Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Waiting
I'm antsy. I've been in a hospital bed for a week and now want to break out, to walk a million different directions at once. Maybe if I type it out it will help.
I'm sleeping again, blessed be. I am not sure if I have enough in the tank to write much, but I'm okay. My partner's mother is coming to check on me in a few hours. I am grateful for the help while my partner is at work.
I care deeply about all of you out there, all of you who read. You're the ones I do this for, in the end.
I'm sleeping again, blessed be. I am not sure if I have enough in the tank to write much, but I'm okay. My partner's mother is coming to check on me in a few hours. I am grateful for the help while my partner is at work.
I care deeply about all of you out there, all of you who read. You're the ones I do this for, in the end.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Monday, September 14, 2015
Bisexuality
I had a lot of time to think in the hospital. And I know I've alluded to this a million times. Please give me some of your understanding and maybe even your sympathy.
I'm bisexual and genderqueer. I grew up in an environment where neither were acceptable. And it has been the struggle of my life to find that elusive happy medium. It shouldn't matter. It's 2015. But still it causes me shame and doubt. I want to be straight more than anything else in the world, but it's not my fate. Even if I partner mainly with women, the feelings never go away. I'm a 2.5 or so on Mr. Kinsey's scale.
My father reads my blog regularly. I write this to him, knowing he will read this, wishing him no ill will. But I feel the need to come clean finally as I am recovering. I usually don't talk about this, but my wonderful partner is so accepting. I'm glad we can have these discussions now between us. I hid this mostly for years, but I cannot anymore. I have to say it. I've prayed about this.
This is how I was born. This is why I experimented with men. I love my family and I don't want to lose them. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit the way I am. This is so hard. I have LGBT friends who have helped me along the way. I'm fearful of my father's response. I've set aside my relationships with men aside from fantasy, but they will never go away. And when I see an attractive man my stomach turns in knots.
I have to come to grips with this. I have to be strong here. Stronger than I have ever been for anything. I've come a long way. I don't want to lose anyone here. I've lost some already, friends, mostly, so I keep it quiet. But these are different times and even then, no one seems to understand bisexuality. Let me take this burden off my chest, please. Let me be who I am, finally. Accept me for who I am, God.
I know you don't hate me. I don't believe that and never did. But I hated me. I hated myself something awful. And I still do, but I know I'm going to get there. No more coded language. It's time to step into the sunlight. I can't do this anymore.
I'm still as much a man as I ever was, as much as I ever could be. I'm glad this is 2015, like I said, and not 1970. I would be even more neurotic. But forgive me for spilling my guts. Events in childhood not my father's fault didn't make it easier, but I was always this way. I'm in pain. I want to be in pain anymore. If you are religious and inclined, pray for me. I need every one.
Unsympathetic Narrator (Excerpt)
Don't feel sorry for this guy. He's unlikable on purpose.
Revised from previous version.
Dry Drunk
A work of fiction
My last date was a disaster. She told me, prior to the arrival of the drinks at our table, that she'd caused herself an abortion by falling down the stairs. When I asked how old she was, she'd casually told she was 16. It wasn't long before I excused myself, claiming an unexpected emergency.
I puked, if you want to know, making it to the bathroom in time. I wasn’t sure it was the alcohol or the realization of yet another dead end. I’ve made my mistakes in my time.
You know you're out of control when everyone holds a combined sense of revulsion and pity around you. This could never be confused as genuine compassion. It is more fear than anything else, and a fervent prayer that the affliction does not someday affect them. That is how I was pushed out of a dentist's office a couple years later, or rather without much politeness, escorted to the hallway and dropped there. A week or so later I ended up here.
I used to give a few of my things out in the beginning, but not anymore, she said. Her diagnosis was psychoaffective disorder, a mild form of schizophrenia that never really got better for anyone. I only remember the horrible state of her teeth, as though she'd gone ten years solid without brushing a single one. They looked like corroded copper pennies. She was somewhat friendly, but guarded, and mostly kept to herself.
“Don’t even go there,” I said to myself.
Sometimes I have to admit I never wanted a conventional life. I wanted to lie down covered by a blanket, lying on a cot, viewing the grass and footpaths of an institution for hours, doing nothing. This had been true for my great-grandmother, but was no longer the case today. There were no more sanatoriums, just filthy bus people pushing shopping carts, in and out of jails and short-term facilities. I had nothing to do except try to live in this world and maybe not end up here again.
There were too many bad examples present. That's what I didn't like about rehab. Some people built connection bases for the illegal stuff, once discharge arrived. I took the process seriously, avoiding the harder stuff whenever possible, full of rationalizations. My temptations were far away and I'd stopped the narcotics and pills years before. And even if you didn't seek a pot dealer, you had to deal with the true believers in addiction, the ones who would never quit for any reason and saw this 28 day stint as a joke.
Some of them disguised their true intentions well, but I'd been around long enough to see who'd backslide within a few days to a week. The girl sitting next to me couldn't be anymore than one-hundred pounds and would not shock me if she was dealing with an eating disorder. I'd had a girlfriend about the same size who'd gotten beaten up after a conference, walking home nearby a deranged homeless man who physically attacked her. I saw the pictures and the paperwork of the legal proceedings. As for the boyfriends, they all looked like me. A full foot taller, big frames, broader shoulders, and big. Big guys.
Though I admit the idea sounds appealing at first, getting away means a four mile walk through dense forest and brambles. Following that comes figuring out how to get to civilization, to rent a car and head back into the city. In many ways, I am a very motivated person, but where this issue is concerned, I am lazy. And I haven't given up yet on treatment, though this is very tough medication.
I've been trying to make inroads with this little redhead. She is a million times too young for me, but she's smart and pretty. She is a full ten inches shorter than me. And she likes me. When I speak, she makes notes of my words and phrases on a sheet of paper. It's as if I'm playing the part of the charismatic college professor, and she the smitten student. Before I flatter myself further, I remind myself that everyone here has major problems, else they wouldn't be here, so treading lightly is my best course of action.
After I get to know her further, with every subsequent interaction, I see one red flag after another. She's what they call dual diagnosis. Psychiatric illness and substance abuse. Then I put it all together. Borderline. Borderline people routinely rip holes in relationships of every size and shape. She lashes out at me eventually because she says we have too much in common and she can't handle it. It's a mean, strange gesture, and I see a side of her that I don't like one bit. Here's for learning from one's mistakes.
I leave and consume four ounces of warm orange juice left on a tray in the day-room, not because I'm thirsty, but because it gives me something to do. I peel back the aluminum foil and chug the contents now at room temperature. I've made it through the worst part, the active detox. It's downhill from here, but I am nowhere near active recovery.
We always look for fault. Sometimes there is no fault. Sometimes it's a combination of lucky breaks and timing. I got tired of waiting for both. I begged God for the right combination, though my church-going days are long past. You have to give that shit up to someone. A friend said I was too needy. And she's right. But so were all of the other ones. Needy + needy rarely equals success. Someone's got to lay the foundation. So here I am again, laying the foundation, seeking to be less needy, less dependent. Seeking one of those nice girls people talk about all the time. They keep asking me my personal goal in therapy, and I think it but I never say it.
Revised from previous version.
Dry Drunk
A work of fiction
My last date was a disaster. She told me, prior to the arrival of the drinks at our table, that she'd caused herself an abortion by falling down the stairs. When I asked how old she was, she'd casually told she was 16. It wasn't long before I excused myself, claiming an unexpected emergency.
I puked, if you want to know, making it to the bathroom in time. I wasn’t sure it was the alcohol or the realization of yet another dead end. I’ve made my mistakes in my time.
You know you're out of control when everyone holds a combined sense of revulsion and pity around you. This could never be confused as genuine compassion. It is more fear than anything else, and a fervent prayer that the affliction does not someday affect them. That is how I was pushed out of a dentist's office a couple years later, or rather without much politeness, escorted to the hallway and dropped there. A week or so later I ended up here.
I used to give a few of my things out in the beginning, but not anymore, she said. Her diagnosis was psychoaffective disorder, a mild form of schizophrenia that never really got better for anyone. I only remember the horrible state of her teeth, as though she'd gone ten years solid without brushing a single one. They looked like corroded copper pennies. She was somewhat friendly, but guarded, and mostly kept to herself.
“Don’t even go there,” I said to myself.
Sometimes I have to admit I never wanted a conventional life. I wanted to lie down covered by a blanket, lying on a cot, viewing the grass and footpaths of an institution for hours, doing nothing. This had been true for my great-grandmother, but was no longer the case today. There were no more sanatoriums, just filthy bus people pushing shopping carts, in and out of jails and short-term facilities. I had nothing to do except try to live in this world and maybe not end up here again.
There were too many bad examples present. That's what I didn't like about rehab. Some people built connection bases for the illegal stuff, once discharge arrived. I took the process seriously, avoiding the harder stuff whenever possible, full of rationalizations. My temptations were far away and I'd stopped the narcotics and pills years before. And even if you didn't seek a pot dealer, you had to deal with the true believers in addiction, the ones who would never quit for any reason and saw this 28 day stint as a joke.
Some of them disguised their true intentions well, but I'd been around long enough to see who'd backslide within a few days to a week. The girl sitting next to me couldn't be anymore than one-hundred pounds and would not shock me if she was dealing with an eating disorder. I'd had a girlfriend about the same size who'd gotten beaten up after a conference, walking home nearby a deranged homeless man who physically attacked her. I saw the pictures and the paperwork of the legal proceedings. As for the boyfriends, they all looked like me. A full foot taller, big frames, broader shoulders, and big. Big guys.
Though I admit the idea sounds appealing at first, getting away means a four mile walk through dense forest and brambles. Following that comes figuring out how to get to civilization, to rent a car and head back into the city. In many ways, I am a very motivated person, but where this issue is concerned, I am lazy. And I haven't given up yet on treatment, though this is very tough medication.
I've been trying to make inroads with this little redhead. She is a million times too young for me, but she's smart and pretty. She is a full ten inches shorter than me. And she likes me. When I speak, she makes notes of my words and phrases on a sheet of paper. It's as if I'm playing the part of the charismatic college professor, and she the smitten student. Before I flatter myself further, I remind myself that everyone here has major problems, else they wouldn't be here, so treading lightly is my best course of action.
After I get to know her further, with every subsequent interaction, I see one red flag after another. She's what they call dual diagnosis. Psychiatric illness and substance abuse. Then I put it all together. Borderline. Borderline people routinely rip holes in relationships of every size and shape. She lashes out at me eventually because she says we have too much in common and she can't handle it. It's a mean, strange gesture, and I see a side of her that I don't like one bit. Here's for learning from one's mistakes.
I leave and consume four ounces of warm orange juice left on a tray in the day-room, not because I'm thirsty, but because it gives me something to do. I peel back the aluminum foil and chug the contents now at room temperature. I've made it through the worst part, the active detox. It's downhill from here, but I am nowhere near active recovery.
We always look for fault. Sometimes there is no fault. Sometimes it's a combination of lucky breaks and timing. I got tired of waiting for both. I begged God for the right combination, though my church-going days are long past. You have to give that shit up to someone. A friend said I was too needy. And she's right. But so were all of the other ones. Needy + needy rarely equals success. Someone's got to lay the foundation. So here I am again, laying the foundation, seeking to be less needy, less dependent. Seeking one of those nice girls people talk about all the time. They keep asking me my personal goal in therapy, and I think it but I never say it.
Alan Price - Justice
We all want justice but you got to have the money to buy it
You'd have to be a fool to close your eyes and deny it
There's a lot of poor people who are walking the streets of my town
Too blind to see that justice is used to do them right down
All life from beginning to end
You pay your monthly installments
Next to health is wealth
And only wealth will buy you justice
There'll always be a fool who insists on taking his chances
And that is the man who believes in true love romances
He will trust and rely on the goodness of human nature
Now a judge will tell you that's a pathetic creature
All life from beginning to end
You pay your monthly installments
Next to health is wealth
And only wealth will buy you justice
Money, justice
Money and justice
Money, justice
APPEARS ON O LUCKY MAN!
Sunday, September 13, 2015
A Long Time Coming
Pardon this recent manic passel of autobiography. Being hospitalized for a week will take it out of you.
Because I champion mental illness awareness, I want to talk about a sensitive subject. I ended up in the hospital because one of my medication, Lithium, got toxic. It was kind of scary there for a while. I am still not ready to tell the whole story. (Where would I even begin?) But they say write what you know. I know a lot by now, but the account is wholly mine.
Maybe it will find its way into other stories. For now, I have reached maximum saturation point. I've missed writing like nobody's business. But though I know many of you are not religious or not, reading the Bible at night gave me comfort in ways I cannot express in words alone and not sure I could do so now. Bob Dylan read the Bible late at night during recording John Wesley Harding, despite being born nominally Jewish.
There's some great old wisdom in that book, but forget the politics and the finger-pointing. Read it if it speaks to you and it helps you, otherwise, set it aside. If it is meant for you, it will be. I survived to tell the tale and that is a miracle in the truest sense, more than Jesus ever did in his time on Earth.
He challenged the system and paid the ultimate price for it. There will be others. See him as a radical prophet if that works for you.
Quote of the Week: Funny and Profound
There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
"Masculinity is a hard, small cage, and we put boys inside this cage."-Chimamanda Ngozi Adicie
Saturday, September 12, 2015
Saturday Video
You gave me something, I understand,
You gave me loving in the palm of my hand
I can't tell you how I feel
My heart is like a wheel
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
I want to tell you
Let me roll it to you
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
I want to tell you
And now's the time
I want to tell you that
You're going to be mine
I can't tell you how I feel
My heart is like a wheel.
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
I want to tell you that
You're going to be mine
I can't tell you how I feel
My heart is like a wheel.
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
Friday, September 11, 2015
People Take Pictures of Each Other
Partially for my sister getting married tomorrow.
People take pictures of the Summer,
Just in case someone thought they had missed it,
And to proved that it really existed.
Fathers take pictures of the mothers,
And the sisters take pictures of brothers,
Just to show that they love one another.
You can't picture love that you took from me,
When we were young and the world was free.
Pictures of things as they used to be,
Don't show me no more, please.
People take pictures of each other,
Just to prove that they really existed,
Just to prove that they really existed.
People take pictures of each other,
And a moment could last them forever,
Of the time when they mattered to someone.
People take pictures of the Summer,
Just in case someone thought they had missed it,
Just to proved that it really existed.
People take pictures of each other,
And the moment to last them for ever,
Of the time when they mattered to someone.
Picture of me when I was just three,
Sat with my ma by the old oak tree.
Oh how I love things as they used to be,
Don't show me no more, please.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
The End of Litigation
I wanted justice, but got complication. In the meantime, in the end, what have you accomplished with an act this titanic in scope? Sometimes, I think quite a lot. Sometimes, I think almost nothing.
The system was much bigger than me and it's loaded towards people with privilege and money. I could be bitter about that, but I'd rather not be. I'm still here and I have an apartment full of groceries, and like I said, a partner who loves me who is one room over. And these things cannot be quantified in the realm of money. These things are gifts from God and have no value in our earthly world.
There are moral victories in life, but they come at a hell of a cost. In the midst, my faith has strengthened, even if I have to start over for the most part. Legal action is so wrenching, so completely exhausting, at the end, all you want it to be is over. It's like the end of some battle. At least it's over and the wounded can be counted, taken to hospitals, and the dead can be removed from the field.
I took on a big challenge with not that much money and made an impact, though I'm reminded of an art farm. Tried to kill one? You get rid of one colony and the rest regenerates into a brand new one with a new Queen. Some lessons you have to learn the hard way. I would not have sued my house of worship except in 99.9% of all circumstances. I did so because I had no other way and was not being heard. That's too complicated to go into now, maybe forever.
But sometimes it's best to cut your losses and crusade for equality. Anyone who has been through something intense and long lasting will tell you that. Charge forward, feminists, believers, liberals, and everyone else, but know that your energy comes at a price, and you better enter the fight knowing that first. Otherwise, you are selling yourself short. Make sure you have enough money to start and enough resources.
I don't have too much else to say. I'm glad to not let this trial do me under. Don't let it do you under, either. All I wanted was transparency, but I'm not sure I ever got justice. But such is life.
Wednesday, September 09, 2015
Mother to Child
Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor --
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now --
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.-Langston Hughes
Recovering to Health
So what happened is this. I was taking a very strong medication to regulate my bipolar disorder, but was taking a high dose. I went toxic, a dangerous condition. It took forever to regulate in the hospital, but I did meet some interesting people there. And I met a girl from back home who small talked with me on the bus.
Sometimes God's blessings are hard to see, but I think angels have been looking over me the past several days. I'm no longer interested in blustering about a court trial. When I almost got there, I got severely sick and couldn't go further. It was just as well, and I put it aside long ago. It is not in the realm of possibilities.
And when you've just had a near-death experience, the world is magical. I can't tell you how I feel/my heart is like a wheel/let me roll it to you. I learned a long time ago that I was going to live a life of poverty to feed my craft a long time ago, and it took the right medium and persistence.
We have but one life, and now I believe in miracles. I was dangerously sick, but then I came back. Not my time. Not my time to go. And I couldn't put my parents and my partner aside. Not yet.
Sometimes God's blessings are hard to see, but I think angels have been looking over me the past several days. I'm no longer interested in blustering about a court trial. When I almost got there, I got severely sick and couldn't go further. It was just as well, and I put it aside long ago. It is not in the realm of possibilities.
And when you've just had a near-death experience, the world is magical. I can't tell you how I feel/my heart is like a wheel/let me roll it to you. I learned a long time ago that I was going to live a life of poverty to feed my craft a long time ago, and it took the right medium and persistence.
We have but one life, and now I believe in miracles. I was dangerously sick, but then I came back. Not my time. Not my time to go. And I couldn't put my parents and my partner aside. Not yet.
Tuesday, September 08, 2015
I Return
An intense hacker attack, a seven day hospitalization, all of these would seemingly be terrible things. But I have wrested back control of this account, filed the necessary police reports, contacted the FBI, and want to return to the way things always been. There is a story here, when I have the energy to plow through it again.
I have good news. I don't know how many of you read The Sun Magazine, but it is one of my favorites. The erstwhile editor Sy has kept two of my pieces this time six months, when they would normally be summarily rejected within days. This is very promising. I won't be able to put the content up here if published, but I will be very happy and be paid for the endeavor.
We all make our way somehow. Creative writing has been good for me recently, but I have dipped my toe into many pools along the way. I still have a long way to go, and acknowledge it, but am beginning to have fun and acknowledge the ride along the way. Maybe, as one of my teacher acknowledged, I have a talent and am beginning to show evidence of it.
Some write op/eds, some write for Jezebel on occasion. I have brushed up against those worlds. But now is time to revamp my latest short story and add more me to the brew. Like many writers, I push myself back, way back to the back, and to an extent that's okay. Makes you understand why so many writers are alcoholics. My favorite writer of all time is O.Henry, a Southern boy like me who just wanted to be left alone and write. And much the same could be said about me.
I've realized a lot the past several days. The power of love, a partner who loves you, and the way God shows up when least expected. It's almost been spooky. Big changes are afoot, and maybe I'll get back to things the way they were, or close to the way they were.
In the meantime, keep writing yourself!
I have good news. I don't know how many of you read The Sun Magazine, but it is one of my favorites. The erstwhile editor Sy has kept two of my pieces this time six months, when they would normally be summarily rejected within days. This is very promising. I won't be able to put the content up here if published, but I will be very happy and be paid for the endeavor.
We all make our way somehow. Creative writing has been good for me recently, but I have dipped my toe into many pools along the way. I still have a long way to go, and acknowledge it, but am beginning to have fun and acknowledge the ride along the way. Maybe, as one of my teacher acknowledged, I have a talent and am beginning to show evidence of it.
Some write op/eds, some write for Jezebel on occasion. I have brushed up against those worlds. But now is time to revamp my latest short story and add more me to the brew. Like many writers, I push myself back, way back to the back, and to an extent that's okay. Makes you understand why so many writers are alcoholics. My favorite writer of all time is O.Henry, a Southern boy like me who just wanted to be left alone and write. And much the same could be said about me.
I've realized a lot the past several days. The power of love, a partner who loves you, and the way God shows up when least expected. It's almost been spooky. Big changes are afoot, and maybe I'll get back to things the way they were, or close to the way they were.
In the meantime, keep writing yourself!
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Bitter Praise
Dear Kevin Camp,
First, thanks for submitting and for entrusting me to add my personal comments.
Your writing is good, but I'm having some trouble getting hooked into this story. It seems a bit detached and explanatory—the narrator almost seems to be describing someone else. He's so distant from his story that it doesn't allow for any tension, which means it's difficult for this reader to want to know what happened next. And so far (5 pages) I don't see anything really new or different about the topic that would make me stay with it.
Sorry.
Sincerely,
Joe Ponepinto
Fiction Editor
Tahoma Literary Review
Please remember that these comments are the editorial opinion of one person, and nothing more. Joe's comments may or may not agree with feedback you have received from other editors, writers, or family members.
You can go here to view the submission:http://tahomaliteraryreview.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
How I Totally Missed It
Women, I want you to know that I missed it, completely. You win, if there is any winning here, and I deserve to be viewed wrongly. I had the best intentions, and maybe that is the first sign of wisdom, but I had no clue what it was like to be something like a woman. It is something like complete transparency, even if you block it out, even if you try to laugh it off.
For the past two weeks, a rabid hacker and I have been having it out. That explains the crazy, truncated posting and lack of posting at all. When a narcissist with his own cult of personality takes aim at you, heaven help you. It makes me understand all the better the bad behavior of men at sci-fi and fantasy cons, as they can be demons with a total sense of entitlement to everything. Thank God all men are not like this, but in that environment it's easy to see it all as malevolent.
I can't get him to go away. I can alpha dog away most people, but not genuine psychopaths like this. Mental illness is the only motive I can think of for behavior like this. I had good motives. He'd had an interesting life. I wanted only to tell his story on Daily Kos, a win/win situation for both of us. I've had good experiences like this before, very mutual. But lord, had I known the hornet's nest I was about to walk into, I would have walked away.
I keep thinking that unless this guy was a raving psychopath, this could have been a good story, an inside look at Anonymous, the hacker collective. Instead, he got into everything, my phone, my e-mail, everything. My loved one thought I was crazy, and if I didn't have such rock hard defenses, I might have gone today crazy myself.
What does he do? He keeps his own domain and sells overpriced pornography. I guess some people have to make a living, but I have decidedly less renown for the Anonymous Movement now. This was until I ran into a squirrel running in a thousand different directions, none of which I can really explain or control. As is often the case with situations like these, he has his own autocratic followers and I have made it clear that I will not accept his foul behavior. For a time he backed off, but I am in correspondence with the local news to tell his story and I guess that set him off again. I've already reported him to the Feds and will do so tomorrow to the local cybercrimes unit.
This is not comfortable. I am not in control. I do not know what it will take to make him go away. I can scare him and bluff him but he pops up with insult text messages. These are what as known as evidence. And what he can't see if that every message is another piece of evidence. This man is crazy but would want nothing more than to be on MSNBC for the sake of being known, the way so many criminals are apt to be.
Saturday, August 22, 2015
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