No longer as truthful as should be deserved, some names, places and events deliberately vague to protect identities that aren't mine

Tuesday, 30 March 2010


Obviously this is an attempt to wonder what might be going through someone else's head

I haven't slept at all in days
It's been so long since we've talked
And I have been here many times
I just don't know what I'm doing wrong

What can I do to make you love me ?
What can I do to make you care ?
What can I say to make you feel this ?
What can I do to get you there ?

There's only so much I can take
And I just got to let it go
And who knows I might feel better
If I don't try and I don't hope

What can I do to make you love me ?
What can I do to make you care ?
What can I say to make you feel this ?
What can I do to get you there ?
No more waiting, No more aching
No more fighting, No more trying

Maybe there's nothing more to say
And in a funny way I'm calm
Because the power is not mine
I'm just gonna let it fly
What can I do to make you love me ?
What can I do to make you care ?
What can I say to make you feel this ?
What can I do to get you there ?
The Corrs - What can I do?
(AKA the Lloyds TSB advert)

The sky is falling and no-one knows.

I have the feeling I'm gonna end up doing something insanely stupid in the not too distant future that might actually lead me to my first ever genuine regret in life, and a massive one at that.  Ironically enough, because of the very fact I'm so shit-scared of it actually happening to start off with.  This is my whole low self esteem thing kicking in again - I compensate by bravado, and things which scare the hell out of me I meet head-on, and beat into submission by sheer brute force, for better for worse, and with little regard to the consequences so long as it gets me through it.  You might think this would be an admirable quality, but in that case you've clearly never seen the fallout of such an action.

It feels as if it's one of those cases where I'm damned if I do and I damned if I don't.  And in such instances, I prefer to see it through on my terms.  It might not make for the best solution, or even a desirable one, but where something scares me that much its the only way I know how to cope.  To take control, and orchestrate it myself; at least that way I know 80% of what to expect, so its not such a huge shock, rather than having to face all 100% without warning.  Of course it rarely works like that in reality, but it's the only thing I know.  And when you're alone, having to make your own decisions because no-one can make them for you, with little to go on cause everyone else is sick of hearing about it and you're sick of telling them, and missing the support you could do with because its your thing to deal with, sometimes you make a wrong one, even though you're fully aware its wrong, because at least it's a fucking decision.

Mood: Scared.  Duh.

Music: I have returned to the realms of ambient classical compositions to punctuate my mood, thus:

I'm too scared to know how I feel about you now...

We both know I'm selfish,

We both know I shouldn't,
that I should stay with you,
or take you with me,
or find another way.

But we both know I will anyway.
And you'll sit, and wait, and smile,
like you always have to.

... Sorry for being such a cunt.

Wednesday, 24 March 2010

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?

Yes I know I have the remaining raw food days to cover, as well as my fun post on health care reform passing to do.  But tonight has been rather more messed up, so its being blogged about first.

So things with me and Chris got pretty fucked tonight.  A perfectly pleasant normal conversation took a nosedive, as they are warrant to in conversations with me and Chris, and for some reason this is near guaranteed if, as I did today, I ring him twice in one day, which really doesn't allay my paranoia on the whole living with him thing next year.

10 odd months of depression is really showing its toll on the relationship, where it got the the point where Chris was the one to ask the "do you need a break from us?" question, which sure had been going through my head a fair amount, but I'd never given voice to it, and I always assumed Chris would never say that, in part because he's more secure with us, and in part because he's in some ways more terrified of losing 'us' than I am, so the fact things have got to the point where he's actually asking that question shows, at least to me if not you guys, just how dire things are.

And yes, part of me could do with a break, I said in a previous post being a depressive and being in a relationship does not work well together.  Hell most depressives I know have broken up due to it being a major contributing factor.  So yeah, in some ways a break would be great, and a part of me needs it, and wants it.  But a part of me doesn't want it, cause a part of me really really wants Chris.  There's a reason I'm in love with 3 guys and stay with him; there's a reason I wear his ring round my finger 24 hours a day, 7 days a week; there's a reason I, with all my disbelief in them, put up with the 2 hour trip that it takes to see each other, the only seeing each other at weekends, the not seeing each other for a month at a time due to exam placement or other issues.  And another part of me (cause there are always 3 halves in every whole, anyone who knows that reference can have instant win points,) knows that breaks simply don't work.  The idea is that you press pause on your relationship, but even with the strongest connection, the best intentions, you don't come back as the same people you were, or even the same people you would be if you'd have been (passive future perfect subjunctive anyone?) still in the relationship for the duration of the break.   You change, you have different experiences and live life differently than you otherwise would have.  And of course there's always the risk that one of you meets someone, and when you're on a break, what are the rules on that kind of thing.  Any kid of 90s TV knows this story far far far too well.  Hell even House agrees they were on a break.  And let's face it: considering I'm already in love with 2 other boys I'm hardly the poster boy for maintaining faith DURING a relationship, let alone in that whole break grey area.  In my experience, breaks don't tend to work, you either drift too far apart to come back together, or you try, but you're so changed you're not the same people, and it fails another 6 months down the line.

And besides which, what are we gonna do, take a break everytime I get long term depressive episodes?  Just like Chris is gonna forgive me when I'm in love with 10 different people years down the line?  And we've been damned lucky it's the first major episode in 5 years, there's been other ones sure, but none longer than 3 months and that's manageable.  But what about when the 2 year period hits when I switch back to some fairly rapid cylcing, going up and down in 2 month stints.  Are we gonna stick it out?  Are we gonna have a 2 year break?  Are we gonna break up every 2 months?  Even if we're living together?

And it's hardly the best time to 'take a break', the stress of exams and finals and possibly moving in together and such things.  DO either of us want to be pining, crying, etc over each other during that period.  Are we gonna see each other, talk to each other every night like we do at the moment, or every week?  Cold turkey is possibly unrealstic, but anything less is possibly not actual letting the break do what it's supposed to do.

Neither of us know what's gonna happen.  Some days things are better, but generally they're not really improving.  If anything they're getting very very slowly worse.  A long creeping death that consumes and drags you down, something like the edge of an event horizon I imagine..  Which means if things continue and their non-rate, within a few months, if not sooner, we'll probably have broken up.  And neither of us want that.  Again, there's a reason I'm with Chris and continue to try to be with him.  There's a reason why in all this depression, I still ring him every single night, and why I hope I get a goodnight text.  But at the moment it's proving virtually unachievable for us to get anywhere beyond where we are, which doesn't bode well.  I'm just glad there's no suspension bridges nearby at the moment....

And now Placebo is playing, just great.

I don't know what's gonna happen, but Chris is fed up, I'm too pessimistic and self-depricating at the momment to do anything other than go "I'm shit, it's my fault, he really *shouldn't* be with me it'd make his life easier", and evenings like this one suggest things are possibly irreconcilably fucked.

In other news, there's a very hot dom guy I've been talking to for the last week or so, with plans to meet next week.  We seem to get on very well, but every so often we hit big stumbling blocks.  Todays was camming.  I really hate camming.  I have a camera, and its nice to talk to people with it, but I really hate the point of cameras, which is sex stuff.  I hate doing anything sexual on camera, even just stripping.  It's one of the reasons I could never earn money out of cam shows.  I'm just too damned self conscious about the whole thing.  I feel like a fucking idiot.  I get nothing out of it and aside from not enjoying it, I spend the whole time feeling very very uncomfortable.  Every so often, as I did tonight, I retry this, to see if I can get over it, and no was the answer tonight.  So as that's about the 3rd stumbling block on some big things that me and this guy have hit, I dunno if we'll be meeting now. 

In other other news, I have work next week.  A day and a half earning £700.  The reason it pays so much is its some pretty hardcore kink stuff.  Their kidnap scenes are only staged insomuch as everyone consents and there's condoms involved.  Aside from that, the pain, rough abuse, and aggression is all very real.  I don't know what my scenes are yet, and it's gonna hurt like hell, but it's gonna be damned fun, and so worth it on many levels.  Then the question is what to do with the earnings.  Half is to refill some of my loan expenditure.  The other half.... I could buy an Xbox with FFXIII for £250, buy a violet wand for me and Chris for about £300 - 350, buy 2 flights and a week in a hostel for me and Chris in Europe, or buy a flight for 5 weeks to the US for me.  I'm not decided on which yet.  I know which I should buy.  I know which I want to buy.  What I will buy, hmmmm.....

Mood: Oh I just don't know anymore


Thursday, 18 March 2010

Powered by scotch

My internet is only working through my phone, so no spotify for me today, hence no music list at the end of this.

Day 3 of the raw foodness.  Chocolate oatmeal breakfast smoothie again, though it was at lunchtime as I overslept through my lectures, again -_-  Late lunch/dinner was the raw lasagne i mentioned.  Ricotta substitue made with cashew nuts, raw marinara sauce made with sundried tomatoes, basil, and onoin.  Courgette slices formed the basis of the pasta layers.  I also included a layer or portobello mushrooms, and a layer of century egg slices for some extra substance.  And oh my god it was good.  I made it according to the recipie, which apparently serves one, and I have about half the stuff left over.  And I had a pretty fucking large portion.  I felt so full afterwards, but it was totally worth it.  I have a picture on my phone which I will post once I have an internet connection capable of dealing with more than just text again.

Aside from that my day was pretty dull, I was supposed to be working, but that was cancelled, and without the net I can't sit around in gaydar chat rooms cruising for more work, so that's a bust.  But on the plus side, emailed me to say as my ad has been inactive for 6 months they'll give me a month free to repost it, so yeys!  And just as the hookies are happening (like the oscars for porn), so there's plenty of people noticing rentboy at the moment.  And in 2 weeks the holidays will hit and I'll be a lot freer so pretty damned good all round really.

Tomorrow will be raw ravioli, as I haven't had time to prepare the nutloaf in advance, so nutloaf will be on Friday instead now.  One thing I have done tonight is make pie crust, for a raw key lime pie.  I had this in Cafe Gratitude the last time I was over in SF, and it was awesome.  My pie crust was made with dessicated coconut, brazil nuts, and walnuts, plus some maple syrup to bind, and tastes just like biscuit (my flatmate's opinion, not just mine).  Tomorrow I will buy some avocado to make the cream for the filling, then its just a simple blend and spread job, and leave to set for another few hours.  Definitely looking forward to that one.  Of course you can't get real key limes over here, or anywhere further than about 200 miles past the state line of Florida, but then its not real pie either, so let's not worry about that too much...

This weekend marks the Vernal Equinox, and I have a fairly epic ritual to do then as I've been planning on making something to be charged on the equinox since last summer; I'll detail this further at a later date.  If you hear of a major explosion/flooding/rain of toads in West London anytime soon, you know nothing, capisce?

Mood:  Pinning
And for the record, I finished this listening to Thursday - Jet Black New Year, which is a fucking awesome song (and band) if you don't know it.

Wednesday, 17 March 2010


Day 2 of the raw food diet.  I had a 9am lab to get in for, trying to work through a MATLAB tutorial at 9 in the morning does NOT work people.  Don't try this at home (or uni, or work).

Anyway, I had soaked oats in water overnight, and also some almonds in water.  I started off my making a litre of almond milk, and then made a breakfast smoothie consisting of the oats, a banana, about 300ml of almond milk, 2 tbsp of Milo and 1/8 cup of maple syrup.  I'm allergic to a lot of breakfast-style fruits like strawberries and such, and can never get enough chocolate milk so this all seemed like a good idea.  And it was, the smoothie was nice and filling, and will definitely be repeated tomorrow.

I met Vampy at 1000 for breakfast, which consisted of green tea for me whilst craving all the nommy sandwich fillings in the crappy breakfast diner cafe style place we were in.  But I did importantly resist temptation, so go me.  Wierd conversations then ensued, as Vampy and I can discuss things with each other that we can't with other people due to various reasons, and I would share them, but Mr. Vamp is the sort of person that doesn't like people to know who he is, so its unfair to expose him.  He moves back to Aus in about 2 months so we're trying to see each other as much as possible until then.

For lunch I had a massive OD of vitamin C (yes, my americanization this week meant I said that VAI-ta-min, rather than vi-TA-min, again, sorries), in the form of mango, pineapple, orange, apple and banana smoothie (all smoothies contain banana in my world, and the commercial smoothie world, this irrtates the bf).  After a litre of this I think I defninitely covered my 5 a day and vitamin intake in one go.

For dinner I was planning to have a soup, but I also came up with the idea of making live dolmas, for which I needed vine leaves.  I also needed some cashews and have been looking for army boots so off to notting hill I went, and got such, not including the boots cause they were expensive, boo hoo.  Soup was creamed tomatoes, sun dried tomatoes, asparagus, red pepper, garlic, onion, herbs, oil, balsam all blenderized and was nomful.  I could have happily eaten it cold but decided to heat it so I had at least one hot meal this week - you can heat things up to 46C in raw food 'cooking', which is more than hot enough to count as hot soup.  Some bread to accompany would have been ideal but alas that involves a whole baking process and such...

Later in the evening I did indeed make the dolmas.  The filling is a paste of pine nuts, sunflower seed, pumpkin seed, adzuki beans, sun dried tomatoes, garlic, onion, capers and kalamata olives.  It was in fact all very easy to make; the paste is rather garlicky, but that was my mistake, and can be adjusted in future, and the vine leaves could have done with soaking in oil to soften them up a bit more, but there's nothing inherently wrong with the 12 I made, and it means I now have something live and healthy to randomly snack on :)

Tomorrow is the attempt to make live lasagne.  Cashews are in to soak overnight, the portobello mushroow is marinading in shoyu, and the courgettes and other such things are all ready to be sliced and diced.  I managed not to accidently take a compulsory nap today, so yeys.  I was facing massive hunger pangs around 1700ish, as I was yesterday, and this is the point at which I have to get myself to stick to the diet by sheer willpower, as about that time some cheese or toast would go down sooooooooooooo well.  However, both last night's salad, and today's soup both made me think as I was eating them, "yeah, this is why I waited, and this is why I love live food"

No, there were no truthful things to say in today's post, I have two in the backlog to write at some point, but I figured you people are bored enough to read my blog, so you might like to know how the whole live food thing's going.  The weekend is gonna be tough to get through, and I'll be very tempted to get KFC one day next week....

Mood:  "I don't want to run away from this, I know that I just don't need this"


Tuesday, 16 March 2010

Adventures in veganism

This week I'm on a raw food diet, not cause I need to lose weight; I'm only 8st after all, but because I've spent the last 2 weeks eating bacon and eggs and I think my arteries might like a break.  The flatmate and I are doing it together in an attempt to encourage each other, and as it's just a week, there's a clear aim in sight.

I was first introduced to raw food by my cousin Cindy, who took me to Cafe Gratitude in Berkeley when I was over in San Francisco for the first time.  What I find so odd about raw food is that I don't like any of the ingredients - tomatos, aubergines, avocados, nuts, legumes etc.  Not even in cooked food, and when highly processed.  I avoid most tomato based pasta sauces for example, or overload them with copious amounts of extra red onion to cover the taste.  And yes somehow in raw food dishes, the texture and flavours all come together to create something I love.  Half or more of my diet when I'm over in CA is raw food based, adn the culture there is so much more geared towards it than anywhere in the UK, with more farmers markets, selections of unprocessed and organic foodstuffs and a climate that encourages it.

I also love the way it forces me to confront foods I wouldn't otherwise go near, because I otherwise wouldn't like them, and every once in a while, this makes me reassess whether I do actually like that food or not.  And it makes you think about things differently.  The nature of the diet means you're forced to plan ahead, to think about what you'll make, and how you'll do it, and how to modify it.  Everything is fruit, veg and nuts.  I have to have breakfast every day this week, as otherwise my food intake is so low and so late that I'll get ill (not due to the diet per se, I just get ill if I don't have a certain amount of substance by a certain time in my day), and I never eat breakfast.  I love things that make you reevalute your perception of the world in little ways; its the same reason my facebook statuses hardly ever contain the verb 'to be'; its the same reason I love travelling, and anthropology, and languages, and religion.  They show you how even just something as simple as modifying what you eat on a daily basis can have a huge change in how you go about your life.

I was oddly productive today.  I got up at 0930, something which even uni can't compel me to do, went into town, got a haircut, came out of town, picked up some fruit for a breakfast smoothie on the shops down my road, and made a pineapple and coconut smoothie to see me through the day.  I had to throw away 1/3 of a stirfry left over from last night, which was a shame, but I figured I'd try and start the week properly, rather than eating it as breakfast and risking jinxing my efforts.  I had to head over to New Malden for 1300 to meet a client for work, but he was young and cute and an escort himself, so it was pretty enjoyable all round really.  And then with the earnings I was able to drop into Whole Foods on High Street Kensington on the way home to stock up on all the nuts, seeds, adzuki beans etc I would need for the week.  The bill was quite pricey, but that's cause I also bought £20 worth of ingredients to make a tapendage I had in Banff in December with - I haven't got round to recreating it yet and figured this week was as good an excuse as any, even if it did mean cheating slightly to buy anchovies, roasted artichoke hearts etc.  But the aim of the week is to eat healthy, rather than eat vegan, so it can be my treat at the weekend or something.  I had switched to my upbeat playlist, instead of my emo one, the sun was out, I was buying healthy; everything seemed to be pointing in my favour.

I even did my good deed for the day by chatting to the little old lady at the bus stop for 10 minutes whilst we waiting for our respective transportations to arrive.  She deplored the state of todays youth, how she had to watch out for muggings and such in this day and age but had her sturdy mean looking metal walking stick with which to fend off anyone.  (The fact I was carrying 2 stuffed full bags from Whole Foods, and had mentioned during the conversation I lived near the canal in Notting Hill probably excepted me from being considered of the commonplace ilk that makes up today's so deplored youth.)

At home, even after another smoothie and crashing out for 3 hours (again, not an issue of the diet, i've been doing this for the past few weeks, seemingly my blood sugar just cant keep me going past 1700 without a 3 hour nap each day at the moment), I was facing severe hunger pangs, but resisted having anything non-raw from my cupboard, and headed to sainsburys to buy other ingredients for the week.  Dinner then consisted of a salad made with rocket, courgette noodles, pine nuts, grated carrots, tamari, olive oil, garlic, red onion, balsamic vinegar, and passionfruit vinegar.  It was fucking nomalicious and reminded me just why I love the whole raw food thing.

In doing the raw food thing, I have however noticed, that my americanizations are coming back in fairly strongly.  It's 'groceries', 'the store' and 'trash' at the moment.  Probably because of a subconscious association with being in CA whenever I'm on a big raw food kick.  It doesn't help that my friend Patrick rang from Boston earlier either.  I apologize in advance for anyone who has to talk to me this week.

Tomorrow I'm meeting Vampy for breakfast after my 9am lab session, and it will be the first time I'm having to eat out raw in this country, so we'll see how well that goes.  I have plans for an oatmeal porridge smoothie thing before I go out anyway.  For the record, my plans for the rest of the week involve a gazpacho style tomato, red pepper and asparagus soup for tomorrow, a live lasange with courgette and cashews on wednesday, nutloaf on thursday, and live ravioli on friday.  I might try and make a raw food cake at the weekend.

In other news, one of the things I follow on twitter today posted a link to The Wishing Well.  For those unfamiliar with this concept, its a way of saying anonymously your thoughts about a certain person, and in this case, aimed at gays.

I always like these kind of things for some reason, sure they probably don't achieve much, but sometimes just saying something to a bunch of randomers who will never encouter the people in your life can be oddly theraputic.  And it's nice to see what kind of sentiments come across, and how different people respond to them.  I love the sense of both eternal hope and eternal despair projects like these can give people.  Some of the posts that particularly caught my eye are here here here here here here here and finally, there.

Mood:  Upbeat, but that's mostly compensatory as usual


Sunday, 14 March 2010

No-one can get pregnant so where's the harm?

Gay incest porn... hot?  or an abomination?

Firstly, I think it's only fair to offer evidentiary support on this with which you can make your judgements, so please see here for exhibits A, B, C, D, E.....  (apologies, no lesbian incestuality)

Incest is traditionally taboo for reproductive and health reasons; too much inbreeding causes mutations and mental deficiencies, so I think we can all accept that's bad.  And certainly any form of sex that consists of abuse, non consent or anything like that regardless of who it's between should equally be condemned, but such things aren't the musings of this post.

6 years ago, I attended an absolutely massive family reunion in Malaysia, where my grandmother is from.  Someone had traced the family lines all the way back to the first person to move to Malaysia (a Phillipino byt the name of Pedro Dominic, for the record), and then traced all the branches forward again, resulting in one massive family tree, and all living descdants of this original ancestor were invited to congregate in an event that took 5 years to plan.  It was of course amazing, and great to meet so many people.  It's both wondrous and bizzare to walk into a room of 200 people, recognise none of them, and yet know you are related to every single one of them, and blood related to ~70% of them. Everyone naturally becomes your cousin, aunt, or uncle, according to age, because it's simply easier than working out what they actually are.

What's even more bizzare, is when you meet the Australian contingent of the family, who of course were all young, beautifuly tanned, hot surfer types, and you can't help be attracted to them (I was 17 at this point, and fully aware I was bi, in fact this was the same trip on which I came out to my family).  And then you remember you're related to them.  And you can't help but feel a little wierded out, and wonder if its still okay to sleep with them, cause even though they're not a close relative, you do know you're related to them.

Different societies have different levels of what's an acceptable degree of separation for familial relations.  In the West generally it has to be a degree past first cousins.  Of course first cousin relationships still happen, but we call them 'rednecks'.  In the East, relations between first cousins are a lot more commonplace and acceptable.  Again, a lot of this has to do with biodiversity and such, but assuming it's all consensual and such, where does the line get drawn on gay incest.

Traditionally, incest is taboo, pure and simple.  And yet a lot of gay guys have experiences of one or another with similar aged cousins when growing up, I certainly do (mmmm I love how this blog involves oversharing sometimes - we were about 8 - 10, nothing 'sexual' happened, but you couldn't say there wasn't a sexual element to it).  Whilst there's a certain element of discomfort and wierded outness you personally might feel in imagining having sex with your own brother or sister, other people are quite eager to imagine it.  A lot of people I talk to agree gay incest is kinda hot, even if it shouldn't be.  And the fantasy of two twin sisters or a daughter and mother is a pretty standard straight male sterotype thing.  And a lot of our generation (that hasn't been educated in middle america at least) seems to have reached the opinion that it's better to discover about sex when you're young (for a given value of young that is), and find out your likes and dislikes, and how to make it best for your partner.  And who better to do that than someone you're already naturally clsoe to?  And in the safety of your own home?

Personally, I'm all for the gay incest.  As I say, as long as it's safe, consensual and all that,; it doesn't encounter the problems that heterosexual incest does, and the there's nothing inherently wrong with it, anymore than there's anything wrong with gay sex to start with.  And I quite like the idea of being spit roasted by two twin brothers.  And I don't seem to be alone, amongst either my gay or my straight friends.  God help us once human cloning becomes possible; it'll bring a whole new market to the sex doll industry....

Mood:  Not horny, just so as you know.


Saturday, 13 March 2010

You make it hard for breathing

So I've just finished watching The Bridge, which is a film I've been wanting to watch for years.  Well it's actually a documentary, but still.  For those not bothering to follow the link, it's about the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and the fact that it's the most popular suicide spot in the world.  The production team filmed the bridge constantly for a year, and caught 23 out of 24 suicidies on tape.  Naturally, this is the sort of thing that interests me on a Saturday night...

I love the Golden Gate Bridge, always have done, ever since I was a child, I'm a big civil engineering bridge geek, and could spend a week strolling up and down the pedestrian walkway of the GG.  It's beautiful and amazing, in itself and in its location.  What's astounding about it, especially as a Brit, is the fact that the jump from it is so dangerous (mostly guaranteed death due to impact of fall as well as strong undertow currents in the Bay are), they happen so often (approx 1 every 2 weeks during the filimg of the documentary), and yet there is no suicide barrier on the bridge.  The barrier is just a normal 4ft high railing, that even a child can climb over.  And whilst there are cameras, bridge patrols, suicide hotline phones all over the bridge, realistically they have little chance of getting to someone determined to do it in time.

A lot of people consider suicide selfishness or cowardice, and I do understand their arguments, but the comments made by friends and family of the suicides in The Bridge raise some fair points.  A lot of suicides take the time to get their affairs in order, to say goodbye to people in their own way, they tell people they love them, they make the effort to see people the haven't in ages, they leave notes, they do the washing up and take the trash out one last time.  Believe it or not, their suicide isn't all about you.  Bigger things are at work than whether you were a good parent, or you could have been a better friend, or that they don't have a job or someone to love.  This is one of those cases where the total sum causing that state of mind, is much greater than its constituent parts, and there's probably a hell of a lot of things you don't know about.  To see a suicide through takes a lot of forethought, and I don't think anyone commiting suicide is actively setting out to hurt the other people in their life, most of the time they do what little things they can to make life that little bit easier for everyone else before they go.  Sure, the effect of their suicide may trump the effect of taking the trash out for once, but its one of those little but all important gestures, that shows they do truly care about you.

Another point was made by the sister of one of the suicides; that she had always considered herself the stronger person, but that when she stood at the spot where her sister had jumped, and saw what it would require to take that final step, it showed her just how strong your resolve and will has to be in the situation to do it.  There's certainly a lot more attempted and considered suicides than successful ones.  Suicide is caused by despair, long term suffering, and an abandoment of all hope yes.  But there's a hell of a lot of rationality to the process.  It needs planning; you need to stock up on suitable meds, or buy rope and find a stuitably strong anchor point to affix it to, or decide the most comfortable way to cut open your wrists, or buy your bus ticket out to somewhere like the Golden Gate.  And whilst doing all this you're writing notes, or ringing people and telling them you love them, and taking the trash out.  Suicide is a desperate act, but it's not a sudden, irrational, or impulsive action.  It requires an immense amount of forethought and strength of will to carry through.

When people die, there's a period of grieving, of anger, of sorrow, and eventually it all ends up with some happy clappy memories of them.  With suicides, I've noticed that the friends and family left behind seem to extol the suicide's virtues even more vigorously than with a normal death.  They were so strong, so special, so unique, with such a capacity for love, a great friend, a spirit unlike any other...  Perhaps this lends some romantic sense of fame to the suicide, and certainly the romantic sense of in memoriam that certain types of suicides can lend is a factor for a lot of people.  When you've felt insignificant for so long, the sense that your death will be so noticed has a strong appeal.  In suicides as well, everyone afterwards comes to be so understanding of the victim, they learn things they never knew about them, they reanalyse past times with them, sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly, but everyone seems to have so much sympathy for them, regardless of how selfish or cowardly they think it is, regardless of how they might not personally relate to the mindset, everyone is sympathetic and hopes they're happy now.

For the record, and in case you don't know/haven't worked it out yet, I've come pretty damned close to suicide several times.  I've seriously considered it and planned it out and everything twice, I've attempted it once, and I've written countless suicide notes as a theraputic exercise but not done anything else.  Clearly my attempt was a failed one.  Some days I'm happy for this and some days not so much.  Joel has said if I ever tried again he would forcibly go in and drag me back from the afterlife, and if the afterlife doesn't exist, he'd make one to pull me back from.  And he's not kidding either.  During one of my crisis moments, a friend asked me why I hadn't already gone through with it, and I replied cause there was still a miniscule bearly audible voice telling me it wasn't a good idea.  She told me when that voice completely disappeared I could go through with it and she wouldn't stop me.  Now granted she was probably just saying what worked at the time, but I still live by that rule and it's seen me through 7 years since my last serious consideration of suicide so far.  But some days I'm still tempted to steer my car into the oncoming juggernaut, and everytime I walk across the Golden Gate I have to hold onto the railing very tightly in order to stop myself from vaulting over it.

At least one of my friends will almost certainly commit suicide at some point in their life.  I have no problems with this, sure I'll be sad to have lost them, but I know their reasons, their mentality and their mindset, and again, it's a very rational decision for them.  I've just told them they have to call me and say goodbye before they do so.  And I hope they're successful.  Because no-one wants to come back from a failed suicide.  This is one of the few things that still scares me about suicide, that I might fail.  That I might regret it just as I jump or as the blood flows out of my wrists, and by then there's only so much you can do, especially in the jumping scenario.  If you're gonna do it, make sure it's as swift and certain as possible.  This is almost certainly why a lot of people elect to jump from the Golden Gate - if you hit the water head first, travelling approx 120mph, you usually die instantaneously.  If you survive, there's the pain, the regret, the wishing you hadn't done it, the wanting to do it again and get it right this time, the facing counselling and psychologists and sectioning (I still haven't written that anti -psych post have I), and I certainly don't want to go through all that.  Perhaps I am a coward on some level for it, but like I say, just make sure you do it damned properly the first time round.

Mood:  Erm....


There goes my rule number 2...

Running all the time
Running to the future
With you right by my side

I'm the one you chose
Out of all the people
You wanted me the most

I'm so sorry that I've fallen
Help me up lets keep on running
Don't let me fall out of love

Running, running
As fast as we can
Do you think we'll make it?
(Do you think we'll make it?)
We're running
Keep holding my hand
It's so we don't get separated

Be the one I need
Be the one I trust most
Don't stop inspiring me

Sometimes it's hard to keep on running
We work so much to keep it going
Don't make me want to give up

No Doubt - Running.

In non-related news the flatmate and I are starting a raw food diet for the next week on Monday in an attempt to get rid of some of the fat and cholesterol I've put on from eating bacon and eggs for the past week (and she's just plain fat :P).  Stay tuned for updates!

It also occurs to me I forgot to put mood/music additions at the end of the last 4 blog posts, sorry, music was done on my other music player, which doesn't save play history, so as well as forgetting, I can't bring it up now.

Mood:  Down/Up

Music:  See above

The ball's in my court...

Well this can only end badly...

Friday, 12 March 2010

Faith makes everybody scared.

Recently, I've been catching up on my American TV shows.  Namely Caprica and Spartacus: Blood and Sand.  Both of which of course are based on largely the same polytheistic culture, i.e. that of the Romans/Greeks.

In both shows, there's a lot of cursing and general denouncing of the Gods, as well as a declining amount of belief in them, primarily due to the degeneration of society in the contexts in which the shows are set.  Nice and parallel to the modern day there then.  But this got me thinking.  God, the Christian God, is extremely rarely cursed.  Doubted yes, used in vain, yes, but we don;t get talk of God's cock, or how he no longer cares for us, as there is in the TV shows.  And this further set me thinking, in monotheistic religions, the divine figure is necessarily one of ultimate benevolence, compassion, understanding and forgiveness.  And whilst swift and usually firey punishment is fated for those who appose the deity, you either believe in it, or think its a load of bollocks.  But that's not cursing God, and it's not saying they've abandoned us.  In contrast, the polytheistic religion in this context is one where the gods are vengeful.  The Gods are, for lack of a better term, 'human'.  They have their faults, their desires, their covets, their grudges and their vanities, just they have ultimate power to back all those up with.  And whilst we know that there was certainly a difference between state and private religion in ancient cultures, though to what extent exactly is hard to guage, it makes me wonder if there would indeed have been cursing of the gods in such a society.  Of course, where the Gods are not endlessly forgiving cursing them might be a rather bad idea, but if you accept that your Gods must be appeased, that they might decide to punish you, or to take issue against you, that fate might decree something horrible for you, you're probably more likely to do things like curse them.  It was an interesting thought.

The only comparable thing I can think of in popular modern theologies is the concept of karma, but that's an abstract concept, rather than a quality personified into a divine image, with all the powers of a divine.  Karma is a process of the universe, and the only way to undo bad karma is to do equally good karma inducing activities.  Karma can't be bribed by burning offal, or spending coin, though the churches would probably have you believe otherwise on the latter point.  Even in modern polythestic religions, the gods are very rarely fallible in any way.  Sure some of them are destructive, but that's as part of the divine duality of creation, rather than a humanized flaw embodied in a deity.  And amongst the majority of paganism, selene, the goddess, the oak king, et al. are all benevolent spirits.  The wiccan rede states any badness that visits you is down to your own act of badness in the first place. The punishment is a simple process of the universe, rather than because spilling your challice offended the moon personally.

Only in more extreme or outlying facets of paganism do you start to encounter the concept that things might not like you, that diviine entities might take exception and make your life difficult, because by this point, you've probably abandoned your concept of the wiccan rede, of 'walking in the light', of 'good' and 'bad' magic.  You're probably invoking Sekhmet and Lilith, and working with the Goetia, and coercing and trapping inccubi and succubi.
The only major belief system I can think of where it's accepted that bad things might happen to you as a direct consquence of the Gods, is Voudon and related systems, where the Loa are fickle creatures in themselves, and attempting to get the Baron Samedi to act against his will is signing your own death warrant.  And again, this is a belief system where the concept of 'good' and 'evil' isn't as clear cut as most would like it.  Certainly in any benevolent divine view of the world, there is no cursing of (a) God, and that's not because you don't need to because (a) God couldn't have sent it; we curse things all the time that don't necessarily deserve it in order to avoid facing the real causes, usually ourselves.  But I like the concept that once upon a time, it wasn't simply a case of you either believe or you don't, or at least you pretend you believe.  That once upon a time, it was accepted that the Gods were 'human'.

Incidently, if you haven't seen it, you should all totally go watch O-Cast

Die Motherfucker, Die!

Sometimes I have to forcibly remove myself from a situation before I say something I'll end up regretting.  It's not that I'm too cowardly to say it, like most people tend to be - they'll think it but won't say it - it's that I'm biting my tongue and know if I don't leave swiftly I won't stop.

My flatmate is one of the people who does this to me.  Mostly, cause she's a two faced bitch.  I like her, let me say that first.  She's perfectly simple to live with and we're both insomniacs so often end up talking into the night.  But she is exceedingly two-faced.  Most people wouldn't notice it, she never shows both faces at the same time, or one after the person in question has left the room.  She shows them separated from each other by a fair amount of time, but I've noticed it for a fair while after 18 months of living with her.  She talks perfectly pleasantly to 2 of my other flatmates, makes dinner with them, watches tv with them, asks how their day was, and then later, bitches to me about how they steal her sugar, how they never clean anything, how the two of them are so insular with each other.  She sympathizes over crap that's going on in my life, about arguements with my parents, about the fact that I also hate taking money off them.  And then berates me a few weeks later for pissing about with my life, for being 23 and not knowing what I want to do, for wasting my time doing a second degree, cause I wasted my time doing Classics originally, for not taking an offer in a job that would have mentally destroyed me.  And of course she says she's only winding me up and joking.  And to a large extent, she honestly is.  But there's also that slight honest tinge, again too subtle for most people to notice. to everything she says, that indicates that's what she really does think; she just says it in jest as the only way to voice it. 
I hate people like this.  I'd rather they were honest with me.

There's a boy called Martin at UCL.  And he is the most pompous arrogant ass you will have ever met.  And beleive me I know what I'm talking about.  I went to Uni with the Oxbridge rejects.  I grew up and went to sixth form in Cambridge.  I visit Oxford reguarly for the boyfriend.  I spent the first 11 years of my life in the private education system.  I know some pretty fucking pompous arrogant asses.  But Martin beats them all.  He is one of these people who genuinely seems to think he knows it all, that everyone else is beneath him and needs to be educated, that they hang on his every word and live for the bits of information he can offer the rest of the world.  He makes facebook fan groups about himself.  He likes his own statuses and comments.  He posts constantly on the 'Overheard at UCL' group with fake conversations about how great a person he is and how every woman wants to bed him (but of course, he's far too superior to actually have sexual desires).  I have come close to hitting him several times.  He tried to argue the concept of karma with me once.  Whilst the boy does know a lot, he knows a fair bit about everything.  I on the other hand, know a fucking hell of a lot about karma and could have destroyed him easily.  And in the crowded room we were in at the time, that would have been satisfying in so, so many ways.  For everybody except him.  But I didn't bother, because he's not worth the expense of breath and energy to argue with, whilst I would enjoy destroying him, I would get no enjoyment whatsoever out of arguing with him, and it would only promote him starting another discussion with me that he could win some other day.  I once posted a status in latin, where I'd taken the end of one of Pliny's letters, and merely changed it from 1st to 3rd person.  He sent me a private message saying he didn't understand what I was saying.  He was oddly quiet when I mentioned it was actually a bit of established latin literature....
When the revolution comes, I shall take great pleasure in ramming something very horrific looking and painful up his rectum and out of throat.

And finally, Classics is well known for being an elitist environment.  But the point was driven home to me the other day by a girl sitting in the corner, who I have no idea what name was, nor do I think I wish to know now.  The dept common room was discussing the hilarity of the show 'My Super Sweet 16th', which is a chance for spoilt bratty priviliged tossers to show just how spoilt bratty and oblivious they truly are.  Of course, it is thus intensely entertaining and mysteriously alluring.  And us students watch it religiously on late night tv.  So there we all were, slagging off all our different favourite episodes, and the ridiculous things these kids expect (importantly, not ask for), the tantrums they throw, and why the lot of us would probably be locked up for child abuse if we ever had to deal with kids like that, as they'd find themselves being slapped or just plain roundhouse kicked before they'd even opened their mouths.  And at this juncture, the girl in the corner quips in, with all seriousness: "Well I think its pathetic really, that you're all so jealous of these beautiful people with these amazingly lives just because they're better than you."  Of course, this was said in a completely perfect RP accent.  The room sat stunned for several seconds before several muted laughs began to emerge.  There was clearly no arguing with the woman.  It was at this point I excused myself, pointing out otherwise I'd say something someone would regret.  The sentiment from the room seemed to be in agreement with me rather than her....

Not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful and useless in times like these...

In the aim of being honest, here is a list of the things I keep getting stuck in my head and wondering about at the moment.  However in the aim of my previous post, I'll try and keep my musings on each point down to a simple paragraph so as to avoid acting constantly emo.  Stay tuned.  Two-non depression related posts coming up soon after!

  • Uni - Currently not sure I should be doing what I'm doing.  I'm good at it, very good in fact.  But I don't think I want to be where it'll lead me in 5, 10 years. And it's too expensive to pointlessly pursue, so would make sense to drop out in that case.  But I have no idea what I'd ultimately like to do anymore.  At least none that I in any way want to do, and am actually capable of doing.  As a result, findning and maintaining the motivation to turn up to uni each day is exceedingly difficult, and I need to turn up in order to get a 1st, so I can say I dropped out for reasons other than I was shit at it.

  • Parents - In relation to the above, I went through hell with my parents after I decided to not go to PwC and study a second degree instead.  Dropping out would make life interesting.  I might elect for estrangement; it's simpler.  And to make things worse my mum told me how "since I was doing so well it my course it made all the arguments with my dad over my decision worth it" on the phone the other day.  Like being an A grade student who then doesn't have the concession of getting a C (except in PE of course), if you're someone who's always known what they want to do and how to get there, people don't like to accept your making decisions on the basis of no fucking clue any more.

  • Summer - I want to run away, very much so.  I would like to travel.  I miss travelling.  I would like to go somewhere with Chris.  To go to the middle of nowhere and stay in the hotel room for a week, and forget the fact that life exists.  I would like to go to the US.  I miss the US terribly.  I miss California and San Diego.  It's my second home and has been for the past 4 years.  Not going last year felt like I'd lost a part of myself.  I want to travel round all my friends in the US.  I want to backpack.  I want to travel alone.  I want to run from everything, including Chris.  And take a vacation from myself for a very long period of time.  I can't do all of these at once.  Or even one after the other.  Money, time, and emotional backlashes prevent me from doing so.

  • Chris - Mostly in relation to the following two points.  I love Chris.  He's wierd and different to any of the other boys I like.  He doesn't understand things.  He forgives me for a million and one things every day.  He gives me more credit that I ever deserve or think him capable of.  He always lets me have the last bit of anything.  He makes me think about things differently, and forces me to approach the world in a different manner.  He makes me considerate, he inspires me to goals and dreams I would never have without him.  He drives me insane. He infuriates me.  He makes me feel crap about myself.  He shows the endless irreconcilable differences between us in his very manner.  He's mine.  I'm his.  I love him.

  • Terence - I love him too.  I want him.  I miss him.  I could jump on a plane to Boston every second of every day at the moment.  This boy is amazing.  He's dark, and twisted, and crazy about me and talented as hell.  He has a boyfriend; he has a fiance.  He lives 4,500 miles away.  We're separated by an Ocean and plane tickets costing several hundred pounds minimum.  I shouldn't love him.  I shouldn't talk to him.  I shouldn't see him again.  I can't control myself around the boy.  I'd do anything to see him and hold him for 20 minutes more.

  • Jack - Mostly a derivative of the above 2 thought streams.  I love jack aswell.  Jack is closer.  Jack is hard to get hold of.  Jack is a bastard.  Jack is in the middle of nowhere.  Jack is only £50 away.  I haven't seen Jack in 18 months.  Jack is crazy, and broken, and makes me cry almost everytime I see him I love him so much.  Jack understands my craziness.  Jack makes me want things even Chris couldn't drive me to.  Jack is someone I plan to see before the end of it all.  And after.

  • Boyfriend/Relationship - Relationships and depression do not go together.  It's hard for the person stuck observing it, being unable to do much, and watching the person they love retreat from them.  It's hard for the person feeling like hell, and trying to maintain the relationship at the sametime, and then feeling worse for making the relationship so hard.  I could do with a break from the whole having a boyfriend deal at the moment.  It'd help me in someways.  But the consequences would be worse.  Things would never be the same, and potentially I could lose the guy I love.  He's my high school sweetheart; with all of the romanticiism and drawbacks that implies.  And recently I've been doubting myself and the relationship far too much.

  • Next Year - By which I mean academic year.  I have to live with the boyfriend.  This scares me to the point I could virtually break up.  For someone with commitment issues Chris has oddly never been a problem in that regard.  Now 5 years of it is hitting me at once.  I want to live with Chris.  I've waited 5 damned years to do so.  I've dealt with being 2 hours away from my boyfriend and only seeing him at weekends, somehow.  And the thought of being in a confined space with him 7 days a week gives me that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that could almost be nausea.

So basically, I have no clue what I want, in any aspect of my life at all.  And I have nowhere to start to sort it out without causing a multitudeof problems in other aspects of my life as a consequence.  Motivation, for life in general, is proving difficult.  And that's not a good thing when there's a 10g bag of mephedrone sitting on your desk... (it's for a friend, seriously!)

Wednesday, 10 March 2010

Lock and Load

Well that worked out a week's worth of frustration.

Everyone knows sex is good for you, it keeps you healthy, it gives you a workout, it helps you work out aggression and tension.  Dan Savage even has a clip about how the aggressiveness of sex allows you to get over all the things that frustrate you about your partner in a relationship, and its true, and if you play as hard and rough as I like to then it definitely helps to purge your system.

I met up with a fuckbuddy yesterday evening.  It took me OVER AN HOUR to get from Westbourne Park to Baron's Court, which I was not impressed at, espeically as it ate into the time I had with him before his flatmates got home :P  He's a guy I've known for several years, but we don't meet up much, simply because we both have insanely busy lives.  But this is good, cause it means we understand the fact that each other might not be available for months at a time, and in the gay cruising world where its all about right here right now, someone that understands you want to get freaky with them, you just can't right this second, is a rarity.

This boy definitely plays hard, and considers me worth waiting for as I can apparently take it ('it' meaning lots of things here, not just the actual fucking) harder than any of the other guys he plays with.  Any sex between the two of us generally tends to just be a rapeplay session, which isn't something I'm complaining about, and he's damned good at giving me lots of verbal (that's talking dirty to the rest of you), which is possibly my favouritest thing in sex.  Anyway, after an hour and a quarter wearing each other out. off I headed to go get the bus home (which thankfully only took the usual 25 minutes this time around.)

And on the way home, after a week where I've been mostly lost in my own head, thinking about Chris, and Uni, and Terence, and Jack, and the summer, and next year, and everything like that, my head was completely calm.  And I remembered how a good hard fuck can just clear everything up for you, and make life completely simple.  It's not that I suddenly knew the answer to all the questions I've been asking myself recentl; I just simply couldn't recall the fact there was a question in the first place.  And of course, Chris normally does this when I see him each weekend, and sure we had sex last weekend, but given that he's part of the things going through my head, it didn't have quite the same effect.

So let this be a lesson to you all, in case you didn't already know it.  When it all gets to much, when you're screaming at yourself, when you could gladly run away from it all and never look back, go have sex.  Raw, exhausting, aggressive, primal, animalistic sex.  You should hurt afterwards.  And be ready to collapse the second you get back into your own bed.

And I guarantee you everything will be that much simpler for a few hours.

How's that for honest and graphic?

And of course, the sentiment didn't last; I spent the early hours of the morning pacing around my room thinking about boys.  Luckily, as previously mentioned, the gay scene is geared to right here right now, so that's always fixable with the next guy...

Mood:  At the time: serene.  Now: Moderate.


Monday, 8 March 2010

(Don't) say it like you mean it.

I say sorry a lot.

Not cause I've done anything wrong per se, I just say it a lot, I apologise for anything bad, even if its someone moaning about the rain getting their hair wet.  Saying sorry probably makes up half my sentences.  The other half are filled with swear words, I'm very bad for casual aggressive swearing in everyday conversation.  I have what you'd call a potty mouth.  But importantly, I say sorry a lot.  This infuriates the boyfriend, as I say sorry constantly for a million and one little things, and it cheapens the sentiment somewhat.  And then on the big things I should be apologising for, I often have trouble doing so, and I certainly have trouble admitting I was in any way wrong in the first place.  I'm male, an only child, and an aries; Chris stands no chance of getting that sort of concession out of me.

But in an effort to drive people less crazy and generally be a less draining person towards others, I'm trying to stop myself from saying sorry every 20 seconds.  So far I'm not doing great; generally thinking 'dammit' immediately after voicing the sentiment, and thus effectively mainintaing the 50/50 split between apologies and curses in my vocabulary.  Of course this run's the risk that I will then never say sorry for anything, and perhaps small favours should be taken where given, but we'll see....

Sunday, 7 March 2010

5 by 5

So I've been having some major freakouts about a lot of stuff recently, and I've come to a new conclusion.  Don't panic, and man up.  People keep telling me these two sentiments about the things going through my head at the moment.  Not to worry about it, not to get worked up about it, to calm down, to face it, to deal with it, to stop running, to stop hiding, to stop avoiding, to stop whining and bitching.  To confront it, head on, and sort it out, simple as that.

I can't promise I'll end up doing this, and whilst some of the stuff going through my head still is likely to end up on this blog, it should hopefully become a bit more upbeat and less self-involved, because at the very least, if i cant face it, i can stop whining about it, and let my own problems be my own problems.

Mood: fivebyfive if anyone asks.

Music:  Linger - The Cranberries

Saturday, 6 March 2010

Just the way you are...

Yes I know these posts are all self involved, but it's still saying stuff I wouldn't otherwise tell people so therefore it counts as part of this blog. Deal with it bitches.

I've had a very unproductive week.  Well, I earnt £200 on Monday night, but general productivity has been exceedingly low.  I haven't been to uni all week, which isn't good and will be blogged about in the next post.  Today I slept from 4am through to 3pm, got up, moved over to the computer at the otherside of the room, and sat there till 6pm, when i finally got dressed and went to make food, came back, sat here for another 6 hours, and about half midnight I finally went and had an hour long bath.

Mostly I've been sleeping, or lost in my own thoughts.  I've been thinking about boys.  All the boys I love, and primarily Terence and Chris of course, but kinda more about the issues and problems of me being in love with other boys as a general concept, and what it means, and what it requires of Chris, and why I go through it all.

So many of the people I've spoken to in the past week, Chris included, have been oddly forgiving and accepting of the fact that I fell for another boy, or rather a third boy.  I kinda get this, but not in the context of the fact I'm supposed to be in an emotionally monogamous relationship.  As everyone seems to say, you can't help who you love, and if you can love more than one person in the world, you're luckier than you can ever know, and yes, that's all true.  But I'm not supposed to love other people, and all of them have been people I've fallen for in a moment; there was no slow gradual development which might have served as fair warning, which I might have acted (or rather, not acted) upon; simply the case each time where we've looked at each other and realised in a certain moment, everything at once, and also realised just how big a problem that is.

And somehow each time, Chris is forgiving of me, I mean sure, everyone makes mistakes, and deserves a second chance, I'm all for that, but fourth chances?  And what gets me most is a point I made at the end of my last post, where will I be in 5 years, seemingly in love somehow, but with just how many people, and who will I actually be with.  Given that all of them at once isn't an option, I hope Chris, but going on my current track record, I could be in love with 8 different guys by then, and is that really something he should put up with, or that I could put up with by that point?

Being in love is great, it's one of the things that makes me stop and marvel at the universe, the highs and depths it drives people to, the ambition and drive it gives them, the goals they realize and the compromises they make, all so they can be with that one single person.  I'm not sure if it's glorious, pathetic, desperate or inspiring (chiasmus anyone?), or everything all at once.  And being in love with more than one person, to get those feelings twice, or four times over, fills you in ways you can't begin to describe, anymore than you could describe the way being in love once completes you.  But it also exposes you that much more, it forces you to face permenant unrequited love (unless of course, you're lucky/crazy enough to have a polyamorous relationship), or not quite unrequited, but unfulfilled, which is worse.  It's not a case of you pining away for someone, you're pining for someone who wants you just as badly, who would be with you just as readily, but for whatever reasons, it's simply not an option.  And that makes it all the harder.  I've gone into this before in regards to Jack.  You want to be with someone, but just cause you want to be with them doesn't mean you want to be with whoever else you love any less, and so you choose either one, or none, but whatever your choice, that doesn't make it any easier to bear being apart from the ones you're not with.

In a rather egotistical manner, what gets me most about the guys who love me, is that they love me for who I am, with all my faults, my errors, my flaws, my criticisms and my failings.  ANd sure, that's what you hope to find in the person who loves you, and I'm certainly glad Chris does.  What I don't get is how the other 3, who I fell for in a moment, managed to overlook all of those in that same moment.  None of them expect me to be a better person, and not only do they love me in spite of my flaws, they love me for my flaws.  For all the things that make me so unusual and different and unashamed compared to most people in the world.  They couldn't love me but wish I was a little more this, or did that less.  They love me exactly the way I am, for all the things that make me me; for better, for worse, in sickness, and in health.  And despite what I project on an everyday basis, as a person with frighteningly low self esteem, I just don't get this.  Because despite however much I try to be individual and unique and special, I'm convinved you wouldn't notice me in the crowd, let alone me be the only person you see.

What annoys me most about all this is the knock on feelings it brings up.  I'm always going to wonder, 'what if' and yes there are a plethora of circumstances in each case that stop us from being together, not just one thing, but there's still a big what if, 3 of them now, and god help me if there's more to come.  It makes me unsure of myself.  I used to know for a fact all the reasons I love Chris, and why I was with him rather than Jack, and why I would always choose him.  And each time this happens it gets that little bit harder.  It makes me question myself, and go, "if i'm falling for all these other guys, am I really that certain of what I want?"  I know I still love Chris.  I know I still want to be with Chris.  And I know Chris loves me.  These aren't established facts through experience, these are intuitive, unspoken things that I never need to argue with, just as surely as I've always known I'm a city boy.  But everytime this happens I find myself thinking, but you've never tried anything else, you can't know unreservedly.  Many times, not just for this kind of issue, a part of me has wished I'd met Chris later in life, or that we could take a break for a while, but both of those options would change us irrevocably as people, and things wouldn't progress the way they otherwise would.  If the very observation of an act changes it, acting differently, or changing the conditions at the start or halfway through can't help but give you a completely different end result.

It's odd that whilst I love all 4 guys for different reasons and in different ways, the other 3 are more similar; they're all dark and twisted boys, they're all broken inside, a love would them would burn intensely, almost too quickly, and I can't promise that it would last, and certainly we'd both end up worse for wear through it all, and likely even more damaged in a variety of ways; physically, emotionally, psychologically, you name it.  But it would be glorious, unavoidable, enviable and blinding.  Chris on the other hand, is something completely different.  Don't get me wrong, I burn for him incredibly strongly still, and I would do so many things for him, probably not the things he'd prefer, but the big ones, the dying for, the taking pain for, the room 101 for, bring forth an unending torment and vengance against anyone who caused him harm, but it's a calmer flame.  It doesn't burn so erratically, it doesn't eat through all its fuel, and that's kinda nice in a way.  Chris is the only one who motivates me to be a better person, to want for things I would never otherwise desire, to want the picket fence and 2 car garage, to pay off the credit card bills and get a mortgage, and spend our weekends reading the sunday papers in bed,   Nobody else inspires this in me, and the pure fact that he drives me to do that to myself is testament to how much I want him, and want to be his.  In some ways Chris is the 'safe' option, but he's also the harder one, the less obvious one, the underdog, the road less travelled, and as everyone knows, that makes all the difference.

My playlist today has been suitably self involved, and given the thoughts currently running through my head, about all the guys I love, I couldn't help but take particular notice of the following:

I miss your warm skin beside me at night, and I miss your flesh in its own right...
Everytime I see your face my heart takes off on a high speed chase...
Don't be scared; it's only love that we're fallin' in.
So when I see you next we'll make the most of it...
The taste of your kiss I still got on my lips.

And finally of course:

How can I stand here with you, and not be moved by this? Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

And yes, it may be sappy and cloying, but sometimes that says it best:

Mood:  Wishing I was like Sabrina and could split myself into 4
Music: The first major part is made of Lifehouse's new Smoke and Mirrors album, which has just been released.  Later on I switched to my musicals playlist.

Wednesday, 3 March 2010

All of the feelings unspoken...

So according to a certain person, the end of my last post was cringe worthy in terms of its clichedness.  With that, and given recent issues, I dedicate the following to him:

There you are again:
Passing by your window,
Will you look out and see me standing here?

Here I am again:
Standing at my window,
Where we play the same old game; so far so near.

The accidental glance
Where we discover one another,
Then we'll make up an excuse to look again.
And finally we fix our gaze
From behind our window-sill,
Where we silently agree :
We both like what we see.

And here we are again:
Slowly rising passion,
Will this be the night you beckon me
To come to you?

'Cause if you send for me
I will touch you and caress you,
And if you send for me
I will tell you all the things I dream,
And how everything with you feel so right,
And make sweet love until the morning light.

Here we go again:
Taking off our shirts,
And teasing with the way we slide our pants down.

And in our underwear,
How we stop and stare,
The things that we go through to let our guards down

The connection that was made
From window to window:
There's magic in that alone;
A moment by itself
That can't be taken lightly:
At last someone to call my own.

And if you send for me
I will feel and kiss and hold you,
And if you send for me
I will share my beating heart,
Knowing everything with you will be alright,
And make sweet love until the moprning light.

I see the way you want me:
It's the way that I want you;
I want you,
I want you,
I want you.

Please wont you send for me
We could start a lifetime of caring;
Come on send for me
Take a risk be daring:
I know everything for us will turn out right.

No don't pull down the shade
And don't turn out your light;
Let's end this silly game,
Don't lose sight.

Please just one last peek,
I'm the one you seek.

Oh well,
Until tomorrow night...
Window to Window
(I had to type this out as it was playing, as the lyrics aren't even online!)

I had almost forgotten the way it felt:
When he held out his hand for mine.
My heart all a flutter.
The first time we kissed.
I can't forget about his touch;
It matters so much.
Love's filled with compromises.
A cozy rendezvous.
Candlelight for two.
Look you're calling my bluff,
I can't forget about love.

I can't forget about my heart,
(I can't forget about my heart.)
And how it felt to fall for you right from the start.
(I'm still falling.)
Whatever we may do,
(Whatever we may do.)
You'll be there for me and i'll be there for you;
(I'll be there....
To wish, to want, to wander,
To find a sun through rain and thunder.
A cozy rendezvous.
Candlelight for two.
We can't forget about love.
Forget About Love
(edited, obviously if you know the whole song)

Monday, 1 March 2010

Just a boy, standing in front of a boy....

So the weekend was interesting....

I went to see the bf on Friday evening, overslept so was late, but I got to his eventually.  And he graciously met me at the station to carry my bag so I could hobble just that little bit faster (see previous post).  We didn't really get up to much, I spent most of it fixing his computer.  Though I did take my new toy bought in amsterdam over and we had much fun playing with that and each other (I'll let you boggle over what said toy might be).  I got Ben's Cookies, and a walk back to the station, and he even had the sense to ask how I was in such a way that it demanded a proper answer, which I did wonder if he'd do this week, and sure enough he came through, so well done to him.  He's slowly learning how to deal with my long term depression.

Anyway, 10 minutes from Paddington on the return train, my friend Patrick texts me to see what's up.  He's over from the US for the week and says he's in Baker Street, so its not far to go visit him.  I was planning on seeing him on Sunday anyway to watch the USA/Canada Hockey Final, but it was only 2000, so figured why not.  Off I stumble, fairly slowly, and eventually find his place complete with him standing at the front door all ready.  In his small, but nice flat he's hired for the week, there is him, a mutual friend Nick (AKA his British Boyfriend), a small quiet korean boy hiding in the corner with the duvet, and Terence.  Terence the 6'4", buff, tattooed american jock boy Patrick decided to drag over to Europe with him.  My jaw almost falls to the floor.  I realise I look like shit and have just got in from the pissing rain, with a slight hobble to my gait.  Fuck.

There's drinking, there's socializing, there's scaring the corner gremlin.  And then of course there's the plan to go to GAY late, cause it's cheap, and easy to get to.  Terence and I go charging off down the street at the speed of light, the normal walking pace for both of us, whilst the other 3 trail behind miserably.  About this point Terence and I discover we're as fillthy, bad minded, immature and childish as each other  A night is spend in GAY, dancing to shit music and drinking as much as I can, as quickly as I can (incidentally, I discover at this point I seemingly down my drinks 3x faster than the other 4 people in my company.  Considering I'm not a drinker, this seems odd).  Terence and I also seem to discover we're the only two with any balls, as Nick is always quiet, and Corner Gremlin has become column hugging gremlin, and of course Patrick is doing the doe eyed routine over his british bf.  So Terence and I end up being the only two brave enough to dance on the podiums, and to go all out on it.  3am arrives, and with a nice alcoholic buzz, we all head off to TCR to find a taxi, which fails to materialize and we walk halfway to Baker Street in the soaking wet.  Which of course, then being a flat full of 5 gay guys, means we all procede to take off our sodden jeans as soon as we get through the door.  Despite some obvious flirting between me and Terence, which Patrick commented on, (to which I retorted he knew exactly what would happen the second he invited me over,) the sleeping arrangements meant the corner gremlin was also with us, and we were lying across the bed as it was the easiest way to fit three of us in it as it was quite small.  And further luck eluded me, as I got not so much as a spooning hug from Terence in bed, and I then proceeded to pass out swiftly as I let the alcohol take a hold of me.

I was to find later, the reason Terence didn't hug me, was because he knew if he touched me just once he wouldn't stop.  The boy spent all night lying awake next to me, and then proceeded to spend half the morning on his laptop sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor in attempt to avoid me and I wish to god he wasn't so stupid...

Finally all stumbling out of the Baker Street flat around noon, with Nick headed home, Patrick and Terence off to see some tourist london in the form of tower bridge, and the Gremlin doing whatever gremlins get up to nowadays, I headed home to a roast dinner, with plans for the american boys to come over later to watch the game.

Roast eaten and flatmates suitably shooed away from the living room at the prospect of both sports and american sports fans being present, and some haphazard bus journeys later, 2 hockey fans appeared at my front door, and we proceeded to lambast the players like any good couch referee and generally tell them how shit they were playing and what they should be doing.  (seriosuly though, the game was shit, on both sides, let alone the fact canada won, and even if US did equalize in the last 24 seconds of play).  And then despite my protestations, the americans demanded I accompany them to GAY late yet again, to see off their last night in the UK, and who was I to refuse to alcoholic pleadings of a hot jock?

The music was worse, the drink came faster and harder and Terence proceeded to shop around the floor as best he could (which to be fair, being hot, and also american, and therefore far more forthcoming than any english gay boys, was pretty damned good).  Again, later discovered, this was another ploy to avoid me (anybody would think he didn't like me), in the hope some other boy would come home with him, in which case I would be forced to shack up in Patrick's bed instead.  No such luck for him, even the boy who offered him ass on a plate as we were leaving was a nogo, as he turned out to be Terence's youngest sister's best friend and man of honour at the upcoming wedding, which made it a no go area apparently.  Damn southern catholic families...

HOwever this all worked quite nicely to my favour, as the flirting between me and Terence had stepped up given it was his last night anyway.  I ended up fighting with him across the dancefloor, being pinned against the wall by my throat, and forced down onto the ground by 3 fingers.  As the boy said: "There are 87 points in the human body that can cause orgasm, 84 of them are safe... I just got you in one that can cause death, and you went and bought me a drink.  You can stay!"  Hey I've fully accepted I'm an out and out masochist, and when the perfect jock also knows exactly how to choke you without you passing out you don't say no.  If you're lucky you don't get the chance to....

So of course all this ended up with me and Terence in Terence's bed at the end of 2 drunken nights.  We fought, we scrapped, bit, clawed, scratched and gave as good as we got against each other.  I was slammed into the wall, the mattress, the counter, the shower wall, and I have the marks to show for it.  And he fell for me.  And I'm trying so very very hard not to for him.  Seemingly, emotional fidelity is not something I'm doing great at, just like physical, as this would make it the 3rd that I've gone down this route with, since I started going out with the actual bf, you know, that whole love of my life, only one for me kinda person that is supposed to be the only guy I see in a room.  We cursed each other to hell and back, its so easy to be mean to those you ache for.  He told me why he avoided me for 2 days, he told me why he hated me, and why he loved me, he told me why he couldnt do either.  He said: "You're perfectly flawed; you're 23, you know what you want, you know what you can get, and you know how to get it... you're beautiful, and I love you."

Not that I'm complaining that the perfect american jock has fallen for me, I just hate that I want to fall for him, that I have for another guy, and I almost did for a third.  And that I shouldn't be falling for anyone, because it's the one simple rule I have to follow above everything else, and I can't get it right.  Multiple times.
So here's to you, my perfectly flawed jockboy. I hate you, I'll fight you till the end of days, and I'd chase you the 4500 miles you're now away frrom me, with your own boyfriend, just like I have mine.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?  In love, it's just a case of with who.


And it's typical that this, and another issue have come up just as the whole depression thing and general not enjoying relationshipness was actually getting better.

Mood: In Hate.

Music: (this is a long one, it took me a fair while to write this!)

There's a hole in my clogs...

Apologies for the delays in posting.  My laptop charger is borked, so updates have to be written at an actual PC which takes time.

I have returned from Amsterdam!
Times propositioned in the red light district: 20.  Times propositioned by anyone vaguely attractive: 1.  Culturally important landmarks ignored: At least 4. Euros departed UK with: €50.  Euros returned with €110.  Euros taken out at cash machines €50.  Euros spent: ~€250.  Smokes consumed: Lost count.  Narrow deaths avoided: 1  Pool games won: 3  Pool games won by anything other than default: 0

To anyone with Maths skills, you'll note I somehow came back with more euros than i started with, and spent more than i took out.  And oddly enough, I didn't actually do anything untoward to achieve this, I was just given €100 for being good drinking company.

Interesting questions you might like to ponder whilst wandering round the red light district are such things as: just what kind of restraints can i take back in my hand luggage before they'll stop me boarding the plane for safety reasons?  How big a dildo do I need to by to ensure a comical bag search scenario at the security check point?

Only I, could go to Amsterdam, completely ignore thigns like the Anne Frank Haus and Heineken Brewery, and let within 10 minutes of wandering round on my first night have found the city buddhist temple and chinese quarter, which of course, were fascinating.  I did however see the homomonument on my last day, as I was bored, had time to kill, and it was a little out of the way so seemed to work quite nicely.  I did however, ignore the exceedingly impressive gigantic church next to the homomonumnent.

My shoes broke.  I realised this whilst on the gatwick express on my way out, but by then it was too late to do anything about it.  They had massive massive holes in the back I hadn't noticed where I could poke my sock through, so definitely time to find new ones.  Which I did, however this then meant 2 days of walking round trying to break in new shoes (I am in fact, still trying to break them in).  This then resulted in blood blisters, and being forced to hobble along through the streets of amsterdam on my last day agonising and cursing myself for not just accepting wet feet until I got back to London.  Not even the numerous coffee shops could ease my cantankerous spirit on this particular matter.

FOllowing the inability to walk, I found myself thinking "you know what's nice about Amsterdam?  No fuoking birds".  For those who are unaware, I have a hatred of birds, as Jess will no doubt appreciate, and they have a habit of flying straight for my face.  Naturally, no more than 20 minutes after had I thought this, did I turn a corner to be confronted with a bird nose diving straight for me before making the ornothological equivalent of a handbrake turn in order to avoid hitting a window, and then flying haphazardly off towards the bells of some church.  Apparently though, the forces that be had decided I deserved further punishment for my earlier careless free thinking.  Whilst walking across Dam square, which was largely empty at some point during the day, some idiot childspawn of satan then decided to run into a flock of birds that were quietly minding their own business nearby and scatter them, very literally, to the winds.  And as birds do, they then all mysteriously made a beeline in their scattering from the otherside of the square towards me, flying at a mere 1m altitude, and I was forced to adopt some bizzare open air duck-and-cover manouvere in order to avoid re-enacting Hitchcock in the middle of the most prominent public square in the Netherlands.

I have however, as I said, returned.  Feet fairly worse for wear, and my throat in a lot of pain from screaming at the top of my lungs for two hours at a concert for my favourite band (the whole reason I went to amsterdam in the first place), and spending the very significant part of my evenings in a 8'x6' sealed box room designated as the hostel smoking area.  I am avoiding looking at the bank account, though I have £1000 worth of expenses soon to collect from UCL for classics play costs, so it's not too bad.  I really really need to start working again soon though. 

Mood: lost in my head (see next post)