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Uncategorized

Resist This

So, yesterday evening after Barry and I hung out at SHLA watching yet another spectacular sunset we drove into Venice for dinner.

We ate at one of the food trucks parked on Abbott Kinney then decided to have desert and coffee at the legendary Gjelina’s.  Of course we ate all over again when we got in…the pork was particularly delicious.

The deserts are a little mundane but who cares eh?

The best and most unexpected thing happened as we were going in..on the pavement waiting for their table were Maia Norman and Simon Brown.

Simon cooked the first ever meal at the Oyster Company before it was even a restaurant.

These people are old friends and I was really pleased to see them.  We ended up having lunch together today in Malibu.  It was sublime.

I am really resisting writing about the conversation we had at dinner or at lunch.   There is no part of it what so ever that I want to divulge.  No indiscretion, no detail no nothing and the reason is this:  they are my friends. Even though I don’t see then very often.  Even though we never call.  Even though we seldom give a thought to what the other may or may not be doing…They are OLD FRIENDS.

Whilst I had no problem writing every gory, painful detail of my relationship with JB and with the same verve describe the inclement and the triumphant situations I find myself here in LA (with obvious negative consequences) all I can tell you today, to say my heart was brimming when we finally said our goodbyes.

I thought long and hard about why:  I don’t take anything I do here very seriously.  I don’t take the people I know or the relationships I have or the politics I engage in or the landscape I live in seriously at all.

I am a transient in a foreign land and therefore removed from the actual life and heart of the people who live here.  This is a wonderland, a delight, a fiction to be reported..like the past. The past where enough time may have elapsed for me to romanticise how it felt, what it looked like and make it mine.

I CANNOT betray my own.   That’s what it would feel like..a betrayal.  I guess that Jake might think that my writing about him here betrays his memory but (and this may shock you) I don’t care.

Jake isn’t real.

The only time he became real was when we were in the England.  When we were on the beach in Whitstable…when we walked up the King’s Road.  I wanted him in the world I had left behind so that I could get the measure of him, to see whether he was as substantial as I guessed.  The answer was of course a resounding yes absolutely which is why I fell so totally in love.

I don’t know the people I meet here in the same way I know my friends at home.  Therefore, they simply become part of what feels like a narrative fiction.  With old friends, our connections, our shared stories and obvious affection I become resolutely loyal and unshakably discreet.

Look at what has happened to me whilst I have lived here:  the TV show, the house, the ‘love’ affair…the life I have in AA.  None of it seems real.  Every tantrum, every assignation, every dinner, every lunch or breakfast just feels like a scenes written for some absurd Periclean phallic procession.

I reverentially adore those I have known all my life.  I have no expectations, no dissapointment…I am describing the only love affair I have ever maintained: with my home and my home is not here.  It is on the wet and windy streets.  In the ornate drawing rooms of Belgravia.  The galleries, the libraries, the train stations of my pseudo capitalist/socialist home.

This is why I have elected to go to England and have my operation because it feels REAL.  I don’t give a fuck if they are the worst doctors in the world (they are not) they are my own and I trust them with my life.

Good God.  What happened to me these past few months?  What price was I prepared to pay to feel like I was in a relationship?  What insane compromises did I make?  I feel sick just thinking about it.  I Am Pathetic.

P.S.  I had acupuncture this evening to help heal my angry heart.   As I was laying there with the needles sticking out of me I began remembering our trip to France.  I remembered it as if I were alone.  He was erased from every memory.  Watching the fireworks on my own.  Buying peaches on  my own.  Laying on the beach.  Driving.   Loving every moment of my very own road trip.   Just me and The Little Dog.

Categories
Rant

Passion Fruit

I can always tell when JB has had a particularly social weekend because on Monday morning there are people googling him.

It makes me happy that he is out there meeting people, enjoying his new gay life.

He deserves it.

He really is a very sweet man.

I hope that he is happy.  I do.  I hope that he has consigned me to the past and made his peace with the ex-girlfriend.

My fantasy is that he has met a man who he can love and settle on.   He can do what I have attempted to do but have failed.  It was that particular line in his last email that hurt me most, the way he derided my ability/hope to make a successful relationship.   Mocking me.  Though it may be true that is the last thing you want to hear from a man who you love.

He is out there having a blast.  He will attract wonderful people into his life.  For him, the dark days are over.   One thing is for sure: he isn’t going to make any of the mistakes that he made before.  How do I know this?  Because he is a sensible guy.

Today, I wish him all the best.

Okay, this is the deal:  my ticket to London is now booked for the 17th.  Why has this taken so long?  Because I had to make everything secure here before I went home.   I mean emotionally as well as practically .

I don’t want to bring a troubled mind into a situation that requires absolute focus.

I need to get well.  I need to recuperate.  I need to go where the love it.

So, I have been going to meetings, dealing with my STUFF.  I got into a palava before dinner on Saturday night with a rather unpleasant, drunk lesbian but rather than write about what happened I think I may just try to forget all about it…unless it bites me in the ass.  Drama included Ellen (yes that one) a vile decorator and her equally vile gay son.

If I get particularly moody this week we may just consign this to history.

Decorators?  Who needs them?

Bumped into David Furnish (Mrs Elton John) who can scarcely conceal his loathing for me.  He is Elizabeth Hurley’s great friend so this is totally understandable.  I don’t mind my pariah role.  I am who I am, flaws and all…yet I know that I am not just my flaws.   As I have said before..in society we need our devils and our angels.    It is a role that I own and have undoubtedly made my own.

Barry is here from Whitstable on his way to Australia.  It’s lovely having him around.   We are going into Beverly Hills this afternoon.

Rained heavily all night, today the sun is shining.

The weekend was spent largely with Gabe.  He cooked lunch here on Saturday and the four of us ate grilled pork chops, brussel sprouts and bacon with crushed walnuts and some wonderful kale.

We picked passion fruit (I am going to make passion fruit creme brule) lemons and figs from the garden.   We peeled the figs, reduced them in balsamic vinegar and made a cherry and fig compote to eat with the chops.

Dinner at SHLA on Saturday night (bad food) and Chateau Marmont (good food) for brunch the following day.  Saw Marilyn Heston.  Everybody is very excited about Miami Basel.

The weekend was very social, lots of fun..amusing celebrity sightings and a good deal of flirting.  I like my life right now, returned to normal…I have much to look forward to.

On Sunday afternoon I lay by the fire at Soho House reading the Observer, chatting with friends, eating home made cookies and milk.  In bed by 8pm…exhausted.

Script notes arrived from JA.  Will attend to them this evening.

[wpvideo zemG2fks]

Categories
Health

Lemons and Figs

This is more painful than I thought it would be.

Categories
Rehab

Bad Baby Pic

This is the bad baby that I made in rehab.

Categories
Auto Biography

Before

Grandparents
Margaret, Nana, Mother

When I was a kid complete strangers would ask me why I had thick, black curly hair.   As both my brothers and my ‘father’ had red hair..I really had no clue.  I told them,  “I had red hair once but after the car our car accident..it turned black.”   I really didn’t know why I looked so different from everyone else in my family.  I just had to make up an answer.  It didn’t ever feel like a lie.  Nobody would tell me why I looked so different.  Not until after..not until the damage was done.

Categories
Gay

You Are Everything

I am everything I ever think about.   You hear that a great deal in the rooms of AA.  We are indeed a self obsessed bunch.

Without the relief of thinking about somebody else I am back to my old ways:  dubious web sites..currently a member of four hook up sites, making plans with strangers.

The only thing that has really changed is the level of compulsivity.  I no longer compulsively look at those sites and I don’t look at porn like I did.  One of the benefits of the last few months, as I have written before, is my attitude toward sex.  I can now meet people and have sex with them without shame or complication.  Perhaps that’s a good thing?

I don’t know yet.  I made up my mind that in lieu of a relationship I will chase another sort of dragon.  Sport Fucking.

It’s amazing just how many of them (as do I) describe what we want as ‘fun’.

Funny.

It’s funny because I don’t regret that I never got into this sooner.  I am sure I would have gotten into trouble.  Already recent past conquests want repeat performances but I have no desire to meet them again, know their names or anything about their lives.

I am not even bothering to write about these men.  They are all the same.  I have become adept at just getting on with it.  They arrive, I do it, they leave.

These are changes in me to focus on and praise?   There’s always..my film.  My film is really getting everybody who hears about it really fired up.  It’s a perfect story with a big idea at it beating heart.

Just in case you’re wondering, the story has nothing to do with him.  I would normally try manipulating recent events into some kind of narrative.  I don’t seem to need that particular catharsis.  The sorry fact is..our story just isn’t that interesting.

The story is pretty much written here…well pretty much.  Many of the wonderful times are not written because I wasn’t allowed to write them.  There are days on end that we spent with each other that remain unwritten.   Waking up in the Jane Hotel…his absurd fear that I wanted to sleep with his best friend.

I did as I was told and didn’t write any of it.

Yesterday, ran around Beverly Hills paying bills (mortgage etc.) and after some deliberation decided that I would donate the money that I received from him to charity.  I sent it to the Trevor Project, every $1, 191.71 of it.  For those of you who don’t know what the Trevor Project is check it out.

Trevor Project

It seemed like the right thing to do in the circumstance.

Ultimately the money I received from him felt dirty and now it has been effectively laundered.

I made the donation in his name.  As a supporter he will receive the following benefits and will get to meet other aspiring A gays at charity events in NYC.

Supporter ($1,000 – $2,499)
All “Member” level benefits plus:

  • A complimentary copy of Trevor, the Academy Award®-winning short film
  • A Trevor Survival Kit sent to the school of your choice
  • Listing as a Circle of Hope Supporter in event program books, newsletters, our annual report and on Trevor’s website.

I imagine he will be able to claim it back against his taxes too.

I had lunch with J&J in WeHo.  Dinner with Ashley at Nobu.  Woke at 4am.  Chased a big buck around the garden with a torch.  Eating my geraniums.  Bastards.

I know now that he had already met someone else before we left for France.  I don’t blame him.  I couldn’t meet his needs.  He wants to be an ‘A’ gay and if he works hard enough at it he’ll get there in the end.

Like a character from an F Scott Fitzgerald novel.

For all of his terrible flaws I enjoyed his conversation.  I loved laughing with him.  I am aiming to remember him with kindness or..and this is more likely…not at all.

We have at least contributed to the happiness of others by making such a healthy donation to charity.

Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.