Categories
Hollywood Rant

Wreckage of My Past

There are occasions in life when no really means no.   I am not really the kind of guy who accepts no for an answer but occasionally I hear the word No and I can’t possibly ignore the implications.

When I first got sober I had to make endless amends to many people.  I had to address the wreckage of my past.  It is not always easy to hear an apology so I rarely use the word sorry.  When I had to make amends to people I had hurt whilst using drugs and alcohol I started any apology with these words:  “I was wrong.”  I was wrong to have stolen from you, I was wrong to have lied to you, I was wrong to have deceived you etc. etc.

Some people were simply no longer around to make amends to or some I had made so angry that they could never hear even one word from me let alone an apology so I made, what we call, a living amends, which meant that whatever I had done to the aggrieved I would never do again to another person.  That if I had cheated I would not cheat.  If I had stolen I would not steal.

Obviously they, the other, would not care either way if I cheated or stole ever again but my commitment to the living amends meant that I never need bring more people to the same sad conclusion about me.  This may seem obvious to you but to a selfish, self obsessed addict this is not obvious at all.

I am in an odd mood today.  I am happy but I am expecting the worst.  I am sure about my path but too lazy to take the next step.

Insanely busy day yesterday.  Climbed Runyon.  Popped over to see Amanda and Kay.  Saw Sean over in Malibu at his farm.  Had lunch with Mel.  Drove home, CRAWLED home on the congested 10 Freeway and then couldn’t, for the life of me, find parking so parked illegally.  I was just desperate to get under a hot shower.  Thankfully, I did not get another parking ticket.

Had delicious dinner last night at Osteria Mozza.  Actually, it was an OK dinner but the company was great.   The food was expensive and poorly executed.  I sent the first course back because it was literally inedible.  Bad food made better with inspiring conversation.   I left my phone in the car so when I got back there were lovely text messages to read.

I slept long and hard.

This morning had very long, shitty conversation with HSBC in the UK.  Really bad.  Then, on the way to Runyon, my friend JP called me to make a reservation for him at a restaurant he couldn’t get into but apparently I can.    Made me feel like a glorified personal assistant.  Had long, very long (but delightful) conversation with Philippa about my June trip back home to the UK.  I really can’t wait to get home for a little while.

The NO came after that.  It was so definite and clear but rather than it rattling me I simply asked to get my own needs met and handed the whole caboose and caboodle over to God.

Amen.

Categories
Rant

In Acceptance?

I woke up in acceptance.  I went to bed with a strange man sleeping on the sofa.

Yesterday morning I found myself explaining what made me happy to a large group of men.   I said, “I know when I’m happy because I don’t want to change anything.   I don’t want to change the way I feel with drugs or sex or shopping.  I don’t want to change where I live or rearrange my apartment.   I am just happy with things the way they are right now.”

Lunch with Eric at the Mercantile on Sunset where we ran into Bryan and his friend Carly Chaikin who is the second lead in the film The Last Song starring Miley Cyrus.  A very sweet girl.   Delicious lunch, lots of fun, I ate duck.

After lunch Eric and I drove to Soho House where we sat on the terrace overlooking Beverly Hills drinking latte-yes I was in a latte state o’mind.

As the day progressed I felt more uncomfortable.    There were practical irritations like: HSBC in the UK had closed my bank account for no apparent reason (apparently my crime was dormancy) with money still in it.   I cannot pay bills, transfer money, now I expect long conversations with random, computer generated Indian customer service advisors that must take place before I get to the bottom of this.

I received another nasty email from a woman claiming that she was at Kristian’s funeral and that my blogged account of it is all lies.  The Mother and Father must be furious that I continue to report how they disrespect our friend in death.   I have spoken to many, many people about the funeral and how Kristian’s boyfriend of SEVEN years was told to stay away, how he is now having to fight the family for what is rightfully his-his share of the property that he and Kristian owned in France and his part of the London property.

By the time I took my nap I was feeling decidedly testy.

Had brief chat with NYC friend who seems eager to go bar hopping/hooking up.  Whatever he has in mind for himself who am I to judge?  He wants to be like all the other gay men with penis privileges.

I tried explaining to him the 12 steps, which was as satisfying as trying to teach a baboon how to knit.

Felt WORSE.

So, a friend of Kristian’s came and took me to dinner-once again at the Mercantile. (I am trying to work my way through their delicious menu.)  We talked about Kristian and I shed a tear.  This was the first person I had actually sat down with since his death rather that being on the phone or random conversations on Face Book with people who had been denied entry to the funeral and had watched in amazement as Kristian’s coffin was dragged into the church, as Kristian’s mother laughed at the funeral, as she made Kristian’s boy friend of SEVEN years feel so uncomfortable at the wake he had organized he left rather than them.

As we left the restaurant I bumped into a good-looking strawberry blonde man with huge arms.   He introduced himself and we exchanged numbers.  Later that night the strawberry blond man came over and we talked until 3am.  It turns out that he is a porn performer who wants to get out of the porn performer business.  I told him that I would introduce him to Jennie.  I looked at his work on-line.  Getting fucked by men with names like Xavier and Brett.   Eagerly blowing other men with huge arms.  I thought that maybe my NYC friend would like to hook up with him at a bar.

It was good to talk to him about my own relationship with pornography.

I felt comfortable with him.  We were not about to have a conversation about God, he did not have a complicated story.  He told me about the men he had dated.  The life he has.  He looked tired so I told him he could stay over.  I hid my gold watch.  He slept on the sofa.

Earthquake the following day.  I lay in bed as it rumbled through town.  Dinner with Anna at Canele on Glendale Blvd.  Excellent roast lamb and equally delicious roast vegetables.   Met delightful Amanda and delightful Daniel.

 

Enhanced by Zemanta
Categories
Gay Love Rant

Fuck you God

Golly Gosh.  I was ready to write an obituary.  Now there’s some hope in the air and it smells so sweet-like winter flowering Jasmine.

To my readers:  I want you to understand something.  You don’t know who I am writing about.  You can guess but you’ll be wrong.   Even if you are right-you’ll still be wrong.

Men together?  I don’t understand how that works.   Can it work out?  Need I worry?  Just go with God’s plan and see what he has in store for me.  God’s plan never ever includes meeting a normal nice man with no issues who can be ready and willing to deal with mine. hahahahh.  Fuck you God.  Have I ever told you just how much I trust how God works in my life?  That whatever happens everything is going to be ok?   It’s all going to work out just the way it’s meant to be.  God, can you PLEASE not torture me by making me learn how to be patient? By making me be the one who has to be selfless?  Can you just give me a frigging break!

The problem with long distance relationships?   There is no comfort what so ever in the time spent apart.  The distance, the anticipation and the disappointment.  It drives me BONKERS.  In the Land of Needy I suddenly become King.

Wonderful times spent together are mirrored with miserable times spent apart.

Added to all of this it feels like I am being given the mighty heave ho.  Why oh why are relationships so DIFFICULT.  It’s not just me.   I know it.  Why can’t everyday be like getting up in the Jane Hotel feeling complete?

Now I understand why you don’t get involved with certain kinds of men.  Well, we all have to make our own mistakes don’t we?  One day you walk away and you don’t look back. But I can’t walk away from this one-there’s still fuel to burn.  It’s not exhausted.  Yet.  As much as I want him to tell me that’s it’s over.  There is something intoxicating about being loved.

It’s not who you think.  It’s nobody you have ever met.  Nobody I have ever introduced you to.  He’s a different man.

Yesterday was rather wonderful despite emotional long-distance telephone calls with this young man that I recently met in NYC.

I had a deliciously long cup of coffee with an occasionally tearful Jennie… tears of joy I hope.  We looked each other in the eye.  We talked recovery and lost love and new love and what it was to have sex whilst being present.

By the end we were hugging and smiling and everything was just how it was meant to be, you see… what ever real friends go through they remain real friends.  The foundation of our friendship was constructed almost exactly a year ago when we entered Sex Rehab.

It is obviously unshakeable.  The Lord and the Porn Star.

So, I arrived at Amanda’s for dinner, she was in a fractious mood but I think she may just have been hungry.  She has lost a ton of weight.

Amanda and Lady Forte had spent the day with their grown up children looking at universities.  There was some unexplained drama around how easy it was to buy yourself into UCLA.   Anyway, had long chat with Charles about helping him make a film this summer, a short film to get into film school.  I would rather like to do that.  In lieu of teaching at UCLA this year which I really miss.

Categories
Love Money Rant

Elvis Pelvis

1.

Time to reconcile, to forgive and forget.  Time to see Jennie.  Time to catch up, to make up, to explain.  Time to confide and wear dark glasses again.

“Let us suppose that I have wept, on account of some incident of which the other has not even become aware (to weep is part of the normal activity of the amorous body), and that, so this cannot be seen, I put on dark glasses to mask my swollen eyes (a fine example of denial:  to darken the sight in order not to be seen).  The intention of this gesture is a calculated one:  I want to keep the oral advantage of stoicism, of “dignity” and at the same time, contradictorily, I want to provoke the tender question (“But what’s the matter with you?”); I want to be both pathetic and admirable, I want to be at the same time a child and an adult.  Thereby I gamble, I take a risk:  for it is always possible that the other will simply ask no question whatever about these unaccustomed glasses: that the other will see, in the fact, no sign.”

Living in love, in a state of grace, in acceptance.   Living outside of pornography, fantasy, catastrophic thinking-living in truth, trust and kindness.

2.

In Europe things, economic things are getting a whole heap better.  House prices climbing, job prospects improving.

It’s funny listening to British people complain about their lot.  They really have no idea how lucky they are.  They are blissfully unaware what is going on here.  Nobody really reports it-no journalist can bring themselves to say these words:  America as we knew it is over.  America where all our dreams would come true.  Where the promise of freedom would be fulfilled, where truth and equality would be respected.  Where innovation and hard work would be rewarded.

What happened?

There has been an economic catastrophe in the United States of America, brought on by endemic greed, corruption and false Gods.  The American people are angry and rightfully so-but because they are so badly educated their anger is totally misdirected.  Because they have no democratic choice their vote is meaningless.  Because their government is utterly corrupt they have no voice.   Their youth are disinterested in anything other than instant fame, fast food, sexual gratification.

The elections have become Corporate America’s great firework charade, costing millions, lights up the night then all smoke and ash leaving things just the way they were before.  Conning the dumb people into believing that they have choice and change they can believe in etc etc.

The last election was the most cynical of all.  Listening to Obama make any promise he could to get those folks to vote for him then watch him and his party of fools renege on every one of his election promises-knowing that the American people will never lift a finger to defend themselves from their worst enemy-their very own government.

Today I listened to Tim Geitner finally admit that the millions of lost jobs were not coming back anytime soon.  Just as I predicted.   When as my ‘smart’ white AA Palisades friends were looking down their suburban noses at me telling me that things would be back to normal in a year or so.  I looked back at them in utter disbelieve.  Who were they trying to convince?  I would gently remind them that nothing was going to return to ‘normal’ any time soon.  They sneered at me.  They laughed because they didn’t understand.  They are complicit you see.  Complicit in the demise-in the USA’s financial melt down.  Do you think they just totally underestimated the depth of the deception?  The greed?  Or was this a risk the rich were prepared to take?

I don’t trust Tim Geitner, I don’t trust Rahm Emmanuel, I don’t particularly trust Obama.  But in a world of distrust I would rather have these bandits than the last mob.  The characters in this administrative pantomime are more entertaining than the last.

This ‘Democratic’ administration cast by Ari Emmanuelle.   Make up by..hair..

3.

The flight back home from New York was 45 mins early, which made up for the 6-hour delay on the way there.   The staff were sweeter too.  One of them gave me free food.  If you could call it that-processed crap.

I had had a lovely time in NYC and even though it rained and rained I felt at home, like I always do, in the big city.   I loved it.  I really did.

For my last night in town Joan took us all to the Spotted Pig.  I sat next to Lady Rizo and opposite Joan’s husband.  He told us how he once dated a girl Elvis was dating and even though I had heard the story twice before I was still captivated.

Jake mooned over Lady Rizo’s husband.


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 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
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.