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.

Categories
Gay Hollywood Love

Help Me

Banana and Walnut Loaf
Banana and Walnut Loaf

I wore a Helmet Lang jacket this evening that I have not worn for years.  It felt great.  I trotted off for dinner with my friend Dom and his sweet friends.

I was late.  As I walked over I ended up on the telephone with you know who.   I needed to break things off, or rather recalibrate my relationship with my dear New York friend.    Break things was what I tried not to do; he is already a broken man.   I failed.  I was heavy handed and abrupt.   In spite of my best intentions the seething resentment and obsession and mad thoughts spewed out of me because I couldn’t hold them inside for one minute longer.

The day ended thus.  I felt free for the first time in weeks.

The day began very badly.

This morning, after the 10-second earthquake, I stood naked in the middle of my sitting room sobbing like a baby because all I could think about was him and all I wanted to be rid of was the thought of him.  Our friendship has been so fucking overwhelming-watching him fall apart, pick himself up and be there for him without ever thinking what was best for me.

My fantasy was that a man twenty years younger than me who I met for the first time three short months ago would fall in love, move to LA and get a job in the film industry.  How INSANE is that?

I prayed, “Send me somebody who’s strong and somewhat sincere.”

The good news is that tonight, after our chat, I am feeling a little more like myself.  I have come clean with those I love and admit that I have been looking at pornography rabidly for the past week-as of old-so intense was the feeling.

Whenever I am feeling vulnerable I resort to my old friend-pornography.

Tomorrow I will try for one day of abstinence.  I will try to get through the night without looking at that heaving pile of stinking pink flesh claiming me with so many muscular arms.   For the past week I have stuffed my feelings with porn, cigarettes and food.

My flat is dirty, my clothes strewn over the floor.

This is a lesson in unmanageability, I am powerless over…well, fill in the fucking blank.

You see, I thought that I was falling in love but I was just held hostage by intensity.

The past three months have been wrought with emotion-watching someone I deeply care about tear himself and his life to pieces and being judged for doing so by people who fail to understand his predicament.

The point is-his problem is not my problem and I foolishly shouldered the entire burden of his life.

I have choices yet my choices diminish the moment I get obsessed-a hideous chain reaction then unfolds before me:  Obsession, resentment, anger.  When the pain becomes too much to bare, when I finally get angry enough to reclaim who I really am, then I feel shame for getting viciously angry-then remorseful for how I treated those I love.

My dearest friend I want to thank you for the privilege of watching you be brave.  For demonstrating how the truth can set you free.  Now, fly like a bird my darling.  Soar as high as your tiny wings will carry you.  Never settle for second best.  Don’t give yourself away to fools or liars.   From this moment on always tell the truth. Never tell people what you think they want to hear.  Be true to yourself.

Life is never without lessons to learn and I have learned a great deal during these three amazing months.

You know, my dear, we have our finest days to come but probably as great friends and not as fuck buddies.

And so to bed.  I am so tired.  So bloody tired.  I may even sleep tonight.  Let’s hope so shall we?

 

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Categories
Gay Rant

Blog Comments

Sometimes blogging can be a big pain in the ass.

I want to make a few things clear about my comment mediation.  Firstly, I want to say thank you to every one of you who take the time to comment on my blog-some of you very generously.  I learn a great deal from the comments and if I ever have any sort of problem I can count on my readers to provide solution.

I don’t publish every comment.

I don’t publish comments that are racist, homophobic or could cause distress to others.  I often publish comments that are critical of me and in the interest of fairness I will continue to do so.

This morning I received a comment tagged to the blog FULL DISCLOSURE (March 13th) that went something like this:

“You were not with a married man. You were with a shithead named Jake Bauman who should have broke it off with his girlfriend of 8 years after you fucked him (or attempted but could not?) in 2007. Stop screening your posts. Coward.

Obviously I have removed my friend’s name for the sake of the accused.

Firstly, this was not the only email that I received claiming that the married man referred to in FULL DISCLOSURE was known to the reader.  I received three totally separate claims about the man.  In all instances they were wrong.

Dear readers you know me well enough that if I wanted you to know that I had been with a married man I would not dress it up in the third person-I would tell you directly and honestly.  I have no secrets with any of you.  None.

Remember too that I commit to no longer living in Shame, Resentment or Fear but when they beset me I tell you-my readers.

Contrary to the rather badly written comment I like to think of myself as very brave indeed!  In my opinion cowardly people make anonymous accusations – like me having slept with some girl’s bf in 2007.   I did not.  I would gladly admit it if I had.  I am rather too eager to admit any indiscretion.

Regarding the life he lead before January I really don’t have an opinion about his behavior.

Whilst being the other in a break up is often the least sympathized role-shit happens.  I have no idea if the man I have started to befriend is going to develop into anything substantial-one day at a time is my philosophy.   (I rather think that I am merely the conduit for the rest of his gay life.)  For the time being we are having a nice time and it is none of my concern who he has left behind him.  Relationships end, and one might consider that had he not heeded my warning and married his girlfriend they would be in a much worse state than they are now several years down the line.

There is often so much unnecessary recrimination when a relationship ends.   I suggest that we own the pain, deal with the grief, learn from our mistakes and move on.

One of the great lessons of my life has been this:  EVERYTHING I JUDGE I WALK THOUGH.  Everything I judge I walk though.  Whilst I may have opinions about the behavior of others if I stand in judgment I am prone to make the same mistakes as those I have judged.   Those who seem so eager to judge my friend not only lack compassion but will eventually make the same sort of mistakes.  It is very easy to anonymously call a man a shit head or a coward and yet by doing so anonymously one may be thought of as cowardly and shit headed?  What do my readers think?

Lastly, the friend who told his wife of 20 years the truth-she has gone into rehab to deal with the trauma.

Sad, but there you go.

Categories
Rant

Balls

The pictures published this morning are part of my photographic essay commissioned by The Sydney Morning Herald in 2004 celebrating the Condoblin Batchelors and Spinsters Ball held annually in the depths of New South Wales.

B & S Balls are thrown to introduce the youth of rural Australia who live many hours from each other in the arid outback.

The Ball is actually a huge drunken brawl and as a sober man I was amazed by two things:  firstly how much alcohol was consumed and secondly how little violence there was.

I publish it to remind myself just how many things I have achieved.

The darkest part of the day is ironically the morning when I seem to forget just how damned capable I am.  Need to calm down.  Still experiencing waves of depression.  Still at the mercy of my mad head.  Mad head, thankfully not bed head-my hair is now cropped once again.  However, when buzzed my head get recognized more than when I have long hair.

The dog is waiting to go to Runyon, waiting patiently at my feet whilst I type this.   I am nearly out of the doldrums.  I can feel myself emerging.  Why did I get sober?  Why did  I go into therapy?  Peace of mind.  Not piece of mind-one of my mothers favorite expressions.  ‘I’ll give him a piece of my mind.’ she would say.

The mantra for this week is BE PRESENT.

I remember getting up each day and feeling like there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do.

Added to all the other problems I am utterly home sick.  Desperate to get back to my Island Jewel.  Held here by all sorts of stuff that needs dealing with.  The house, the garden, the book, the app, the art sale, what the fuck?

All I need to do is book an Air France flight to Paris and vanish but I am trying to be a good man.  Trying to be the sort of guy who can wrestle from his life some sort of sobriety and ultimately some honor.

Where in the world could I go if I wanted to start again?  I still love Memphis.  I loved it.  Who would I be when I got there?

What demons would I bring along with me?

Instead of running away I need to remember what I am capable of and invest time and energy in my work.   Recently Obama opined that ‘change is hard.’ and I was appalled by his admission because I rarely admit that it’s the goddamned fucking truth don’t ya think?.