Categories
Gay Rant

Martha Wainwright

Justin Bond at Joe’s pub last night with Jake and Joan.

A slight show but worth the effort because Martha Wainwright sang two enchanting songs.  Two few.  We were desperate for more.

You know that I love and have always loved the McGarrigle’s.

Of course there are extraordinary similarities between Martha and her mother Kate McGarrigle.  Joan, Joe, Jake and I sat there entranced by her great beauty and talent.

Dinner before show at Indochine, still a bit anxious about eating anything that may poison me.  I am on the don’t get poisoned diet.

Briefly…  Justin Bond.  Look, I don’t mean to be a bitch but when you are sharing a stage with a hugely talented person like Martha it can only serves to highlight ones own limitations.

I know that some people think that Justin deserves some sort of divine glorification before his eventual gay sainthood… but I am not one of them.

He’s a decent performer but he is neither a great singer nor actor.  What does he have going for him?  He is simply an all round nice guy.

Maybe that’s enough?

A saint is always someone through whom we catch a glimpse of what God is like — and of what we are called to be. Only God ‘makes’ saints, of course.

It’s raining in New York so stayed in and wrote and pottered around happily in my room over looking the river and looked at the lesbian menopause infomercial Anna and I made at my house.

Categories
Rant Self Sufficiency

New York 2010

Having a blast here-so far away from the trials of Los Angeles.  No car, no worries, just me and a small suitcase and whole lot of hope.

Now, deliciously, I also have a pair of pink and black leather shoes that only I and a handful of truly stylish, brave friends could wear.

Thank you Comme des Garçons, thank you Rei Kawakubo. Thank you style Gods.

How many of you look at charlieissocoollike on You Tube?  Real name Charlie Mc Donnell.  I love him-no, not like that.  He’s only 19, fresh, funny and talented.  My friend Mr S Fry made a charming end credit for him.  I will write more about Mr Mc Donnall soon but do check out Charlie’s Duet with Myself.

Did I tell you that I had TERRIBLE food poisoning after our delicious lunch at The Standard Grill?  The rabbit ragu served with the ‘home made’ pasta and chanterells did me in.  I have not vomited for YEARS.  I mean, hanging over the pan and violently chucking up the entire contents of my belly whilst simultaneously shitting my white comme des garcons under pants.

I love NYC.

I don’t expect much from life.  I really don’t.  But I get so little in LA.  Like so many people I may end up being one of it’s finest victims but…I doubt it.  I am heading east.  I’ll tell you all sooner or later why.

The goat project has been put on hold until I have some more spare cash.  The film I want to make is ready to be born so I will just make it.  I may just be in it.  I am all a quiver about making a new film.  Can’t get it out of my head.

My friend Joan thinks that I am all over the place but that’s how it has always been-all over the place.

I tweeted today about being grateful.  It’s easy to complain about life, then when it gets better forget to be grateful. I am sitting in a warm, well decorated room overlooking the Hudson River, my belly full and friends to see.  What more could I want?

I am really glad that I came to the USA for as long as I have.  I have learned so much from you people.  Good and Bad.

More facts emerging from the Kristian Digby funeral fiasco.  Kristian’s mad mother apparently very dismissive about KD at funeral to his visibly upset father.  Friends and some family members and work colleagues unable to attend the funeral-asked to stay away.   Real friends got together at tree in Torquay and buried box of memories.  One friend reporting that Kristian’s coffin was dragged into church rather than carried respectfully.    I will repeat my earlier assertions:  Kristian’s mother is an insensitive hag who ruined great portions of her son’s life.  The truth will out Mrs Digby.

Met some PR type gay in Soho House the other night.  Single. attractive but after ten minutes of conversation..really ought to have stayed in the closet.  BACK IN THE CLOSET for you young man.  He told me I needed to filter what I was saying-we were talking about politics.  What a fucking boooooar.

Finally, did I mention to you how much I loathe Sophie Dahl?  How she went out of her way to ruin my experience of LA?  That poor sweet crooner husband of hers will see straight through her conniving ways sooner or later.  You can’t marry a woman 8 inches taller than you-why?  Because you never get to look her directly in the eye.

There’s nothing more exhilarating that an unresolved resentment don’t you think?  One day I will recount the entire sordid story for your delectation.

Jake and the Virgin Jake and Duncan Jake Jake Jake butt Jake in bed Jake in Bed 2 Jake Bauman Soho House

Categories
Gay Rant

Jane Hotel

Staying in Soho House before moving to Jane Hotel.  Soho House is like coming home.  Hand written notes and presents from the manager Pierre.   The burgers we ate last night were delicious.  The staff are kind and considerate and incredibly helpful.

I had bad news and good news yesterday.   The bad news was about going home-the good news was about staying home.  I am being deliberately obtuse.

God, it was a very long day.  Up at 4am for my 7.15am flight.  Up in the air for 15 minutes then turning back mid air with instrument problems-something to do with the altitude meter.  I don’t know.   It meant that we didn’t take off until 1.30pm so I got to know my fellow travelers very well-too well.  I also became acquainted with the appalling customer service on offer-or not on offer-from American Airlines.  American Airlines, shit service, shit planes, vile attitude.  My fellow travelers were so incensed that airport security had to be called.  I, on the other hand, did not lose my temper once. I was a paragon of virtue.

Arrived in New York at 9.30pm, Soho House by 10.30pm.

Slept turbulently in my huge bed, the tossing and turning on the airplane revealing itself as I slept.  Full of fear, dreaming my house in Malibu was burning-the second apocryphal dream about that house.  The last included a bunch of women.  My nightmare was so bad a few nights ago my screaming out actually woke the neighbors.

Sophie Dahl’s cookery show is a sham-so say the Brit TV cook clan.  Not really surprising-she must be one of the most inauthentic people I ever met.  What the hell does she know about cooking?  I threw a dinner party for her, Zoe Tryon and Alecia Moore (Pink) at my house last year.  Sophie was sulky, bad tempered and rude.  Gosh, how the vile are rewarded.

Apparently one should never invite just women to a dinner.

Staying in Jane Hotel on Hudson.  Very basic, but lots of fun.  Full of cute young Spanish boys, half naked in the corridors on their way to the shared bathrooms. My room has a bathroom.  Elevator smells of disinfectant, the corridors of fresh paint.  The restaurant downstairs has been designed to look a little like it was very old but actually just looks unfinished.  The ballroom is charming as is the Moroccan influenced bar.  I have a corner room over looking the river.  I like a view.

Dinner with Joan and Joe last night at Kenmare.   All round disaster.  Food had to be sent back; my chair was pummeled by wait staff that seemed to lack any basic spatial awareness.  The vegetables were simply inedible.  The steak over cooked.  The pudding… instantly forgettable.

Lastly, why are there so many insipid, suburban gays?   When I was growing up all the gays I knew were sophisticated, arty and fabulous-it occurred to me that the dull gays might have tended to stay in the closet.   I wish they’d stayed there.

These beautiful days in NYC were spent with Jake but I wasn’t allowed to write about it.

Categories
Gay Rant

Kristian Digby’s Funeral

I really need to update this post as so many people read it. 

Sadly, after the disgraceful way Kristian was buried (please see below) with friends and family excluded from the church by Kristian’s mother Paula Dubois I receive word that this woman continues her shameful and destructive antics. 

Stephen, Kristian’s long time partner, very kindly organised a memorial for us all at Southwark Cathedral but was forced by Kristian’s mother to cancel the event.  

Paula drove from Devon, stormed into Southwark Cathedral and threatened to disrupt the Memorial Service to be held for hundreds of Kristian’s friends and Family. 

I know that Kristian would have been appalled and saddened that this has happened.   I am confused as to why Paula continues to behave like this toward the friends of her  sweet heart son who in death surely deserves her love and not her bile.

Paula, when she is not in Devon, lives in the house Kristian built with Stephen in East London.   The house she is now trying to steal entirely for herself.

Paula Dubois is not a well woman.  A diagnosed personality disorder.  Alienated from most of her family. Fighting tooth and nail to keep Stephen from keeping his half of the property that he owned with Kristian.  

This woman will not keep any of Kristian’s friends from remembering him, loving him and wishing Stephen well at this difficult time.

THE ORIGINAL POST March 22nd 2010

Kristian Digby‘s funeral will take place tomorrow in Torquay Devon at Midday.

A great friend of Kristian’s let me know this morning that Kristian’s ex-boyfriend Stephen has been told to stay away from the funeral by Kristian’s parents.  In the end he missed the service and stood at a respectful distance at the burial.

I am saddened by their decision.

Both his Mother and Father, who he worked so tirelessly to include in his adult life, cut him out of theirs when he came out to them as a young gay man.

In his own words to me and others: Their betrayal scarred him irrevocably.

I loathe that the man who loved him and shared his life might not be at the funeral.  It’s like a scene from a bad gay movie.  I wouldn’t even think it was true unless I had heard it from a reputable source.

Gay men depend upon their parents, first and foremost, when they come out.  When we speak the truth we need to heard, respected and loved.  Whilst I understand that nothing can prepare a parent for the news, one would think that it should not be a ‘shock’ to the enlightened.

When gay men reveal themselves at what ever age it is a humbling experience but it needn’t be a negative one.

I encourage my closeted friends to let their family know the truth in the most joyful way possible.  Our lives as gay men and women are extraordinary and should be viewed so by our loved ones.  We should live without fear of judgement, without fear of rejection and it is up to our friends and family to make sure that our second birth as gay men and women is made as comfortable as possible.

I am perfectly sure that Kristian’s parents, like many parents, wanted what they saw as a normal life for their son: marriage to a woman, children and the ease that they perceive being straight affords them.

We who are ‘out’ have chosen to tell the truth, even though we continue to be excluded from the most basic and fundamental human rights-marriage, equality, and even the right to attend our loved ones funerals.

Our lives are so often blighted with lies,  forced to lie to those who love us most for fear of rejection.  Encouraged to lie by our own government so we can serve our country unencumbered and remain in the shadows.  Never underestimate the lengths some gay men will go to hide their true nature.   We must always understand that living a lie is never easy.   It is like living in perpetual darkness.

All too often young, devoutly religious gay men, crippled by shame, take their own lives rather than reveal who they are.  Suicide, an option my friend’s parents offered him when he came out.  Religious bigotry continues to be responsible for the deaths of so many of us-mostly by our own hand.  After all, why bother killing the gays like they do in Iran when you can get self hating Christian homosexuals to kill themselves?

So, my gay brothers and sisters, be resolute and fearless and joyful when you tell your family who you are.  Be swift and sure.  Be kind and considerate to those who are disappointed but have no truck with those who seek to rain on your parade.

Remember that you have a legion of us who support you and love you and want the very best for your gay lives.

Kristian paid a huge price for telling the truth to his parents.

Unsurprisingly I bludgeoned mine and gave them no recourse for negativity.  Indeed I was thrilled at the prospect of becoming the next generation of a remarkable tribe of men and women who have shaped the modern world, from Alexander the Great to Elton John, through Carravaggio and Alan Turing.

28 March 2010

Addendum

More facts emerging from the Kristian Digby funeral fiasco.  Kristian’s mad mother apparently very dismissive about KD at funeral to his visibly upset father.  Friends and some family members and work colleagues unable to attend the funeral-asked to stay away.   Real friends got together at tree in Torquay and buried box of memories.  One friend reporting that Kristian’s coffin was dragged into church rather than carried respectfully.    I will repeat my earlier assertions:  Kristian’s mother Paula Dubois is an insensitive hag who ruined great portions of her son’s life.  The truth will out.

Kristian’s Facebook page was almost immediately deleted and his name changed to John Smith. I recently found all of his many emails to me and hand written notes and the photographs of us when we were briefly together.

After my stint on TV here in the USA he wrote:

“I think your one of life great creations thats brings much-needed colour to the world – I am cynical about media but not you.”
Categories
Gay Malibu Money Rehab

Sunday Sunday

The sunlight is steaming into my apartment.  Everything here is so colourful.  The silk cushions, the porcelain, the art.   The little dog ate an entire chicken breast.  Sara has set up camp in my apartment whilst she deals with her breakup and somehow her being here has given me an enriched perspective on my own situation that I didn’t previously have.

Eric, Sara and I drank English tea and ate thick slabs of banana and walnut loaf-I made two more of them yesterday-and gossiped.

Emotionally I am very strong but maybe only until the sunset, until the demons come knocking.  These are old demons.   Feeding off ancient insecurities, child hood trauma as well as present day fears.  They have a veritable banquet of old behaviors, resentments, fears and shame from which to feed their ghoulish appetite.

This coming week has everything going for me.  I am excited that American Airlines DOESN’T have WiFi.

An incredibly kind gesture by a very generous fan of Sex Rehab allows me to spend the next week in NYC.  I leave on Wednesday.

I have a great deal of practical work to do this week as I have let almost everything else in my life slide as I was summoning all of my psychic power to will what I wanted most to come true.  I am exhausted.  I spent almost of all of Sunday in bed.

I unpacked my script and took a good hard look at it.  Things have to start changing now.  Harnessing the power of the universe to make huge amounts of cash- marshaling the money Gods to provide!

All of my art has gone off to auction.  The app has to be developed-with help from by great lawyer.  The house WILL be sold now the road that leads directly to it will get built.  The great move East begins here.

On occasions I wonder who God wants me to be?  If I am to be his humble servant or a leader amongst men.  If I am present to accept the will of God then how do I square my ambition with my fear that I am taking my will and my life into my own hands?   Ambition must be celebrated.  Willfulness condemned.

By deciding to be part of Drew’s Sex Rehab I and my fellow Rehab travelers opened the door to much that American society considers taboo: sex addiction, sexual unmanageability, sexual powerlessness, the gay equivalent of all the above and my openness about erectile dysfunction.  I have no shame what so ever discussing these issues as every time I do I am overwhelmed by the messages of hope that I receive from fellow sufferers who judge themselves by their inability rather than there ability.

Those of us who have been brutalized by abuse are forced to address the consequences we all suffer daily, consistently and forever.

Psychological and behavioral effects of child sexual abuse may include low self-esteem, depression, anxiety, fear, hostility, chronic tension, eating disorders, sexual dysfunction, self-destructive or suicidal behavior, post traumatic stress disorder, dissociation, multiple personality disorder, repeat victimization, running away, criminal behavior, academic problems, substance abuse and prostitution.

Gosh, I can tick most of those boxes.

Anyhow, as comes the solution so comes the erection.  I love being sober.  I love my life when it includes him.

There is a solution.

Sunset fears?   No, not tonight.

Categories
Love

Good Day

I woke up overwhelmed with resentment.  Furious.  I hate that.  Starting the day feeling angry.  But as it turned out the day got a whole lot better.

It started like this:

Oh Fuck!  Why did I do it?  Why did I respond to his advances?  Why did I give up my sexual sobriety for him?  Why did I convince myself that he could be the one?

I woke up not wanting to hurt myself but wanting to hurt him.

My friend Sarah is staying here so I managed not to look at pornography last night, obviously I don’t isolate when people are around.  So I don’t let those dark thoughts get the better of me.

Then I wrote a fuming email to Him.

After half an hour he wrote back and it was obvious that I had petrified the poor boy with my vicious note so after a lengthy and what turned out to be a very positive and unusually healthy email exchange it seems that we can now move forward as friends.  Just friends-even though we still both care very much and, rather amazingly, fancy the hell out of each other.

I had a long conversation with my dear friend J about the nature of love and why it inspires such extreme emotions in me.  All family of origin stuff.  When I start to get that crazy feeling my entire body feels like it is going to reject every organ in my body.   I heard the words ‘i love you’ in such appalling ways-whispered late in the night.  It should come as no surprise that I have such problems with it.

It was just the kind of conversation that aids recovery.

I finally understood that if I had self esteem (something at which I used to sneer at the mere mention) and could truly love who I am then I would never let unhealthy people into my life. I act as if I have no choice. I have plenty of choice.  And what of past loves?  I have operated an open door policy for the vulnerable and the damaged, to assure yourself a place in my lovers hall of fame tell me you are straight then tell me that you love me and watch me drown in self doubt.

After the email exchange with Him and the life affirming conversation with J the day just got better and better.

Throw a sweet letter from Jennie K into the mix,  Anna coming to the house and shooting a spoof commercial for Lesbian Menopause Treatment that had us rolling around the sitting room laughing until we cried, tea with Joe on Cahuenga and hey presto we have a jolly nice day.  You see?  If I had killed myself I would be killing the wrong guy.

I need to get my act together.  I have wasted too much time this past few months on YOU.  Now we are friends-as we should have always been.   See..it wasn’t too hard was it?

All I have to do now is write my book, finish my film and I might not be a washed up old queen tied to the trauma of ‘i love you’.

Let’s see if I can be loved this year.  Allow myself to be loved.  Let the words be heard.   Bring it on.

Categories
Gay Rant

The Storm Passes

The storm is well and truly passing.  The stack of unopened mail on my dining room table can be opened.  The Malibu house is now rented for the time that we were going to be there.  The bathroom floor can be mopped.  The thick LA dust over the marble side tables can be washed away.

I can now turn my attention to Kristian once again.  So many beautiful tributes to him on the internet.  I like that they have recast him as a film director who also made TV.  He would be liked to remembered like that.  I have not yet scanned the pictures of Kristian and I.   They are very sweet.

I will bake another walnut and banana cake in his honor.

I have a few really important decisions to make which may very well mean that I have to go home, my tail between my legs.  Home to London.   I don’t feel bad about that.  I have had a total blast in LA and as this blog is proof life seldom gets boring.

There was a time before I met Richard, Jamie, Joe, Him, Matt-a moment before we met and that moment has to be reclaimed.  Before the note arrives, the stare across the busy club, the man at the top of the ladder, (I can’t remember how I met Jamie) the men who I have been most moved by.  I showed Him pictures of Matty and could not remember what it was to love Matty.   I can just remember driving in the pea green sports car down the M2 motorway to Whitstable and wondering if I could let him go without damaging him.  Like letting a fish go after you have caught it, removing the hook from its delicate mouth and setting it free.

I still remember Richard of course.  Richard Green,  the great love of my life.   Twenty five years ago he was at the top of a ladder outside the Oyster Company in Whitstable.  He was wearing tight white shorts and for five exquisite years we explored the world.  Tempestuous, glorious years.  Of course I never slept with him.  Even my mother knew that I loved him and was disappointed for me when he would flirt with girls in front of me.

He would drag girls into the bushes at country dances and return with stains all over his dinner jacket!

Sometimes I would arrive back at my darling cottage and he would be asleep on the sofa.  A window broken.  I didn’t care.

You know I have 50 intimate pictures of Him and Matty and  Jamie but I don’t have one picture of Richard Green.  Not one.  He is middle-aged now-like me-older and fat and by all accounts a miserable bastard.  But if we walked in through that door right now I know that we would begin where we left off.  We would have a huge amount to say and do.  He was utterly fascinated by the world and I was his willing side kick.  He was a perfect love because I had no interest in sex or relationships with other men-I had him and he was enough.  He was enough.

Isn’t it funny that I would include Him in the list of those who meant most to me.  I think that might change as time passes.  I would never have been able to trust him.  The next man he meets will not know his story will trust him and love him.

It is a perfect spring day in LA.  I am seeing Michelle later and hanging with Frank.  I like Frank.  Not like that!  Not so soon after the last fiasco.   Now, it’s Runyon time with the little dog.

Categories
Death Gay Love

Normal People

Dinner with Anna in Los Feliz.  We discussed how focused one has to be to make a film… how determined.  More importantly… we both really have to want to make film.   Neither of us are motivated by studio films.

I am in perhaps the most ideal position ever to make another film yet without a script that I really believe in what’s the point?

The same goes for my book.  I don’t want to write it.  I was writing it with him and now he has gone so my interest has burned off like the marine layer over the Malibu Mountains.   Oh fuck.

The problem with the last script?  It is really two films crammed into one… like Siamese twins I have to very carefully separate them.  This requires me being meticulous and I can’t summon the interest.   Where did all the energy come from before?  How did I muster the enthusiasm?

I have lost my enthusiasm for film, for love, for life.

I have been asking normal people about falling in love.

It seems that most people believe that they are worth loving.  I have never felt like I was worth loving.

Tonight I saw a gay couple leaving the restaurant.  One of them was much older than his boyfriend.  My heart sank.  They looked so happy.  Both of them probably believed that they worth loving.  They didn’t come from a damaged place, they hadn’t had their childhood ripped apart by shame, violence, lies, resentment.  I hope not.  I really do.

I wouldn’t wish my early years on my worst enemy.

I wanted to kill myself as soon as I understood that it was possible.  I tried when I was 12, then again when I was 17 and finally gave into the interminably slow suicide that alcohol and drugs offer the committed self hater.

I have a few amends to make in NYC.  To those I sidelined when I met him.   I did a terrible thing.  We both cheated… it wasn’t just him.   I can make a thousand excuses but I am sick of making excuses.

At dinner (crispy crusted pizza) Anna and I discussed pornography.

In search of that authentic moment in the narrative.  Isn’t that why so many people go to such dark places on the internet?  Looking for a moment that is indisputably real?

How could any man ever measure up to what I see there?  Whilst love makes a fool of me I seek solace in pornography.  I prayed again tonight for some sort of deliverance from the obsession.

Send me somebody kind I say-but would I know how to let them love me?

Oh, I have been loved so much-so often.  So many men.  Yet, until recently, I thought that anyone who loved me was a fool.  If I couldn’t love me how could anyone else?  So I thought again about the long sleep-longer than the one I have been awake for.

Down the dark corridor.

Categories
Gay Rant

Head Ache

Listening to Joni Mitchell.

I miss thinking about a future that includes someone.  I am so sick of facing every trial on my own.

If I had to write a description of a perfect man he would have almost fitted the bill.  Almost.   A little taller maybe, ten years older, not just out of a long relationship.

He was kind.   He wanted me.   He missed her.  He was brave.

Thank you-all of you.   You have all been so kind.   The kind words, the suggestions, the solution.  I tried explaining to him how important this blog is to me.   Not only do I get validation and feed back but I get to write my most troubling thoughts and when written down they vanish-as if by magic.

So, it turned out to be a strangely productive day.    I had to file a police report-the policeman had seen me on the sex rehab show.   I spent a little time up at the house making sure that the tenants are ok.   I saw two friends for lunch and I have a conference call regarding my app at 3pm.  God knows what will happen next.  It’s really not in my hands.

Michelle and Frank for coffee at the café on the corner.  Ate lemon bunt cake.

Of course I think about him.  He flitters like a moth through my head all the time.  I want the best for him-the best does not include me.  He has been central to my thoughts for the past few months.  He will not simply vanish.  I know that he will have time and space to think about his own grief.  The end of his long relationship and start afresh.

I do feel sorry for him.

Gay men have hugely intense relationships and an entire lifetime of emotion is often squeezed into just a few weeks.   He and I were no exception.

We gays are well aware of this phenomenon, most of us make morbid jokes about ‘gay years’-like dog years, and say “They were together for a year which is like a decade in gay years…”

Sadly, he was not the great love.  The truth is: if we had lived in the same city we would have scarcely lasted a month.  If I had met him as an out gay man I would have scarcely noticed him at all.

Fuck.  I need moth balls.

Off to have dinner now with Jamie and Anna.  They are waiting at a table on the sidewalk this balmy St Patrick’s day.  I am bleeding from the war.

Kristian will be buried this Sunday in Dorset.

Categories
Gay

Must not..

Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more. Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more. Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more. Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.  Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebiok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebok him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.Must not call him, text him, facebook him, skype him, think about him. I must remember that he is a line of coke. Nothing more.

So, with this mantra playing in my head I get my life back.  make important calls.  make life saving decisions.  have a relationship with God.  I have been living in the dark.  where I wither and die.  thankgod this is over.