realize the accident was about to happen. And you're left with nothing but an intention. An intention to sanction this collision of human connection and try to make the best out of it; suddenly forgetting the track you were on and losing a sense of responsibility, au contrair to the self-sufficiency and stability you set yourself out for in the first place.

There's two sides to every story, in life, in law, and in love. But often times that two-way street becomes a one-way dark road when you crash and follow the wrong direction, in the form of a person sweeping you off your feet, albeit for the moment.

When it comes to relationships, where's the insurance policy to claim an accident of two people not meant to be?

Nothing but a Number

I guess it's safe to say that, growing up, I've always had an interest in older guys when it came to dating. My first boyfriend, Jonathan, was 16 and I was 13. My first sexual experience, Joe, was 23 and I was 15. My first love, Jason, was 24 and I was 16. Ultimately the list goes on, ranging mostly from late 20's to mid, sometimes late 30's. I can't really pinpoint it from a perspective of my younger, more adolescent self... But in my prime, I guess you can say a lot had to do with safety.

Growing up, I was always one step ahead of the average kid my age; mentally, emotionally, and certainly when it came to my perspective on life. I'm not saying I never tried dating my own age or even younger, cause I definitely did. It was never interesting. I'm sure that is just my being the product of growing up too fast. Society's legislature suggests a timeframe in which you should live certain phases in your life; for instance by law, you're allowed into (most) a club at the age of 18, but only allowed to be served drinks at 21. And growing up, I was in those clubs partying it out from 15 and onward. I guess it gets to a point where you outlive your generation and slip right into the next.

When it came to dating in my own age-group, there just wasn't much of a spark. Those in their late teens barely have any sort of idea of what they want out of life, and are all about exploring and experiencing. Those in their early 20's are all about the partying, "living it up" and bar/club-hopping, sleeping with countless other persons and indefinitely never being interested in settling down. I guess I found the most comfort with those in the mid-to-late 20's age-group. There's something to be said for the age of 25 and up. You're fresh out of college, just started your booming career, have your priorities in order -- and furthermore -- have reached a point where settling down with another person just might be in the picture. At least that's how I've always imagined it.

Over the years I've wondered what the real reason(s) were behind dating older or younger than yourself. When they say "Age is just a number..." it's no joke. We are personafied and dignified by the direction our lives may be in the current; the past is never something to delve into or dwell over, and the future is something we create to supplement where we are in our present. I've gathered those who date younger are still in the phase, contrary to common denomination, they were in with those of that same age; while those who date older have surpassed the status-quo, and want more fundamental things that again, contrary to common beliefs, are what a person should want in life at that age. There's a lot to be said for yourself by the way you characterize and represent your values and principles, and even more to be said when you live your life defying your age; acting and doing things outside of the proverbial box those in your own generation are "supposed" to.