Love Movies or Movies for Lovers?

So, who exactly are love stories made for?  For the hopeless romantic sitting at home with a bowl of popcorn dreaming of something magical?  For two lovers to cling to each other when the romance in the film starts to over boil like rice that has been left too long?

The answer is C... all of the above.

In full-on film going mode, I drenched my viewing pleasure in some of the best love stories that I have not yet had the pleasure of watching.  And it was a lovely mix of Romantic comedy, an epic romance and the inevitable true life - love and loss - romance.  Is it a question of pertaining certain aspects to our own experiences or is it about dreaming of that love to come... and if so, would you choose one of the above genres to try fall into or would you try amalgamate all into one piece, to form your idea of love or the love you are living at the moment?  Do we have to relate in order to be engaged?

It has always been a popular understanding that forming characters with problems we can relate to transcends a movie on screen from that of just a movie, to art that touches your soul.  So this would be the ultimate achievement as a writer, to create someone that is completely relatable.  But when it comes to a love story, I very seldom find myself relating to either of the people caught up in the messy business of love and tend to rely more on their sub-plot as individuals to find something to relate to.

For example, in "No Strings Attached", we have two young adults who are out to simply satisfy the need for companionship without the complications of a commitment.  So who would be more relatable?   On one side, we have a young woman that is afraid of getting hurt.  A woman so guarded that she is unable to let the greatness that comes from a relationship to come into her life.  And on the other side we have a man with a broken heart, because of his father, that is lifted up in the air by the charismatic way about this woman.  I tend to lean towards the guarded woman.
The movie was a pleasure to watch albeit with a very predictable ending - which was actually great to watch, due in large part to the brilliance that is Natalie Portman's craft.

To off set the happy ending I put in "Blue Valentine" next.  It's one of those great, hard-hitting, love stories.  Wrapped up with a brilliant soundtrack and some magical cinematic moments.  It's a love story like no other.  their relationship is so layered and we slowly watch the dissipation of their love as the movie jumps between past and present.  Here we have a kind-hearted, carefree and lazy man that has fallen in love with a woman that has more baggage than he was initially expecting.  She in turn is a hard working, rigid and responsible woman.  Her love for him intensifies from that initial "honeymoon" phase to something rather serious in a short amount of time and her dependability on him is palpable.  By the end I could totally relate to him.  Nothing harder than leaving the one you love alone because they asked you to.

And to pick myself up, "Water for Elephants" was the last one on the menu.  It is truly a delight to watch in that old school kind of epic-love-story-that-stands-the-test-of-time way.  A man with a gift for animals meets a girl with a gift for animals and the only thing standing in their way is her husband.  But he is not just your normal jealous husband... he is wicked down to his black heart that is filled with greed.  She gives him a reason to strive for something and he gives her the possibility of a new life and freedom.

In love, not in love.  Relatable or not... who gives a shit.  Watch these three movies, they are all real goodies yo'.  And should leave you feeling something by the end of them.

Enjoy!

The Releasing Demon: Fairtytales... Child's Play?

Have you ever reached a point where you knew exactly what you want but did not know how to get it? When the perfect life is but only an arm reach away and the only thing holding you back is you? What else is there to do but keep fighting, keep trying, keep reaching for it?

But what happens when you have a split second thought that maybe it's actually now what you want? Should one sit back and asses exactly the direction one's own particular choices might take one? Is it really a case of opening my mouth and saying?

So, although I am filled with more hope than I have felt in ages - and hope is a goodie, it always has the possibility of achievement - I am still left in two minds over whether or not I am leaning towards a more realistic/pessimistic perspective of looking at love or am I growing up?

It seems all too evident that nothing in this world lasts forever. Sure. But does that mean I should foresee an end before the crossing line is even in plain view? Of course not. It is most definitely a point of taking in what you can while it is up for grabs. And although this may seem like such a harsh way of interpreting love, the evidence stacked against love, that love is in fact bitter and sweet, is far more prevalent thus believable than a cheesy 'nineties' Gloria Estefan hit of Everlasting Love.

The point is not the disillusion of love but how to turn that love into something that can survive. Like a plant, through harsh winters and bitter breezes, once spring rolls on in it begins to grow again, bigger, faster and with more vigor. So should a relationship not be nurtured by those in it? I mean the plant in question is that of two hearts that slowly begin to beat together and not necessarily amalgamate with each other.

As a wise man once said: "I am not young enough to know everything" and the older I get the more I understand the point. It's the disillusionment of the notions we have as young people that in turn makes us real living adults. But when do we start becoming tainted from the abysmal failures in our quest for love that it in fact leaves any idea of a relationship to come drenched in disdain and ill content? When we allow it too!

So the objective is to always, but i mean always, scrutinize what we may have done wrong and better that. I keep my mouth shut far too often for fear of abandonment however the ironic thing is that I am abandoned for the fact that I keep my mouth shut. A vicious cat and mouse game i am playing all on my own.

So stop the fairytale of the perfect relationship and try create a real one... everlasting or not!

Something New...?

It happens to us every so once and a while when life takes an unexpected turn and what was, changes into something that will be.  Through an unlucky turn of events my family decided they are ready to leave the home that I grew up in and move out to, hopefully, find greener pastures for themselves.  Now with all of that in mind I am totally for change if it will enrich anyone but do I feel a loss nonetheless?

As I walk through the garden, into the house and pass the rooms, all my childhood memories rush through my brain like heroin through a vein.  And admittedly I am someone who can live in the past - not necessarily dwelling on it, just living it over again, in my head.  This house embodies the family i know and love even if the years have seen it decrease in numbers.  Around the corner is where I experienced my first kiss - with a girl... and a boy.  The pool was the 1st pool i ever went skinny dipping in.  My room, well those walls witnessed my first wet dream, my first heart break, my first drinking splurge, my first joint, my first dirty magazine, my first wank, my first everything and now it is an empty shell representing nothing of the boy I use to be.  It does take me back to a time where I was the fat little gay boy sitting in his room most of the time watching film after film after film, very anti social and in all fairness, even more difficult to get along with than the man I am today.  Probably because I get so uncomfortable in my own skin and it showed in my youth but with age I have learnt how it really is the only skin I have to encapsulate my body with and escaping it is never an option.

My point to all of this... when do we as gay men decide it is time for a family of our own?  Above it all, that is something I thought I really wanted , a child of my own, and at times I feel like a woman, like I am not looking for a great husband but a super father.  My mock ovaries are banging together looking out for a man that wants the same... or atleast he is looking for a man that will look after the kids because lets face it, I am totally going to be a stay at home dad - if i ever actually become a dad - and for two reasons: I can write at home and kids need a parent with them most of the day.

I long to get some advice from my dad, the whole man to man time conversation about when is it right, how will you know, am i good enough to be a dad...?
The idea is infuriating.

I thought I was getting closer to having or atleast starting a family but that did not work out probably because I am really not ready to be a dad or a husband, for heavens sake I can barely look after myself properly.  Only recently just getting my emotions under control and to that, Epilum is an amazing drug, I cannot shed a tear even if I wanted to.  Instead I have chosen to focus on new part time work, writing the manuscript to my first Novel.  I have a tutor.  Module Two under way, so hopefully next year this time it will be ready to be fleshed into something more than just a manuscript.

Is my writing my new version of babies or a family... it does make me very happy!  So my lesson today is to try find something to do once a day that brings a little bit of joy to your life... and I am not talking about finding a laugh everyday but finding a piece of innocent pleasure that both enriches and enlightens your soul.

 

"Going Bi"

July issue of Exit:

“A Slice of Gay Pie: Going Bi”

By Juanne-Pierre de Abreu

It’s the tale of two cities and the Ben Schoeman Highway joins the said two cities. And although they are connected there is still a great divide nonetheless. The aforementioned highway can be seen more as a river that splits the land and on one bank we have English-speaking South Africans and the other bank is cluttered with Afrikaans-speaking South Africans.  Sure the river is not difficult to cross but the need to cross the river… is there actually a need?  And is there a concurrency?

A bottle of Glade oil incense can be shaken up to mix the oils but the oils inevitably separate in the end, can the same be said for our two groups?  Johannesburg is predominantly an English-speaking city and Pretoria is an Afrikaans-speaking city.  With the pop-up of clubs like Risqué and Babylon the two languages did find a common ground, however venture closer to the CBD and you will find the language that rules that perspective area.  How you might ask.  Well if the car guard says “Kan ek jou kar oppas?” then you know.

In Cape Town, that distance from English to Afrikaans is quite a bit shorter.  Namely the CBD is considered English, along with the Atlantic Seaboard, and everything else that surrounds the city is Afrikaans. Then in our Gay community, are the two languages on opposite sides of the same playing field?  Or are we just on the same field? And do we think less of and judge a man if he speaks with an accent, in our mother tongue?  Is it possible for all of us to just get along?

So one lone evening I wrapped myself up in my finest gay chic theatre wear meets skater boy outfit and marched over to the theatre to get a glimpse into the arts in terms of going bilingual. 

“Lament in G” and as the name suggests, it was going to be an extremely heavy, sorrowful story presented in song and with passion.  I was intrigued by the fact that it will be told in two languages and maybe this will provide another perspective on the great divide from the straight world side of things.

In the end I had the impression that the dominant person eventually engulfed the production in their language, and for good reason.  He was dominating.  Once removed the balance restored.  Was there no way they could find an equal ground together?  This made me think of the guys in our community who are seeing a man who has a different home language.  Are they finding a common ground?  Or is it a case of the dominant one taking over?  And what effect will this divide have on a relationship?

Leaving the comforts of my own surrounding I ventured out to the north to a ‘Gat Party’.  I have no idea why it is actually called that, but that is what it is called.  I figured this would be a great platform on which to dive into the topic of the great divide or going bi.  Alas it did not get me any closer to finding couples who have gone bi, or at least the men I managed to chat to were Afrikaans, no English boyfriend in sight.  However it was brought to my attention that usually the Afrikaans guys will try adapt to the English guys world and not the other way around.  Why are English guys so stubborn in terms of not venturing out of their comfort zones?  And similarly, am I to believe that Afrikaans guys are so fickle that they would abandon their heritage in the hopes of finding love?

Looking around the hall and the couples dancing together, I realized how cute the boys were.  They were all so healthy, wholesome, brown bread eating men and it was delicious to see.  The Boers are obviously feeding something whole grain and mighty strong or I am just use to the scrawny necks and gaunt faces of the English speaking community?  I was impressed with the Buffet on offer. 

Tweetalige! Om twee tale te praat, is dit nie die doel van dit alles? Staat te wees om 'n man uit die skare te kies en gaan, ongeag van die huistaal, sal dit nie die ware prys in so ' n tweetalige land? Dit lyk ons kanse om dubbel op die vind van 'n liefde. En is dit nie die hele punt van verkenning oor soek so onverbiddelik vir 'n mate?

In the end I realize that we have nothing to loose from going bi, so go ahead and double your chances. 

The Hour Glass Lover

You know him, you have had him, that illusive man that comes into your life and flips it around causing the sand to flow in another direction.  He captivates your mind with his thoughts of the grandeur of love.  His ideals appeal and it is near impossible to resist him.

Oh, Durban boys.

They flip my world around and always have.  They are so cool and relaxed.  A little repressed with the lack of activities in the area but that in turn makes them interesting, new and fairly untouched.  My Durban boy flipped my hour glass around, climbed inside the glass and let the sand granules - that is my life - pour all over him and at the same time stealing a few granules for himself.  He changed the pace of my life and made me re-asses what I was doing and where exactly I was heading.  It is almost like he forced me to sign a new lease on life that encouraged me to live life and not just allowing the day to day flow of it to become the norm.

It was not the inertia alone that made me feel that my life was an endless stream of nothingness but the idea that I had resided to living a life alone in quiet desperation for something else that made me feel unfulfilled and dead.  Are we just looking for ways to feel alive?  Is a routine the beginning of an end?  And can one man really come in to our lives and re-arrange the furniture that the flow is better and the view extraordinary?

It happened to me.  After our tornado of a relationship was gone I was left in complete disparagement.  Was it that the excitement had ended or is it just a case of another boyfriend down the pipe line?  Did I loose a soul mate, or did a mate just take a piece of my soul?  And if the latter is true how does one begin to replace that piece that was so carelessly taken?

I went on a sexual deviant rampage.  The empty piece in my heart made way for a very personal method of self destruction, it is almost as though I was half the man I was suppose to be and the caring loving side was no more.  I went out bar jumping and bed hoping with hopes of replacing it.  Was it satisfying?  It was more of an expression of self hate and I would impose that hate onto any man willing to take it.  Surprisingly enough there are many men out there eager for a little bit of salacious degradation from a sexual partner.  And this was by no means my proudest moment in life.

In the end my life was more of a vase with water and he was the flowers.  Once the flowers were gone it took time to clean out the vase and replace it with clean water for the next florist to come along and decorate it. so lets always try keep our vases clean and half full.

Families, threesomes, love and a lie!

It was sunset and as the sky lit up with colours of soft pinks and bright oranges, shades of magenta with a splash of aquamarine I came to the top of a hill in a small park near the school in my neighborhood and sat down.  On the one side, the hill perched above the suburb like a huge roof patio; it allowed me to watch over its residence like a hawk.  The other side was a view of the city the suburb lives off of, the way a pilot fish lives off of a shark.  The suburb offers a family a safe haven for their children to grow up.  A place where people walk in the streets for leisure and where they greet each other even though they might not know each other.  A friendly happy place free of the grit, grime and hard work that makes a city work.

Families = building blocks of society… so what am I?

I don’t have a family.  I don’t intend on having a family… or should I rather say I don’t intend on having children, as I do come from a great loving family.  But as I look around at the parents playing gaily with their children I wonder how am I going to make up the love that a family has for each other without having a child?  Furthermore I start to wonder if a suburban life style is the style of life I should be trying to live up to?  I love the idea of a unit.  The family is a unit.  It’s a group and nothing can penetrate it.  In that impenetrable circle exists a few completely unique individuals with their own dreams and aspirations and view points, whereas the love I feel with someone I am in love with, is more of a sacrifice of ones own identity in hopes of forming a new identity, away from ‘you and me’ and make it into an “us”.

So does the answer lie in taking lovers?  Would two satisfy the hunger for a love bigger and greater than I ever would have imagined?  I have the capability to love more than one man.  Maybe the love I have is three different types of love.  There are three words for love in the koine Greek language, Eros, Philo and Agape.  “Eros” being love based on sexual contact and sometimes emotion. “Philo” is love at its most basic of trade offs; if you love me I will love you back. The third, “Agape”, is the most pure and real form of love, where we love expecting absolutely nothing in return. 

So what if I am Agape and I take two lovers, Philo and Eros, to satisfy all my needs?  Will they be able to satisfy each other?

 I have loved for sex and emotion, once the passion dries up or my emotions inevitably change, that love seems to dwindle.  It’s love that is based on that physical connection.  Even a small amount of time apart from each other, not holding each other, will allow that love to dissipate like smoke in a breeze. 

Loving you for loving me has no excitement to it, its safe.  This love feels so empty.  Its expiration date depends entirely on the love I would get in return.  I wont be treated special or spoilt.  It’s a one for one and tit for tat situation. 

Three lovers can only work if all three love Agape style.  People don’t love that way. Although, one night of erotic man love will definitely work if the three men in question are loving each other Eros style.

Families that work well love each other without expectations from each other.  This love is most prevalent in families than in relationships between lovers.  Is it impossible to find love from others that is not based on anything you may have to offer them?  And if people only love for love in return or sex or emotional support then why not write the whole idea of “love” off as another tool to barter with?  Then if that is the case, how can it be so wrong to use love as merchandise to get what you want?

Is it the love formed in a unit that causes so much ostracism for those not part of the unit?  What if someone grew up without the loving warmth of a closed circuit of people that watch each other’s backs, a person without a family?  Is there love in their life or are they destined to walk the earth without ever feeling the joy of loving another human being and being loved in return. 

It was that point I reached down beside me for the Micro-Uzi hidden underneath my coat.  Not one person even seemed to notice the creepy man in the large black trench coat standing on the top of the hill holding a machine gun swaying from side to side.  And I stood there for a few minutes to see how long it would take for someone to notice me.  And then someone did, a mother with a small child.  She screams out in shear horror and I begin to open fire, offloading bullets at the rate of over 1000 rounds per minute.  No one is safe from the machine gun wielding mad man that I have become.  Bullets flew through the air hitting so many unsuspecting victims.  Taking out all the mothers who ever ushered their children away from me when I was with my lover.  Taking out all the fathers who treat me like a pedophile just because I am gay.  Taking out every child that will inevitably be infected by the hypocrisy of the loving family unit.  I mean, do you know how many happily married men I have slept with in my life?

Ok, so now that I have your attention I can tell you I would never open fire on innocent families.  However what is your answer to the lie that is; a mother, a father and two children are a family and a unit, and that unit is the building block to any society?  What am I then… decoration?

Do You Remember the First Time you Fell in Love??

It just happens, like walking down a hot beach for miles you barely notice how long you have been walking when suddenly that first tide-coming-in wave washes over your hot and sandy feet.  Life is walking down a hot sandy beach and love is that cool ocean kissing the top of your feet.

It just happens.
One night I am sitting in a bar telling a girlfriend that a guy sitting on the couch has the sexiest neck I have ever seen.  Now you see, I have a total neck fetish.  Love them.  Give me an interesting neck and I will chew on it like a puppy with a new play toy... delicious.  Once my darling girlfriend goes off to the bathroom - on my command of course - I stare at the sexy neck man to at least see if he acknowledges my presence.  Not only does he see me but he comes over to ask me for a lighter.  I politely light his cigarette.  With a cute smile from him and a little one eyed wink from me we part ways.

After the whole 'turn to see if he is still looking' game we eventually found ourselves side by side at the bar having a few drinks.  Drinks at the bar turned into drinks at a lounge next door.  I worked it, pulled out all the cute little side banta jokes followed with the ever dreamy pearly white grin of mine, admittedly I was smitten from the word go.  I was totally crushing on this guy it was ridiculous.  I did not even want to wait, I wanted him to join me back at my place that very night.  Unfortunately, or cleverly, he had to take a friend home and could not accompany me back to my place - please who are we kidding here - back to my bed.  So I had to settle for giving him my number.

I was so sure I had it in the bag.  I was getting that call.  I mean he came up to me and then I was as charming as all get out... wasn't I?  Was I too much?  Did I come off as trying too hard?  Because I can tell you that call never came.  I waited and waited and that damn call never came through.

Bullshit!  I felt so silly.  So silly that I went off to the sauna near campus to have a little tickle with some married man I will never see in my life again.
After a few more married men tickles I got bored and just threw myself back into studying.

Imagine my surprise one night wired to the max out on the Melville streets and this blue eyed dream boat approaches me and says "Do you have a light"  Please, I know this boy with his delicious neck and if he is pulling that exact same line with me again, albeit 3 months from the initial encounter, he was mine.  Right?  He wants me too?  He is just a little chicken shit to close the deal.  But that is fine, I like the effort first, it makes it easier for me to seal it off in the end.  Unfortunately I was already on my way home because I was about to 'wake' up to go away on a family vacation.  Not letting him slide I did the unthinkable, I invited him along.  He said sure, and he even picked me up and drove.  That was the first time my parents would meet another gay guy besides myself and it was over an entire weekend and we shared a room.   And that is the first time I fell in love.

Almost seven years ago that man came into my life and flipped it around.  Well, granted my life was a series of gross drug binges so it was not difficult to actually flip it around but he came along and flipped it all on a new direction.  He made me see past my uninteresting and jejune life.  He reminded me that there is more to me, and to life and together that boy and I grew up and taught each other what loving someone else was all about.

You never forget your first.

Animal Sex Totem (Number 6)

Giraffe

The ultimate in communication with the higher intuition.
This lover craves progression in love and love-making and seeks progression in all aspects of life.

You will reach higher spiritual grounds if you dance the dance of love with this honey.

The Giraffe is tall and proud and teaches us to plan for the future, look beyond immediacies and set goals to grow and aspire to.

Are we Drugs or Puppies? By Juanne-Pierre de Abreu

So, below is my article published in this months issue of Exit.  http://www.exit.co.za/

If only there was a relationship rehab we could go to in order to take the time away from reality, to allow our bodies to expel it all.  A place where reality just sank into the background and time kind of stops so that our blood can circulate over and over again until all the love has seeped out our pours with our sweat.  Somewhere we can deal with being singled… where we can stand up one by one and say “Hi, My name is Juanne-Pierre and I have been dumped”. 

 Love can actually be measured in our brains.  It is proven and tested that when in love a certain part of the brain activates a euphoric stimulation.  Quite similar to the rush one would get if one were to hit back a line of cocaine.  So is love really just an addiction?  And how do we cut the habit?

One beautiful evening at a dinner party, at a friends home who was much older than myself, I was told that guys in their twenties are like a drug.  All of the older guys admitted to being recreational users.  Indulging in the bliss of the naïve twenty something life only momentarily, for a taste, for a rush and before you know it they are back to there own lives.  Intrigued by the whole comparison I wondered, could a man in his forties and a guy in his twenties ever really find a way to be on the same track?  Is that love real?  And who is the drug and who is the substance?

Now if we break down a user we can begin to get a clearer understanding of exactly what they are using.  So someone addicted: will do anything for what they want, will lie to the people closest to them about their addiction, will sneak it in whenever they can, will experience a change in their exterior appearance

The substance, on the other hand, can be classified exactly as what it is, a substance.  The user in turn makes it into whatever they want it to be.  So the man in his forties is the user and the guy in his twenties is the substance?  Can the two not just have fallen in love?

The men at the table are quick to remind me of the love heroin and a heroin addict form.  That really special bond that only comes from true addiction.  The user loves using heroin and the heroin loves being used.  This seems extreme.  Way too extreme.  Am I to believe that I am like heroin?  So what?  In a few years we will go off, and then we are safe to use for more than just recreation?  Did we not deserve more respect than that?  And who exactly is determining our worth based on our age?

After slating my last relationship, the men felt the need to throw salt in the wounds by informing me that the twinks are the one’s for sex.  The twinks are the really good drugs and I am by no means age appropriate to be classified as a twink anymore.  I am way too old to be a twink?  I knew this but it still sucks to hear it said to my face.  Apparently guys in their twenties are split in two.  So then exactly what am I to older men…? 

A puppy!  I am a sugar daddy’s puppy.  I am there purely for entertainment.  Once I grow to become a dog I will be set free on a farm somewhere, to roam the grounds with all the other dogs.

So… now I am a heroin-pushing puppy?

Okay. 

Then where is my owner?  If I am a puppy where is my keeper?  Why am I sitting with a group of older men on my ace?  Am I the ugly puppy, the last one in the box, the runt with the dirt patches that’s really part of my coat?

After their laughter starts to subside they build up anticipation for their response.  Apparently, I am still alone because I am a puppy that bites.  That wild puppy with the bouncing personality, chewing anything it feels needs to be chewed.  Urinating where the territory needs to me marked.  That puppy everyone loves and everyone hates.  The feral beast that is just untamable and completely wild.

I was humbled by the acute observation and down right honest opinions, even if in the end it does turn me into a vivacious terror puppy with heroin strapped to the waist.  Who can say no to that?  But who can’t see that that will be bad for them?  It does seem a little dangerous…

So are relationships a little misplaced, in their general sense of propriety, based on whom we are supposed to be dating?  And if so, who is the one deciding what is best in any given relationship in terms of age, skin, creed and sex?  Relationships always consisted of two people and I was always under the impression that it would be those said people who would decide exactly how there relationship will pan out.  Don’t we set the rules anymore?

Maybe after all of it we are actually the ones addicted to our older lovers.   Maybe we are addicted to the torture of loving someone completely unattainable.   So from the viewpoint of the twenty-something guy, maybe older guys are the brand new designer drugs…

Or maybe, just maybe, some of us really are just wild puppies and wild dogs, destined to run free until we find someone just as wild to run with.

Poster art and Book covers... decisions, decisions.

 We go through life making decisions based on the fact that we think that the outcome will be best for us, for our own personal growth and development and our general well being.  Our outward appearance sometimes plays a part in what those closest to us think of us.  In love, should an appearance ever hinder your impression of a lover?  Can we make decisions based on this?  How do we know what is the right decision, and the hurt that can come from that said decision, will it leave us with a feeling of remorse?

In relationships we often find ourselves in a situation where we have to decide on a route of action.  More often than not we regret our decisions based on the “What could have been principle”, but are we too proud to admit we were wrong?  Does life have to change in admitting our mistakes?  Or is it just part of growing up?  When did our pride override our hearts? 

I have a friend who I we met a long time ago when I started following her blog and she is madly in love with a man,.  He is absolutely dreamy; handsome, smart, attentive and devoted.  She just recently broke up with him because she feels he does not see her for the person she really is.  She blames her blog.  She feels her writing left more of an imprint on him than she ever could.  Can an impression leave a lasting imprint on a persons mind?  Do we fall in love with the idea of a person?  And can love ever-just break all barriers, transform opinions and reshape an ideal of our universe?   

This kick started a chain of thoughts; is my appearance making a clear depiction of the person I am, is my writing closer to the real Juanne-Pierre than I would like to admit and are people ever really willing to get to know a person without any prejudices or judgments? 

My tattoos are distinctive and personalized to suite a certain aspect in my life that I have lived through and learnt from.  They reflect something very personal to me however, are the tattoos a representation of a person a little far removed from the person I am and can something as unique as an individual’s personal choice in appearance really juxtapose the person we are actually trying to reflect?   So how far apart is the man I am, the man I want to be and the man I appear to be?

If I were to be a writer, would I have to reflect an image that says I can write?  Would no tattoos, a softer mid section and fuzzy hair imply that I sit in front of my mac all day writing, ergo I am a writer?  Or have we as society misplaced the sense of propriety in terms of the image should fit the profession?

In the end I believe we are all multi faceted individuals who choose to express ourselves in different forms.  Do we choose to express all of these facets in our outward appearance or just one?  If I look at myself I would say I am a writer, photographer, hiker, swimmer, film buff, short story reader, smoker, stoner, very sexual … now which of these would I choose to portray and why?

I chose the one that involves someone else.  And by that I mean, I portray the aspect of myself that actually requires another person and not something I do alone.  In high insight I read alone, watch film alone and critique them, write on my own and read, smoke alone, get high alone and take my camera out and about alone.  Therefore my sexual nature was the one I acted on.  Is this the best portrayal of what exactly I have to offer… maybe what I have to offer on one particular night.

I still believe never to judge a book by its cover however you can judge a film based on the poster, so the real trick is differentiating between the people that are films or books in life.

Animal Sex Totem (Number 5)

Baboon

Adaptable, intelligent with great communication skills and leader qualities.  Therefore, as a lover you will change to suite your lovers needs.  You are intelligent enough to interpret your lovers needs.  You have great communication skills and this will allow you to wear the pants in the relationship.

You are very social and a jealous lover will not sit well with your ability to open up so easily in a social setting.
You will go the extra mile to get your point across, laying out all of your emotions on the table.
You are always comfortable which can be disconcerting to most people and not just a lover.
You are a leader or at least an impassioned speaker.



 Are you a baboon?

School Time - Bullies

Once all the heartache has settled and the realization that it is over sets, where does the love go?  To the next boyfriend…?  Of course not, I mean the love we shared with someone is never the same as the love we share with another.  In the bible, Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden of Eden for disobeying.  Is this a minor indiscretion that could have been forgiven and then forgotten?  And then where did the love go that was formed between God and this couple?  How far apart is love and hate and when did we go from genesis to exodus, in terms of love?

The first boy I ever fell in love with was a dream.  We were really young but he was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.  One week away for a soccer tournament him and we got to know each other better.  While the parents were downstairs in the pub getting slaughtered, him and I were getting down.  Now to be fair, he initiated it.  His exact words were, “Do you want to pump?”  I still remember asking what pumping was.  So he pulled down my pants and then his own, and said, “Get it hard.”  Ok, so I got it up.  Then he turned around and told me to put it in.  Once I was in he told me to go back and forth for a while and that was pumping.  It was all very mechanical.  I had no idea what I was doing but I was enjoying it nonetheless. 

We carried on ‘pumping’ for a while after that, and then one-day it all changed.  Over the next three years that boy, I so fell in love with, would turn out to beat the shit out of me whenever he could.  On top of that, he started dating the prettiest girl at school and slowly he became the most popular boy in our standard.  He slowly turned everyone in my year against me.  I became that fat little fag that nobody wanted around them.   Do I now have psychological issues from my first love?  Do I need abuse to feel loved?  Do I need a challenge to make it feel worth it?  No.  The only problem I have is to trust another man.

 After spending a full year eating lunch, alone, behind the teachers’ cars I thought that enough was enough.  I still had to live…right?  I picked my brave little self off of the floor and just forced my way back into the lives of my peers.  It was not easy.   This is also the reason behind my search for love, for a companion, for a buddy, for a lover, for a team.  I wanted to belong to something that consisted of two people.  I wanted that exclusivity.  But am I looking in the right places?

The funny thing is, once I left school I thought those days would be over.  But it just changes shape.  For instance, last year I went on a cruise with all the Mr. Gay contestants.  Now on the first dinner night I chose to sit at a table with guys in their forties.  I tried to make a few jokes but only half the table was really responsive.  Eventually this one large man made an effort to exclude me from the table, so I got up and went to another table, explaining to that table I was not of interest to my last table, and I sat down.  After dinner this large man decides to come up to me to tell me that if I have a problem with him I should tell him to his face and not behind his back.

I was shocked; in the middle of the restaurant this rude man is going to put me in my place?  I think not.  I immediately replied, “You chose to snub me at the table.  For what reason, I don’t know but I felt ostracized.  I felt like that little gay kid back at school that no one wanted to talk to.  Thank you for making me feel like that.”

There was a moment of silence before he apologized and then tried to buy me a drink.  I did not want a drink.  Why are we all playing on the school playground again?  When did we as gay men become the bullies?  And why are we bullying each other?

Now I am faced with that same feeling once more, only this time from a man I fell in love with…is this a back flash of school?  Have I regressed?  The man wants nothing to do with me, okay, fair, it is his choice, but the snubbing, why the snubbing?  I feel too scared to go out for a drink or go to the beach incase him and his posse are all there to stare me down.  Am I afraid?  Is this bullying? 

So, I am not sitting in a carport eating lunch but I am still hiding away.  Hiding in my apartment for fear of being seen when I go out.  Why not just snub them back?  Easy, because I love him and I would never want anyone to feel this way.  Hate begets hate.  So when exactly did we start hating each other?  When did we divide ourselves up?  When did we go from a community to mutiny?   And why would we stray from gay?

So is it time to grab our balls again and weasel back into social life…?  Is it time to face up to adversity, no matter which direction it comes from?

Maybe it’s just time to stop that march away from love towards hate, stop the terms of endearment, stop the bitterness from creeping in like frost on the grass and make today the genesis to the rest of our lives.  There can always be a new beginning.

Sex Pigs, Speedos and the Perfect Fit.

Stretched out on the hot sand, I stare out at all the men in their different speedos.  The cut of the tight brief swimming shorts frames an ass to perfection and then there are times when it is less than desirable.  This got me thinking about relationships.  How would Lycra be a comparison for relationships?  When it’s not a perfect fit then it’s a complete disaster. 

Spending some time outside my usual box I was invited, by Greg, to join him at a pig party.  Now my impression of a Pig Party was a party where you paid a cover charge and then drank till you were slaughtered.  I had misgivings purely based on that fact, but I was somewhat mollified when I was informed that it was not what was expected.  Goodie!  I enjoy something new; it’s like the first time in a lecture hall, so enthusiastic, ready to take in everything.  So, ready with my pen in my hand I accompanied Greg to the Pig Party.

I wanted to know what to wear but apparently a kit is required not really an outfit.  Nude bar!  Damn, I forgot about those.  So clothes off and in we go.

It’s a very dark bar and for some time I was very disorientated.  Did we come up stairs?  Which way is the street?  Ok, then where is the mountain?  I could not get my bearings but I assume that was part of the appeal.

Masters and slaves and a sex pig roaming around.  Was this entertainment?  Is this a thrill to some people?  Have we evolved to this, degradation and humiliation as ways of stimulation?  And then, just when I was about to cast myself into the barrel of prudes, it happened.  A slave had accidentally been stepped on - well what did he expect rolling on the floor - nonetheless, he was stepped on and his master tended to him.  I could here him speak softly…”Lover, can I take you home?”  “No, I am fine.” “I’m taking you home, you are hurt my baby…” and he picked him up off of the floor and took him home.

Was I being too judgemental?  Did I miss the whole point?  Hidden amongst the dark, the smell of lube, the taste of leather and the loud music was a couple.  Was this a catalyst for their foreplay or were they just bored one night and decided this would be fun?  In the end I could see two people that fit, like a speedo.  It may not have been my cut and it was a little dark but it fit perfectly for them, and that my dear readers is a beautiful thing.

No sex for a while...

In relationships, why is it so easy to remember the man we fell in love with but so difficult to appreciate the man we are in love with?  When we first meet, all the right things happen.  Our palms sweat, our heart beats faster and we stumble over our words.  Once love takes hold so does reality and the dreamy, perfect man you first met slowly starts to become human.  When did we go from Pretty Woman to Judge Judy?

My friend Kevin met his lover when he was thirty.  They spent years traveling the world, accumulating wealth and having amazing sex.   Eventually his lover wanted to settle down and live the calm life.  It was eight years later; Kevin is now in his late thirties, in a sexless relationship and cruising men whenever he can.  Is companionship something we settle for?  And after years of making love to the same person does it really get boring?  Like a successful ice cream stand, is a relationship that works about having variety?

This made me think of the relationships we all strive for.  Is it a fair assessment to say that we all look for different things?  I look for fidelity when choosing a lover based on the fact that I am a one-man kind of guy, however I would pretty much get up to whatever my lover wants to get up to.  So would their indiscretions on their own alter the love I feel for them?  In retrospect, no but it alters the perception of the relationship I think I am in.  Say a relationship is like walking down a path, one side is dry and the other has puddles.  Now if I am walking down this path with someone I would choose to walk on the dry side, however if my lover chooses to jump in the puddles I am going to follow suite and jump in the puddles too but don’t you go jumping in the puddles by yourself and force me to stay dry.

Should I be choosing a side and sticking to it?  Am I too easily swayed?  What is it I actually want?  I want someone who wants to be faithful to me because they actually enjoy being with me not because if they cheat it would make them a bad person.  Fidelity that comes from the heart, is that not the ultimate goal?  And when we find it why is it so hard to trust that it is the real thing?

We are all attracted to people for yet to be discovered reasons.  We are naturally drawn to something we find appealing and attractive.  Should we not be waiting to see the flaws, the character traits that make us human, before we decide to go falling in love?  Should love be unconditional in terms of accepting the flaws?  If we all have flaws then it’s not a secret that we inevitably will discover them. 

Is acceptance the key to keeping a relationship alive?  I think acceptance in the fact that we have flaws is a great start but the true test is whether we are prepared to work through those flaws with another.  As men, we go after what we want no matter what gets in the way.  Therefore, if we want to keep the passion alive for years to come with another person then it’s all up to us how badly we actually want it.  Complacency in a relationship is like mould on cheese… it can be cut off.

Relapse, break through or rebounding too?

“Love means never having to say you are sorry”, “Love conquers all” and “The best thing is to love and be loved in return”.  These are all the lines I am meant to believe when it comes to love?  What have movies done to the actual emotion?  They forgot to mention the insurmountable amount of pain that loving someone can cause.   Is love transcending, all of a sudden?  Is it this fantastic magic that all of a sudden can change molecules and reshape universes? 

HE called me to say that maybe we should get together to talk.  I was blown away.  Was this my chance to get him back?  To remind him that we are actually in love and nothing in the world should be able to beat that down?  Was I getting ridiculously carried away?  

I thought we could meet on the beach but he preferred a restaurant.  The excitement was palpable.  Are we meant to believe that relationships are based on fate?  Then why does destiny enjoy watching us suffer?  When is love meant to be?  And how will we know?

The anticipation made me antsy, so antsy in fact that I did not even pick out an outfit.  I was just thrown away by the chance that lay out before me, that I left home in what I was wearing.   Did he want me back?  Did he realize that we are perfect together?  Am I completely retarded?  

So I went to the beach before seeing him so I could run into the ocean and freeze my whole body down.  The cold rush calmed every last nerve in my body.

Then he sent a message asking me to meet him in twenty minutes.  I arrived at the restaurant but they are not open for business yet.  So I turn around and he is standing behind me.  I could hear my heart beating in my head, and he heard that the restaurant is closed.  He suggests we go up to his place to talk.

Against all my better judgment I say yes.  Against everything I know.  Regardless of what my head is telling me I follow him back to his home.  ‘He is going to use you and throw you away’, I kept thinking to myself but my heart.  My completely ridiculous, totally retarded heart. 

 Sitting in front of him I could see he was afraid.  Too scared to admit that he felt it too... I think?  Is the risk not the same for all of us who choose to get in a relationship, that we might leave with a broken heart?  Are two people not taking the leap of faith for love together?  

 Why do some men find it easier to strap themselves to a backpack filled with material and jump out of a plane but when it comes to matters of the heart they are afraid?

As I made my way for the door, he kissed me....  

 ...I jumped the gun in thinking he actually wants me back though...

After a full bucket of chicken was purchased and a bottle of wine was opened and we were back at my place,  I realized that this is not the story I had imagined.  He can't trust me.

  I felt like a fool.  I went so far out on a ledge with my feelings that I did not even realize I was standing there alone.  Was it his fault?  Of course not.  I wanted to go that far out and I felt emotionally slutty.

I did not go after him. 

 I watched him leave while holding the bucket of chicken slowly eating every piece in that damn bucket until i could not feel feelings anymore.  I only felt nausea.  Not a tear.  Just one thought:

'I love you chicken' and it loves me in return, my chicken love has conquered all and it will not have to say sorry, for hurting me tomorrow.  That's love?

Rebounding

Going into the traffic department, it was a cold and windy day.  After spending the entire morning inside the department, in queue after queue, I came out to what had turned out to be a completely beautiful day.  What’s a lonely boy to do?  The Beach!

 Now to be honest I figured Sandy Bay would be a safe bet – it might be quiet - and while I was walking down the path, it seemed promising.  Finding an open stretch of rocks near the water, calm enough to brave the cold sea, I sat and I stared out at the ocean before me for quite some time.  After removing my clothes and submerging my hot body in the cold water men started to swarm around me like a carcass ready for the picking.  Naturally I put my clothes back on. 

Is it really about the nudity?  I just like swimming naked; there is a sense of feeling like a child again when I swim naked, of a time when nudity was not inappropriate or sexually inclined.  Is it more about purity and the beauty of a body, our own?  Or are piety and chastity just part of a wholesome persona, which makes no room for nudity?  When did we become either prudes or perverts?

In my mid twenties I hit a stage where I thought “Yeah, sexual predator, go out and conquer, have what you want” was sexy.  I thought if I were that type of guy I would get what I want.  We can always try on a different persona but there is really only one that fits.  By my late twenties it was evident I am not that kind of guy.  I am painfully shy at times.  The rush we all get when our hearts start pumping faster, makes me uncomfortable.  The anxiety makes me nauseas.  By the end I wonder is the excitement too much and is it worth it?

After my swim I sat and was captivated, watching a beautiful man swim in the water like a modern day scene from the film “Sebastian”.  It was such a tender and beautiful homoerotic, cinematic moment.  If I had a camera I would have filmed it.  He smiled at me.  I collected my things and decided to go say hello.  Just because I was dumped does not mean I should shut my life off from others.  He suggested we go for a little walk. 

Passing the rocks and getting to a fairly hidden spot he turns and kisses me.  Once his hands started coming into play I felt the need to slow this down.  My heart was pumping way too fast but I would be lying if I say I was not enjoying it.  Is it because someone finds me interesting and someone does not?  Did I need the attention from a stranger to make me feel better about myself?  So I pulled away from him and for the first time I said something I don’t think gay guys ever say, “I really just wanted to talk to you”

I thought he would be off but to my surprise we started chatting.  On closer inspection I found someone similar to me, a very shy guy that hides it well.  He hides his behind his beautifully meaty exterior and I hide mine behind my humour.

Was this a rebound? A fleeting moment of an emotional connection?  We shared a laugh.  We swapped stories of his relationship’s complacency and my trek-across-country-for-love tragedy.  We shared something more real than bodily fluids, and although feeling ones eyes rolling in the back of ones head out of pleasure is a masterful way of trying to forget the hurt, I don't think it will erase the pain.  Getting over someone is like standing in line at the traffic department, it takes time and there is a process and you cannot just jump the queue but by the time you get out, the sun will definitely be shining. 

Letting Go

In a break up, some of us find it difficult to let go.  Is it because we are the one’s more than willing to alter our own life in the quest for happiness with another?  In relationships we find ourselves fighting.  Towards the end we fight more.  Once it’s over we fight with ourselves.  What exactly are we fighting for?   Is love a battle?  Do we have to pick sides and stand our ground?  They say you need to come to terms with events in your life and then move on.  Why is it so difficult letting go?  Is this a form of retreating?  And is retreating failure or just good strategy?

We are trained to believe that there are certain targets we are suppose to hit in order to achieve happiness.  I have always been more fascinated with the passion for life than the happiness of it.  Passion: accepting the suffering in life to truly enjoy the high points as a blissful sky ride through the clouds.  A lecture by Matthieu Ricard on happiness would prove me wrong.  If we should look at happiness as a form of contentment then sure, live the suffering in order to achieve those extreme highs.  However, if happiness was a day to day strive to fill ones life with something good, then maybe the concept of happiness has more to do with personal fulfillment than just general contentment?  So should I be living the pain of a break up or striving to forget it to be happy again?

Most of the time I want to step back before making a decision.  It proves far too stressful trying to avoid making the wrong choice that choosing nothing seems safe. So I hesitate when I need to give an answer.  Does this make me guilty? In my minds eye clarity needs to be achieved in order to make the right decision.  Funny how in a court of Law I can get off of murder chargers with reasonable doubt, however in a relationship it makes me feel like a bad person.  When did acceptance become a concept for children?

Is the fear of letting go more about a safety net and less to do with rationalizing the end to the end?  Is it the comfort of having something to fall into and not the logic behind why?  We all strive for a man strong enough to catch us before we fall however the truth is, until we find him we need to appreciate what we already have to back us up as a safety net for the times we fall.  I needed a long multi layered conversation with my girlfriends, and my brothers, and my boys, as none are in the city I am in, in order to realize that I have a net.  We all build strong nets for ourselves and just because they are not around does not mean that the safety is not there.

Insomnia - Comfort.... that tricky little devil.

Like clockwork, ever morning around 4am, I start to wake up.  Not a sudden wake up but a slow realization that things have changed.  It begins with me flopping my hand onto the other side of the bed with hopes of holding him.  Feeling him.  Pulling him closer to me.  When he is not there to cling to I move my entire body.  I scooch closer and closer.  Expecting his body to stop me from scooching anytime soon.

All of this takes place in my half asleep state of mind so in essence I believe he is with me.  Once I sit up to look for him reality starts to set in…he is not here, I am alone. 

I can’t get back to bed after this… I sob for a while then I start to smoke.  Is this the works of a healthy mind and body?   Is comfort the absolute key in getting a good nights rest?  The last time I slept like the dead was a weekend away.  It was a time that was not his life and it was not my life, but ours.  We had a moment and a space that completely belonged to us.  And I slept late each and every morning we were there.  Do we need comfort to rest?

I decided enough was enough, I need sleep, it’s far too important and I can’t be smoking so much so early in the morning.  So to counter it I thought I should go for a walk. 

At four in the morning, walking alone, aimlessly through the streets of the city?  It is obviously not a good idea but a break up can leave our brains so clouded we don’t see straight.  Was I jus looking for attention?

A right turn down an ally and I was met with a piece of wood to the back of my head.  I was so surprised, however the hit was not nearly as hard as it could have been.  I turn around to face two very skinny women, one with a thick stick in her hands that says, “Give us your money!” it was completely ridiculous. Are women mugging me in my own neighborhood?  You must be kidding.  So I explain I don’t have money, a wallet or even a damn watch on but the bitches will have none of it.  So what would you do?  I ran, not in the other direction but past the bitches because they are far too tweaked out on tik to process anything.

Walking around aimlessly is always bad idea; it makes one look lost, ergo easy prey.  Who wasn’t going to try something with me?  What desperate soul would not see me as a simple, easy target?  Like a fly without its wings, I was doomed for disaster.  

What was I thinking?  What could possibly be clouding my judgment so much that I would even consider walking anywhere?  I wasn’t thinking at all, that’s the just of it.

So, going back to the drawing board, the problem is not sleeping.  I need to come up with something that will keep me in bed to fall asleep again not get out of bed looking for trouble…

Is a smell a strong enough signifier to trigger a calm sense of state?  A scent can take me back to memories I have not thought of in ages.  If it is strong enough to evoke long forgotten memories then what else can it do?  Would it be strong enough to trick my brain into feeling comfortable, comfortable enough to sleep? 

I decided I needed to recreate the smell that would be in my home, as a single man.  There is one scent I have always drenched my home in when I am single and only when I am single but for no particular reason.  It was just the smell in my home during the collective 6 months of my entire life that I have been single.

So to put my theory to the test I went out and purchased the product.  Came home, plugged it in the wall and within hours my home smelt like a home before.  It reminded me of lone nights cooking up a storm with a bottle of wine, in my underwear, after a day in the sun.  A time of absolute freedom with no one to “where have you been, who did you meet, what do you know…”, a time of no talking, no television, just music and books with the occasional movie in between. 

I am a relationship guy, admittedly.  I love being in love, truly.  And as great as it is to share our lives with someone special, should we not spend times getting to know the person we are putting up on offer, ourselves?  I mean, if one cant interest and entertain oneself how would one expect to interest and entertain another?

So the next morning I stretched my arm out, rolled my body closer and sat up to look for him, took one deep breath in and a rush of comfort ran through my mind.  I fell asleep again.

Here’s to dreaming.

Just a Phone Call Away?

Breaking up is like an odd death.  Odd because you can still talk to each other and like death because you actually cant.  Why is it that time acts like a swell of fog rolling in from the ocean over your heart?  Why is death and love joined together like a seesaw in a park, they sit at opposite ends but are joined together nonetheless. 

Support is a form of love and a person stricken with grief adores support, it’s comforting to know someone is there.  Can grief cloud your vision of love then if say support is the reason one feels a strong attachment?  Would that kind of relationship last?

I am told a relationship based on sex does not last because the sex will change or dwindle and then so will the love.  So if a love is formed during a time of grief is it sustainable, even though one might be preoccupied with the said grief?

I have felt both sides of the seesaw.  On one side I fell in love with a boy who had just lost his mother.  The balance was off.  We seesawed for a while before his grief began to become a little less palpable.  Then the emotional interaction between us also began to change, like a chemical imbalance.  Was it because I felt like he needed me less?  And if he needed me less was that not a good thing for him?  Should I not be happy that he is healing?  Why would we want someone we love in pain?

 They relationship just died one day.  

And on the other side of that seesaw the view was different but the results the same I'm afraid.  Loosing a parent and then I found myself clinging to a guy that was not around, literally, he lived far away.  My days were spent imagining what he was doing, what we would do if we were together, what we might be saying to each other and how his skin would feel under my warm touch?   Did I build him up in my head because grief is overbearing?  Did I form a relationship with someone in my head that the real man could never really measure up to?  Was I expecting too much to come from one man?  Does grief start to give one unrealistic expectations?  When we finally got to be together it felt like the idea of each other might have been more appealing than the real thing.  From the moment we put ourselves in the same room for a long period of time it was evident that we made the other one unnerved in some form.  He was very unsettled and I was very uncomfortable.  Is it purely based on the fact that our love formed from grief and loss, or was it the distance that set up that we both had unrealistic expectations for our relationship?

Do we put too much pressure on how things should be and not enough cherishing the way things are?  I think so.  I certainly need to appreciate how things are regardless of how things actually are.

In death, one can’t just pick up the phone and call the deceased anymore.  So must we remember to put the phone down before we dial those numbers when we feel that urge to call an ex?  Should we treat it the same?  

    Like a great song sang to me :

“And if I ever feel better

Remind me to spend some good time with you.

I will give you my number.

So when it’s all over I’ll let you know”