Category: Gay

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Gay

Decide Now

I shaved my beard.  I am watching TV.  I am going to bed early tonight.  Clean white linen sheets.

A Beautiful Moment in Europe

It was a lovely day.  Nice people came to see the house.  Really nice.  This afternoon I worked with JA on the film which just goes from strength to strength.  It’s very reassuring to get ones writing mojo back.  As I mentioned before, it just FLOWED.  I have something to say and I know how to say it.  During the past few years I have written a couple of  scripts but I wasn’t motivated to direct or produce them.   They were bad scripts.  Today I am writing from my heart.

We mapped out all three acts and it works on so many different levels.  I will really enjoy producing this new film.

It’s not usual for me to write  two blogs in one day but as so many of my blogs recently have been hideously miserable I wanted you to know that I feel great this evening.  Very peaceful.

JA is not only my friend and producing partner he is also a fellow addict who really gets me.   So, after we had finished cooking lunch and writing he asked me why I was still so angry with Jake and I was forced to admit that even my anger is running out of fuel.

I cannot really remember all the resentments I constructed into my hateful narrative.

Yet, having said that, my anger has to be addressed.  What I have not talked about is perhaps the most sensitive reason for why it all became so nasty.

As some of you know if you saw me on the TV show Sex Rehab my sex issues have always been a problem.  For as long as I can remember I have never really enjoyed or felt connected sexually with anyone.

From erectile disfunction to an inability to be held Jake and I managed to overcome many of my problems.

Even though Jake and I had ‘issues’ what bound us when we were together was our physical connection.  Well, for me it was pretty amazing.  For him it was probably just routine.  He once said that he was only good at skiing and sex and he really was very good in the bedroom.   I never saw him on the piste.

He, like most of you, had no problem expressing himself sexually but I have never had the kind of wonderful sex that I had with him.  So, when I finally understood that it was over I felt (and still feel) without self-pity that I will never ever again have the connection that I had with him.   Now, you may say, Oh don’t be silly..you will.  But, I know deep down in my soul that this gorgeous time with Jake may have been my last chance at connecting with someone I loved and had a stab at fulfilling sex.

Once  you understand this missing part of the puzzle you may very well see the root of my frustration and sadness.  I tried to do everything I could to keep hold of a man who was patently wrong for me but with whom I had a profound sexual connection.

I really do want my money back but ultimately does it really matter?  What matters is that I must grieve for a life devoid of sexual connection.  It just made me so angry that I go on paying the price for my childhood abuse.  My distrust of men, my fear of expressing myself sexually.

My fury with him stems, almost certainly, from his understandable but insensitive desire to share stories of his sex life with others whilst we were together.   It was horrific listening to someone I loved describe something I knew I could never give him.  For me he was the only man I have ever made love to.  Ever.

It was unthinkable to have sex with anyone else.  It still is.

You may think me pathetic for trying to love him but I tried so hard to separate myself from him on many, many occasions as I documented in this blog.

He knew how addicted to him I was and he would play mercilessly with my emotions.  Knowing that I would always pick up the phone.  Knowing that I would always respond to his text because I knew that he was deeply sad after he left his girl friend.  That he was lonely and despondent but I also knew that if I felt similarly I could not rely on him to be there for me.

As was proved that fateful day in August.

Every morning I pray that this obsession, this anger, this grief these resentments will end.

As I was reading part of the new script to JA I started, finally to cry and the pressure cooker of emotions began to express themselves. I began to express myself.

I tell you again for those of you who might not believe it:  He made me very happy and I was prepared to overlook his flaws.  There were moments of pure joy for me whilst we were away in Europe although nowadays I really have to work hard to sift those moments from the crushing disappointments.

Lastly, I don’t really want to write this blog.  It had become, like most things I do, yet another symptom of my addiction.    As I read the earlier entries, before he bust into my life and I let him in…I let him in…well I remembered what it was like to be happy and I have been so very far from happy these past few months.

Even though he has been cruel and insensitive  he was also very vulnerable and turned to me for help when he needed it most.   You know, I tried to help but I am not a therapist nor am I the most stable person in the world.

Addiction for me is a daily emergency.

What have I concluded?  I need to be on my own.  I cannot begin to have relationships.

He never gave me the opportunity to say a kind goodbye…ironically, the very thing he wanted from his ex-girlfriend, even though that seems unlikely.  I really tried to say goodbye to him with dignity.  To end it in a civil and kind way.  To let him go.  I really did.   I was exhausted.  To end with kindness was my plan.  A plan he did not share.

So, JA unlocked the pain and by doing what I do best I can let go of my heavy heart.  I don’t have anywhere else to go with this other than forgive and forget.

I hope I can.  I really want to.  This is making me really ill.

Categories
art Auto Biography Gay

Closet/Opera

As you all know Joan Sutherland died last week.  The great Opera Singer.

Occasionally I wonder why some gay men (including myself) love opera so much, and if they don’t love opera we love Streisand or Madonna.  For many gay men women sing their thoughts, express the drama and pain of their love.  I don’t know many gay men who choose male singers to express their feelings.

As I have said before, it makes me sad that I never heard a love song on the radio where a man sang about his love for another man.  George Michael came close.  Elton never wrote his own lyrics so sang Bernie’s heterosexual love songs.  Perhaps ‘Blue Eyes’ was the only song he ever sang that seemed to be about men loving men.

This is how, in so many ways, popular culture lets us down.  Our extraordinary love ignored.  Perhaps I am just old-fashioned and don’t listen to the radio anymore so miss out on The Scissor Sisters or who ever is playing OUR tune.  You’ll know.  Let me know.  Teach me.

Ryan, who I have actually enjoyed hearing from these past few days inspired me to think about the ‘closet’.  You know what that is don’t you?  I don’t need to explain what a closet is.  Do I?

OK…I will.

Figuratively, a closet is a place where one hides things; ‘having skeletons in the closet’  is a figure of speech for having particularly sensitive secrets.

Thus, closet as an adjective means secret—usually with a connotation of vice or shame, as in ‘a closet alcoholic’ or ‘a closet homosexual’.

To come out of the closet is to admit your secrets publicly, used almost exclusively in reference to homosexuality.

Was I ever in the closet?   I don’t think I ever was.  There was certainly some pre-pubescent awkwardness but that particular ‘coming out’ moment was stolen from me when I was 12 years old by my Mother who told our doctor that she thought I was gay and then regaled me with stories about the gay men she knew in London when she worked as a waitress at the Carlton Club.

I was PISSED OFF about her telling the doctor as part of me wanted it to remain a secret whilst I worked out what it all meant.   By the time I was 12 I already had sexual contact with men.  At boarding school.  Consensual sex with other boys.  My Mother wrote darkly to me in one of her daily letters, “Don’t do anything you can’t understand.”  Of course, I would spend the next 40 years doing quite the opposite.

Thankfully I was brought up in a secular, liberal seaside town where gay men lived open and rather exotic lives for all to see.

As I said to Ryan, not all closets are created equal.   The closet that Ryan alluded to is quite different from the one my darling little scum bag constructed for himself.  Ryan’s closet built in the deep south of shame and fear is quite familiar, it seems, to most gay men.

My experience of being gay is bloody different from nearly every gay man I meet.  Most have the obligatory ‘coming out’ tale and talk about it like debutantes.  I never had a ‘coming out’  I had a ‘let’s get on with it’.

I don’t want to dwell on scum bag today.  Needless to say his closet was quite unlike Ryan’s and should be called something different.  It should be called maybe a ‘walk in’ as it was roomy and comfortable and well constructed.

In the past when ever I have encouraged people to get honest about their sexual orientation I have suggested that when telling their parents/friends/loved ones the truth that they be as magnificent, as heroic as they possibly can!  Tell them the gay truth with a smile on their face and without fear.   “I have something WONDERFUL to tell you…”

With all this press about bullying and suicide it reminds me that whether we like it or not this resolutely Christian society may not condone these deaths but still colluded with them.  Iranians may hang their gays but we make it so uncomfortable for ours that gay men, steeped in shame, take their own lives.

OK, as for the rest of yesterday?  Friends popped by including all of my very cool neighbours.  The ones who are moving out of their foreclosed house.  Waiting for the bank to tell them to leave.  The problem is, nobody wants their house so once they go it will sit their at the end of the street falling slowly into disrepair.  Not great for the neighbourhood but familiar to all of us here in the USA.  I only have one derelict house on the block, many people have entire streets, house after house falling down around them.

This economic meltdown is so despicable.  It has so cruelly displaced so many people.  Like a terrible plague.  Makes me vomit how the government can do nothing for ordinary people whilst helping only the richest stay richer.

I am proud to tell you that at these times I enthusiastically embrace my European hybrid socialist values.

I have said for some time that I am willing to lose everything in this gamble.  I came here and I lost the bet.  That’s OK.  Better to have tried here than stayed in Whitstable in the warm and dry.  Better to take a risk than never risk at all.

God only knows, I know that most Americas disagree with what they think socialism is but that is only their contempt prior to investigation.  I wish they knew more about how the people can truly take their power back.  It worked in Europe.

It certainly has nothing to do with the tea party movement.

It’s kinda funny watching the GOP elite struggle with all these potty new Republican candidates.  Christine O the witch.  Now, she is FUNNY.  Almost worth electing to see how completely unprepared for power that woman is.  Just like her idol Sarah Palin, whose prime objective is to enact the word of the bible and blow up Iran.  Yet, even though I think the tea party movement is misguided it is still strangely invigorating.  I am slightly in awe of how these new Nazis have energised the nation.  Oh, did I call them Nazis?  Sorry.

Most of these ghastly tea party politicians are, of course, snake oil sales men.  Raising money from desperate people to pay their rent rather than fuel their campaigns, selling the people easy solutions for difficult problems.

America has to change but as former President’s have said..these changes may only truly come when the people are hungry and angry enough to get off their asses and into the street and say that enough is enough.

OK.  I actually wrote more of my film yesterday.  Fleshing it out.  It was good.  I like this film.  It has heart.

I am preparing to go back to London.  Preparing to get my ball dealt with.  I think the fear around that is unresolved.  John is holding the fought.  I have to deal with the spitting incident when I get there too.  Damn.

It is cold and gray here.  I light a roaring fire every night.  Ashley joins me for breakfast.  We tell our stories then she heads off to work.  I wait up for her like an anxious mother.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bG5N3GC-m20]

Categories
Gay

Strict Tuition Given

I don’t know anymore if gay men leave notes in toilets and telephone boxes or call to pay for ads in free gay news sheets.  I don’t think so.

I don’t know if men who exchange glances between subway stops or on street corners publish advertisements in the lost and found?

You, blond..blue eyes.  Me, wearing ripped jeans.  Leicester Square.  North East corner last Saturday night.  We smiled.  You passed by.

I remembered him for years.  Keeping me awake for a decade thinking about those blue eyes.  What happened to him?  Where is he now?

I confided in Ashley that I did not get my first mobile phone until I was 33 years old.

The drawings of the boys I made twenty years ago.  Just so I could see him naked.

The sun crawled up over the ocean this morning casting a pale yellow glow on the walls.  I wrote my blog and started writing the film.  I sat looking at the page.  The empty page.

I started to dream about what these particular men in my film would look like.  Where they lived.  Their world.  I wondered what I would do to these men in their world?  How difficult or comfortable their world would be.  I thought about their past loves, their clothes, what they kept in each and every draw.  I wondered if they still loved each other?  I want to write about love…and for a moment I remembered what it felt like to be in love.  What confidence it gave me.

Go on, I challenge you, look at me.  Look at me!  Fucking LOOK AT ME!

I have been an out gay man for as long as I have walked the streets.  At first, like so many men, I learned to keep my eyes averted for fear of the crushing blow.  That was then..at the beginning of my story.  By my late teens I was looking directly at you.  I was rarely afraid.  Of course, I did not want to be hurt.  Cut.  Hit.  Insulted.  I wanted to walk the streets safely.   Yet, there was no doubt in my mind that I needed to be seen to be gay.  That it was who I am.  To hide who I am would betray who I am.

Do you understand now why I have such disdain for you being the coward that you are?  I loved you, willed you to be true to who you are, cared for you as you revealed all those terrible truths.

The end of a great and passionate love affair.

I sighed after I wrote that.  Sighing a lot recently.

A deep sigh from a long way down.

Even though I have said terrible things about him.  Made public what was private between us…I loved him.  I wanted him to be safe and protected.   Upon his peace of mind, mine depended.  When he sighed my chest heaved.  I could not bear to see him weep except through tears of my own.  And when I could not see him…I worried about him.  When I loved him I could not walk the streets without his walk being safe and sound.

Now look?

What has happened to you? Do I care if you live or die?  In whose strange arms you find yourself tonight?   I tear at my own heart so that it will not beat another beat.

I believe in romantic love.  Love and romance!  One big man protecting another is all I ever wanted.  If I were the big man or you were the big man I wanted to protect or be protected.

Protected from those who still require us to keep our hands to ourselves when in public.  To stay away from young children.   To be afraid to kiss my lover good night for all to see.  Today, in many countries all over the world, men and women together keep this secret.  They wave cautiously at each other before disappearing into the night when all they want to do is kiss each other in plain view for all the world to see.

You have hurt me more than I can begin to tell you.  Even though you will never understand until you have fallen in love with a man and they betray you.  It is nothing you have felt.  Like nothing you will ever want to feel again.

You think that falling out of love with J compares with this?

Those boys out tonight..you know the ones.  The ones we loathed, the ones who traded any hope of intimacy for meaningless intensity..day after day after day.  Well, I wanted to protect you from the prying eyes and those mediocre boys.

I didn’t ever want you to get hurt.

I wanted you to eat freshly picked peaches and delight you with a world of wonder.

Now, as if cursed,  you are one of them.  You always were.  I just thought, wanted to believe that you were different.  I was just too blind to see it.  Too deluded to care.

You wanted that?

Jake.  You broke the deal.  You said things!  Unspeakable things.  I warned you never to cross me.  I warned you that you would regret having written those cruel and vicious things to me.

Worst of all, you brought me into a world of bad taste, appalling sofas, laughable art, mediocre ideas and suburban women with bad hair.  I have done my level best to avoid such places.  They can scar the soul!

Bad taste is like throwing acid in my face!

Will we remain locked together?  I don’t want to ever see you again.   I had the best of you.  Just for a moment.  I will remember having the best of you before you became one of them.  There will never be that scene in our movie when the two men forgive each other.  Not for us.

I would rather have nothing at all than just one tiny speck of your ghastly life.

What do we know about men who fall in love and out again?  Who knows that story?  Can you tell it?  Can you tell me about falling in love with another man?  Can you tell me about that great romance you know existed between two men?  I don’t mean fuck buddies.  I don’t mean men who leave notes in telephone boxes.  I don’t mean men who cat call on the street or men who just want to fuck…but men who call out to another man “Hey, don’t forget…I really love you!”

Jake and I had to go through this…this fucking nightmare.  We did!  We will never forget each other.  Rather, he will never forget me.  Ever.  How ever much he tries to drink and smoke and fuck his way into oblivion I will be there like the Devil on his shoulder…just so he never makes those mistakes again.

Categories
art Gay Health Malibu

Dreaming of Being Healed

As is things couldn’t get any worse I fell in the garden yesterday and ripped the tendons in the back of my right leg.

Thankfully Ashley was at home and wrapped me in ice.  I dare not go to the hospital because it will bankrupt me.  Now at home totally incapacitated.

Began to panic about getting back to the UK with one functioning leg and a dog.

Have to go via Paris again.  Not even directly to Paris but via NYC to go to court to get the money that Jake owes me.  This really stinks.   Everything conspiring to make life more difficult than it needs be.  It was such a silly thing to do.  How did I do it?  I tripped up the path and instantaneously I could feel the tendons detach.  Pop.  Oh God.

Ashley cooked dinner for us.  Her friend Emma arrived. They made steak and greek salad.  After all that meat we ate chocolate and drank hot tea.

It rained heavily all night.

The night.  Plagued with nightmares.  A kitten hidden in a chair.  Me as a child wandering into the road outside my Grandmother’s house in Herne Bay overlooked by my step-father.  Torrential leaks from the ceiling coursing unchecked through the house.

This year has been ghastly.  Made more so by Jake’s despicable antics.

Unthinking, callous, selfish.

I sometimes wonder how his parents put up with his lying shit?   Of course!  They love him unconditionally.

This leg situation is going to take at least a month to fix…more without treatment.

I wrote to Jake’s father asking him to persuade his son to just pay me the money.   We have a court date fixed now.  This is fucking bore.  He is holding onto me.  Refusing to let go of the final tendril.  The last vestige.  Let me go Jake.  Pay me the money so I can go to the UK and get on with my life.

I am sure that he feels the same way…we were perfectly synchronised.

The drawings are by Jennie.  She sent them yesterday.  Drew them when we were in rehab. They have a real Picasso feel about them.

Categories
Gay Love Malibu Rant

Smile on my Face

I am listening to Keith Jarret’s iconic Koln Concert recording.

It’s a beautiful day here in Southern California.  I woke at dawn.  The huge eucalyptus outside my bedroom window, back-lit by the rising sun, it’s smooth silvery bark and majestic limbs delightful to wake up to.

I made iced coffee.  I am going to boil an egg.

Must not forget to eat today.  This thin thing is getting tired.  I am too thin and my nails are cracking.

Regardless of my dwindling weight I am feeling totally settled again.  In my own body.  Out of my mad head.  Thank God I am no longer waking up in the morning feeling like shit.  The morning has always been my favorite time.  Renewed, refreshed, full of promise.

I awake every day to the glorious, sun drenched morning here in California.  I am a lucky man.

Remind yourself:  I am a lucky man.  I have lived a life others could only have dreamt about and if it ended tomorrow..well,  I would be at peace.  That’s all I ever wanted, to die at peace with a smile on my face.   Ducks in a row.

Last night was one of those nights when the sun went down and it didn’t get any cooler.  I suspect it’s going to be like that all this week.  If it becomes unbearable I may just head over to Hollywood and stay there until it cools down.  I don’t like watching the dogs panting, it distresses me.

The organic box arrived yesterday from Jennifer.  The raw butter, yogurt and milk are all delicious.  The vegetables were mainly good except the rather pathetic beats that are small and shrivelled.

The fridge is now full of wonderful things to eat including crab claws from Santa Barbra, fresh pasta, home cured bacon and free range chicken and pork loin.

I am cooking with Ashley today.  We are having a lunch for thirty but I suspect more people will arrive.  Today has THAT sort of vibe.  This is a great house for a party.  It always has been.

Ah, finally..there is a light sea breeze washing through the house.

Now I have a date for my operation I really don’t give my balls much thought.  I know that this thing is inside me and I know that if I don’t deal with it..well, we all know what will happen.

I can spend hours in this house not really doing anything at all.   Just rearranging.  This is a good substitute for me being a writer?  No, not really but now the love shackles are off I can concentrate on other things.  It’s a great start.

No Manhunt dates planned.  Especially now I am in Malibu.  It’s all a bit of a hassle.  Anyway, I don’t want to go through anything like I have been through recently ever again.

It was a terrible madness: enmeshed, co-dependent, destructive, cruel.

I remember writing this:  I am never lonely when I am on my own, I am only ever lonely when I am in a relationship.  I yearn for the other at the detriment of all other things.

Today I am not lonely.  I am capable.  I am a good person.

Try saying that out loud!

“Hello, my name is Duncan and I am an alcoholic/addict…and a good person.”

I am a stranger to those I have loved.   Let’s keep it that way.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMN4U-Alqfc&feature=related]

Categories
Gay

Gay Marriage

Human Rights defender Peter Tatchell today writes in favour of gay Marriage and, after much soul searching,  I find myself agreeing with his argument.

Same-sex marriage is an idea whose time has come. It is the growing trend.

Political support for ending the ban on gay marriage is growing rapidly. London Mayor, Boris Johnson, and Conservative Party Vice-Chair, Margot James MP, have both come out in favour of allowing lesbian and gay couples to marry in a registry office, on the same terms as heterosexual partners.

This view is also endorsed by the leader and the deputy leader of the Liberal Democrats, Nick Clegg and Simon Hughes. Indeed, Hughes has predicted that the ban on same-sex marriage will go within five years.

All five Labour leadership contenders – Ed Balls, Diane Abbott, Andy Burnham, Ed Miliband and David Miliband – now back marriage equality, regardless of sexual orientation.

Public attitudes have also shifted strongly in favour of allowing gay couples to marry. A Populus poll for the Times newspaper in June 2009 found that 61% of the public believe that: “Gay couples should have an equal right to get married, not just to have civil partnerships.” Only 33% disagreed.

Some people say that civil partnerships are sufficient for gay couples. This is hypocritical. They would not accept a similar ban on black people getting married.

They would never agree with a law that required black couples to register their relationships through a separate system called civil partnerships.

It would be racist to have separate laws for black and white couples. We’d call it apartheid, like what used to exist in South Africa. Well, black people are not banned from marriage but lesbian and gay couples are.

We are fobbed off with second class civil partnerships.

Personally, I don’t like marriage. I share the feminist critique of its history of sexism and patriarchy. I would not want to get married. But as a democrat and human rights defender, I support the right of others to marry, if they wish.

That’s why I believe that civil marriage in a registry office should be open to everyone without discrimination.

Don’t get me wrong, civil partnerships are an important advance. They remedy many – though not all – of the injustices that used to be experienced by lesbian and gay couples. But they are not equality.

They are discrimination. Separate is not equal.

In terms of the law, civil partnerships are a form of sexual apartheid. They create a two-tier system of partnership recognition: one law for heterosexuals (civil marriage) and another law for same-sex couples (civil partnerships).

This perpetuates and extends discrimination. The homophobia of the ban on same-sex civil marriage is now compounded by the heterophobia of the ban on opposite-sex civil partnerships.

Just as a gay couple cannot have a civil marriage, a straight couple cannot have a civil partnership. Two wrongs don’t make a right.

Sadly, the official policies of the Conservative and Labour parties do not support same-sex civil marriage. They oppose it. They support discrimination.

The Green Party and the Liberal Democrats are, so far, the only parties officially committed to giving same-sex partners the right to civil marriage – and heterosexual couples the right to civil partnerships.

In a democracy, we are all supposed to be equal under the law. The Con-Lib coalition‘s professed commitment to gay equality cannot be taken seriously while it upholds the ban on same-sex marriage.

Categories
Gay

Perfectionist

My watch cost more than my car

After it’s six month epic repair my gold watch finally came home from Boucheron.  The Mec, designed by Solange Azagury.  Bought after seeing it on her husband at a party for Bella Freud.

Sparkling rose gold and new black leather strap, the small gold button that had popped off for no reason last year was finally repaired, the scratches erased.

I bought the watch with the money I was paid by The News of the World when I sold my Elizabeth Hurley ‘tell all’ story after the making of my film, The Method.  My sweet revenge for her appalling behaviour, the treatment of me and others and general vileness.

Most of all I sold that story because it galled me daily that a talentless witch like Hurley could steal a paying job from a real actress.

Going into that project I rather stupidly thought that I could give her the benefit of the doubt and coerce a performance out of her.   When she told me rather grandly the first day of shooting not to direct her because she was a ‘a celebrity, not an actress’ I really had nowhere to go.

A grueling 3 months followed.

The keystone cop like producers Brad Wyman and Donald Kushner were not interested in making a film, rather they were busily conning money out of the British tax system, which at the time had an incentive designed to help the British Film industry but had been so bastardized that films made in Romania with American producers armed with dodgy budgets..qualified as BRITISH.  The BUDGET for The Method that the government saw was no way translated into what the local Romanian crew were paid..about $100 a week.

I told Will Self about this terrible con which, during the time it was operational, must have funneled as much tax payers money out of the country into American bank accounts as it would have cost to pay for several new British hospitals.

Will was appalled.  Deborah Orr was appalled.  everyone I mentioned it to was appalled but nobody did anything about it.

Thankfully Gordon Brown finally put an end to this theft overseen by the worst kind of British film producers.

If you think I have been nasty to Jake..read what I wrote about Elizabeth.

The Architect stayed over last night.  It’s not happening again.  I am waiting for him to leave as I write.  No sex.  I cooked dinner.  He smokes really hard.  He makes a kind of gay purring ‘ah ha’ when he means to say yes and his perfume and shoes are CHEAP.   His hands on me in the night caused pain in my skin his attention was so unwelcome.  He was all over me like a rash.

He just left.

I may be a perfectionist, as Jake said,  but when I loved him..Jake was my perfection.  I simply loved touching him, kissing him, rubbing his head.  I loved him laying beside me.  I loved his smell and his eyes and soft mouth.

Which makes his treachery that much worse.

I hate him perfectly like I loved him perfectly.  For a short while the search for my illusive man was over.  For all his miserable flaws and inappropriateness and unavailability I loved him.  I really loved him.

They ask me privately:  How then, if you say you love him, can you treat him like that?

Anyone who asks that audacious question has never truly been in love and I pity you.

My perfect hatred for him is built like a leaden, black as night, tar wall between what is and what was.  A black tar wall erected between me and him so I never yearn for him, never cry for him, never love him ever again.

It is the only way I know how.

When I think of all the arguments I have heard for why he was not right for me I am dumb-founded by how pedestrian they are.  LOVE, love when it comes should be fought for!  I tried every thing I knew to keep him and when I failed, when I failed I couldn’t be his friend.  Listening to him tell me about other men.  Listening to him reveal in every sordid detail of who fucked who, how many times they came.  The rides home to Washington Heights.  Those despicable stories are etched into my brain.

The drinking and driving.  The man he slept with for over one year who never let him know until it was over that he had HIV not just risking Jake’s life but the life of his girlfriend!

I really loved him and he tormented me with what he did with others.  He tormented me because he saw that love weakens me.

This morning, after the architect left I opened all the windows and doors.  I stripped the bed and I wept because I miss the familiarity of my lover.  I miss you so much and I never get to tell you.  Instead, I have to tell you that I hate you.  That I want my money back.  That you betrayed me.  I don’t want to tell you any of those things.  I want you to know that I miss you, that you left something indelible that I try every single day like an idiot savant scrubbing a tattoo out of his skin…to forget.

Categories
Dogs Fashion Gay Malibu

Style Section

This morning Ashley and I went for a long walk down the mountain to the new road.  The contractors don’t seem to be working today.  When the old road tarmac runs out we walk on the new, unmade road.

Willie runs like a mad thing through the dust and kicks up quite a storm.  The little dog scampers off leash but I dare not let Willie off his quite yet and risk him running off..even though he sticks close and checks in constantly.

We all worked up quite a sweat on the steep path home.

Watered the garden, skimmed the pond.

Waiting for my watch.  Must pay water bill.

Yesterday I demanded that Toby (couldn’t get out of bed) drive from Mid Wilshire to Venice where we had breakfast with Beautiful Brazilian Frank at Sauce.  The traditional breakfast, poached eggs..grilled tomatoes (they called them heirloom) and delicious bacon.  the Persian guy who owns the place made me some wonderful hot chocolate with almond milk.  Must buy Mexican chocolate.  Must buy Mexican chocolate.

After breakfast we walked Abbot Kinney.  I bumped into Andrew who looked very chic in a blue cotton jacket and tight jeans.  That boy has STYLE.  He is so tall and knows how to wear clothes rather than letting them wear him..I just can’t help myself..lol..but the ex (Fame Whore) couldn’t wear a stitch without it looking like something hauled out of a thrift store.

We stopped off at Intelligentsia for coffee and bought a new collar for the dog.

After our long walk I went home and took a nap before Manhunt date number 6 turned up.  Wow!  What a beauty.  28, architect..into S&M.  I think I will be seeing more of him.  We clicked on so many levels.  Out since he was a teenager, knows what he wants, great looking and eager to please.

Somehow the age difference did not matter as our particular interests and pursuits dovetailed seamlessly.  We talked for hours about art and architects.  Discussed my favorite contemporary high-rise the Swiss Re building designed by the hideously talented Norman Foster.  I am sure I have discussed this before but viewed from the Tate Modern this exquisite barley twist lozenge causes all of its neighbours to look so dated, miserable and bland.

It is almost TOO beautiful.

As I move away from Jake I still feel like I have stepped in dog shit and even though I have scrubbed my shoes a million times there is a lingering smell.  Just enough to remember his skank face.

Must do chores today.  Boring chores.

I looked over an old script that needs resurrecting.  I need to write the film of my relationship with Jake.  Of course I will make him far worse than he is but that is my prerogative as a film maker.  I will also make me worse than I am.  I am, after all, no saint.

Joke!  I’m not wasting my time rehashing that miserable tale.  Fuck him.

When the architect left last night I watched TV.  I dipped into Madmen which is a really terrible show.  So clumsily written.  Settled for HGT and the Food Network flipping between Iron Chef..a show about Food Trucks and endless make over shows.   Just what I needed.

Sneering at other people’s bad taste.

Categories
Death Gay

Recognized

Returning to LA I was recognized on the plane.  I felt like saying that I was NOTHING like the man they thought they knew.   I felt like telling him that as much as I would like to be the compassionate, helpful man he met on the TV I am not that guy.

I was almost rude.

Instead I smiled sweetly and let him believe in the man who had obviously helped him by sharing my story.

Why should I burst his bubble?  I did not take his number.  He so obviously wanted to be my friend.  I can’t be your friend.

I tried that and now look.

I sat next to a girl who is going to be on a reality show that prems next week.  I told her, WARNED her..that under no circumstance date ANYONE who knows her from TV.   Avoid!

I told her my sorry story.  She looked aghast.

I have been dreaming very vivid dreams.

I dreamt that I was at the back of a church watching Jake get married to a man.  He was wearing a white suit.  He looked sooo happy.  In the dream..I was happy for him.  Then I woke up.  I wasn’t so happy.

I went to therapy this morning at 7am.  It was very helpful.  I listened intently to the men in that room and found solace.

There are things I need to do to make it all better.  Help others rather than myself for instance.  Concentrate on positive thoughts.

I bought a mouse trap.

Wish I hadn’t looked at that picture of Jake.   He looked happy.  He looked like he was having a blast.  I am now merely the wreckage of his past.  He plunders my life and just behaves like it’s party time.  It galls me so.

Yet, have I treated others like that?  I think I might have.  That was coy.  OF COURSE I HAVE.

Categories
Gay

East Village!

Veselka, 9th St.  East Village.  NYC

Leon drove me and the art to LAX.  The little dog loves his traveling bag and climbed into it willingly.

The flight arrived 55 minutes early at JFK.   5am.  I was knackered.  We dragged the art onto a trolley and into a cab then dropped it off at Phillips.  I stayed there for an hour drinking coffee and ate a pain au chocolat.   I sat on my own reading The Times waiting for Dan to wake up so I could drag my sorry ass over to the East Village.  Finally we just walked from 9th Ave.  It was so GOOD to be back in NYC…after the operation I will be here full-time.

The Little Dog was determined to explore Tompkins Square Park so I acquiesced and he got his wish and stared at squirrels for an hour until I just had to go home and rest.

By 10 I dropped off art at the auctioneer.  Very cute lighting man to gawp at prepping a fashion week party.  The whole area around Meat Packing ALIVE with fashion week events.  Bumped into my friend Liz who invited me to Mulberry party.

Took cab back home and slept until 3 when I met the first of my Manhunt dates.  Date 1.  Nice guy, did not misrepresented himself in any way.  Charming. If I had been JB I would have had sex with him but I am not JB so we had coffee and went for a long walk around the East Village.  Not much eye contact but I think that might have been my fault.

At 6ish I went home and took more of a nap.  Dan arrived at 7.30 and we had dinner at Westville where I saw you know who’s ex.  That was rather fascinating.  We were obviously aware of each other but were not going to swap war stories any time soon.

Walked to Mulberry party where I had a blast being told how good I looked by old friends.  I have lost a lot of weight..mainly because I have been so unhappy-but this seems to have paid off!

Saw Preston and snuggled with him.  He’s an ex of mine from LA.

Walked home, ate frozen yogurt.  Cute man stopped me in the street and made me feel even better about myself.

This morning I had manhunt date number 2 with very sweet Brazilian man who said that I come off as the sort of bloke who has a very active sex life. HAHAHAHA.  That’s FUNNY!  I told him my miserable fuck count (12 people) and he was shocked.

JB has probably had 12 fucks in one week.  More.

Anyway, everyone I am meeting could be a friend…maybe more but to tell you the truth I am just not feeling it.   After feeling so connected with JB and so loving and SO intellectually compatible…I don’t know if I will ever feel that again for anyone.

Busy day ahead.

Onward and Upward!

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