Step out of the Cave.

I'm color blind.  It's true.  Doc holds up the big circle with all the colored dots, and I can't see any number or letter inside it.  First time he did it I thought it was a trick question.  I saw the look of boredom on the Doctor's face.  He'd obvioulsly seen this a million times before.  My mom just had a look of incredulous wonder on her face.  That's when I knew it wasn't a trick.  She was seeing something in that mess of dots, that I just wasn't.

Here's the nifty part.  If you're not color blind, you have no frame of reference for this.  Just as I have no frame of reference for what you see.  I see color.  I look at a rainbow, and I can distinguish all the colors in it.  I don't need to read a crayon to know what color it is.

My world is not black and white, or various shades of gray.  It is vibrant, and glorious, and filled with all the razzle and dazzle.

But I don't see the numbers in the dots.
Despite my claims of seeing color...the fact remains you see things I don't.
Your world has more definition.

Now I'm not going to turn this into some bullshit version of Plato's Cave Allegory...but, you know...frame of reference.

There are things in heaven and hell not dreamt of in your philosophy.

I'm also not writing a defense of god.  I'm an atheist.  Pretty outspoken about it.
I hate that "The Universe" has become some sort of god replacement for those who've had enough with the Christian mythology, but still want something bigger...and in control.

The Universe is in reality a whole shitload of nothing with some balls of burning gas, and rocks floating around in it.

Now I'm not saying the Universe isn't full of mystery and beauty, and so many things we don't and will never know.

But I'm pretty sure the Universe isn't like a giant genie ready to grant our wishes if we just send out enough positive energy.
Sending out thoughts to the Universe seems about as useful to me as praying.  In fact...exactly the same thing with a different email address.

The Universe doesn't have a plan for us.  It doesn't guide our destiny.  It's not looking over us, or watching out for us.

It's a romantic notion, sure...but...come on.
Or.
Maybe I'm simply color blind.

We make our own destiny.  We get to choose the crayons.  And not only do we get to choose whether or not to stay in the lines...we get to draw the lines too.

I will never...ever...in the entirety of my existence, see the world the same way you do.  I'm not talking from a perspective, or spiritual, or philosophical, or political point of view.
I'm talking...I will very literally never...ever...see the same things you do.  The cones in my eyes, don't allow for that.  My ability to visually process information is more limited.  I have a very specific frame of reference.

Here's the thing though.  I can only know this because I've been told so.
I have to take someone else's word for it.
So maybe the whole fucking world is lying to me.  Maybe the circle with the dots and numbers really is just an elaborate hoax, and just...some of us aren't in on it.  I don't know.  I CAN'T know.

There are very literally things in this world I will never know, because I am physically incapable of knowing them.
And that's just the physical world.

This makes me wonder...

I don't believe in god
or ghosts
or demons
or angels.

But I allow that I could be wrong.
I doubt it.

But I don't KNOW.
Instead I know this.

I know there are colors I will never see.
That's it.
Colors.
I'll try to explain but I'm afraid I'll fall short.

I know that there are colors I will never see.  Colors.  That is so fucking simple.  A certain degree of presence or absence of refracted light, that changes the degree and temperature of that light creating an illusion of something somewhere between full light and full absence...and we call this color...and there are colors I can't see.

That is REALLY fucking simple.
So...
If there is something that simple, that I am from a purely physical disability, not able to comprehend.
How likely is it...
that there is so very much more?

Things...less...simple.
Things less dependant on physical ability.
For everything I know, there are infinite things I don't know, and it would be pretty presumptuious to assume that I do.

My physical reality is different than yours.
So why not my spiritual reality?
My emotional reality?
My intellectual reality?

I have to take, with a certain degree of faith, that this world is different than I percieve it.  Ergo it stands to reason, that it is different for everybody.

Every single person will encounter "truth" differently.
Which is why everything is true.
And which is why
Nothing is true.

The word truth, when taken in this fashion, is a big fat zero.  It cancels itself out.  Your truth, and my truth will never, ever be the same.

The problem is, I think, when we try to insinuate truth on each other.  When, since my truth is mine, it must be universal, and yours as well.

Well it isn't.

There is no such thing as truth.
There are simply facts.
And perception.

Beyond that is always speculation and interpretation.

We claim our petty little moralities on such shaky ground.
And we fight for them to the death.
Simiply because we see the colors differently.

We are so concerned with being right, that we forget that we can simply be.
I will never see the colors you see.
You will never see the colors I dream.
But if we get together...
and color together...
instead of each trying to draw a different picture
we can make a brand new one.
More beautiful than all the others.

We don't have to destroy both worlds, because we are trying to make them into one...
We can become one and occupy both.

First Star to the Right.

It's been raining.  It's nice.  I like the way it feels.  I love the way the world smells when it rains.  I like to sit outside and watch the light from the streetlights reflect in the streets.  I like the quiet of a rainy night.  And then I love to pollute my lungs with tobacco and nicotine as I take in the serenity. I live for the burn that will kill me.

I like to sit in the rain, and feel it on my face.  I close my eyes, and invite you to sit next to me, as our original home falls from the skies.  I've said this before, but it's always true.  Every time I think of you....  Every damn time...

You are smiling.

You see, our world is a mess.  We live in hate and anger and rage and bullets.  We fight oh so goddamn much, over things so goddamn trivial.  And we know this.

We live on a planet filled with men who want to rule you.  They want to keep you stupid, and poor, and sick.  They want to believe they only have your best interests in mind.  They want to make sure that as long as you are alive, you are placed in a position of submission.  They want you to do menial tasks, for very little compensation, and pay them back for the privilege.  They want you too busy to question.  Too angry to think.  To scared to fight back.

We live in a world of mixed messages.  Do this.  Don't do that.  This is inappropriate.  That is offensive.  You can say this, but not that, and  wear this but never that.  

Everything is sacred.

Nothing is sacred.

Someone might get their feelings hurt.

Someone might unfriend you on FB.

Someone might not want you in their club.

We live in a world of petty meanness.

Where we need to apologize for our opinions.

For the movies or music that entertains us...

simply because someone we like or respect...

or want to like or respect us...

might think those movies or music are stupid.

We all have to have opinions.

We all have to be right.

No one can simply enjoy something

without being questioned about it.

Every fucking person...

Is searching so fucking desperately...

for a pedastal to place themselves on.

And goddammit...

I'm here to kick pedastals.

And I'd love your company while doing it.

Like what you want.

Say what you want.

Feel what you want.

Wear what you want.

Learn, read, listen, watch, eat, play, pray, sing, dance, enjoy, spend, go, and fucking DO...

whatever the fuck you want.

And never say sorry.

We live on a planet, governed by chaos. We spin our fucking wheels every day trying to put a little bit of order into it.  We want to control the mess.  We yell and scream and condemn when we can't.

And like the great prophet John Lennon,

I'm just sittin here watchin the wheels go round and round.

I ask you

oh so gently

and quietly

and with my impish grin, splashed stupidly across my lopsided face...

Won't you dance with me?

I am a person to whom you will NEVER have to apologize.

I don't care if we don't share opinions...

or religions...

or gods, or monsters.

I don't care if we don't like the same music, or books, or movies.

I don't care about your guilt, or regret.

  I don't care if you think you're too fat, or too skinny.  

I don't care if your clothes came from Italy, or Walmart.

I just don't.

I know you have pain in you.  I know you do.

I know you have insecurities.

I know you have secrets.

I know you have contempt, and anger and hate too.

I know you get annoyed by all the little things.

I know you're tired.

I know you're stressed.  

I know that all too often, real life gets in the way of all those dreams you have.  All those hopes, and ambitions, and plans.

And for that I want your hand.

I want to take that pain, and stress.

I want your insecurities, and fear.

I want those voices in your head, that tell you 

You aren't good enough.

You aren't pretty enough.

You aren't clever enough.

Mostly

Oh so much mostly.

Very tip top of the mostly...

I want that voice in your head that tells you that you don't deserve...

love

or happiness...

or joy...

And I want you to dance with me in that rain.

And make that shit silent.

I want all of your lies to fall out of your bare feet

as we smile together under water and streetlights.

I want to show you the beauty in the chaos...

and the ridiculousness of all those voices...

and all those feelings...

and all those little fears

They are all so silly.

See cause here's the trick.

I don't have a Peter Pan complex.

I AM Peter Pan.

You probably think THAT's silly.

You probably don't believe me.

Whether you do, or do not is really inconsequential.

The fact is, I know the way to Neverland.

I can take you there.

You don't have to believe me...

You simply have to take my hand.

Immodest mouse

There is a calm that can be reached.  Sometimes though, it's a real fucking struggle.  To brush it all off.  To find that place above, or inside, or wherever it may be...where all the shit just goes away.

Once upon a bazillion years ago, all the tiniest parts of ourselves, blew up in the most violent explosion imaginable.

Those tiny parts floated around the universe for a few eons, came together, made shit, broke apart, floated around, made more shit, broke apart, floated around...

...you get the idea.

Then they all came together again, and here you are. 

Someday they'll break apart again, and we'll all float on all right.

Our tiny parts will separate, and fly in different directions.  They'll go on to once again form something new in some other place for a minute.

Thing is...those tiny parts, well, they just gotta dance.

There's a universal boogie, and ain't no wallflowers allowed.

And somehow, all those little parts decided to dance in the same place, at the same time, in the different bigger parts of you and me.

That's a neat trick.

Perhaps some tiny part of me, recognizes some tiny part of you from some previous dance across the cosmos.

Perhaps we were once part of the same something.

Perhaps we were born in the same star.

Perhaps...

Perhaps...

Perhaps we really were lovers in a former life.

On an atomic scale.

Maybe there is recognition of something much older than we can imagine.

Or maybe we're simply waiting to dance again.

For now though

For now we worry

about not enough money.

not enough sleep

not enough time.

Now we make excuses.

Now we make plans

Now we pretend that things are simply too important.

And we forget about what's important.

We forget that our tiny parts, need to dance, and soon...all too fucking soon...they won't be able to dance in these bigger parts of ourselves any longer...

And they'll all float on all right.

These little parts, only get to be one big part, for a very short fucking space of time.

And they'll all float on all right.

Before we float though...

Before the big part breaks down

And the tiny parts contiue their boundless flight across the cosmos..

to whatever the next destination may be

before we are once again

not but stardust

We have one fucking shot at glory.

All the stars

and all the galaxies have come together.

They've taken their place on the grand stage.

They've shone their lights down

picked up their instruments...

and goddammit

They're playing our song.

Every single rotation, is one less rotation we have.  Every spin, is one spin down.  

We can fly.

We know how.

There's nothing we can't reach.

There's no place we can't explore.

We are our only obstacle.

Let go of the fear.

Let go of the bullshit.

Let go of all the little things weighing you down.

Pick your ass up, and shake it.

Make it wiggle to the beat.

Up in the sky...giant balls of gas are exploding, the percussion of the universe.  Nubulae sing in b flat, and the chorus is only getting stronger.  If you're not singing along...

...you're missing one helluva show.

We can love.

no listen

we have a unique ability...

Fucking USE IT!!!

All those things...

the bags we carry

the hates we nurture

the miseries we nurse

the stress like bondage, strapping us to our guilt, and our pain, and our regret, and 

all those millions of things that annoy us, and make us forget...well...

they make us forget.

We can love.

no listen to me..

We have a unique ability.

WE. CAN. LOVE.

Do you understand?

Our tiny parts have finally come together, into these tiny brains, and these tiny hearts, on this tiny planet...

and 

WE

CAN

LOVE.

Stop with the bullshit already.

Because the time is now.

The music is playing.

The dance has started 

and all too fucking soon, we're all gonna float on all right.

These tiny parts will only come together to make you

this one single time.

Don't fucking waste it.

Love Letter

So here we are in our lazy circle.
Spinning through our daily routine.
Dancing around each other.  Glancing beyond the point of contact.  Who wants that anyhow?

We worry so much about ruining the fantasy.
So lets not.

Isn't it true that my smile might better in your sleep?

Oh so many things.  All the pretty little baubles. The trinkets, and shiny things.
The mess of memories I carry in my pockets.

Oh won't you be my new mess?

Swim in the river of existence. Of remininscence.  Of pain, and doubt.
and joy.
and love.

But don't get carried away in the flood of it all.

We are racing toward the end.
We are running for air.
We are not drinking because we are thirsty.

I think maybe...
just maybe...
we were meant for more.

Perhaps we are more than the sum of each of our separate parts.
Maybe not...
but..
maybe we're safer to never find out.

I mean the truth is...
no matter what...
no matter how hard we try...
no matter how many I love you's...

The end is still just dirt.

We're safer just friends right?
We're free from pain...
if we simply ignore the I love you's.

The gray is so goddamned safe.
And
the security of that particular blanket is
just so warm
and
just so fucking fluffy.

I mean look at them out there.  The lovers.  Holding hands.  Smiling.  Laughing at their own stupid jokes, and pitiful nicknames.
Wrapping themselves up at night...
...in each other.

Aren't you glad you locked up that part of you that thought that was something beautiful?
Something to hope for.
To want so badly for yourself.

You're happier now right?





right?

You're better off without the distraction.

The tears of lonliness
though still tears
hurt less
than the tears
of heartbreak.

So you make yourself busy.
You make yourself scarce.
You make yourself invisible.

You make yourself despicable.
You make yourself hateful.
You make youself pretend.

Because if they don't see you that's great.
If they do see you, and hate what they see...

You know at least the things they see...
...and hate...
are simply the pretense.

You can't give them the things that are real...because
well
you know.

And you do know.
You know that part inside you that is
well
yours.
And yours alone.

Is safe.
It can't be broken.

Again.

Not again.
Jesus Christ...you just can't do it again.

And so we dance our dance
and spin our circles
and laugh our lies.

and know that we are safe with each other
because we are determined.

We are statues.
We are stone.
We are those willing
to simply dream.

Once more into the breech...

Well you see her when you fall asleep, never to touch, no never to keep.

This came out all wrong the first time around.
Guess I'll try again.

Almost exactly a year ago, I began something that I knew from the beginning would not end well. That little place in me that feels things got all wrapped up in another person.  Our time was just a brief intersection on our seperate roads.  We knew we were both simply passing through.  So we passed together.  Then we waved goodbye, and went our different directions.

I played it off as cool as I could, but I also knew it would destroy me.

It did.

But I guess not really right?  I mean here I am.

I let myself become vulnerable with another human being.  I loved every second of it. I was never, at any moment...unaware of the disasterous consequences.
I've lived every day of my life since with those consequences.
I would do it all again without a second thought.  Without hesitation.

Over a year and a half ago, when I became single, I stated that it was my intention to remain so.  When I entered into that brief affair, I knew my resolution would remain safe.  There was no chance...ever...at any moment, that I would not still be single when it ended.

We started with a predetermined expiration date.  We ended right on schedule.

There is no getting that back.  There is simply holding on.

Since then has been a sort of emotional numb.

This is not depression.  Please don't think so.  I don't devote time or energy feeling sorry for myself, or hating my life.  In fact quite the opposite.  I'm typically very happy.

I'm also typically very numb.

I've reached a point I think where I might not want to be...but it's so
well
frustrating.

I meet new people all the time.
Why just today I was surrounded by so many beautiful faces...and I wanted, so very goddamned much, to feel something.
With anybody.

You know.
Spark.

I don't mean simply physical or sexual attraction.  I'm so accustomed to those things that I hardly notice anymore.

I mean the spark.  That connect that reaches oh so much deeper than the superficial.
Sometimes I think that I want that so badly that I may try too hard.
Or maybe that's just my imagination, and I don't try hard enough.
Or at all.

When I was eight or nine, my family took a trip to see my grandparents in Arizona.  The trip took us through Las Vegas.  It was my first time seeing The Strip.  The lights.  The buildings.  The people.

I had a feeling when we passed through.
I would live there someday.
It was more than a feeling really.
Now I don't believe in psychic abilities.  I don't really hold with any type of spiritualism.  I don't know about future recognition, or circular timelines, or forward projection.  For the most part I think it's all a load of bullshit.
But I distinctly remember that feeling of recognizing Las Vegas as home...the first time I ever saw it.

I never once felt compelled to move there.  There was never a reason for me to go there.
I ended up there.
It's true.  It's a long story that I'm not going into...but living in Vegas was one of the least planned things in my life.  It just happened.

Like I knew it would when I was eight or nine.

I have that same feeling about Chicago.
I don't know that I will ever actually live there.
I've never even fucking been there.
Not once.  Ever.

But I feel like I might end up living there someday.
I don't feel compelled to move there.
I have no reason to go there.
I don't really know much about the city at all.

Just a feeling.
But I don't trust my feelings anyway, so who knows.
If it doesn't happen, I won't be surprised.
If it DOES happen, I won't be surprised.

I am made out of patience.  Sometimes I just get these feelings that things will happen.  Sometimes those things actually do happen.  I never ever ever feel like I need to make them happen.  I just need to wait.  That's all.  Just wait.  So I do.

I get that feeling with some people too.  I see someone.  That's all.  Just see them, and I know that our lives will in some way intersect.  I don't feel like I need to make the intersection happen.  I just need to wait for our roads to cross.  Many times it takes years...but...everytime I've had that feeling about someone...
it's happened.  Ususally it's quite profound.

There are a couple people here in SLC, who I'm pretty sure we're gonna connect.
Then again...
I'm just as likely wrong.
I don't trust feelings.  Those things are fucking liars.

What I wonder.
What I sometimes think about is...
If the other person feels it too.

Does this person have a feeling of patient waiting?  Do they also understand that in time, what should be, will be?
Do they even know what should be?  I sure as shit don't.  I have no fucking clue.  I simply know that it's something.

Valentine Michael Smith said it best I think.  "Waiting is."
Grok?

The girl who I had a brief thing with last year...well see I've talked about the end of that story so many times, but never really the beginning.

I had met her years previously, and I knew...when we first met...that in time...
time...
Time is a miserable bitch, and so I have no choice,
but to be made out of patience.

I think, you and I may have a dance yet. So as long as there is music playing...

...Waiting is.

Relax it's just...

So most of the fury has died down.  Facebook and Twitter seem to have gotten back to normal.  Such is the lifespan of the scandal in the digital age.

So why am I addressing it now?  Ninety nine times out of a hundred I pretty much ignore the hype.  So why now?  Why after people have stopped talking about it?

Because the whole thing has left a godawful taste in my mouth.  It started off inoccuously enough.  Little comments, snarky posts about her image...her body...whatever.

Then it progressed.  It got ugly.  It got mean.

I had one person counted among my FB friends who started his post with "Why Miley Cyrus is a horrible person."  Then went on to essentially blame her for all teen pregnancies, and raising up a generation of whores.  His words.  It was at this point I pretty much flipped my shit.

So this is what everybody is talking about.

And this is what no one said a word about.

From this moment forward, all arguments are invalid.

Why is it that Miley is the slut, and Lady Gaga gets a free pass?

Is it because Lady Gaga is a symbol of female empowerment, and fuck youitude? (Or so I've been told by those with opinions.)

It is because Mily twerked Robin Thicke?

Incidentally I have no idea who Robin Thicke is, but I can't hear the name without thinking of Mike Seaver's dad.

Also, I pride myself on knowing more words than the average third grader, but I had no idea what a twerk was until a couple days ago.  Turns out its just a stupid thing people do...like planking...or flash mobs.  Except I guess it's supposed to be sexy?  Or something?  I dunno.

Exactly ten years ago, at the 2003 VMAs Brittney kissed Madonna.  Remember that?  Remember how everyone shit a brick because Brittney kissed Madonna.  Nobody really said anything about the fact that Christina did too.  Nobody said anything about how Madonna kissed two girls half her age.  It was all just...Brittney kissed Madonna.  Of the three, there was only one slut.

Hanna Montana debuted March 24, 2006, and finished production in 2010.  I know this because wikipedia told me so.  I never saw the show.  In fact I'm quite certain that in that time period I never even had access to Disney Channel.  I'm sure though it was a delightful romp with fun filled adventure and teenage family friendly mayhem.  There were, I'm sure a requisite number of laughs, and lessons to be learned, all neatly wrapped up in 22 minute episodes.

I have no doubt that Ms. Cyrus was charming, and cute, and won the hearts of parents and children alike across this great nation, and really...kudos to her.  Although I consistently wear the clothes of a cynical hedonistic man o the world...I actually have nothing against and am all for family programming.  I'm glad it's out there, even if I don't really get involved with it myself.

Here's the thing though.  Miley Cyrus is not Hanna Montana.  I know this comes as a shock to some.  I know others who have railed against her in the past couple days who will undoubtedly say "I know she's not...but...", and to that I ask

Do you?

Here's another news flash for some of ya'all.  This one's really gonna grind yer gonads.

Miley Cyrus was NEVER Hanna Montana.
Never.
Not once.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems necessary to burst some bubbles.

Hanna Montana is a product of fiction.  Miley was paid money to say words written by other people.  She was contracted to act in a certain manner in front of cameras.  There is no doubt in my mostly broken mind, that many times, while on set...saying words and doing things in the charcter and clothes of "Hanna Montana", Miley Cyrus was thinking of nothing more than her next union break.

You see, you claim to know that Miley Cyrus is not Hannah Montana.  Perhaps on the surface you really do know that.  Perhaps somewhere, somehow you've been able to separate the two.  Thing is though, Miley very successfully created a character that you fell in love with, and ergo...created expectations.

So now I'll answer the question I posited at the beginning.  What's the difference between Miley Cyrus and Lady Gaga?  Simple really...

Expectations.

Everybody expects Lady Gaga to behave and act in a certain manner.  So when she conforms to expectations, nobody is surprised.  Nobody really has anything to say.
Oh that's just Lady Gaga being Lady Gaga.

But when Miley Cyrus breaks expectations...everybody loses their damn minds.

God forbid a real life human being didn't act and behave like a fictional character you've come to know and love.

Lady Gaga does her thing in front of your 14 year old daughter...well...you can explain that away.
But Miley Cyrus...how dare she betray her role model status.

This makes you very uncomfortale.
And what do you do when you're uncomfortable?

Let the slutshame games begin.

See now she's not Hanna Montan anymore.  Now you can finally make that break.  Now she's the reason your daughters are becoming whores.

I'm sorry to all parents everywhere, but if you are satisfied to allow any celebrity to stand as a role model, without actually talking with your children about the nature of humanity, or willing to stand as a role model yourself...well then...you deserve everything that happens.

To a degree I get it.  I do.  Celebrities.  Sports stars.  Musicians.  These people are in the public eye.  People will see them, and want to be like them.  Hell I'm a grown man, and I still want to be Benedict Cumberbatch.

Thing is though...you have to talk to your kids.  Maybe instead of worrying that Miley is the cause of teenage pregnancy, you should explain to your kids how babies are NOT made.  It's actually quite simple.

I've had sex at least three times, and still no babies.

Maybe instead of pretending that sex doesn't happen...you should accept that it does.

Moms.  Dads.  I know you don't want to hear this.  You certainly don't want to think about it, but someday, your precious little gem is going to use words that haven't been invented yet, to describe acts that your parents were certain would send them to hell.  They'll do this in text shorthand.

This will happen.

Your sons and daughters are going to do disgusting things with people you don't approve of.  And they'll do it without Miley's help.

If you don't want them to do those things...teach them not to.  They'll do it anyways.  And they'll do it without Miley's help.

Then there's this gem.

I get the joke.  I do.  I see where chucks could be had.  I guess.  Except not really.

First thing is, I hate that we live in such a sensitive society where people are made to apologize for anything they say...even if it is stupid.

Secondly...I've seen strippers.  What Miley did, isn't that.

Third...even if it were all true...
all of it...
So fucking what.

I've more than one friend that is or has been a stripper.  I know the stereotypes.  Single moms stripping for drug money.
Know what?
I've also known single moms working call centers for drug money.
I've known single moms working a warehouse for drug money.
I've know single moms working the cash register for drug money.

So think what you want I guess.  Most of the girls I know who do/have done it are/were paying for school.  I know more than one girl who paid for her masters degree swinging her ass around a pole, and I'll tell you something.  Flashing your titties for a few bucks is a far better way to pay for a masters degree than most ways...like say...student loans.

See that's the thing.  We LOVE to take a moral high ground.  Especially where sex, or anything sexual is concerned.

Well I would never...

It's simply unnacceptable...

I hope my daughter...

son...

Anyone who does that is a whore....

In my experience men who call women whores, are simply pissed off that there is a girl who openly enjoys sex...without him.

In my experience women who call women whores, are simply pissed off that there is a girl who openly enjoys sex, when she hasn't learned how to yet.

We are so easily, made so uncomfortable by the most basic of human biological drives...and anything that makes us uncomfortable, we seem to have an incredible need to vilify.

So Miley's performance made you uncomfortable...and the vilification began.

I think one of the great tragedies of the human experience is attaching sex to religion...or morality, when in truth sex and morality have absolutely nothing to do with each other.

I think one of the great tragedies of the human experience, is teaching our children that they should wait until they're married to have sex.

I did that.
I gained nothing from having done that.

I think in fact, that in a perfect world we would have establishments, with working professionals, and by that I mean people who are equipped to deal in a very nurturing sort of way, mentally and physically, where our children between the ages of sixteen and eighteen are HIGHLY encouraged, though not forced, to go and relieve themselves of that pesky virginity problem.  Somewhere where sex and love are kept entirely separate.  Where they can gain experience and knowledge, and information.

I also think that if two people meet, and there is sexual attraction...just fucking get it over with already.  In the dating process, everything that happens before sex is a lie.  It just is.  Once the initial sex is over with...then the truth can begin.  Then you'll be able to have the real conversations.  then you'll be able to know if this is someone you actually want to be with...or simply someone you wanted to bang.

I think instead of protecting our kids from an over sexualized world...thus creating a greater illusion of the glory of sex, we should be honest.  Tell em, "Yeah..sex is awesome.  You should try it."

Then they'll get that out of the way...and discover all the things that are WAY more awesome.

Instead of slut shaming...become sex encouraging.  Teach safety.  Responsibility.

Most importantly...
Joy.
Love.
Truth...in whatever form it presents itself.

If we...
If our children...
If us as a species

could just be the sluts that we're so convinced that Miley now is...

perhaps we could have realized
that her performance
was just that...
a performance

and not even a great one.

Perhaps we'd be grown up enough to know that
sex happens
whether you you aknowledge it or not.

We're so afraid of the act and illusion of sex...
We glorify and glamourize it...
We vilify it...
We make it dirty...
We become outraged.
We sanctify it...
We tie it to our mythologies...
and get REALLY pissed off when other people don't toe the line of those mythologies.

When the truth is...
We're all doing it.
We're all going to do it.
Most of us enjoy it.

And then we go on and do all the other things we do.

There is SOOOOOO much more to life than simply the act of creating it.

So really
the fact is
If Miley's little circus made you upset...
or uncomfortable...
or twitchy...
or nervous...
or made you feel like you are somehow a better...or more moral person...

well

That speaks volumes to me about you
and nothing about her.

What goes around...

This wasn't going to happen.

I had an entirely different blog planned out.  One dedicated almost entirely to being a student and lover of all things chaos, and the resulting effects it has had on my life.

And how my pants are being funny.

Instead you get this one.  Another (sort of but not really, but in a way kind of) joint thingy with Deena.

It started out simply enough.

Deena had asked on FB for blog topics.  This is not really unusual for blog writers.  We are sometimes curious what our readers may want to read about.  I've done it myself a number of times.  Thing is, it can be kind of frustrating.  I've learned from my own experience that asking that question can actually be pretty futile.  Most of the time the responses we get are either ridiculous, or lean toward things that we have never had a single independent thought about.  How can we write about it, if there is no part of us that cares about it?

Knowing all of this, I decided to be specific.  I simply responded to her query with 10 questions I wanted to know about Deena.  This made it personal.  Something that is incredibly easy for anyone to write about.  It's sort of like an interview...except without all that annoying interviewer crap getting in the way.

She took it to heart and responded beautifully.  Then...in true player form, returned the questions with a gorgeous backhand, and now it's on me to answer the same questions.

So instead of digging into the more troubled parts of myself, and how the past few weeks have not so positively affected me...and my incredibly strange and funny pants...I will answer the same questions I previously asked Deena.

So here goes.  I will word them here exactly as I worded them for her, and then answer as they apply to me.

1)  Why in the world would a talented equity actress make SLC her home?

This question came off sounding more harsh than I intended, but it is a curiosity.  It should come as no surprise that most of my relationships, and deepest friendships are with other actors.  These are the people I spend most of my time with.  Many of them are card carrying equity members.  Most are not.  Of those that are, I hear a common lament, that there is simply not enough great equity work in SLC.  Oh sure there is some, but naturally, for the few contracts available, there is plethora of competition.  Acting is a tough gig no matter what professional level you maintain.  It was assumed that I meant perhaps New York may be a better place for a working actor...but really...there are a ton of great theatre towns in this nation, and SLC isn't really known as one of them.  For good reason.  SLC is where musicals go to die...and die...and die...a tremendously long, agonizing, miserable death.  Fer chrissakes, people are all excited about a production of Carousel here.  Carousel.  Carofuckingsel.  I...  I just can't even begin to express how depressing this is to me.
But here's the thing.  That's my perspective.  It's how I see things.  I must always remember I am but one small voice among many.  Her answer was thrilling to me for a number of reasons...foremost being I'll always have at least a little bit of something to look forward to.
My answer for myself regarding this question will be better explained I think in question number 2.

2) What makes a home?
This is actually kind of a silly question.  I imagine most people would have a similar response.  Home is where your family is...or where you make your family.  Home is where you are comfortable.  Home is where you feel love.  Home is ....(fill in the blank with any given warm sentiment).
Here's the thing though.  It's something, from a personal level I'm deeply interested in.  Especially when it comes to specific locations.
I've written pretty extensively on this in previous posts, so I won't go too deeply into it here, but since the question exists...so must the answer.
I am for all intents and purposes...homeless.  Oh sure, I've a roof over my head, and a key that unlocks the front door.  I pay rent on residence.  I am not houseless...but...
I have never felt at home in any location that I've had a mailing address. So to honestly answer question 1, I have to respond, I DON'T call SLC my home.  If I live here the remaining years of my life, whether they be few...or decades...I will never call SLC my home.  I know this.  I've known it since I moved here.  Hell, I'm pretty sure I knew it before I moved here.  I may live out, and die here, but I'll never belong here.
So for me I ask the question What makes a home, because I don't know.  I know what makes family.  I have the best one on the planet.  I know what makes love, and comfort, and I know about zipcodes, and renters agreements...but I still...after 40 years of life...have no idea what makes a home.

Okay the next six questions are kind of a cheat.  I had an incredibly limited amount of time to come up with 10 questions.  Given more than the 3 minutes I had, I'm sure I could have done better, but I did what I could with what time I had.  But also, sort of not a cheat, because there is/was a certain curiosity.  A compare and contrast with who we are...who we were...and who we wish to be.  All played within a defined space of now, 5 years, and 10 years, each progressive direction.  So I'm going to answer the next six questions with two responses.

3) How is 2013 Deena different than 2012 Deena
4) 2008
5) 2003

I will of course address these questions as though the name above reads JayC

In 2003 I had lived in Las Vegas already for two years.  I was finding my niche as a paid theatre tech at The Rio working all sorts of shows as a spot op, or video op, or stage hand depending on the show.  I was receiving the best pay rate I've ever had, for essentially monkey work.  I was balancing working an ever changing entertainment schedule at work, with my ever persistent need to do my own theatre work.  I was quite successfully making a name for myself as an actor and director in the town.  I was on the board of directors for Las Vegas Little Theatre.  I was happily married, and discovering a freedom I'd never known, as an out of the closet atheist.  I was constantly engaged in a new project, and spent more nights than I can count at the local pub with friends talking theatre, religion, politics, and all sorts of other bullshit til the sun came up.  I had a pretty tight knit of friends...most of whom I had gone to college with, and we were all on the same page.  I grew complacent.  I grew fat, and happy.  I was doing what I loved, with the people I loved.  There were bad times of course.  There always are...but I tend to focus on the happy parts of my past.
In 2008 I was divorced, and the casino had decided that it no longer wanted to maintain an entertainment showroom, turning it instead into a night club, and laying off a majority of the techs.  Myself being one of them.  I was now living in Salt Lake City.  I had been here but a few months, living alone in a tiny half bedroom apartment downtown.  I was cast in my first show in SLC as Picasso, in Picasso at the Lapin Agile.  It was tremendous fun, and I met a lot of wonderful new people.  I met a girl who was...unavailable.  I hate that.  I didn't pursue anything because...well...you just don't do that.
Although she would have no idea, 2008 is when I first saw Deena on stage in a play called Skin in Flames, and to be honest, I didn't love the play.  I didn't hate it.  It was good.  She though...  I've told her this... hell I've told everybody this.  She blew me away.  There was a moment in the play where I was transported.  I was left literally breathless by her performance.  I knew as I left the theatre that night that there was talent in SLC, and I couldn't wait to be part of it.
2008 is when I met the girl who I would spend the next four years of my life with.  We met.  We connected.  We decided to give it a go.  And go it did...for four years, and then it stopped going.  And so it goes.  I gained weight.  I lost weight.  I juggled jobs, and acting gigs.  I knew...all along I knew...that things weren't...well...I don't even know how to put it.  Deena says it best in her blog, so I'll refer to her.  Things weren't yes.
In 2012 I was reunited through small world coincidence with the unavailable girl I met in 2008.  Again I was single.  Again she was not.  This time the crossroads crossed harder.  In the end, I still had to let it go, because well...that's just what you do.  The girl I had started a relationship with in 2008, ended it in 2012, leaving me to decide at the time, that the single road is probably the road I should travel.  A decision I don't regret, and haven't changed.  2013 JayC is in a very strange place however.  A land of never say nevers.  Not looking, not searching, but open to all the winds that blow.  Homeless but not houseless.  Everything right now is disposable.  Everything.  Especially my weirdo pants.

6)What would Deena like for 2014
7)2018
8)2023

Deena pretty much stole my answers for these questions, but since she answered them first, I guess it's really I that am stealing her answers.  In these replies we are much the same.
I am not a planner.
Oh sure I make plans.
They almost always...nearly every single time...fall through.
This past weekend I had plans.  Plans that were made in February or March.  Something I was very much looking forward to.  It didn't happen.  Sometimes it's something planned only a few days in advance.  It ends up not happening.  Without fail.
I don't lay blame.  I truly don't  People have lives.  That's the neat thing about life.  It happens.  It changes on a whim.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't often disappointed.  I'd also be lying if I said I was ever surprised.  It's simply how my life is.  Defined almost soley by bad timing.  The only schedules that I've come to rely on are work, rehearsal, and performance schedules.  Once those are set, they rarely change.  Anything planned outside or around those schedules...well...it's fruitless.  I've discovered that for me, the best way to go about things is to arrange for something to happen almost immediately or within the next few hours.  Anything beyon that...well...
So to think 1, or 5, or 10 years in advance is nothing but the purest fantasy.  I suppose my biggest hope for 2023 is to still be alive.  If I am, then perhaps it's okay to hope that my death will take place in some spectacular space battle.  The icing on top would be if I were piloting a TIE Fighter.

9) You once mentioned going back to school, how's that coming?
That question is Deena specific.  Like she responded, never say never...but I have never had plans of returning to school, and still have no plans of such.  For me...every day is school in one way or another.  I just don't have to take out egregious loans for the education I get/give myself now.

10) If at some point in your life you had been wise enough to put together a time capsule, and you opened it today, what would you hope to find?

Little stuff mostly.  Stuff that would have no meaning for anyone but me.  A hand carved knot slip that my dad made for me to wear at my Eagle Scout Ceremony.  I lost it before the ceremony, and never got to wear it.
A picture of my ex wife and I when we were young and pretty and happy.  I can see the photo so clearly in my mind, and I'm sure it exists...or existed...but I have no idea where.
Four or five cassette tapes I made when I was in High School.  No music on them, just...me talking.  A sort of audio journal thing I was trying out at the time.  I don't know whatever happened to them.
Just..you know...shit like that, that has been lost over the years.
I like to think that over the course of my life, little gnomes, much wiser than I, have been collecting this stuff.  Someday when I'm old, and feeble, and ugly, when I have nothing left to give this world, and this world has nothing left to give me, and I'm sitting under my own giving tree somewhere, the gnomes will come and give me all this shit back, to look at one more time.
That's a nice though.

These questions were all originally intended for Deena, and she did answer them in her own blog.  If you'd like to read her responses, they can be found here.

10 things I want to know about Deena