Im emarrassed to be Gay today

                                           

I am embarrassed to be gay today.

     Im gay, no surprise. Ive been gay since as far as I can remember.

But Im embarrassed nowadays to be so.

   I have been keeping a hopeful and watchful eye on the so called "Rights Campaign" my fellow queers have been staging.  I was hopeful on the idea that someday I might have the "Right" to be at the bedside of my dying lover. The "Right" to adopt children. The "Right" to share health coverage. The "Right" to marry, though, why in the world would I want to follow an example of an institution that got a 50/50% divorce rate?!! Anyway, I support these basic values and am happy that they have mostly been resolved.

     Then I read all over this country, how Gays arent treated fairly, STILL.
 Really?  Recently, Guiness, Heineken, and Samuel Adams, have decided to pull their sponsorship from the St Pattys Day Parade in NY. Why? Because some greedy Faggots who just cant live without the spotlight arent gonna be recognized in an IRISH parade. Where in the world does Gay come into this equation???
   What is it in some Gays that just has to be shared with the world, that it already does not know?   You Butt Fuck? WOW! I never knew!  Thats somethin to talk about with all my friends on FB.  

   The trend of "Gay Rights" is going too far. Its become so big, and annoying.  Its invading every inch of the country where it never has gone before. Example, The Boy Scouts, Chik-Fila, Barilla, The Department Of Defense, which is now being sued by GLAAD, because the Dept blocks their computers from seeing LGBT sites. Hey Gay guy, shouldnt you be working on defending the country instead of just YOURSELF, and your Dick?

    Its not embarrassing enough Gays have Gay Day Parades, where the suppossed cross section of USA Gays are marching in underwear, dresses, lipstick, high heels, BDSM apparty and where deviant perverted suggestive behaviors are displayed. Faggots want "Rights". Gotcha. Dont shove it down my throat, so to speak.

   I remember when a young man was tied, beaten severely and tied to a fence post to die because he was gay. It changed the way the law protected a group once villified. I can fully understand this. NO ONE should be excluded from violence protection. NO ONE. This was a huge step forward.

   But now, the arrogance of the Gay mind set has reached unlimited untethered proportions.  As if the cross section of Gays isnt represented enough, its usually the A Typical effeminate guys I see on TV, Radio, and Internet. Its embarrassing.
   Talk about fitting in, the Gays seem to have excluded themselves as a result of all the whiny, crying "look at me" stance they carry today. Oh Look, Im a Queer sports star! Look at me, Im a Gay Politician! Over here, over here, Im sooooo gay!

    Now every once in a while, in my inbox of email, Im asked to give money to Ugandan Gay Rights Campaign.  Really? And even more recently, I ought not watch the Olympics because the Iron Fist decides his country doesnt support Sodomism?  Its the Olympics, not Gay For All Sports Show.

     I do not care if someone is so insecure that my butt fucking tendancy fogs there ability to see who I really am. Im not JUST gay. Im a greasy junkyard dog, that pays bills, lives, loves and cries. OMG, Just like everyone else.

     I love Barilla pasta, and Im going to eat all that I possibly can. I dont care that the CEO doesnt like me. Some of my fellow gay guys should come up with their own pasta called COCKARONI, if thatd make them feel better.  It should come with a sauce to pair it with called Gay Sauce. EEWWWWA.  

    I have the distinct Right to choose what I do and do not "like" in my universe.  I have no desire to force people to be fake and be all inclusive.

  Because I work in a Junkyard should I be all up in arms and whine that there ought to be gays represented in my industry, "Oh Heey, I got that Knuckle and Spindle ready for your car, oh, and I really made sure the Axle Hole was decent, hahahahaha".  

     Now, Im sure I will chided regarding this writing as myself being insecure about my own sexuality. Go for it, tell me Im insecure about my own sexuality.

   I dont hang out with alot of Gays. I feel excluded, Im not an A-Typical Faggot. Im not pretty, I dont fit the mold. Am I concerned about it? Not really.

   The ones I do know, are just guys. Thats all. No frills, no tassles, no glitter. (Secretly though I sprinkle glitter in my oatmeal)

    The Bottom Line here, is just go live your life and leave everyone else alone, and take your over extended agenda and grab some Crisco and shove  it up your *ss.

Like a Switch.......

Its like a switch.

I am Diseased.

My thinking has been disastrous for nearly 4 decades.

One day Im great.

The next day, Im drunk.

One day, I have a solid plan.

The very next, Im at the liquor store, purchasing the very poison that kills my insides.

Im dying. That is what I continuously repeat in my skull.

Its not really true, but I manage to believe it, and so in turn I make that a reality.

The truth of the matter here is not the Liquor thats the problem.

Its what I see in my tiny little treehouse.

I cannot see the forest from inside of here. Just the limb from which Ive clung for a very long time.

Nothing changes in my treehouse, just the Seasons as they go. I dont wanna look out the window anymore. So I drink again, the window shade Ive built isnt strong enough, so I nail a sturdy board over a part. Now I can still see, but just a little.

I can get by on "just enough" effort to continue. Just enough food, just enough job, just enough effort. I cant fit alot in this small treehouse Ive built. Just enough.

I started building this box in a tree many years ago, and I didnt even know it. I knew there was a forest, people kept telling me about it, lush, vibrant, ALIVE. I wouldnt have any of it. I was thirsty. 

Dirty little faggot who was to grow up and be just like his Father. Useless. Unworthy.

The cassette tape is stuck in the player, and I try to get out, wheres that screwdriver?  Fuck, it wont stop playing!  Im lookin for tools but instead I found another bottle of Brandy. 

I have Tools. They are scattered all over this box, so careless I am. Ive strewn them everywhere. But now,because Ive covered the window, its dark in here, I have to crawl around and "feel" out which tools Ive got in my grasp. Oh God, where did I leave that screwdriver?

I drink again, Ill look for the Tools later, but for now, Ill shame myself and take a gulp. The Tools will ALWAYS be there, for later.

Suddenly, drunk, I definitely want out of the Treehouse, but I cant find the door! Its way to dark now.

Delusion confronts me in the dark. the "Im gonna change now" tape starts playing.......Right.

"Im gonna this, and Im gonna that"

Empty promises, my bottles empty. Poor baby. 

I shake and shudder doing the usual"Why?" confrontation with myself. 

If Id be half smart, Id turn around and look at myself. But NO WAY. Filth, face wasted, hair dry as hay, skin molting, nerves burnt to a crisp. Im not gonna look. 

Its an awful tragedy. When I drink, its not because its fun. Its never a pleasure.

It hurts. Agonizing pain, physically and mentally. I cannot see the forest from the trees.

When I drink, my TIME stands still, whilst all else flows by. I age, I decay. 

When I finally "come to" and the shaking stops, I start right up, to clean the mess Ive borne.

It usually begins with my immediate surroundings, that awful smell.

Then I pretend Ill never do it again, praying, sobbing, explaining, as if....

Then a Logger, a Woodsman appears and says"Times up" we're clear cutting this shit.

Ive been evicted from my safe space. 

Luckily, seeing as Ive drank most anything and everything away, I dont have alot to carry out. It fits in a bag.

The  light outside is awful, and I am blinded till I reach the Forest floor. My eyes adjust but I can only see so far. Im not used to it.  My bag is so heavy, its mostly filled with shit.

Im gonna put it down. Im tired of lifting it, adjusting, it, ow! its poking my ribs. 

Im gonna start walking. If I am lucky, I will have enough energy to make to a Vista, where perhaps Ill be able to really "See" the forest from the Trees.

The Periodontal Magician......

I like to think Im a pretty healthy guy.

I eat well, balanced foods, plenty of water every day.

I exercise, whether its at work climbing on the Jungle Jimmish Junkyard, or doing household duties, or dooties if Im changin the cat box, but anyway, Im well physically.

Then I breathe, and a whiff of death pierces my nostril and I know.....

PERIONDONTITIS.....ewwww, that flesh rotting,bones decaying scent.

Embarrassment overwhelms me, as I cover my mouth.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, all the years of Smoking, Drinking,and stress have at last led to this awful distasteful experience.

I asked for this result in an odd sort of way.  But there is a solution.

Its a Band Aid for now, a way to repair the damage done, until I figure a way of realizing I no longer need poison to feel good.

Its my Periodontist. He is a magician.  

He can see right into my mouth!

He can clearly see evidence of abuse.

He Xrays my endless shit hole of a mouth. Garbage in, garbage out.

Ive insulted alot of people in my time, mostly when Ive been drunk, or just so selfish. Ill get whats coming to me, Im sure.

He comes back into the examining room and tells me the sorrid story. I pretend Im shocked. I have to, it

 pleases him, to think hes changing my mind about the way I live.

I already know, Im living it.

He continues to exalt his opinion while showing me in very HD clarity the deep cavernous holes that have developed alll along the lower jaw bone closest to my teeth.  Maybe thats where my gums have been hiding, theyre so tight. I want to cut them out myself, for relief of the pain.  

In those holes he says, bacteria are regenerating faster than my body can fight them, hence the rapid decay.

My teeth appear monstrous as the gumline recedes quicker and quicker. The smell growing thicker and deadlier by the day. No amount of brushing or fancy bullshit products can mask this filth.

He has to take an additional Xray for a particular angle was missed, and then the truth is seen!  I see it, I see it!

Its the foot in my mouth.  My god, its probably been there for years.  It all makes sense now.

The times Ive denied suggestions from people whove only wanted to help, the surety of self, that I can do this all by myself attitude.  Its all so clear!

The girl I made cry at the ice cream store years ago, I remember it,because it hurt me back, in hind sight.

The lying, the cheating. A straight face telling the story that never happened to attempt to get away with my various vagrancies. 

Thats not BACTERIA, its PAYBACK, for a life lived so carelessly.

I judge another, and I lose yet another millimeter of gumline. Soon my teeth will loosen should I keep this up.

I lay back and relax, and the tools appear, freshly sanitized as if, Ive ever been so cautious about what Ive put between my lips. The hours added up to days in front of a Gloryhole, the weeks and maybe years added up smoking cigarettes and drinking.

Surely this will all come full circle.

He cuts the gumline with precision, unfolding the flap and theres more filth, growing and penetrating my roots. No wonder it hurts so bad. My immune system could never outsmart this hardened plaque,like steel it protects itself.

 Scarpe, Scrape, its like chiseling a fine piece of glass, the way it chips, pieces project,some flies onto my face, Im crying, but not because it hurts, but rather because my embarrassment is at such a huge size, its frightening. Finally I am humiliated by my own hand.

He goes on and on about Smoking, and I just wanna say Shut UP! Seeing as Im in a perilous position with knives in my mouth, I let the tears flow instead..

Theres blood drool puddling in the corner of my mouth and it overflows onto my bib, it reminds me of the other awful predicaments my mouth has provided me when Ive opened it.

Ive lost homes, burned bridges, lost jobs, gotten lost.  Just keep flappin those gums.

If he can really see who I am, perhaps he will do the right thing and just sew my mouth shut.

He scrapes, pokes,picks,sucks out all the fragments of decay. Its a shame in their. Repair can only begin he says with resting my mouth.

The best advice Ive ever heard.

Its all cleaned out and the smell has dissipated, and the taste of blood isnt so bad anymore. I can deal with that.  He has to prepare a cow bone concoction, utilizing my own blood to create a paste of sorts that will adhere to my jawbone and regenerate new bone. Its pure magic.

Hes done the best he can.  Suturing up the gums to hug that new rebuild nice and snug.  Im feeling much totally very much better. 

Its perverted to imagine I feel and know a new me just from sitting in that chair for a few hours.  The Periodontist is much more than he thinks, to me.   Im just a dollar sign to him. A punching bag he relates the awful results of how I live to my mouth. I KNOW, I KNOW.

This is MY junkyard

I work in a Junkyard. Ive said recently, that its the most interesting job Ive had in years, and indeed that is true. The pay isnt that great. There are no benefits. I have one uniform which I wash devotedly each and every night.

When I applied, I sought out to show off my skills as a man who could organize,count, and account for every item that passed through my fingertips. Its a job, close to home. I walk about 3 full minutes down the hill to work. 

Around the bend and through the trees, I can see, the Junkyard. Its wild, messy, intriguing, stinky, dirty, confusing, a sight most people could blink an eye at and forget.

I am terribly attracted to this amusement.

It mirrors in so many ways my own writing about the way Ive lived my life.  Its perfect. Its perfect in the sense that, its exactly the way it was meant to be.

Its bound tight with locks, chains,walls of cement, steel, and haphazardly built deterrents to ward off thieves.

When I write, I pile it up much like the automobiles, my Junk.  I stack it high and hope it doesnt fall. If I stack it just right, no one can really see the damage, it all just kind of blends together.  

When a customer calls for a part, its sometimes chaotic locating it. The lack of controlling the inventory has been lost somewhere along the way over the years. Its quite annoying, and frustrating. Sometimes we have said"Yes, we have that part!"  Only to discover we cant find it. 

 It reminds me of my emotions and how misplaced they often are. 

I inventory a whole vehicle as it arrives in the Junkyard, sometimes 2 or 3 at a time. I photograph it, take its detailed code plate information, number it, and its swept away for later on when it will be dismantled carefully, exposing the money making parts. 

Personally, when Im doing this, I frequently look at the damage closely, because inside, I want to imagine what happened?   Was it a joyride on a drunken evening that led to this end?  Is that blood on the windshield?  Of course I think this way because, there are no accidents. Everything is perfectly woven together exactly as it is to be.

I look at these wrecks and Im in awe. Its horrendous some of the cars I see, its hard to believe anyone made it out alive.   This is my Junkyard. Writing is my vehicle.

I dont always end up where I planned from the beginning, but at the very least I suppose, Im going somewhere.

I can relate my drinking to the literal Junkyard and the "other" Junkyard.

When I drink its just like neglecting to oil the engine of your car. In time, usually a short time, the signs of wear appear, and the noise begins, if youre lucky, to warn you, somethings not right. Go on have another, nothin to see here. Its not that bad, she'll keep drivin for a while, then, Ill see whats wrong, I promise.

I see a ton of wrecks come in every day, and I say, good thing Im not THAT bad. All rusty and shit. Burnt out, filled with broken parts that once were pristine and attached just where they were supposed to be. Now all bent out of shape piled up in the back seat half hangin out the back window. Its a mess.

Thats me, in my own Junkyard.

Once a car is dismantled, a list is generated and I get to work with my camera. Im an Auto Parts Paparazzi.

How perfect for an anal retentive over analytic Alcoholic.

The models have to be perfect, I inspect them closely, Id hardly feel good about a C class part.

I adjust the lighting as I want only the best features to show. Naturally, I go the extra mile and wipe off the grease, the dirt from the rim, the fog from the lens, and SNAP! Shes beautiful! 

It stuns me daily of the craftsmanship from which these parts come, large and small. The investment of time, energy, imagination,physics, mechanics, all of it comes together just right.

I on occasion photograph myself, and almost everytime, its a fake face, empty,boring, as if the factory of spirituality from which I came obviously had dozens of laid off spirits. Its NEVER a good shot. Its just some crap I can put in MY Junkyard. 

I much prefer to be photographed from some elses camera. Its more real. 

I take the part Ive just taken full advantage of, tag it, and stuff it away in a bus, a uhaul trailer, and its mostly there to sit, just as much like some realities I dont care to look at. Talent, skill, you know, the good stuff.

We recycle ALOT of stuff in the Junkyard. Wiring, cold rolled steel, Core parts,batteries, Gasoline, Oil, all sorts of stuff. From this point the leftovers once again made to be something useful or at the very least neutralized.  

 It dawned on me, that I recycle too, except the stuff I put back into my life stream is not changed at all. For instance my constant self deprecating mannerisms. I recycle them allright, and as they make their way around, they gather more Junk. Where do I put all this shit?

Then a Customer arrives to trade there old 53 Packard for scrap. And I wonder, did this guy hold onto this piece of crap for all these years just for sentiment? Its all rusted out, rotted to the core, tires so dry they flake away, wheel covers so dirty theyd never be recovered. Lights broken, never to cast a beam forward again. Did his wife nag him to rid himself, or herself of this pile?

Once again, I see myself doing this daily in my life. I consider changing or trading in an old idea for a new one carefully considering the sentimental value of the Old. When my friends tell me to"let go"....Can I?

Its much like buying a new car. Man it smells good, takes a while though to get used to how it drives. Wow,how sensitive the new brakes are, how shiny and egotistical it is, its like showing off. After a while you get comfortable in it, and when you once promised you wouldnt smoke in it, PUFF!, the smoke rises again. Its never the same as new. 

My main vehicle has been delicious booze. As of the past couple of years Ive tried new cars, like writing. 

Booze has taken me to alot of places, good and bad, casinos, ghettos,parks, parking lots,to hospitals,  to work, to jail, to beaches, to tricks' homes, to video stores to gloryholes....

In writing, I can safely leave my Junk where it belongs. I inventory it, I analyze it, I photograph it the best I can, I store it away, and finally I advertise it in the hopes someone else needs a part that Im all done using, and on occasion I recount it, to be sure its in its place.

I love my Junkyard.

408 days

                                                   

 What goes around, comes around

                                                              You get what you give


We've all heard these a million times. Do I believe in these very succinct realities? Sure...


   Its been an excruciating 8 months since Ive written; Writing being one of my finest releases, but not in the sense of talent, just that great gift of deflating.

I am a different person today than I was several months ago.  I suppose a bit of whats been going on might paint a picture of my evolution.....and so here we go.....

     As we all know, Im a drinker, a heavy one at that.    Last May, I was sober for the first time for over a year, until I decided to pick up that jug of delicious Brandy Disappear. I call it that,because when I consume it, I disappear!
    After I was charged with a DUI and evading responsibility(big surprise), an awful sequence of events have unfolded right up to this day.....408 days later, and I havent yet recovered from that drink.(Im not drinking literally now, I mean that the consequences are still unresolved)

   Since that drink, I have had several more occasions of selfish consumption,further compounding my problems,building the muscle mass of FEAR, Shame, Guilt, all my closest friends.

   The only difference this time, this past year,instead of just simply drinking and getting drunk, I feel and see my being, folding in upon itself, deeper, and deeper.  Ill try to detail what thats like.

    I suddenly and more-so as, days continue, have a sense that time is becoming limited for me. For the first time, I suppose the realness of "knowing" that Im not going to go on forever has sank at a crushing pace.  Im at once on the other side of times gift, for it is running out, rather than expanding.
                                                                         

   I hear all the time"Let it Go", "Give it to God", "stop feeling sorry for yourself", OK,  I hear you loud and clear, but I really think Im often misunderstood. I often express whats going on, not so much reaching out for sympathy, that was a game I played well, for a very long time.

    Anyway, Since the DUI last May, I have been buried in debt, scared to drive my truck,being uninsured,unregistered,and not having skills enough to earn a halfway decent living.  Borrowing monies to get by day to day, monies that I constantly have promised to payback only to accrue more debt. 
     Along this vein of insecurity, other things got lost or neglected in the mix, like truck repairs, maintenance, which as  of July 1st to the demise of Ol Truckety.

           Ode to Truckety (09/18/09-07/01/2013)

Truckety, O Truckety, you went so fast.....

Vroom, Vroom!

0 to 60 in just under 5 minutes, I will miss your strength and power.

My eyes are blurry with tears,now that you are gone,

So green and rusty you were, I always loved operating on you when you were broken.

Sometimes by flashlight your new radiator made you so cool, sometimes in the rain a new starter made you shiver! Ill never forget the time you got new brakes and stopped so quickly and responsively. We both cried that day , all covered in grease.

The wind in my hair, going round corners, you made me laugh. AHAHAHAHAHA

Vroom! Vroom!

Good bye Truckety, SAD FACE SAD FACE SAD FACE 

           As a sidenote, all my fear about driving the truck around illegally finally came to a head when it died while I was busy photographing Tutles layin eggs down at the beach.   As I was driving out of the beach entrance the fuel pump failed, and I came to a rolling stop.  Scared completely shitless, I knew Id have to call the cops, and ask for a tow.   Along he came right up behind me(not the circumstance in which I prefer a cop to come up to me but....)

and instantly knew with all of his computerized wizardry, knew I was completely illegal.   I was honest with him. Thats all it took and we had a civil conversation which ended with no ticket, no record. I was released of fear immediately.

     When Truckety was towed away and the after 14 days of being in a strangers autoshop,neglected, I was told the truck was shit and too expensive to repair, I was given a second reprieve from fear as I now dont have it to worry about, A blessing in disguise.

(Shortly thereafter being towed, I called into work late, and subsequently was fired, another huge loss) 

   


     The inability to get medications I require for nearly a year now, the dentist which I cannot afford, gums rotting to the point of pain now, I can literally taste my jawbone decaying.

   I get a million suggestions like, Karl go get State Insurance, ahahaha, in our State of CT the backlog is about 8 to 9 months, at which time your application was already tossed away on the 60th day because it expired,never seen at all. And so the ball continues rolling....    I was asked by a passer by on the street the other day,that "You have AIDS? Youre so thin!"  I was deeply saddened. And for that I was critiqued as well, as if negative emotion ought not exist. Or at least not be spoken of.
   Ive naturally always been thin, and now maybe a few pounds lighter, but it makes sense when yo go on the stress FULL diet.  Combine that with a side of homelessness, little direction, and slow as molasses change towards taking steps forward.

      Seeking out a new job via bicycle and a bookbag,  Im sure isnt very appealing. But thats what Im doing. I start my day at 2am at my friends house, we drive to Milford, where, I get my bike out of his truck and ride around town for a couple of hours.I more often than not, just sit at the train station, its well lit, safe, and once in a while a good looking guy appears to take a train, a small pleasure of mine is people watching.
      I find a dollar almost everyday, so careless are the bar hoppers.  Then that dollar goes into the basket each morning, for that dollar didnt belong to me anyway. So thats at 8 am.  Then I go and get a coffee and start to worry.  The suns up, the humidity has been pretty thick, and for me to sweat in my clothes that I might have to interview in, is a concern. I cant show up looking like I just ran a marathon.   I grow very tired as I peddle around going nowhere. Where does one go when he has no destination? Its incredibly crazy inside my head, all I want is to cry, scream.   Where do I go? Where do I go? Over and over again.  
   I think to drink often, because then I can disapear!   But I dont. I just grind my teeth, and then my gums feel worse.

My bookbag is critical to me, I carry a gallon bottle of ice water which by 7am is already completely melted and condensated so much my bag is sweating.  I also carry resumes, a hoody, a pen, some mail, I cant respond to, a Bee Culture magazine,because I looove BEES.  My Truck plates are in there too, eventually Ill return them to DMV,but the postage rates are a bit high for my budget and income. I laugh hysterically about that,only because its crazy.  

    When I moved out of my Castle apartment, I was dumb enough to put all of my belongings,ie furniture, Lampy, my tools, and all of my critical filing cabinet into a storage facility, for which now, I cannot pay for. The demise? It will all be lost.   Should I....am I allowed to be depressed by such a notion? Nope, not according to some.   This is why I dont call many people, I rarely have any good news. Who wants to hear it?   I manage to create my own crisis,by simply waking up.(I did not plan my move very wisely, not to mention I hadnt consulted with a single soul about it.)

    I go to the Public Library where I pretend I have important things to do, even though the sweat and despair is all over my face, they know I have no place to go.  
     There are other men that appear, that I hadnt previously noticed.I was too busy being better than those guys, working, and suggesting they ought stop bein lazy.  These men are homeless too, staying either at the local shelter, or sleeping down under the pavillion, on the ground, no blanket,no nothin.   They are creatures of habit much like myself.  I see one who carries a green grocery bag, he just walks all day. I wonder whats goin on his head. I see another, whom talks to himself, ALOT.  It was once told to me that talking to ones self was a trait of brilliant men, so next time you wanna impress someone, go into a corner and start talkin, boy will they be jealous!

  After about 9am, I leave the coffee shop, and bicycle my way down the Post Road avoiding if I can the eventual accident. Please watch out for bicyclers! I go check my PO Box, and then for the next 4 hours I go and sit somewhere,usually a park, and wait. What the fuck am I waiting for?    I daydream, about being a porn actor, a notion I once pursued, then I remember, I look like I have AIDS, so forget it.  I also dream about having the finances to go about studying things I really do enjoy, like BEES, turtles, the outdoors instead of this fantasy world where I have to rinse in the fake, and repeat, like so many others do daily.
     I dont know what brought them to this place in their lives, I clearly understand how I got here. Its been a month and a few days Ive been doing this cycle, first I was sleeping in the truck, and now for the past 2 weeks by bicycle.

    I have been offered jobs and a place to stay, by people whom love and care about me. But first and foremost,they love themselves, a bridge from which my heart and my mind havent quite connected.
                                                                 

   I went into New Haven this week to apply for shelter.  Only 2 to 3 weeks for the paperwork to go through. Wow, in 2 to 3 weeks a man can grow wildly crazy, and kill themselves either by accident or by intention. Dont get me wrong thats not my plan, but for some alcoholics that window is a lifetime.  I have support, whenever. Wherever,but I havent got the balls to accept. I wish, and I probably shouldnt, that I could cast aside all the emotions,consistently in order to move forward.  My emotions are killing me, because Im letting them.

408 days since that drink.  What a dumb Fuck.  

    

    
   
   

   

Happy New Year!!!!

     It happened all by the universal chance.  

   I dont know how....I dont ask many questions...


A soul , Ive been aware of ,overdue by 4 years.....came into my day, by pure chance. A text, as like so many I recieve...I thought at 119 am three days after new years,I thought it it was a drunken idea.....It was(name hidden due to privacy.)

   A man struggling himself a time ago,by the economics, we had chatted, a battered relationship he was in, and me, bein drunk most of the time...it was purely casual.
  I texted him back.... I said" hello" "I am well"......

   And yesterday he came to me,we had simply planned on coffee and catching up... , again, by chance in person, not a text between, we talked, ate, made love, and again, and again. Kissed, drank water, as if for the first time....


 When we kiss, Its so amazing, his eyes are like fire and his smile abound ,it never ends....so special a notion. A smile so wide, I can hardly stand it, my eyes close slightly as if I were in a cloud floating , far far away.......Like magic. Then I open my eyes and their he is, alive, and ready to journey once again.....

   My heart started beating suddenly, fast and painful at first, Had I forgotten this gem of an organ in my body? My soul alive, Im hyper, out of control of my thoughts.....  He listens, he laughs, hes gold....   What is Gold?   I have no clue, its not a color.

   Then he got hungry for actual food. We drove to Bridgeport to a famous chicken house we know and craved, but we couldnt find it!   I was mad, he wasnt, he said, "Relax, we'll get what we are after", I said, "Fine!"

  After several talks with SIRI the magical womanly voice of the GPS gods, we got lost.   Thats what happens, when you listen to her!.   

He asked me to make a promise enroute, and I agreed.   Its none of your business what it was that he asked, Im just sayin!

   We got the chicken, and bolted into Milford where Id share my favorite park with him, in the middle of the night, freezing cold, one lighter, and bag o chicken. The godamn park was closed.

So with a fistful of chicken we went back to my house, and enjoyed every bite of food, seeing as we had just spent most of our physical fuel on one another.

  Chicken stuck between our teeth and eager hormones, we loved again, I kept mentioning the time so he could plan to drive home safely, not exhausted.    He finally relented to his pleasure of company and stayed.   His clothes came off, right to the floor, I moved them to the chair. 

  He laid in my bed......I took a moment to view this beautiful body before me. But it wasnt just any body, it was his, bronze, chromatic skin and smooth, sharp muscle, with strength in the bones only a body like his can withstand.  MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...........

   What a thrill.....I dove right in next to him, it was warm, comfortable and we began to entwine....

He speaks of dreams hopes, and realities....like a stargaze.

I am overwhelmed today.    I am glad.    I thought I was finished with my heart a long time ago, perhaps I have been wrong, the whole time.

"Ask for Help"

   Thats what men in my life continue to tell me..."Ask for Help".  And So I have, and not to mention some very serious footwork to boot.

   As I believe, most of the fall out of my drinking escapades back in May have finally settled.

Today, my license to drive is suspended,my insurance cancelled, and my registration canceled too. I cannot pursue or finish CDL school.  I am homeless.  I also have court dates to answer to, and the requirements to fulfill are reasonable, though challenging considering the risks involved.  

   No one has dared to ask how to get out of a quandary such as I have created for myself.

I am going to share what I have done so far and will continue to do so, until I am once again in the green.

   Back in May after the drinking, the Overdose, I went to a Rehab in Bridgeport, it was cramped, weird, but helpful, as its an environment thats not very cozy at all.  20 men all in various stages of recovery, from all sorts of substances is a tough place to be. Mood swings aplenty, crying, laughing, denial,anger,frustration, teasing, sleeping, eating.....15 minute mtgs every other day with a counselor...

   I left after 2 weeks of 4.  I appeared in Court in New Haven to answer to charges of evading, DUI and failure of many other things, like stopping.   I was provided an attorney whom, at first was cold and callous, until I told him the truth about where Ive been, where I desire to go, and what significant sobriety efforts I have made. We ended our first meeting on the positive.

   The DMV meanwhile, has summoned my Physician through paperwork to decide whether or not I am mentally stable enough to drive....?  Since when does the State have this power? Since when do they not need to heed the HIPPAA law? Since when does the state have the opportunity to attach a name to conditions I might or might not have without my permission?

   So to that end, I currently face 2 different Judgements, one from Superior Judgement, and the other from the State.  

   I have never been diagnosed with a mental condition, other than depression.

So far some of the requirments of the Court are to attend an evaluation by a court ordered psychiatrist to figure out how much Alcohol education I need, as if Im not an expert already. Now dont get me wrong, Im not upset at all of this idea. It simply makes no sense.  Its like telling a Fat man all about McDonalds, and the dangers!

Personally, Id prefer to do community service.

Should I complete these classes, I will be able to restore my License in October. Its not that far off.
I continue to drive despite these imposed handicaps. I risk 30 days in jail, a huge fine, and possession of my Truck if I get pulled over.

   This reality that I have before me extends far beyond my truck, it also affects my ability to get a job. Any background check will reveal these charges.  Luckily, I have some reputable relationships with a handful of Temp agencies and have been able to secure a job as of a couple of weeks ago. I drive to this job every day. Each time I get in the truck, I get scared.

   Another requirement of the State is a special insurance I will have to buy and have for the next 3 years called SR-22.    Its like a promissory note, stating that I will insure my vehicle. It will cost a small fortune.   All the restoration fees, registration,license,  and fines will really add up.

   Again, I am not upset by these conditions either, I asked for this. Im not thrilled, but its better than jail, and way better than having to live the rest of my life knowing I killed someone, or harmed another,permanently.

   About Homelessness.  Since rehab in June, I have sought other remedies such as long term rehab, shelters,and the like. I approached two different rehabs simultaneously for weeks, and in the end, the need of a physical was a huge barrier, for my health insurance does not cover it. So walk in clinics, emergency rooms, do not do physicals unless you have cash in hand or if its purpose is for work or school.  Its expensive to get a physical. What I dont understand is if health insurance is to "insure" and prevent further illness whatever that might be, why isnt a physical covered to further care?

   I drove to a mobile van, provided and funded by Yale. I got the physical, submitted by fax all the relevant information, Finally to the 2 rehabs, only to be turned away as now, I have been"sober" too long. They prefer I come directly from a detox instead. So much for asking for help.

   My Supervisor at School gave me a number to a man whom he thought could help me. I called and to my worst nightmare it was a Christian Ministry Service, offering an 18 month program where I would be required to be in a choir, repent for my so called "sins", Preach, and give away to God my Gay, my world in exchange for faking my life.  I dont think that is for me. Subsequently, I sent him a copy of this entire Blog, and I never heard from him again. HAHAHAHAHA! (Havent I spent enough time on my knees throughout my life?!)

   Shelters these days are packed as are food bank lines.....Some fair amount of men woman, and children whom have never been in these lines before, mostly due to the economy.  Its not a good time to be an addict. LOL. At least I still have AA to fall back on. I miss sorely my New Haven groups,my friends....Its too risky a drive. These days I stay as local as I can.

   I decided I best get working and so I got a job, creating busy time keeps me out of trouble and out of the liquor store.  In due time...and a couple of paychecks from now I will be able to rent a room.

   I have come to understand very clearly, that I do not live with others very well. And so I wont do that again. I can work, and play with others just fine.



   I have another job interview coming up this week, its for a prominent machine shop, which I have been eying now for some time.

   I have begun a counseling relationship, which I havent done in years. This ought to help with being depressed leading to obsessive drinking.

   My intent with this writing is to expose some of the back shadows of recovering, that most people haven't a clue about. Its different for everyone. But this is my story and along this journey I have been told to treat it as an adventure rather than a punishment. I feel like it IS an Adventure. I can do this and learn.

   All this is the mere physical and daily to dos but I havent spoken much about the spiritual aspect of all of this.  I am caught between two thoughts about it. I have faith in AA. I ask God for help each morning that I might help another.   Thats about it.


    FIN