(My) Life Deconstructed

Another lacadaisical weekend spent riding around in convertibles baking in the So Cal freeway sun. The blessedly cool fog and almost chilly breezes have gone and been replaced with stifling heat. It makes me feel like I'm having an altered déjà vu experience of my reality.



We finally reconvened in Friday group in the new location. I love it! The gay center is in a bustling working class area which is almost entirely latino. Its a few blocks past my old school. We innaugurated the new group meeting room. We did our check in's. Dee and Connie have become a couple. Joe's friend has moved in with him for some weeks now. I was decidely not as upbeat and expressed my stuck-ness as of late. Of course one of our facilitators reminded us that it was okey for us to be wherever we were on the emotional map. I knew/know this but still I miss having company in my "misery." My worst inner emotional fears of abandonement were realized as we revisited Joe's graduation comment. The last meeting he announced that he was ready to graduate from the group in order to make room for someone/something else in his life. (Mind you this is my internal dialog, i'm processing out loud.) Each of us reflected on the journey we've been on collectively over the last year and one month. Dee said, "I didn't think I was going to make it before finding this group." We were incredibly blessed to have this unique oppportunity. Most bereavement groups only go for a set time. 10 weeks typically which is actually what we had planned. We were allowed to extend it a few times at which point we just extended it indefinitely. I knew/know that the group cannot go on forever. There comes a time when we have to be strong enough to stand on our own. Thats not actually the issue with me. I just hate saying goodbye and ending things. I got just as depressed when the school semester ended. This is a sad thing but its a good thing. As I approach the move home with only 9 weeks to go a lot of melancholy feelings are coming up.

As we were closing the group Joe talked about a dove that periodically nested in his backyard planter, a planter that resided right at eye level as you stepped into the yard. His friend asked him about it and Joe said you just have to walk to past it and not make any eye contact with the family. It's only a temporary thing. The family nests for 3 or 4 weeks and then they move on. You just have to "sit" with this change for a few weeks.


I went 3 times!!!

Last week was a total wash. The illness and and the paralytic whatever that was. I'm going to drawing class tomorrow. To the gym today. Attempt to draw at the library after that. Drawing is the key to getting myself going again. We shall see.




summer mode

Apologies for not doing my usual weekender re-cap. Friday morning I woke with a wicked sore throat and by Sunday it morphed into a full on cold. Today was the first day I felt reasonably normal. Thank you to my now outlawed nasal gel Zicam(®), I think. I really went down into depression land as well. I made the mistake that drawing class was meeting last Thursday but they actually met on Tuesday. I missed this weeks Tuesday meeting as well. Two weeks of missing drawing class bummed me. Friday group was cancelled for the 4th week in a row. The Gay Ctr. is still sorting their occupancy bs something or other. Missing group for a month has made me a little cauldron of rage. I did attend SOS on Sunday. While not as weird as the last one it was still a little off, owing to the holiday.


I needed something cathartic in lieu of group so we watched Joy Luck Club and sobbed incessantly

I actually sat down and thought about the calendar and my move home to Santa Cruz. Wow, 10 short weeks that will no doubt fly by. For the first time I started to feel very sad about the move. I've made a new best friend. The only singular meaningful connection down here and its really bumming me out the thought of going into a totally new environment. I know the reality of living on a huge beautiful university will be amazing and wonderful but I have such a hard time with seperation.


My perfectly respectable suburban Orange County 4th


The Crystal Cathedral was awash in American flags Sunday

There's nothing like a massive amount of caffeine to jolt you out of depression and out of the house. The weekend was weird and ended with me in a state of rage. Not a common occurence. Biggest lesson learned: do not bother to go out to a leather bar in LA, people are c*nts and not very friendly (you are not in San Francisco anymore).

Friday I had not received a call that group was cancelled and I conferred with Joe. The Gay Ctr. website said they would remain closed for another week. I decided this didn't apply to our special group and made my way down there to the new locale. Its in a much more gritty area in the heart of the latino working class Santa Ana. You wouldn't want to leave anything in your car at overnight. Still it was just a few stops past my old school and auspiciously across the street from a buddhist temple. I even gasho'd (acknowledged his potential to become a buddha by bowing with my hands together in prayer position in front of my face) to someone coming out and he returned the gesture along with a smile. There were many signs that the center was unoccupied. Joe showed up shortly after I arrived and came out to the street to greet me. I've mentioned before how Joe and I are able to communicate quite a bit in a tiny amount of time. He waited with me while I texted Lonnie to pick me up early. In the 20 or so minutes we were together Joe managed to communicate that the feelings he expressed of being ready to "graduate" from the group the last session we met had dissipated into what the f*ck am I doing spinning in cyclical circles. I told him I could relate. Save for the once a week I get together with my drawing class I've been re-visiting and sitting with much of the same feelings (albeit nowhere near the intensity) I've been pondering for the last year. When they tell you this stuff will come up and in no specific order its the truth. What can you do. I'm conscious that this may also be the darkness before the dawn. With all the anticipatory anxiety I have about returning home I know in my heart of hearts it will mean a return to life and a return to living. This is merely a hellish stasis in LA LA land.



Saturday we did something I quite enjoy but had not done since the fateful time the I accompanied Scott. Lonnie and I attended the screening of East of Eden in the Cinespia cemetery film series. Each summer this ornate Hollywood cemetery hosts an outdoor summer film series of classic films. They project on the wall of a masoleum and people picnic whle listening to DJ'ed music. Shortly before dusk the DJ played a raucous Michael Jackson tune and the large crowd raised their voices and danced boisterously. I mentioned that it was really bizarre to see hundreds of people dancing in the cemetery to Michael Jackson. They also did a montage for Farrah which I thought was pretty cool. One of the organizers shared some inside stories about James Dean and the actor who played his father. They hated each other apparantley. Kazan also got Dean good and drunk before the drunken roof scene.



Afterward we flew down to Silverlake to hear Peter Geokaris DJ at the Eagle. I know this area very well. I started going to Silverlake leather bars when I was only 15 years old. It was very David Lynch a la the movie Angel (schoolgirl by day hooker by night) for me to play in these bars at the weekend and then return to my suburban beachside orange county high school life during the week. As I got older Forrest and I would drive up together and pound 40 ounce beers in the scary dark alley behind the adult bookstore. I think we had fake ID's which would allow us to get into the infamous Club FUCK. The area has changed quite a bit. You no longer take your life into your own hands by walking from your car to the bars. Since it was after midnight it took us nearly an hour to find parking. Yet another reason which makes me hate So Cal. I was positively livid by the time we decided to give up. Lonnie drove me up to the bar so I could run in and tell Peter we couldn't find parking but lo and behold we found a space right up the street from the bar. We were in the bar for just a moment when Lonnie felt an intense biological urge. Long story short we gave up our parking space and drove miles away to find a facility. It was nearly 2 when we returned to discover they have bloody valet parking for a measly $7. By the time we returned it was ebbing down. I really wanted to support my long time friend in his first DJ spot but the crowd in LA bars is always so unfriendly and people stare at you instead of saying hello. Its always a huge gamble when you do speak to someone. You never know if you're going to get unabashed attitude, sarcasm, or just be ignored. There's always a thin veneer of mistrust though. This was surely the last time I ever go out in LA unless its something more along the lines of say Akbar. I realize our clubs and bars here are sophmoric and amateurish but I can deal with that. Live and learn.

This is where I spent my day today drawing bamboo. Not quite a red letter day but it was good to be with friends and I learned quite a bit about hatching and details


Sarah sat across from me. She was reading a feminist book about the beauty trap. She threatened to give it to her dad who has asked her to wear deodorant because she smells quite strong and au naturel.


You can't beat critiques in the bamboo classroom.

Our teacher is so totally turned on. Originally she told us she would gladly instruct us for free. Later she said she was advised she should charge some amount even a small one. Today when we met under the wisteria arbor, which was blissfully cool, she told us she was going to honor her original offer and teach us for free. She even put a $20 bill in the donation box at the arboretum entrance. We noticed there were all these velvety pea like pods hanging from the arbor ceiling. Someone joked about tasting them which lead our teacher to tell us a warning story about eating unknown plants. She prefaced that this was in the 1960's and involved a friend who liked trying strange new plants. This friend would later run off with Andy Warhol. Anyway the story involved some kind of poisonous plant from a neighborhood yard. Her friend had not eaten enough to die but it was enough to remove all her clothing and climb into a parked car where she was awakened the next morning and arrested.



I had this great feeling wash over me minutes after stepping off the bus into the arboretum lot. The 2 looong hours were completely forgotten as I noticed my favorite friends from drawing class assembled and waiting for me. The arboretum which abuts Cal State Fullerton is really lovely and low key. We had some instruction and lecture on using india ink, ink washes for adding value, and drawing with nibbed caligraphy ink pens. We were meeting for 3 hours but by the time I had drawn a few wisteria branches on my bristol board it was time to leave. For homework we were instructed to draw a detail of a plant in our home. I asked about drawing an ear of corn from the garden and my teacher loved that idea. Next week we'll meet on Tuesday and use the ink wash to add value for our palm tree pictures. The quality of the black ink and the variable lines give the images this striking life like quality. I am really thrilled about using ink which is funny cause its so much more permanent than graphite or pencil.

buttoniere created by mom using an orchid she had grown herself

I recently wrote about seeing an old friend, Lichen but I had completely forgotten about the "prom scandal," as he put it at the time.

Pictured in the photo is Forrest my compadre in crime from my wayward teen years. I had originally planned on going with Lichen who at the time was still rather conservative having emerged from his Orange County mormon upbringing. When he found out the school had required me to sign a waiver stating that we would not hold hands or dance together he figured out two boys going to prom would be a pretty big deal. He had no desire to participate in the "prom scandal," as he put it so of course I asked Forrest who was like me totally unabashedly out and in your face about it also like me. I had another gay friend in high school, Derek, who introduced me to Forrest. Forrest called me up on the telephone on the insistence of Derek to find out if I was gay. Forrest and I hit it off immediately and we talked for over an hour. We got into a lot of trouble together. I mean lots. There was the time after Club F*ck that he jumped out of a moving car and skinned up the entire right side of his body or the time his mom found gas receipts from Las Vegas, he was forbidden from driving into LA much less out of state. Forrest and I loved to push peoples buttons. We would often hold hands in malls and behave flamboyantly so he was totally into going to prom. I was also best friends with Derek's older sister a tough lesbian with blue black pompadour hairdo. She used a friends prom ticket and Lichen went as her date. The four of us arrived and would leave together.

From the second we walked in holding hands we were jeered at and taunted with threats. While slow dancing together the DJ from the big rock station in LA made the comment over an open mic, "oh my god there's two dudes dancing together!" We were told that we were ruining the prom and one tearful girl even begged us to leave. We finally had to be escorted to our car after a big scuffle in which we ended up on the floor underneath a mass of security. The prom was held at the Disneyland Hotel which had recently lost a lawsuit for seperating two men from dancing together inside the Disneyland attraction Videopolis. I knew that if the school tried to stop us that Disney security would stop them for fear of being sued. The whole experience was terrifying and exhilarating.

This photo is one of the few first hand historical documents that exists. There was no press coverage. We mysteriously did not make it into the prom memories book created by a local photography studio. They mysteriously received a brick thru their window some time later. School was hellish, even more so than it had already been. I was very open and out about my sexuality but the prom scandal cemented the daily taunting and torture. I took the high school proficiency and left school. Shortly thereafter I took the GED exam and moved to San Francisco just before my 18th birthday.

Lonnie and I did Bear Bar in Long Beach Saturday. It's held at a beach bar in a quiet shorefront area. Its very hit or miss. Its fun to dance although the music includes things like Dead or Alive, Kelly Clarkson, and hip hop jams. As my friend Eric McCormic puts it, its 99% production and 1% inspiration music. Pride in West Hollywood was happening and I suspect that siphoned a lot of people off and we left the nearly cavernous bar not too long after midnite. The Pride events here charge $20 admission and you have to pay thru the nose for everything including water. There really is nothing like Gay Freedom Day in SF. Not a thrilling night but it is So Cal. Very much looking forward to the Bears Gone Wild pool party Friday. Now thats something you won't find up north, a pool party.

Wrote this on Friday.

I helped sister dirrtie move a few things into his new apartment yesterday in Long Beach. He drove his moms vehicle and I rode with mom in "big red" his dad's ginormous red contractor truck. I really love spending time with him mom and soaking up that good nebraska mom energy. We talked about raku pottery and food the entire time. I was not prepared for the drive into Long Beach which took us right along the exact path that Scott and I drove from my house to his. We even drove past his apartment. Little pangs washed over me as we drove past. Ironic though as I've been readying myself for my transition. I found some 8x10 photos which I framed. I have this cute signed Titpig photo which I placed on a little tea table in my room. Seemingly no big deal but still a pysychological threshold for me. There was a time when to have anyones photo but Scott's in my room would have been a panic. A mental betrayal. I put it with two other smaller framed photos. As I looked at it I thought to myself, these belong together because they're not real people I know or interact with but they're like fantasy images of a life I dream about (sort of). In many ways this is a shift that denotes growth on my part. Its a good thing.

Yesterday evening Lonnie and I picked up a dear old friend at the tiny quaint Long Beach airport. While waiting in the outdoor baggage claim area one is bathed in the smell of jet fumes and chilly air. I had not seen Lichen in nearly 15 years or longer. We met at the Orange County Gay and Lesbian Center's Sunday night Youth Rap when I was 16 years old. Sunday night group was my salvation from life in conservative christian Orange County. We met usually in a circle and either "rapped" the breeze or played games. We eventually grew so close we held slumber parties at the center and went on camping trips. Lichen was 5 years my senior, a gifted hairdresser who worked as creative director for a South African based salon company. In his mid twenties he would suffer a crisis of consciousness and decide he wanted to leave the city for the country.

One of the last times we were together I agreed to help him drive his stuff up to Wolf Creek, the radical faerie commune where he would live for a number of years. We borrowed a hatchback with no rear license plate, no sideview mirror, and a heater that was stuck on maxiumum. To beat the intense august heat we stripped down out of necessity almost to our underwear. We were as one of the three policemen who pulled us over, a rolling stop sign. I was a cunning little liar then and for some reason I had allowed my license to lapse. I think it was living carless in SF. Having worked as a law enforcement dispatcher I was aware of the limitations at the time so the first time we were pulled over I told the officer in a convincing french candian accent that my name was Martin Lagasse and I lived in Montreal. This was the name of the young man I'd met while travelling for my Canadian based employer the posh hotelier Le Quat Saisons. I knew at the time the cops would have to wait while their dispatcher physically rang up Montreal to run a check and it being 3 hours later on the east coast this would be exceedingly difficult. This infuriated the two cops who pulled us over in of all places, Weed, California. Mind you the windows were all rolled down with the furnace blasting and the hot air of the interstate but this didn't stop one of the cops from stating, "this car reeks of marijuana." Although I can ingest much higher quantities of most substances than the average person pot and my chemistry are a no no. Anymore than a strong hit and I am plunged into near suicidal depression and panic. Needless to say we had not smoked pot in our hot wind tunnel loner car. Lichen suggested to the cop that maybe somebody had broken into our car in K-mart, where we'd just come from, and toked up a storm. He was less than thrilled with that comment and even more so when he had no choice to let us go finding no probable cause to hold us. File this under what in the hell were they thinking.

Lichen spent a number of turbulent years on the commune. He found that he had a preternatural ability to talk to the plants. Today he lives in an isolated valley of Mendocino. Natural springs feed his lush garden. He had great success managing a team of 11 but found he can make as much or more money just doing casual maintenance. I admire creative artistic people who can self start like that. I certainly am not wired that way and I cling or have a need for structure and solidity.

Been sitting on this for a few days waiting for the "right" moment to edit/post. Looks like thats not going to come so here it is un-edited.

I've been bumming out about not posting and so much time has gone by in between these pangs. Literally, its in my mind to post that I've not posted but I find I cannot write unless I'm in the right space. Last night I actually made an appointment with myself to try and post something today.

I was feeling so overwhelmed and this kind of demoralizing depression as I approached finals. It was around this time that I forced myself to attempt to study in an effort to stave off those sick feelings that accompany sitting in a class and feeling totally lost which in turn makes me feel like a complete and utter faliure. Thats the tricky part about depression. Everything is a huge chore. Inaction is the default and safe mode. I recall an exchange in my second to last drawing class. It occured between Sarah the sober friend. We were drawing a still life we'd created from stuff we brought in from home. Sarah kept saying that she felt too depressed to draw and couldn't focus. I responded that we were all depressed. Part of me was relieved to hear someone else echo my feelings. In the case of Sarah and my other friend Chrisitina, also sober, their experiences aka their f**ked up lives mirror more closely my experiences than the 18 year olds who populated our class. That was one great thing about being friends with them. To be able to put down my guard. Which reminds me of an experience I had. I befriended a young kid in the class at some point in the semester. I must admit I am for the most part isolated here and school was a respite. But, being that I'm nearly 40 and most of my classmates average 19 or so I found myself keeping things inside. Granted my life experience includes a great deal more of than most my age. Its the japanese in me wanting to self censor and be polite. So anyway I befriended this angsty oft angry 20 year old gay boy. I was very uncomfortable with the crush/hero worship but hoped it would past. For f**ks sake he had not seen Mommy Dearest, Hedwig, or Showgirls, let alone Boys in the Band (which I discovered is on DVD as of last November). Some guys might find it titilating to be placed in the teacher role. That kind of power dynamic both exasperates and creeps me out. I was never that naieve at 20 and never shall I say of average intelligence. Sometimes it would take me 5 texts to explain stuff. Did I mention that he wasn't out? He planned on coming out to his parents on his 21st birthday. I should back track a bit. He and Lonnie accompanied me to Disneyland for my birthday. His step-father signed him in. We ran into him during the visit which resulted in the step-father informing that he was in the company of obviously gay and mature men which lead his mum to warn him that we must surely only be courting him for one reason. Sometimes I am so obliviously naieve. Of course it would look creepy for two nearly 40 year old men to be hanging out with a 20 year old at Disneyland. Ironic though since I was a young man I've had a thing for mature men (the dad archeytype) and zero interest in people my own age much less younger. The gist of the situation is I used my evil older gay male cunning to force a fight in which this very immature person blurted out something incontrovertibly over the line which I could then use as my excuse to end our friendship. The one upside of technology is I blocked his number and e-mail so I only got 1 or 2 of the begging/pleading messages. Lonnie was not so lucky. Oh the joys of fighting with children. Reminds me of fighting with gay men my own age. It made for a very tense classroom situation although our final class was pretty light hearted. I got the icy queen stuff from my mom who was the queen of stoic granite emotions. No doubt a product of growing up post-war japan and being an independent woman in a male dominated society. I kept thinking I should feel something different. Something markedly about attending my very last class. I am glad it was drawing. We had a nice time and I was very touched by the interactions. I've been talking about my feelings and letting people know how I feel about them for so long now that its like second nature. Normally people don't talk like. But the way the group hive mind works when someone does something indepenedentally others feel freer to follow suit. We also had a very nice cohesive class filled with a lot of nice people. When I left campus at 16:45 for the last time I was so exhausted from all the finals BS that I was more relieved to be leaving than sad. Collegio Santa Ana was my home for 3 beautiful years.

I realize I skipped writing about a Friday group. Chalk that one up to depression. One of our facilitators was absent so it felt like an off group, albeit productive. When we all met this past Friday it was like a reunion. There's been a lot of disruption in past weeks and one or the other of our facilitators has been absent. We started off the group with our check in and then went into something that I knew was coming. I don't do well with seperation. I've always struggled with abandonement issues since childhood. It caused me to cling to some very unhealthy relationships and friendships and make some poor choices in my life path. Today I have more of a sense of my own self worth and I don't cling so much. I digress. I don't recall how it was brought up but I do remember Joe telling the group that he had made an internal decision, that it was time for him to graduate. It was both a relief and a disruption. For weeks now we've been engaged in group as a process group, which means being in the moment and talking about whatever comes up. We've shifted from crisis and grief mode. But, as I expressed to the group, although I am not in crisis from day to day and I don't worry about finding love, truthfully I don't have any concern about it because its not a primary motivator, but I am very much heartbroken and not a day goes by that I dont look at pictures of Scott and imagine him being here. I imagine how he would respond and what he would say. I think back about times we spent together. Most of all I am cognizent of his abscence in my life and I don't care if this is psychologically unhealthy but I feel his abscence almost daily. Its not crushing me or preventing me from living my life but I am aware that my quality of life is just so so and that is what it is. It's neither here nor there. I can't do anything about it and nor can anyone else. It is what it is and it doesn't change my feelings in that everything I see or do, well most things not everything, is tinged. So hearing the conviction in Joe's voice was a relief because I know I'm leaving after summer and in the back of my mind there was this little question about group running its course. We were incredibly blessed to be able to extend the 10 week period several times till eventually it just became this indefinite amorphous thing. It was a relief to know group would be there. I arrive less harried but oft still with issues and I leave feeling as having experienced catharsis. As sad as I am to know the conclusion is on the horizon I am relieved that I still have my other group.

SOS meets on the first and third Sunday of the calendar month. Because of this we went three weeks without meeting. Last Sunday I was conscious of a shift having occured. Even as I drove onto the compound I didn't feel out of place or intimdated for the first time ever. I've also been aware of a shift within myself. In each meeting regular attendess share for three minutes about their loss. Afterward we allow new comers to take as much time to share in as much detail as they need. I've noticed that I am now comfortable sharing a brief synopsis of Scott's suicide omitting everything but the barest facts. I used to stress about what I would say. I'd even bullet point notes for myself. Not thinking about what I'm going to say has meant I can listen to what each of the other members is sharing. I feel this camraderie in knowing I am not the only person. I have also begun to look for and seek out a few new members to ask how their doing, to listen to them, and to acknowledge their experiences and share some of my own. In particular there is a mom of two young girls that I've bonded with. She lives in a wealthy enclave of Orange County and for all intents she had the dream life until a month ago when her husband, a mortgage broker, checked into airport parking and overdosed on pills. She is eerily composed save for when she shares when she has a few seconds of tears. I am astounded at her strength but maybe she has to be that way for her 8 year old and 11 year old daughters. My other friend in group is a mature latino woman who found her husband who stayed home from church one sunday also about a month ago. She cannot get the gruesome image of his self inflicted gun shot wounds out of her mind and has been suffering from intense PTSD. I gave her my copy of Suriving and I make a point of checking in with her each week. She seems especially fragile but she comes each meeting. We had quite a few new people this meeting. These were 12 step people who speak in this dogmatic paradigm. Still they made an effort to use inclusive language which while subtle meant quite a bit to me. One woman was sharing about loss and in addition to husband she used the word partner parroting my own language. This wasn't the only reason for my shift in comfort but it certainly helped. I actually feel like I have a legitimate place among the group and the god talk doesn't creep me out so much anymore. I can even participate by holding hands in the prayer circle that they conclude the meeting with. It helps if I just think of them like pschizophrenics or crazy people who are delusional.

Thks to Sister Dirrty for accompanying me, Lonnie, and my two drawing classmates Sarah and Cole to the Hollywood assembly point. The mass arrived a few hours after 9 p.m. before marching back to West Hollywood. Here are a few snapshots.

I finally saw the summer movie event Star Trek. The mass buzz about it continues to baffle me. I enjoy Abrams TV programs, especially fringe but in every project there is that cringe factor or cringe moment. The narrative is strong enough for me to overlook these moments. I was sorry I didn't come away dazzled or delighted by the re-envisioning as expected. Abrams uses way too many cheap and obvious storytelling devices to the point of being formulaic but he lacks the genius hand of auteurs like Almodovar or Tarrantino. Almodovar and Tarrantino are geniuses when it comes to incorporating the kitsch or pop-culture references we love while imo Abrams is heavy handed. For me this film was very much body without soul.

Been meaning to write. It actually bothers me that I don't write more regularly but of course I have a hard time writing when things are generally going well. My 6th grade teacher got me hooked on creative writing when I was 11 years old. At age 12 my parents brought home an IBM selectric. Something they regretted because I'd stay up clacking away till the wee hours. I wrote myself sane. Creative writing was my therapy and so there is the association with being depressed. Still though, it does give me great pleasure to write. I feel really strange today. An odd sort of out if it feeling. Not sure if its cause of the disruption in schedule. Had a pleasant enough weekend although last night I began to feel lost.

Friday started off with a bang. So to speak. The local bear contingent had their first summer kick off party. They have an amazing salt water pool and a backyard just made for entertaining. I took this 20 year old friend from drawing class. He was very nervous about going to something like this for his first time. We had a blast! I drank a tad too much. The people here are not terribly friendly and I forget this but I managed to have an enjoyable time.



Yesterday was the 1 year anniversary of the death of my groupmate Joe's partner. I knew it would be a tough day for him, and it was. He invited me along with a very small group of friends to stop by for a super low key get together. Mexican food and strawberry margaritas were served. People were generally sensitive to the tone of the "event" although through no fault of their own, expressed weird ideas about the group therapy process, bereavement group, and grief in general. I was already feeling weirded out about the day as it was and not especially feeling up to playing counsellor/educator so I kept my exchanges succinct. What made the day worthwhile were the few visual nods I received from Joe throughout the afternoon. Those knowing glances. It felt good to support him. Who knows if that was weighing on my mind but the rest of the evening I felt really off kilter and that feeling has lingered. Things are changing for me rapidly. The safety and security of the day to day school thing is about to end and I'll be leaving for university. A prospect that I am both terrified and delighted about.



I rode a ferris wheel for the first time today in a one of the local outdoor malls. I am still quite terrified of heights but as I get older I'm more able to talk myself into these things. At one point I thought were continuing to ascend and I decided I was just going to keep my eyes tightly shut but a few seconds later I realized we were in fact descending and I could deal with the elevation. Most "malls" here are designed as mediterranean villas for strolling but this one was oddly based on or around an islamic castle theme. It was pretty delightful for me. The malls here incorporate things like amusement park scale, outdoor furniture, and fire/water features. People not only shop but they walk their dogs and stuff.



Tried sleeping in a totally dark room without a night light. No luck. Had night riddled with vivid terrifying nightmares. The worst part(s) is waking in total darkness which I think induces stress chemicals and then more intense scary dreams.


Cook corner for lunch, Trabuco Canyon, one of the many canyons surrounding Orange County


did a little off roading after lunch

I arrived at Friday group feeling pretty low with a generalized spooked feeling. I had a pretty emotionally intense morning and day. Yesterday was the official one year point since Scott's death, although I wasn't notified until the 18th. I've driven past his old apartment in Long Beach a few times but not for a while. Bear Bar at Ripples is held just down the street. Each time I drive through the old neighborhood I am reminded of the lovely little life we had together. He lived at the tail end of Belmont Shores, this little village like area that stretches about a mile or so. Scott lived at the end of 2nd street where it ends into Ocean Blvd., the part where you start to see ocean and landmarks like the Queen Mary and ports. After dropping Lonnie at work I borrowed his vehicle which put me into the city at close to 8 a.m. The night before I gathered frames, printed out the lovely newspaper feature from the Cleveland paper about his death, and a few photographs. The apartments where Scott lived all went back quite a ways from the street which meant there were long paved driveway entrances. The doors to his apartment complex all faced the driveway, like a New Orleans style copy of a courtyard facing house with a second floor balcony. The complex next door had a very wide ledge that Scott used to prepare and dry his backgrounds. He used a renaissance technique in which he applied as many as 30 coats of oil paint to build up the backgrounds. He liked to have quite a few prepared backgrounds of varying sizes at the ready so he could paint as he felt moved. The only time he didn't paint was when he was too depressed. The constant isolation and rejection were like a mantra to him. He would say, "I spent my entire life along in a single room alone with artificial lighting." I thought it would be appropriate to set up a little altar on the ledge which as I discovered was still covered with streaks of different colors of paint. I planned on having coffee and breakfast and waiting till after 9, when most of his neighbors left for work to go over. I had it fixated in my mind that someone would think what I was doing was macabre and angrily confront me. I had completely forgotten how nice everyone of his neighbors was and I don't really know where these fears were being projected from. I had coffee at the gay coffeshop just to kill time. Thankfully there were empty tables out front that faced the street. I could hide in the anonymity of a street busy with passing cars while I pretended to enjoy sipping my coffee. At 9:45 I drove over to the apartments. I was struck by how little had changed in a year. It was as if the palm trees, shrubbery, and peach colored building were frozen and Scott was waiting for me to come over as he did each weekend. I was struck by the hundreds of streaks of dripped oil paint, some still vibrant as if no time had elapsed. I was struck by how comforting it was for me to revisit my steps and my old life, how much I had still unsettled. I looked around the entire building and noticed the drain pipe still had the googly eyes Scott had affixed with epoxy. We had so much fun that day and he was feeling mischeviously upbeat. Later that night we sneaked over to the old convent across the street, the one with the Botticelli like Mary in a clamshell. People often left lit candles and offerings. We were disappointed to see that the epoxy we'd glued the googly eyes on with was so easily scraped off by one of the buddhist monks that now occupied the building. As I walked to rear of the building his old garage was left open and I searched it looking for some sign of him. I was surprised to find a corner of a nice silver frame nailed to one of the support beams, clearly visible was a sticker he had made with his first and last name, clearly visible from the outside of the garage. I couldn't believe the new tenant had left it there. I wondered if they would notice that I yanked it free and took it with me especially in light of the altar I had created in the courtyard. I left a typed note under the vase I had filled with cut roses, dahlias, and gladiolas from my yard. I instructed in the note to please toss or keep any of the items I had left. I had no plans on returning and I knew this would be my final visit as I would be returning home to University soon.



Afterward I walked across the street to the little park where we frequently played frisbee. It was just above the bluffs and beach where the intense summer heat drove us out of our minds and into to cool off. I set up a chair and my drawing board and attempted to draw the view from shore. I got one of these little man made islands completed but the marine layer and my fragile feelings were both obscuring the queen mary and the rows of cranes lining the working port. After 2 hours I decided to pack up and have some lunch before trying again on a nearby beach where we walked in the evening time. After lunch it was getting really hot out on the sand and I was feeling even more altered. I could barely draw so after a few failed attempts I gave up. The isolation coupled with the emotional triggers of being in the old neighborhood were stressful and I needed some human contact. I left early to pick to pick Lonnie up after he finished working. Along the stretch of Belmont Shore there must be 20 lights. Only one time in 2 years have they ever been green, every last one in succesion. Today as I drove home they were all green. I took it as a sign that I was free to leave this place behind, free to go, I had been given all green lights by the universe.

I had just enough time before group to crash for half an hour before pounding some coffee so I'd at least be alert. I was still feeling altered when I arrived but very glad to be there. I arrived 20 minutes early and Joe shortly after that. He usually keeps a case of water in his trunk so I texted him and asked him to bring me one. He was out so he stopped at a store just to pick me up one. He and I share this affinity and even though we only had a few minutes alone we covered a lot of ground as we usually do.

He was worried about me and how I would handle this day but was reassured to see that I wasn't falling apart. I know that Joe was also really worried about his own one year anniversary soon approaching on the 24th. He was glad I was okey and I was glad I was okey so that Joe could see that it was possible for him to also be okey when the date arrived. We only had one of our group leaders this week and she immediately turned to me before we began our check-in's. For once I didn't mind being the center of attention. I shared about my day. I was asked if I needed more time to share. I thanked the group for listening to me. I told them that I had shared everything I needed to at the moment and that I just relieved to be there with them.

Something really beatiful happened as a result of my sharing. Our leader acknowledged that we had all either recently passed or were approaching our one year anniversaries. Connie, Dee, and Joe each shared their feelings and experiences and reflections. There's something that the members of SOS say to new people and that is, "we're sorry you're here but we're glad you're here." Joe expressed his relief that he was so glad that I was okey on this day of significance. He said that he was so so sorry to have met me under these circumstances but that he was so glad we had met. Upon reflecting on the unfortunte journey we had embarked upon together I said that I had become a more thoughtful person. There was/is a part of me that can behave obstanantly and childishly when I'm angry. It's like I can't turn it off once I'm boiling. Scott used to call it the stomp out because I would literally stomp out of the house mad. Today I am more cognizent of how my actions affect others and while I'm not perfect and I still struggle with childish behavior I am at least more aware when I'm in the moment.

I took the last 10 minutes of group to share some photographs I brought. I talked about a favorite portrait Scott painted of me, one of the last series he created. Joe remarked that he was seeing so much unbridled joy in each of our faces as we passed the photos around and I shared. He reflected on how different this was from a year ago when to share about our loved ones was an experience of anguish and raw debilitating pain. I remarked that in my blindness of grief I reached out and actively sought some kind of help for myself. Finding this group was the best thing I could have done for myself and I wouldn't trade all the anguished sobbing and opening of wounds for anything. Without it who knows where each of would be today. Who knows how wounded we would be and how heavy the burden of carrying all that sorrow alone would be.

Sunday I attended my SOS group at the Crystal Cathedral. I planned on attending as part of the process this weekend but an hour before I was to leave I tried to talk Lonnie into going to a movie with me instead. Fortunately he had other plans and after some time passed I thanked him for not indulging my desire to flee from group. There was a much smaller group than I had fixated in my mind. Smaller group means lower energy. It's so stupid to feel disappointed over something like that but thats the reason the buddhists say not to create attachment(s). You only suffer their loss when they dissipate as alll things do. I depend on cathartic vehicles like hearing others share about painful experiences or moving films because I am unable to emote anything myself. A few people trickled in late as if oft the case and we ended up having a reasonably sizeable group after all. I sat next to this woman who's husband killed himself 8 weeks ago. She is remarkably disturbingly together considering. She has an 11 and an 8 year old as well. We connected during the break and had a cerebral check-in. I liked that I am now able to reassure others who might be coming in new. After I shared the leader stopped the group and acknowledged it being my anniversary. She asked me how I spent it and how I was doing. I relayed my day in Long Beach and stuff. Now that I'm back home I'm fighting a little depression but I suspect thats situational and will go away once I'm back in school tomorrow. This was a very big very significant weekend. I passed it reasonably intact with the help of lots of structure and the unbounding support of two support groups, and the support of a good friend. Thanks Lonnie for taking such good care of me.

It's been driving me crazy that I've not posted an entry for Friday and the weekend. School is nearing close with only 2 weeks of instruction left. I turned 38 this week and Lonnie took me to my 1st Dead show Saturday. It was wonderful! We spent 12 blissful hours arriving at 2 and leaving at 1. I felt at home in the shakedown (the lot) having lived in SF for so many years. Big big week(end) as I approach the anniversary of Scott's death. I feel "Ok" for the most part unless I start looking at pics or videos. Once in a while I encounter a trigger that shocks me and reminds me that I'm still a little tender. This morning I was looking over a 2nd floor balcony railing and there was this huge white panel van. I felt waves of nausea come over me as I pictured something really too horrible to write.


full set on my flickr page

Monday I had class till 1 then I went to Disneyland. At first I was apprehensive about wearing one of those B-day badges but then I saw bunches of other people wearing them so I wore two. Kind of cool. No lines and we rode every major ride. It was a nice safe blissful bubble feeling, Disney and the Dead show.

Friday I forgot that Joe was going to be absent. I spent the day in Los Angeles. Took some drawing classmates to the Weisman home museum. Going there is a really lovely familiar safe feeling for me. Like visiting old friends. I noticed that this my 5th visit, I was finally able to "see" the paintings. Nice feeling! Afterward I arrived at group early. I was apprehensive about Joe being absent but our facilitators planned a nice group. We played emotional Jenga. Each time we took a turn we shared something about ourselves. I was amazed the blocks didn't fall even though they seemed on the verge and I was playing with two 70 something year old lesbians. As if timed the blocks fell right as we were ending. One of our facilitators created a new rule and we each took turns talking about what we would like for ourselves in the coming week. I asked for strength and calm getting thru Friday.



I cleaned out a heavy crystal rose vase and put some empty frames near the door. Friday morning I'm borrowing the car from Lonnie and driving myself to Long Beach. I'm going to set up an altar on this wide cement stoop where Scott used to dry backgrounds, across from his apartment. I plan on spending the day across the street at Bluff Park drawing the beach and coastline. I don't anticipate having a rough day but as I was going through photos tonight I felt pretty overcome. We'll see.

Yesterday in drawing class was probably one of the best days I've had at school in over a year. We were drawing 3/4 portraits. I've been tripping myself up by doing so much prep work that the detailed steps on portrait drawing end up stressing me out so bad it takes me 30 minutes just to get started. Yesterday I just decided to say f*ck it. I wasn't concerned with how my drawing turned out. I gave into the idea that it might look really sh*tty. What I drew looked remarkably like the model, Christina. For a few weeks now I've been cyber hanging out with Cole, this 19 year old who I've sat next to since beginning of drawing class. We started out exchanging Facebook status update comments and then progressed to texting. We made plans along with Christina to visit my favorite place the Weisman Home. I'm really thrilled at the idea that they've never seen or read of it. But most of all I'm thrilled at the level of bonding and closeness we seemed to have achieved in the 6 hours we spend together each week. Again I credit the digital. I caught Cole making some kind of arrangements with Christina concerning my birthday. In general I deplore being the center of attention. There have been birthdays when I've not said a word to coworkers or friends. Its that double edged sword of wanting people to think of you but not wanting to demand people think of you. Part of me loves the tragic idea of being forgotten but also wants to be touched by being remembered. Anwyay. I caught them making some kind of whispered arrangement so I pulled Cole aside and kind of firmly let him know that my birthday falls dangerously close to a very significant date and that this of all birthdays I wanted to be low key, a blip of a day really. We had this conversation as we descended the very narrow staircase in the art building. He assured me he knew that the 15th was a day of significance and that he was not planning anything extravagant. This part is a little unclear in my head but I think he either implied or said that he googled my e-mail or my handle which of course would reveal a years worth of entries. Not a problem actually but kind of funny considering I had wrangled over not bringing it up but then wanting to bring it up. Once again the digital has made my life easier.



I've been feeling really defeated since blowing the most important and most difficult exam in Spanish. It really took the wind out of my sails and was a major blow to my confidence. Not sure if it was that or the proximity to Scott's anniversary but I've been feeling wounded. To top it off I was rejected by Berkeley which is so f'ing retarded because I didn't even want to apply there. I did so on the insistence of my counsellor. In my mind I had just fixated that it would be a yes and that I could then accept my Santa Cruz offer kowing I was good enough to get into Berkeley. It sucks cause there is no way to know why you were turned down. I would like to think it was my touchy feely essay about valuing connection and experience over achievement seeing as how it is a super competitive elitist school. I wish I'd never applied and I feel like a loser even though I had zero desire to go there. I hate competition! Couple this feeling of slight defeat with f'ed up sleep patterns and lack of sleep. I've just been feeling tender and a little sad. Today in psych class, which I love, we were talking about stress and wouldn't you know it the last slide was on suicide. The teacher asked two questions and I was the only one who very confidently blurted out the answers. Sucks that I've become such an expert on suicide. Weirdly though I had this bit of a realization. Its funny cause I've been hearing this information repeated time and again in my SOS meetings but it just never occured to me. Something I've had a problem with or felt guilty about is the final few days of Scott's life and our conversations. I've had this idea that if only I could have been there, and I wasn't, I was in fact unavailable and I didn't make myself so during the 2 or 3 days that preceded his suicide. I've had this idea that if I had been available I could have talked him off the ledge as I had so many times time and again. Todays realization came when we were talking about the way suicidal people present. Often there is a clearing of the depression and a buoyancy. Almost like a happiness and a resolve. This is common because in fact the suicidal person has made a decision to kill themselves and they are actually experiencing "happiness" at last.

One of the things Scott and I argued about. One of the things he was unhappy about. One of the reasons that he killed himself is that I refused to budge on the idea of going away to University. When I met Scott, and I have recordings of him saying this. All he wanted to do was kill himself but he had the caveat, never while his mother was alive. He told me when he met me all those feelings went away and that he no longer wanted to die. That he felt a responsibility to be alive. No matter what anyone says. No matter what anyone tells me. And this is not an expression of my ego. I took away something from him and although there were many other factors, my leaving was a contributing factor to his decision or his state of mind. But I digress. The point that sparked this awareness in me during class was the last conversation we had. It occured a day before he killed himself. We spent hours on the phone working through things. We finally arrived at the conclusion that we would use the time we had to enjoy being together and it was almost like he was content if not happy in his resolve. Like he had made a decision and some weight had been lifted from his shoulders. This is conjecture I realize but if in fact this fits the clinical profile then maybe that relief I detected was the buoyancy I wrote about. What I mean to say is, that maybe being there on the phone the following day would not have made any difference. I wouldn't have been able to talk him off the ledge. That's the clincher for me. I just don't believe that last part because I got to be such an expert at helping him thru these rough spots. Which is why I believe he left suddenly unplanned for Cleveland the week before but that's a whole other arc. They say in SOS that we move not to a place of acceptance but to acknowledgement and that we seek to transform guilt into regret. For whatever reason I do not believe I will ever move from a place of guilt. Whats lost is/was far too valuable. Scott was no ordinary man. He was the rare conduit of the soul, the authentic, the genuine.

I started this day (Friday) at half 5 a.m. with only 4 or so hours of sleep. I knew I hadn't gotten enough when I woke mid dream. Lonnie was nice enough to loan me his car so I could drive into the city to visit with an old friend from London. I'd not seen him in well over a year. In fact the last time I saw him Scott and I picked him up at LAX and took him to dinner. I was really happy they got to meet and that he met someone who was so significant in my life, a first. Mark is your typical stiff upper lip Brit emphasis on the stiff and stern but he's a gem of a friend. I called him in the first few days. He asked me if he could send me a ticket and if I'd like to come to London. I was in no condition to travel but the gesture meant the world to me. Knowing someone cares enough about you to say you can come home in such a state is affirming. Mark travels more than anyone I know and there are two brands he loves, United and Hyatt. This week he was innaugurating a new Hyatt concept chic boutique hotel. The Andaz, urdu-hindi derivative meaning personal style, has no desks, staff do not wear uniforms, and checking in involves hosts swiping cards on petite handhelds. The property adjacent from the uber chic Benjamin Noriega-Ortiz designed Mondrian Hotel (formerly Starck circa 96') The front of the bldg. still retains the silver winged RH insignia, aka the Riot House or Riot Hyatt, home to the Sunset strips rock and roll royalty. The best things: the rooftop pool with view of city and hollywood hills. Even better: the 3 oz. sized bath amenities perfect for air travel. We had a great lunch at my old teenage haunt, Hamburger Hamlet. It was the highlight of a visit into the city for me.


it's the little things like this stylish minibar


3 oz. amenities suitable for air travel

I returned to group today after missing the last two sessions. I was absolutely dead tired and on the verge of falling asleep so I pounded an americano about 20 minutes before arriving. Joe was already there and he greeted me like an old friend. He and I have always shared an instant at ease and raport and also a knowing which is very helpful when one of us is trying to articulate something in group and we get stuck. Group started off slowly. I didn't mean to start off the check in's but I inadvertantly began sharing about my experiences and feelings in my beloved drawing class. One of our facilitators even asked me about Christina. She and I have grown in our understanding of one another despite full disclosure not having occured and things only being alluded to in ambiguous "group" terminology.

A few weeks ago when our drawing class went to a nearby neighborhood known for its picturesque 20's era homes, I noticed an inscription on a bracelet that Christina was wearing. This tipped me off and the following week in class I asked her if she and Sarah, the disheveled anarchistic ex philosophy major, attended some type of programmatic thingamahoo. Sarah immediately confirmed my suspicions and our discussions immediately ascended to this whole other level. I pulled Christina aside after class and I said I know you've probably inferred that the death of Scott was a significant event in my life and in fact the anniversary was coming up. I told her that I really felt it was getting to the time when I could tell her everything but I wanted to do so after the 15th. I just wanted to get through and pass this date of significance. It had been on my mind for some weeks. When Joe and I were in the waiting room he asked me what I would be doing on that day and I told him I had a very tightly structured day planned.

After about 10 minutes of me sharing I noticed Joe was breathing very heavily and I thought maybe he was having allergy issues until I looked over and noticed that he was sobbing. Really sobbing. One of our leaders asked him what was coming up for him and he revisited the question about what to do on the anniversary of his partners death, which falls on May 24th, two weeks after Scott. The thing that he was having so much trouble with was that despite this being a full year later/after he was not coming to grips with the loss and his abscence. In fact he was feeling very angry over the senseless and all too soon death and at a loss as to why he was still feeling this way or when these feelings would subside. He started talking about small changes he'd made in their home. Earlier in the week he took a large black and white framed photo from the inside of their bedroom door. He wrapped it in white fabric and placed it near his partners ashes high on a shelf. He wasn't prepared for the heft and weight of Ren, still very much a physical prescence even with matter in this state. We all acknowledged the idea of keeping loved ones ashes. At one time each of us agreed the very idea would have seemed morbid. Talking about the ashes prompted a confession. Months ago his partners sister had been harrasing him, requesting her brothers ashes be given to her. A solution presented itself one day when a co-worker mentioned that she had her dogs ashes. Her dogs name was Blue. Joe arranged to meet the sister in a restaurant but asked that his own sister come along for support. At no time did he say these were his partners ashes. Just that he would meet her in a designated place to give her ashes. During the meal Joe made a point to tell the sister that when she decided to release the ashes into the ocean or wherever that she do him a small favor, that she include something blue. Joe's sister sucked in her chest and covered her mouth as if gulping for air, much like I did tonight, but she said nothing. Joe emphatically, almost angrily stated that his partner was his, he took care of him for 17 years and he belonged to him, not his sister. I told Joe who was feeling very guilty, that sibling relationship does not trump 17 year relationship and not only did she have no right to ask for his remains but it was very cruel.

It was also a day of significance for Connie's partner Sherry. Today would have been her birthday. I was really touched by the spontaneous round of, "happy birthday Sherry." May is turning out to be a very significant month for the lot of us. And, school is out in only 4 short weeks. I still continue to coast as if on auto-pilot. Not too high, not too low. I have moments of pleasure and moments of laughter but I don't fully engage life. That's okey for me. Life is just not life without my friend Scott Miller. Existing not living but that's okey for me. I had two wonderful years with which to feel alive and that may sate me for a lifetime.

As I was getting into the car to leave Joe approached and asked if Lonnie and me would be at his place on the 24th. He came to the decision that it would be good for him to be surrounded by family on that day. He mentioned that he could just be himself around them and would not have to mask anything. I immediately wanted to say I'd be there but didn't want to invite myself. I was very touched that Joe included me and on some level its heartening to know that although we share this bond born of something terrible, we will be supporting one another. An unexpected blessing.


ready to check you in upon arrival

Apologies for not writing an entry this week. Been in sleep recovery mode with heavy exams this week. Lonnie and friends visited a resort in Vegas to celebrate his birthday and his freedom from parole. I tried my best to study but without much success. We had a fun night and a not so fun night. We arrived Thursday and I booked a one bedroom suite for us. I could have died in the spa tub and been a happy man. The rest of the weekend we stayed in a lovely resort on the strip.


view from our balcony


the epitome of Vegas for me encapsulated in this one image


the ginormous breasted tranny face bartender making the $60 drinks that preceded the episode that preceded me spitting in someones face and then being tossed into a wall several times


the tremendously underwhelming light show on Vegas' trashiest street

When I was 10 years old my mom remarried and we moved from our small condo in the outskirts of LA to the suburbs of Huntington Beach. My brother and me were one of 3 asian kids in our grade school. As far as I know I was also the only polite, soft spoken, and essentially effeminate little boy in the 5th grade. This is something the kids picked up on right away. I was visiting my dad, step-mom, and siblings at the weekend, mostly in east LA. For years they lived in the working/middle class predominantly Latino area of my birth known as Montebello. I loved spending time away from the beach there. Frequently I would come home with cut off jeans from swimming in the LA riverbed aka Marano Beach as the locals called it. Even though I didn't completely look like all the other kids, they were pretty brown like me and I found near total acceptance and these visits were the only time I felt totally at ease about my mixed identity. My dad was a functional alcoholic and he drank beer everyday of his life till the very last. My step-mom didn't so much drink as she partied. The both of them went thru periods of partying lows and highs. There was an angel dust period. I remember one of my dads friends acting up at a park so they thought it would be a good idea to put him in his car and tell him to drive home. My step-mom and me (age 9 or 10) ended up trying to pry his locked fingers from the steering wheel. It was a lost cause and we sat there at the traffic signal so long the police eventually rolled up. This kind of episode was nothing out of the ordinary. My dad had a lot of unresolved issues from his brutally tough childhood and he could be very mean. One weekend we were hanging out at my dads best friends house. A house in a bad area where they parked their bikes in the living room. When my mom came to pick me up my dad, pretty drunk, thought it would be funny to put a shotgun to her head through the car window. She peed herself as he cocked it and laughed hysterically. I don't know why she continued to let me see him. I'm not sure if I would have resented her for stopping me. In retrospect there was a lot of good along with the bad.



I have three younger brothers, one younger sister, and one older sister. My older sister got married on Saturday. Friday we had no group so I bused over part of the way and my younger sister, who I've always been preternaturally close to, picked me up. When we got to their house in Whittier only my youngest brother and step-mom were home. The 12 people that comprised my sisters husbands family were looking after the hall till midnight. My step-mom has been very sick, a latent result of all the partying, but she pulled herself out of bed when we got home. She asked me if knew how to dye hair and if I would help her do her dark roots a golden blonde to match the ends. Years ago in a former life I trained at Vidal Sasoon and worked for a South African salon company. I hadn't touched tint in ages but it took me about 10 minutes to get it all neatly on her head. While I was applying she talked to me about the gay couple who they'd be seeing at 6 a.m. to have up-do's. I think it was her way of acknowledging me. We've never actually had the conversation. There was a lost 10 year period when I was living in SF where fear kept me from really sharing everything about myself. Funny that in the end it was no big deal to anyone. My older sister is pretty demanding but not a very good planner. It was her idea that my step-mom, younger sister, and me all sleep in my younger sisters queen size bed. I had my sister make a little bed for me between the wall and her bed with pillows and blankets. Just like when I would visit as a little boy. It was really nice the three of us laying in the room together laughing and talking before we drifted off to sleep.

The morning was maddening as a family of 18 people used one bathroom to get ready. My sister decided to have a pachuco themed wedding so all of the 20 groomsmen, me included, were wearing black and maroon zuit suits. We took photos on the front lawn inside the white metal gate with the neighbors observing the festivity. When 2:30 came a fleet of 6 lowered 1950's era Chevy's came rolling down the street to pick us all up. We crusied from the new neighborhood down the high street where people used to cruise at night when weekends were known as boulevard nights. We drove past the torn down drive-in where my dad took us to see all the Cheech and Chong movies, past the park I played as a baby, and past the street and old neighborhood I spent so much time in. The symbolism seemed poignant to me. We would return on the same route from the church with my older sister a married woman. I loved cruising around the hood in the low rider with my younger sister in the front seat.



Sunday was a significant day for Lonnie. He ended his 3 year stint on parole. He was nice enough to give me a ride to the Crystal Cathedral for my SOS group. As we were pulling up he asked me if I was sure I wanted to go. I don't know if he was asking because of the ambivalence Ive expressed about the religiosity or my description of the positively horrific stories that each person shares. I told him that I did not want to go but I needed to. Truthfully I like going despite my discomfort.

A first time attendee shared and pondered the question do suicides go to heaven. It illicited several assurances that the monotheistic magic wizard in the sky made allowances for people in altered states of mind. Such utter horse shit. It's one thing to be bolstered by fairy tales but to be literally tortured by them is sickening. We're in pain enough. We don't need this extra layer of mind fuck. But, I digress. Donna, a nurse who is still very much in the throws of PTSD after losing her teen son 3 years ago brought back a book I loaned her. No Time to Say Goodbye. I think I wrote about the night I bought it. In my despondency I was grasping at something to read that would answer the many questions I had and help me deal with the then oppresive grief. I decided to visit my local big box bookseller where it happened that Oscar De La Hoya was doing a signing. This meant the grief section was roped off. I must have looked despondent because this 7' body guard walked me over to the section and told me to take all the time I needed. I brought the book to group to loan to this young woman who I was developing an affinity with. She stopped coming after two visits. Donna expressed interest in reading the book so I happily loaned it to her. This was in December. She returned it to me this Sunday. I happened to be seated near a woman who had come the meeting last for the first time. I noticed that she had written the title down so I told her she could borrow it indefinitely. She was really shattered and deeply in PTSD after finding her husband who had shot himself in their home. She shared with me during the break that she was feeling very hurt by people in ways she normally would not have been. She also shared that she was waking at 3 a.m. replaying over and over the bad day. I reassured her that her experience was normal for someone who had experienced something so traumatic. I also told her about my fear of leaving the house months back. How I was afraid to go grocery shopping for fear of interacting with strangers in my then state. The nice thing about both of my groups is nobody tells you its going to be okey. We share our experience and we listen.

I sat next to a young woman of mixed asian heritage. I always feel drawn to people that are like me. She was shocked to find out my Scott killed himself in the same manner her brother had. We both later found out many self deliverance books and websites suggest this method which indicates ideation which leads to guilt over not having done enough. She shared with the group that her brother had suffered from depression and subsequently killed himself. "Now I'm the one who's depressed she said." She also said that she would kill herself now if it wouldn't affect so many people as it had us. A common misconception that I've come to understand is this idea expressed as, how could someone do that to their loved ones? How could Scott take his own life when he and I loved one another so deeply. The answer is they are in indominable pain. There exists a unique brain chemistry. They are not seeking to hurt anyone, just seeking cessation of a deep soul level pain. I have an understanding because I've been there myself. Not in a long time but I know that level and feeling of despair all to well. It was my constant companion for a large portion of my adolescent life.

Our drawing class took a field trip to a nearby neighborhood known for its immaculate 1920's era homes and manicured yards. We carpooled over and I was surprised there were 8 other people in class who also do not drive, a rarity for So Cal. During spring break I began interacting a whole lot on facebook with a classmate named Cole. The level of our facebooking has got to be the equivalent of hanging out. When we greeted one another the class following break it was like we were old friends. Me and the three girls who sit near each other piled into his car for the short trip. We were advised not to go more than 10 homes away so our professor could help all of us without having to hike. These homes were really charming and we took our time selecting one that would allow us to view both the corner and at least 2 sides from a single vantage point. Cole and I sat together and drew the same house. In doing right brain drawing it is best not to talk or do things that engage the left analytical hemisphere. We (classmates) spend quite a bit of time together without saying much but we all get along well. After about 2 hours we started to lose steam and Cole and I began talking about Tarantino. He remarked that he was amazed at how we seemed to love the same things. He also told me that he thought I was cool and had cool tattoos and he hoped to be as cool as me when he was my age. That's a lot of cool in one sentence but that's how the youth of today speak. I don't believe I was ever young. I went from child to young adult. It feels really great to have a friend but especially a friend in drawing class.

I brought a folding chair to sit on and to make it easy on myself I packed a rucksack for school this morning. I was using the Scott pack. When we were in Cleveland last I found a name tag that said Scott. When we returned from our trip I sewed it over an EOPS logo on the free backpack they gave me when I entered the program at school. Anywho I had the Scott pack today. We were gathering for the ride back to school and my other class friend, Christina, asked me who Scott was. I reminded her that it was the same Scott from the tattoo on my arm. She asked me if we were close and I nodded and said very. I get the feeling that she gets it but is just not totally clear on all the facts. I had felt that the time was not right earlier but I am inching closer and closer to telling her the whole story. At least I have the desire to do so. Perhaps after the one year anniversary which is coming upon me. Once I pass that point everything will be different. As I've written before, a year is a journey. For now I am in love with drawing. It gives me immense pleasure and I've learned to engross in the details which really make a drawing come to life. Today was a stellar day and you don't get many of those these days. You have to take your small joys when and where they may be. Life is short, art endures.


Christina on the left


Sarah drawing across the street from us

I typically experience lunar insomnia around the full moon. Scott experienced it as well. In fact we both struggled with insomnia in general. This is the reason he became addicted to Xanax and I've take Benadryl every night for years. I thought I'd taken it early enough on Friday night. I usually take one 2 hours before I want to go under but I lay in bed waiting and waiting till 2 when I just gave up and watched an hour of telly. I think I finally turned in around 3:30. The idea of this huge paper for my arts of africa class was torturing me and I was stressed about missing daytime work hours Saturday so as soon as I was ambulatory sometime around 11 I literally pounded coffee. I wonder if I had had too much because I again experienced insomnia well into the wee hours of the morning. This time the insomnia was accompanied by some very scary deep feelings of despair. Its been a while since I did the psychic curl up in the ball thing and cried. The crying was literal. I listened to a mix Scott made me on his 2nd to last trip home to Cleveland. He entitled it the Toro 2008 mix. It's a love story actually. Scott was completely deaf in one ear and along with being prolific creatively he composed and mixed music. He had the most mind boggling and impressive music library cataloging everything from Nino Rota and film scores to obscure Japanese pop. He was in Cleveland for almost 3 weeks on this trip. It felt like an eternity. When he returned we drank beer and listened to the CD and I remember being really happy to see him. Elated almost. So last night in the wee hours I just lay there feeling this ache in my heart and this feeling of senseless helplessness.

Friday night was of low key this week. Larissa, one of our facilitators propsed an exercise in which we took 10 minutes to write about the last time we experienced anger, what it was like, how we reacted, what the effects were. It was more of a suggestion than direction. I thought it would be more helpful for me to use my sheet of paper to diagram what its like when I get angry. I basically shut down or withdraw. I've been spending a lot of time with my friend Lonnie lately and when I've become angry he's tried to talk me down or fix me which absolutely doesn't work. I just find it impossible to "back down" when I'm in that state and I won't be spoken to. I just need to "work through it" till i'm no longer angry. I also wrote about the most extreme instances of being angry. I threw things with the intention of breaking them to try to externalize these intense feelings of helplessness and rage. As a child I had an intense temper especially in 6th grade when I would overturn desks. I managed to get myself expelled from 6 schools between 6th and 10th grade. I didn't have the vocabulary to articulate my school experience. In 5th grade I was a very polite, well mannered, and slightly effeminate little boy. I, of course have very little tolerance for misguided anger or misdirected anger. Especially after living with a time bomb of an ex boyfriend. That's a long long story in itself. I also have an idea of appropriate vs. inappropriate spaces for expressing anger. For example I can't see myself "expressing" in that way at school which is like a sanctuary for me.

Our other facilitator, Charles, suggested we create a new ritual at group closing, which is when we're asked, "did everyone get to say everything they'd like to have?" Charles suggested we begin with saying, "I will miss...about you this week," taking a turn with each group member in the circle. There was some initial confusion and we sat in silence for a minute. I asked if the exercise applied to facilitators as well. Thats the cool thing about going to a gay center for counselling. We do things that might be considered beyond the therapeutic purview in the straight world. Facilitators would be included in the new tradition. It was a really lovely and nice way to break and end.

Every spring a family (3) of ducks returns to my neighbors lawn. This year the other male was absent


I released 1500 ladybugs in my yard this week to deal with the aphid infestation


1500 for $10


Spotted while buying mayo at my local

Home all week on spring break. Black debilitating depression in the abscence of school/structure. Been obsessively thinking about Scott. Watching videos including the gruesome one the local news ran. Tons of homework to do but of course paralyzed for the first 5 days. In a mad stressful rush now to get it all done. Group tonite is my one reprieve and high point.