Remember how once the world moved on without you, so you had to fashion yourself a new one? Remember how this has happened so many times now that you sometimes don't even notice?
Once upon a time, you took your first step, and at that point in your life, it was your greatest accomplishment. Now you have done so many amazing things, and the building block of all of it, was that very first step.
Remember how you once smiled without mirth. Remember the joy of discovery. Discovering animals, and blankets, and food.
And friendship.
Remember how once you had so many dreams.
Remember epiphany. Remember how you tried to share it with someone who didn't share your enthusiasm, either because they had already had it themselves, or because they weren't ready for it.
Remember when you cried in the dark, and someone was there to take your hand, and remember also when nobody did.
Remember your first kiss. The thrill of feeling another persons lips against your own. Remember the joy of intimacy.
Remember the first time you really looked into a mirror, for the first time. Really examining every part about you. Your face. Your lines. Your expressions. Your flaws. Remember how that is also the first time you learned how to lie to yourself. Remember how all those things that seemed so apparent to you, must be doubly apparent to everyone else.
Remember how they weren't.
Remember music. Remember dancing. Fast and slow. Remember the songs that made you laugh, and made you cry, and gave you no choice but to sing along.
Remember your very first love letter. The one you wrote, and the one you received.
Remember how you believed that time, you'd never love again. Remember how you did.
Remember when your heart was so easily broken. Week after week. Day after day.
Remember when you just knew for sure, that if only one thing were different...then you'd be happy.
Remember ice cream.
Remember once again the faces of all the people you'll never see again. I bet they liked ice cream too.
Remember that almost every single day, you will go to war, and almost nobody will know about it. Remember that almost every single day, every single person you come in contact with is also at war, and you will never know about it.
Remember the greatest casualties of those wars are hope, and dreams, and the ability to love...or be loved.
Perhaps we should take more time to honor the fallen.
Remember that most of our tragedies, and most of our triumphs, are crystal secrets.
Remember the golden silence, and the golden rule.
And remember this. Today you have the option to fashion your world once again. Today, you get to craft your tomorrow. You are the architect of your future, and if you leave that option to somebody else, it's a guarantee that you won't be wholly satisfied.
Remember to give love. Remember also to be loved. Remember to say it. To show it. To feel it, and to make it.
Remember a tapestry...even the tapestry of your life...is handcrafted.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Once more with feels.
I have more free time now. For a while at least. I'll probably end up doing nothing productive with it. I just closed my eighth show in a row, with not more than a two week break between any of them. Most rolling from closing weekend into rehearsal week. I guess it will be nice to breath for a minute, but it hasn't been 48 hours yet, and I'm already getting antsy. Not because I am not doing anything right now...that's actually kind of nice, but because at this moment, I'm not doing anything until September...and that's too far away. I must line something up soon. I've come to rely on the distraction.
I love to act. I love to see the fictional characters become me, as much as I become them.
When I lived in Vegas, I had a walk on moment in a little musical review called The Taffetas. Think, Forever Plaid, but even less interesting, if you can imagine that. Halfway through the show, I walked on stage, sang a song, and walked off again. The reason I did this, is because the producers came to me, and asked if I would. I told them I don't sing or dance, but they didn't care...offered me the part, and money, and I took it. I don't look back on that fondly, I don't include it on my resume, and I like in my mind to pretend it never happened.
Not counting that I haven't been in a musical since around 1999 or 2000 when I was Mr. Mushnik in our college production of Little Shop of Horrors. That one was a blast.
I've never made much secret that I really don't care for Musicals. They don't move me. They don't appeal to anything artistic inside of me, and very rarely do they entertain me. I'm not saying that they can't be moving, artistic, or entertaining. I'm simply not able to grasp the appeal myself. Mostly. There are rare exceptions.
So we just finished our run of La Cage aux Folles. I didn't audition for that one either. The most I knew about it going in, is I saw The Birdcage about ten years ago, and remember liking it. Near the close of Death of a Salesman, I was again approached in my life by producers of a show, asking if I would be interested in being part of it. My response was word for word the same as the first time. I told them I don't sing or dance. Their reaction was the same. They offered me the part, and money. So I said sure.
And boy am I glad I did. I still don't sing or dance. I'll still most likely never actually audition for a musical, but this one will hold a pretty special place in my memory for the rest of my life. Sometimes it's just really really nice to be part of the story being told. Even more nice when you consider the other people you get to tell the story with. I got to hang out with some pretty neat people for a few weeks.
The last two shows I did, La Cage, and Death of a Salesman, were both produced at The Grand. The Grand is appropriately named. It's about 60 miles from stage right to stage left. Another forty 40 miles from front stage to back stage. The house is hufuckinmongous. Even when we have two or three hundred people in the audience, the house looks empty. We all have wear mics just to be heard. It's insanely big. It's grand.
The other nice thing is they have a small amount of money to throw into productions. Not a lot, I'm sure...but much more than I'm used to. So things look and sound great. Wonderful sets, costumes, light design...all that stuff we dream of as actors.
Except now...
now...
Right now I think I'd kill kittens to get into some tiny little black box space where we have to build the show out of spare parts. A show where we smoke cigarettes, and say fuck a lot, and get those incredible lines. The kind of show where 15 people show up, and then we all get drunk afterwards in a back corner of a dark bar.
Don't get me wrong. I love love LOVE the grand, and will jump at almost any opportunity to work there again. But working there feels like a performance. Nothing wrong with that, but goddamn...I want to act again. I want to put on my work clothes, and open up a script, and say words that feel real. I don't want to play a part. I want to be a part.
So those are the types of shows I'm looking for. Audition notices are all for piece of shit musicals. This always depresses me. I know, I know, I live in Utah...this is simply what I must expect. This is always what motivates me to get the fuck out of Utah. To go somewhere where people really are doing new, and exciting, and alive theatre. Thing is...it does happen here. It's rare...but it happens, so I continue to hope.
So I stay. I read the audition notices for Joseph. At 156 different theatres. All at the same time. And I know they'll all have sell out performances. And I want to cry. Then I read announcements for theatres in my former city of residence, and what my friends are doing there...and my god how I miss them, and am so fucking proud of them for what they are accomplishing. I read audition boards for random cities. Phoenix. Denver. Chicago. San Diego. Portland. I see theatre absolutely fucking THRIVING in these cities. So much amazing work. So many opportunities. So much to make me believe that it's NOT all shitty musicals, being rehashed over and over and over agoddamngain. And I ask myself why. Why do I stay? Why do I bother? Why not move on, to where I, and the art I want to be part of, are more compatible? Then I get cast in something and remember...that's why. It IS happening. Don't give up hope entirely.
You are where you're supposed to be. For now. As painful as it may sometimes be...there is also joy. There is also achievement.
There's also the comfort level. I'll always be a bit of a square peg in a round hole. I don't know that I'll ever really find home. I could be wrong, but just thinking of the effort of starting from scratch, all over again, in another new and strange city...is rather exhausting. I am absolute shit at networking...which is kind of a necessity for a wannabe working actor. So going somewhere, where I know nobody, seems like, I dunno...crazy. In other ways it seems like a dream.
So there's that. Every day checking to see if there's anything new and interesting on the theatrical horizon. Most days spent with a modicum of disappointment.
I'm still absolutely loving my bachelorhood, and absolutely hating the complete lack of human physical contact that comes with it.
I still think about my "her" every day. We don't really talk anymore. I knew that would happen. It was inevitable really. Just the simple course of life. I'm sure she's been busy. I know I have. I hope she's been happy. I know I have. Mostly. Then again, regardless of everything I'm always mostly happy. I'm just wired that way I guess.
That's the goofy little bottom line. For all my bitching. All my complaining, and whining, and lunaticing, and so forth...inside my guts, I'm a pretty happy guy. There is a lot I don't have in my life...but I'm always more focused on the things I do have. There is a lot that I'd like to be different, but I'm grateful for the things that are the same.
There is love that I don't have, but there is a fuckload of love that I do have...and that really is the everything of it all. There's the you of it all. Kind of makes all that other stuff seem just so much wasted energy.
No day is perfect. No plan comes off without a hitch. Nothing is ever what it seems. Not a single one of us is what we are...except for all the things that we really are. That's the beauty of the whole thing. The mystery, the magic, and the mayhem of it all. We've whirlwinded into each other, shared the dance, and flown away with a memory. You have moved me. Inspired me. You've taken my breath away. You've made be glad to be alive. You've made me miss you when you're gone, and smile when I see you again. And I can't help but notice...
Every fucking time...
just how goddamn beautiful you are.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Free Floating.
Death of a Salesman runs closer to three hours than two. Of those three hours, I am on stage for somewhere in the neighborhood of eight minutes. I'm pretty okay with this. I've been doing the theatre dance for a VERY long time. Since I was five years old, there have only been three full years of my life that I wasn't on stage at least once. I've been in more shows than I can count. I've been the lead. I've been the support. I've been the spear carrier. I've been set dressing. I've been chorus. I have done it all, and have every intention of continuing to do whatever is thrown at me. It has been a long long time since my vanity was attached to the size of my role. In fact...size is pretty goddamn insignificant.
The only reason I bring this up at all, is to give an idea of how much time I have backstage to do, well... I read a lot. I put my headphones on, and off I go, into whatever musical wonderland I conjure for myself that day. I also get lost in my thoughts. Oh I occasionally throw into whatever conversation is going on in the green room at the moment, but mostly it's just my music and my mind. The greenroom is kind of like my own personal Fortress of Solitude. Except there's none of all that crystally crap. And except I'm not Superman.
Today something strange happened. I've now filed it away in the figure it out later section of my brain, but I'll lay it all out here.
So there was a girl backstage today. She's been there before. Not one of the actresses, but certainly a familiar face. She's attractive to be sure. I guess in the common vernacular I was "checking her out", but also...not really. More of an observational review than a sizing up for the mating ritual type thing. This is not uncommon. At least not for me. I look at everybody. I quantify without qualification. I take a million mental pictures per second. There is no judgement, or comparison. Simply puzzling together other physical masses in relative space. Curious about the resultant gravitational effects. This is something I do so naturally that I probably wouldn't even have noticed I was doing it, if something about it all hadn't occurred to me in that moment. More on that in a bit.
As previously mentioned, I've been doing this whole acting thing for nearly my entire life. I don't get nervous in front of audiences. A crowded room full of strangers, I'm completely out of my element, but give me a script, a costume, and a couple lights, and I am in my world. I don't get sweaty, shaky, or jittery. When I was much younger, with much less experience behind me, I would think about all the little things. I would go through an entire checklist before going onstage, just to be sure I wouldn't fuck something up. My checklist now consists almost solely of making sure my zipper isn't down. Imagine then my shock when something strange happened to me today. Just before my first entrance, as I was standing in the wings to go onstage, waiting for my cue, I noticed I was feeling kind of funny. It's been so long since I felt it, that I didn't know what it was at first. I had to check my symptoms before I could make any type of accurate diagnosis. Accelerated heart rate. Shaky hands. Shortness of breath. At first I thought I might be getting sick...but thought it strange that it was happening in this moment. Then it hit me. For some, inexplicable reason...in that moment...I was nervous. I had pre-show jitters. That's it. As soon as I realized what it was, there was no question that I was correct in my diagnosis. The question then became cause. Why the fuck was this happening? Now? I haven't felt that in years...and funny thing is, once I realized it, I was fine. It went away. It was, and quite frankly, still is a complete mystery to me. I don't know why that happened. It was that same feeling I used to get when I knew there was someone important in the audience. Except...I knew that today I had no one in the audience. It's a scene I'm very comfortable with. I wasn't worried about forgetting lines...or missing a cue. Hell...I wasn't even worried about my zipper...I'd already checked it. Nope. It was that distinct feeling of performing for someone I wanted to impress. I'm sure even if you're not a performer, you know that feeling. Shaking the feeling was quite easy once I identified it. Figuring out the cause has proven much more difficult. Of course I did have a lot of coffee this morning...maybe it's nothing more than that. Mr. Occam would certainly suggest nothing more.
I bring this up as a point of interest really. Nothing more. You see...it's the first time I've felt something...ANYTHING...in a very long time. I've been stuck on numb for quite a while. Don't get me wrong, I'm not beyond amusement...or slight interest...but an actual change in my physical state...well...it's been so long, it was almost new again. So of course I want to find the cause. But it was probably coffee.
Attraction. Isn't that an interesting word? It literally means to be pulled toward. We use that when we talk about other people. We have no problem understanding this when we talk about it scientifically. We understand how attraction works with magnets. We understand how attraction works with bodies of mass in space. We get so confused when we try to figure out what it is about a person, that attracts us to them. We know why the earth orbits the sun, and why the moon orbits the earth...but why the fuckity fuck do we orbit each other?
And this is what happened to me with the girl backstage today. This was today's epiphany brought to me by curiosity, realization, and the letter Y.
Although attractive, and she certainly is...I felt no attraction. I let myself realize this. People are beautiful. So much goddamn gorgeous, surrounds me at every turn, and I am unfazed. I am undrawn. I am unattracted. I am floating in my space, without orbit. I am a gathering of atoms, condensed, and slowed to a visible and congealed vibration, that has over time become sentient. Floating on a floating rock with other gatherings of slowed sentient atoms who all seem to meet, orbit, and bounce to yet another gathering of atoms. Some of those atoms bond. Some reject, eject, and the search continues. I seem to have bounced right out of the equation. I am an element without form or formula.
I've written so much on this, and yet the realizations just keep coming.
That feeling.
You know the one. That feeling you get when you are "attracted". That jittery, quickened heart rate, shortness of breath, sweaty palms...that thing that feels so scary, and so thrilling all at the same time. That thing where you don't know if you have to scream, or run. Where everything becomes a secret that you just can't keep to yourself, but you can't tell another living soul. That feeling.
That feeling.
That feeling I had right before I went on stage today.
Maybe I have a crush on stage acting.
I haven't felt that since last summer.
So the beautiful queen of all the land, in a fit of jealousy made herself ugly. She created a weapon to take out the competition. A delicious apple that would take the new beauty in town out of the competition.
The difference between Snow White, and myself is that Ms. White had no idea the consequences of eating her apple. I had no doubt, but took the bite anyways.
I'd do it again.
In a heartbeat.
And ever since, I have been in a bit of slumber. I have allowed myself a dream, that I know for fact can never be anything but. It's a very good dream. The kind you never want to wake up from, because waking up becomes admission of the unreality of dreams.
I don't deny the possibility that a Princess Charming could come along, and kiss me out of it...but come on. That's gonna have to be one helluva a girl, and one helluva kiss..and really....
that shit only happens in fairy tales.
The only reason I bring this up at all, is to give an idea of how much time I have backstage to do, well... I read a lot. I put my headphones on, and off I go, into whatever musical wonderland I conjure for myself that day. I also get lost in my thoughts. Oh I occasionally throw into whatever conversation is going on in the green room at the moment, but mostly it's just my music and my mind. The greenroom is kind of like my own personal Fortress of Solitude. Except there's none of all that crystally crap. And except I'm not Superman.
Today something strange happened. I've now filed it away in the figure it out later section of my brain, but I'll lay it all out here.
So there was a girl backstage today. She's been there before. Not one of the actresses, but certainly a familiar face. She's attractive to be sure. I guess in the common vernacular I was "checking her out", but also...not really. More of an observational review than a sizing up for the mating ritual type thing. This is not uncommon. At least not for me. I look at everybody. I quantify without qualification. I take a million mental pictures per second. There is no judgement, or comparison. Simply puzzling together other physical masses in relative space. Curious about the resultant gravitational effects. This is something I do so naturally that I probably wouldn't even have noticed I was doing it, if something about it all hadn't occurred to me in that moment. More on that in a bit.
As previously mentioned, I've been doing this whole acting thing for nearly my entire life. I don't get nervous in front of audiences. A crowded room full of strangers, I'm completely out of my element, but give me a script, a costume, and a couple lights, and I am in my world. I don't get sweaty, shaky, or jittery. When I was much younger, with much less experience behind me, I would think about all the little things. I would go through an entire checklist before going onstage, just to be sure I wouldn't fuck something up. My checklist now consists almost solely of making sure my zipper isn't down. Imagine then my shock when something strange happened to me today. Just before my first entrance, as I was standing in the wings to go onstage, waiting for my cue, I noticed I was feeling kind of funny. It's been so long since I felt it, that I didn't know what it was at first. I had to check my symptoms before I could make any type of accurate diagnosis. Accelerated heart rate. Shaky hands. Shortness of breath. At first I thought I might be getting sick...but thought it strange that it was happening in this moment. Then it hit me. For some, inexplicable reason...in that moment...I was nervous. I had pre-show jitters. That's it. As soon as I realized what it was, there was no question that I was correct in my diagnosis. The question then became cause. Why the fuck was this happening? Now? I haven't felt that in years...and funny thing is, once I realized it, I was fine. It went away. It was, and quite frankly, still is a complete mystery to me. I don't know why that happened. It was that same feeling I used to get when I knew there was someone important in the audience. Except...I knew that today I had no one in the audience. It's a scene I'm very comfortable with. I wasn't worried about forgetting lines...or missing a cue. Hell...I wasn't even worried about my zipper...I'd already checked it. Nope. It was that distinct feeling of performing for someone I wanted to impress. I'm sure even if you're not a performer, you know that feeling. Shaking the feeling was quite easy once I identified it. Figuring out the cause has proven much more difficult. Of course I did have a lot of coffee this morning...maybe it's nothing more than that. Mr. Occam would certainly suggest nothing more.
I bring this up as a point of interest really. Nothing more. You see...it's the first time I've felt something...ANYTHING...in a very long time. I've been stuck on numb for quite a while. Don't get me wrong, I'm not beyond amusement...or slight interest...but an actual change in my physical state...well...it's been so long, it was almost new again. So of course I want to find the cause. But it was probably coffee.
Attraction. Isn't that an interesting word? It literally means to be pulled toward. We use that when we talk about other people. We have no problem understanding this when we talk about it scientifically. We understand how attraction works with magnets. We understand how attraction works with bodies of mass in space. We get so confused when we try to figure out what it is about a person, that attracts us to them. We know why the earth orbits the sun, and why the moon orbits the earth...but why the fuckity fuck do we orbit each other?
And this is what happened to me with the girl backstage today. This was today's epiphany brought to me by curiosity, realization, and the letter Y.
Although attractive, and she certainly is...I felt no attraction. I let myself realize this. People are beautiful. So much goddamn gorgeous, surrounds me at every turn, and I am unfazed. I am undrawn. I am unattracted. I am floating in my space, without orbit. I am a gathering of atoms, condensed, and slowed to a visible and congealed vibration, that has over time become sentient. Floating on a floating rock with other gatherings of slowed sentient atoms who all seem to meet, orbit, and bounce to yet another gathering of atoms. Some of those atoms bond. Some reject, eject, and the search continues. I seem to have bounced right out of the equation. I am an element without form or formula.
I've written so much on this, and yet the realizations just keep coming.
That feeling.
You know the one. That feeling you get when you are "attracted". That jittery, quickened heart rate, shortness of breath, sweaty palms...that thing that feels so scary, and so thrilling all at the same time. That thing where you don't know if you have to scream, or run. Where everything becomes a secret that you just can't keep to yourself, but you can't tell another living soul. That feeling.
That feeling.
That feeling I had right before I went on stage today.
Maybe I have a crush on stage acting.
I haven't felt that since last summer.
So the beautiful queen of all the land, in a fit of jealousy made herself ugly. She created a weapon to take out the competition. A delicious apple that would take the new beauty in town out of the competition.
The difference between Snow White, and myself is that Ms. White had no idea the consequences of eating her apple. I had no doubt, but took the bite anyways.
I'd do it again.
In a heartbeat.
And ever since, I have been in a bit of slumber. I have allowed myself a dream, that I know for fact can never be anything but. It's a very good dream. The kind you never want to wake up from, because waking up becomes admission of the unreality of dreams.
I don't deny the possibility that a Princess Charming could come along, and kiss me out of it...but come on. That's gonna have to be one helluva a girl, and one helluva kiss..and really....
that shit only happens in fairy tales.
Monday, March 11, 2013
D'ja miss me?
Five weeks. I haven't posted in five weeks. On a completely related note, about five weeks ago is when I got heavy into rehearsals for Death of a Salesman.
In that five weeks, I've dropped down from a pack a day kinda guy...to about three a day. I'm not getting any less nicotine. I'm just smoking far fewer cigarettes. Thank you ecig.
As soon as Salesman closes, I'll be going straight into rehearsals for La Cage. I was going to take a short break. I'm not going to after all. I'm okay with that.
I'm into my ninth month of bachelorhood. At the top of it I stated that I wasn't going to be looking for any new relationship. Nine months later, and I still feel the same way. Still as dedicated to it, as I was on day one. Is nine months long enough to say that perhaps this isn't a phase? I still maintain that I can't read the future, and who knows what that holds...but I also maintain that I am not looking, seeking, or spending ANY effort to change my relationship status.
I was invited to join a FB singles group. I did. It's specifically for former Mormons like myself. I was intrigued by that at first. Turns out, ironically, that it's exactly like an online singles ward without any of the Jesus speak. It also seems that I'm the only one in the group NOT looking to attach myself to someone. Even in a group of singles, being single is anathema. Needless to say, I quickly lost interest. Of course I quickly lose interest in many things.
I am an introvert. I turn almost everything...in. Once it's in, I detach. Once I detach, I analyze. I put it all under a microscope, and scrutinize mercilessly. It's a fun game. I will go through incredibly long periods of time...out of the company of others. For most of that time I won't even realize it. I neglect pretty much everything, and everybody. I'd apologize, but by now that's pretty much litany. Besides is it really apology, if you and I both know it's going to happen again?
The problem is, once I resurface, I find my personal social meter is pretty far in the red. My own fault, but I can't really just fix that either. It seems a bit strange to just out of the blue say, "Hey, I know I haven't talked to you for a month...and it may even seem I was ignoring you...wanna get together?"
It's also a balancing act of desires. This whole being single thing I got going on...it's for real. It's what I want. Ultimately. For so many reasons, I don't even feel like getting started on a list. It does however have distinct disadvantages. Even beyond the obvious.
I've been remembering things lately. Missing things.
I think of my ex wife. We've been divorced for near seven years now. I haven't seen her for probably about four years. We once were oh so very close. I miss her. I think of her often. Once upon a time I imagined a life with her. A whole life. It didn't work out that way. She is so incredibly smart. I remember how we used to talk, sometimes all night and into the day. We created a language, unique to us, as so many lovers do. We wrote together. We sang together. She was and really still is, amazing. Sometimes a memory of her creeps up on me, and I lose my breath for a moment, and smile, and although she'll never know...I wish her all the happiness possible. I hear of her successes, and I can't help but celebrate, in my own little way. I am a better person for having known her.
I think of my ex girlfriend. We were together for five years. Now apart for just under one. We laughed. Oh my god, how we laughed. We once were oh so very close. I miss her. I think of her often. Once upon a time I imagined a life with her. A whole life. It didn't work out that way. She has a devious wit. An incredible charm. She'll call bullshit when she see's it. I always had such an incredible admiration for her, and even after all that time together, I always felt there was so much more underneath. A mystery, that...probably to a fault...I didn't want to solve. She introduced me to a lot of music I probably would not have discovered without her. Sometimes, I'll hear a song that steals me back into memory, and puts me with her again. She is so intrinsically, so deeply, such a good person. I am a better person for having known her.
I think of my ex...no...my former?...no. My never was. We were never together. Oh sure, we had a few weeks. A few minutes. A few moments. I think of how never before, with any other person, had I felt at such peace. Her very presence, calmed me. Her eyes, soothed me. Her touch, cured me. Her everything...everythinged me. It was over before it could begin. Nothing began. Everything ended. There was a deadline without pressure. A time limit, and no rush. Just me, her, and stoplights. Torture in every smile. I for one second...one instant...imagined a life with her. A whole life. It could never work out that way. She is away now. And our worlds just keep on spinning. The mornings keep coming, the tomorrows keep arriving, and our lives go on, and on, and on. Some dreams will always...simply...have to be.
I've never been one for wishing. I grew up knowing that if there was something I wanted, I either had to find a way to get it, or find a way to go without. Yet now, at the tender age of not getting any younger, I find myself wishing every day. It's foolish. It's a waste. Nothing to do, nothing to be done. Only when I close my eyes, is she there again. Inevitably though, my eyes open, and everything is real again. The lights go down, the body moves, and the actor takes the stage.
And so I pursue distraction. I lose myself at work. I chase my other love. My life passion. I read scripts. I audition. I rehearse. I perform. I do it all again, and again, and again. I discover that after weeks of my life have passed, that I haven't really talked to anybody. A few people here and there at rehearsal, or at work, or at home...but not really. I find that I miss human contact. I miss intimacy. I miss inside jokes. I miss talking in code. All those things that come so easily in a relationship that is the one thing I don't want. To have my cake and eat it too I guess.
It's a sublime life, and I love every bitter bite. I have missed you in my absence. I'll miss you still when I'm not. I have told you this before. This is nothing new, but...I think of you often, and when I do
always
always
you are smiling.
In that five weeks, I've dropped down from a pack a day kinda guy...to about three a day. I'm not getting any less nicotine. I'm just smoking far fewer cigarettes. Thank you ecig.
As soon as Salesman closes, I'll be going straight into rehearsals for La Cage. I was going to take a short break. I'm not going to after all. I'm okay with that.
I'm into my ninth month of bachelorhood. At the top of it I stated that I wasn't going to be looking for any new relationship. Nine months later, and I still feel the same way. Still as dedicated to it, as I was on day one. Is nine months long enough to say that perhaps this isn't a phase? I still maintain that I can't read the future, and who knows what that holds...but I also maintain that I am not looking, seeking, or spending ANY effort to change my relationship status.
I was invited to join a FB singles group. I did. It's specifically for former Mormons like myself. I was intrigued by that at first. Turns out, ironically, that it's exactly like an online singles ward without any of the Jesus speak. It also seems that I'm the only one in the group NOT looking to attach myself to someone. Even in a group of singles, being single is anathema. Needless to say, I quickly lost interest. Of course I quickly lose interest in many things.
I am an introvert. I turn almost everything...in. Once it's in, I detach. Once I detach, I analyze. I put it all under a microscope, and scrutinize mercilessly. It's a fun game. I will go through incredibly long periods of time...out of the company of others. For most of that time I won't even realize it. I neglect pretty much everything, and everybody. I'd apologize, but by now that's pretty much litany. Besides is it really apology, if you and I both know it's going to happen again?
The problem is, once I resurface, I find my personal social meter is pretty far in the red. My own fault, but I can't really just fix that either. It seems a bit strange to just out of the blue say, "Hey, I know I haven't talked to you for a month...and it may even seem I was ignoring you...wanna get together?"
It's also a balancing act of desires. This whole being single thing I got going on...it's for real. It's what I want. Ultimately. For so many reasons, I don't even feel like getting started on a list. It does however have distinct disadvantages. Even beyond the obvious.
I've been remembering things lately. Missing things.
I think of my ex wife. We've been divorced for near seven years now. I haven't seen her for probably about four years. We once were oh so very close. I miss her. I think of her often. Once upon a time I imagined a life with her. A whole life. It didn't work out that way. She is so incredibly smart. I remember how we used to talk, sometimes all night and into the day. We created a language, unique to us, as so many lovers do. We wrote together. We sang together. She was and really still is, amazing. Sometimes a memory of her creeps up on me, and I lose my breath for a moment, and smile, and although she'll never know...I wish her all the happiness possible. I hear of her successes, and I can't help but celebrate, in my own little way. I am a better person for having known her.
I think of my ex girlfriend. We were together for five years. Now apart for just under one. We laughed. Oh my god, how we laughed. We once were oh so very close. I miss her. I think of her often. Once upon a time I imagined a life with her. A whole life. It didn't work out that way. She has a devious wit. An incredible charm. She'll call bullshit when she see's it. I always had such an incredible admiration for her, and even after all that time together, I always felt there was so much more underneath. A mystery, that...probably to a fault...I didn't want to solve. She introduced me to a lot of music I probably would not have discovered without her. Sometimes, I'll hear a song that steals me back into memory, and puts me with her again. She is so intrinsically, so deeply, such a good person. I am a better person for having known her.
I think of my ex...no...my former?...no. My never was. We were never together. Oh sure, we had a few weeks. A few minutes. A few moments. I think of how never before, with any other person, had I felt at such peace. Her very presence, calmed me. Her eyes, soothed me. Her touch, cured me. Her everything...everythinged me. It was over before it could begin. Nothing began. Everything ended. There was a deadline without pressure. A time limit, and no rush. Just me, her, and stoplights. Torture in every smile. I for one second...one instant...imagined a life with her. A whole life. It could never work out that way. She is away now. And our worlds just keep on spinning. The mornings keep coming, the tomorrows keep arriving, and our lives go on, and on, and on. Some dreams will always...simply...have to be.
I've never been one for wishing. I grew up knowing that if there was something I wanted, I either had to find a way to get it, or find a way to go without. Yet now, at the tender age of not getting any younger, I find myself wishing every day. It's foolish. It's a waste. Nothing to do, nothing to be done. Only when I close my eyes, is she there again. Inevitably though, my eyes open, and everything is real again. The lights go down, the body moves, and the actor takes the stage.
And so I pursue distraction. I lose myself at work. I chase my other love. My life passion. I read scripts. I audition. I rehearse. I perform. I do it all again, and again, and again. I discover that after weeks of my life have passed, that I haven't really talked to anybody. A few people here and there at rehearsal, or at work, or at home...but not really. I find that I miss human contact. I miss intimacy. I miss inside jokes. I miss talking in code. All those things that come so easily in a relationship that is the one thing I don't want. To have my cake and eat it too I guess.
It's a sublime life, and I love every bitter bite. I have missed you in my absence. I'll miss you still when I'm not. I have told you this before. This is nothing new, but...I think of you often, and when I do
always
always
you are smiling.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
A Friend In Deed.
Sometimes I say things that may lead one to believe I am seeking sympathy or reassurance. Please know that isn't the case. Truth is I don't typically deal well with sympathy or reassurance. I don't know how to process it correctly. I've often come off the asshole when people try to sympathize or reassure. My reaction isn't insincere. It isn't that I'm not grateful for your words...I just simply...can't internalize them. I really don't like when people offer me those things, because I probably WILL come off the asshole, and I don't want to...so I will NEVER seek sympathy or reassurance. Please understand this, as I write what I'm going to write.
I don't think I'm a very good friend.
I am by nature of my humanity, compelled to desire certain amounts of social interaction. I also, for the most part, enjoy that interaction when I encounter it. I don't need as much though, as most people, it would seem. I can go very long stretches of time without any interaction at all. When I do get it, no matter how little it may be, it will typically sustain me for another long period of time.
In fact, now in the digital age, I can get every single bit of social interaction I need, barring actual human physical contact. I miss that. Sometimes. But again, I can go a long time without it, and not really even notice. Until I do. I confess to certain biological urges that can at times be frustrating, and even to a point, consuming...but even those are pretty easily satisfied. Small amounts go a long ways.
Three different times this week. Three different people. I was contacted, asking if everything was okay. If something was wrong. It was indicated that there may have been flux or change in our relationship. If things were weird between us.
All three times this took me by surprise.
I shouldn't have been.
In my mind, in my life, in my perspective, nothing had changed. In all three cases the last time I had seen and talked with these people had been pleasant. Fun. Enlightening. Delightful.
In all three cases, the last time I had seen or talked to these people had been weeks ago. At minimum.
I had not noticed the passing of time.
They had. And to them...it was significant.
I have this incredibly horrible thing, where I don't really need to be maintained, ergo, I forget to maintain. I forget that simply because I'm fine, doesn't mean that you are. It's an honest forget. I'm not intentionally being callous, or uncaring. I'm not brushing you aside. I'm not making you less important to me. I'm just...sort of a dick that way. It's not with any intent...but no less dickish.
I love my friends. So incredibly deeply. I think of them daily.
But even those closest to me in my life. The ones I have let in deeper than all others. Those who have affected me the most profoundly...even them....I talk to so rarely. When I do though...
When I do, it is bliss.
Pheromones. Pheromones are transmitted through the air and received through the nasal receptors. For this reason they are commonly mistaken as scent. They are not. They are simply your personal chemical signature, usually designed to heighten (or inhibit) sexual attraction. The ad and marketing industry has banked a lot of money on you not understanding how pheromones work to make egregious amounts of money. Unfortunately this has, to a very large degree, worked. Your pheromones cannot be manipulated by a perfume, soap, spray, pill, drug, or really anything else. In fact if any of those things do anything at all, it's mask and hide what you already do naturally. All the gods bless the desire for sex, and what you'll do and spend to get it.
Now having just stated how pheromones work, and how so many people don't understand how they work, I'm now going to display how I have no idea how they work...but still express my theory.
I think my pheromones are messed up. I don't think they send out any type of communication that states "Hi there, I'm interested in conjugal sexual activity, would you care to join me?".
I think instead, what my chemicals communicate, daily...to complete strangers is, "Hey, sit down. I know we've never met, but your deepest, darkest, inner turmoils, thoughts, fantasies, desires, kinks, and confessions are safe with me, and you should probably reveal all of that within 39 seconds of our first hellos.".
This happens.
A lot.
I don't know why. I've tried to understand it for a very long time. Finally, I had no choice. I settled on pheromones. It's certainly not anything I'm consciously putting out there, but out there it seems to be. I therefore, must be sending that signal.
I think I'm a pretty good friend.
I may not stay in touch as often as you'd like. I may seem flippant, distracted, or aloof. My attention may be split a thousand different ways. Or seemingly so. Trust me on this though, when you have me...I'm yours.
You see it's not just strangers who come to me with all their secrets.
It's my friends too.
I have been priest
confessor
therapist
conspirator
to many of the closest people in my life. Again this is nothing I blatantly advertise. Simply something I do. I guess I generate a certain trust. I'll never break it. I'll never judge for it.
Almost anytime someone has told me something dark and painful, or even to them, slightly disturbing...I've never been darkened, pained, or disturbed. So many times when I reply, I am told...oh so quickly...that I had given the most unexpected response. People are waiting for me to think less of them. For me to judge them. For me to condemn them. Sometimes for the most innocuous things. Sometimes for the most bizarre. Sometimes for the most horrible. I never do. Not once. If there's something that just has to be said, and no one to say it too...well...I guess I'm that guy.
My friends know this already.
Apparently so do strangers at bus stops.
I may not cry, but I'll share your tears.
I don't really need to be held, but I'll hold.
Sometimes I talk, but I more often listen.
I don't get lonely, but I'll be there when you are.
This whole dropping off the planet, losing touch thing I do...I'm aware of it. There have been a number of times I've even dedicated myself to addressing it, possibly even fixing it. Being a better person. A better friend. Like oh so many resolutions we make it life, it always falls off about three days after making it. I don't mean to be horrible.
My intention to not be...doesn't make it any less so. I realize this.
But I am what I am.
I'm the guy who'll occasionally talk to you.
Sometimes see you.
and
ALWAYS love you.
This happens.
A lot.
I don't know why. I've tried to understand it for a very long time. Finally, I had no choice. I settled on pheromones. It's certainly not anything I'm consciously putting out there, but out there it seems to be. I therefore, must be sending that signal.
I think I'm a pretty good friend.
I may not stay in touch as often as you'd like. I may seem flippant, distracted, or aloof. My attention may be split a thousand different ways. Or seemingly so. Trust me on this though, when you have me...I'm yours.
You see it's not just strangers who come to me with all their secrets.
It's my friends too.
I have been priest
confessor
therapist
conspirator
to many of the closest people in my life. Again this is nothing I blatantly advertise. Simply something I do. I guess I generate a certain trust. I'll never break it. I'll never judge for it.
Almost anytime someone has told me something dark and painful, or even to them, slightly disturbing...I've never been darkened, pained, or disturbed. So many times when I reply, I am told...oh so quickly...that I had given the most unexpected response. People are waiting for me to think less of them. For me to judge them. For me to condemn them. Sometimes for the most innocuous things. Sometimes for the most bizarre. Sometimes for the most horrible. I never do. Not once. If there's something that just has to be said, and no one to say it too...well...I guess I'm that guy.
My friends know this already.
Apparently so do strangers at bus stops.
I may not cry, but I'll share your tears.
I don't really need to be held, but I'll hold.
Sometimes I talk, but I more often listen.
I don't get lonely, but I'll be there when you are.
This whole dropping off the planet, losing touch thing I do...I'm aware of it. There have been a number of times I've even dedicated myself to addressing it, possibly even fixing it. Being a better person. A better friend. Like oh so many resolutions we make it life, it always falls off about three days after making it. I don't mean to be horrible.
My intention to not be...doesn't make it any less so. I realize this.
But I am what I am.
I'm the guy who'll occasionally talk to you.
Sometimes see you.
and
ALWAYS love you.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Goat Fucking and Other Atrocious Acts
I don't think that goat fucking is inherently wrong. I'd never do it myself, but I have no problem with those who choose to.
See here's the thing. Goats don't have the same socially imbued attitudes towards sex that we do. They don't have any moral hangups. They aren't married. They don't attach sex to sin, or corruption. They don't attach sex to personal value. The goat doesn't think it's "wrong". You cannot steal a goats chastity. You can't make it feel bad about itself. You can't make it feel the need for a long cry in a hot shower afterwards. You can't fuck a goat, and expect the goat might possibly wake up the next morning with regret.
Now if a person is trying to fuck a goat, and the goat kicks him in the nuts, well...dude had it coming...for trying to fuck a goat, but if the goat doesn't have any objections...well...
I personally have never been drawn to any type of animal other than my own. In fact as far as sexual attraction goes, I'm about as vanilla as they come. Entirely members of my own species. Almost but not quite entirely members of the opposite gender. When you think about what a huge and diverse planet we live on, you begin to realize that I'm really limiting my options. Truth is, I'm pretty okay with that. On the other hand, who am I to judge those who decide to try new things?
Much like the goat, I personally have no hang ups about sex. Well maybe just a couple. I'll get to those in a minute.
First I'm going to go somewhere that may make you a little uncomfortable. I opened with goat fucking intentionally.
It's the litmus test for the rest of this little blog.
If any of the goat fucking bit made you squirm. Made you uncomfortable. Made you angry.
STOP READING NOW!!!
Those old Greek bastards we look up to so much...you know, the thinkers and such, were a bunch of boy fuckers. There was a relatively prevalent idea that women were for babies, and boys were for fun. This was not a taboo. In fact, it was commonly accepted, and to some degree...expected. To our knowledge those pretty young things were not traumatized. They were not scarred for life. They were not shamed or shunned.
Of course if Old Man Socrates were to so brazenly try that in today's western culture, we might...I dunno...make him drink hemlock or something.
A decade or so ago...when I was in college, there was a young lad that roamed the hallways of the theatre department. He was probably thirteen or fourteen, but certainly no older than that. He was the son of one of the professors there, so he was around often. He was also adorable. You know, that hair...those eyes. Just...well...pretty. And charming to boot. You kinda wanted to kick him, but you couldn't cause he was too damn sweet.
All the girls loved him. I know for a fact my then wife harbored a little crush. I also know for fact that many of the other girls in the department did as well. It was a little bit funny, a little bit bizarre. Now I can't say with any degree of certainty that the girls were fetishizing this kid. I can't tell you that he had become some little boy toy sex object/fantasy. But I can say that the girls were not entirely innocent either.
All fun and games right? I mean, really...it was all harmless. No one got hurt.
I can't imagine how different things would have been, if it would have been a 13 or 14 year old girl, and all the guys were acting...EXACTLY the same way the girls in the department acted. I can guarantee it would not have been considered fun and games.
Oh boy. Here we go. Now we're getting there. The part where you may actually change the way you feel about me.
I don't think it would have necessarily been wrong if one...or more...or any...or all of those girls had enjoyed every imaginable erotic pleasure with that kid.
Granted, he wasn't "The Age of Consent".
He was certainly capable of making a consentual decision.
I also don't think it would have necessarily made any of the girls a "sexual predator"
I don't think he would have been a victim.
I don't think they would have been criminals.
I also feel the same if all things considered, it was all reversed.
Since the time of Socrates and all of his boy buggering buddies, we have had about six thousand years of social conditioning. We have attached certain attitudes (very strongly attached) toward sex. We have associated it with religion. With self esteem. With power. With personal value. With shame. With invented morality. With a whole shit ton of things that our Greek forbearers never really considered.
In other words we've had six thousand years to become civilized.
We have a cultural problem.
There are a LOT of people who like to have sex with kids.
Men and women alike.
Boys and girls alike.
We need to address this problem. We must if we are ever to solve it. We absolutely HAVE to talk about it. And I mean talk about it. Not just condemn. Not simply judge. We need to get into the uncomfortable parts of it. We need to stop closing our eyes, plugging our ears, and singing la la la la la.
It is NOT unnatural to be attracted to youth. In fact...it is very VERY natural.
I feel I need to state here, that I'm not justifying anything.
I personally have about as much interest in having sex with a little kid, as I do in having sex a goat. Which is to say... no interest at all.
But we have to start being honest.
We have created a blanket rule on how young is too young, but I think we have to admit that blanket has a LOT of holes in it.
I also have nieces and nephews. If I ever knew of anyone hurting any of them, in any fashion, and I had the means and wherewithal, I would without hesitation visit grievous and bodily harm upon that person. But we always say that don't we. We always qualify it. So allow me to not. If I ever knew of anyone hurting ANY child, in any fashion, and I had the means and wherewithal, I would...well...you know where this is going. But we always say that don't we. We always qualify it. So let me not. If I saw anyone hurting ANYONE, in any fashion...and you know where it goes from there.
I don't know if there is an age of consent. I know we've created one. I don't know that having sex with someone beneath that age is necessarily wrong. I don't have the same value/moral system as everyone else. I ABSOLUTELY don't have the value/moral system that our government or religions tell me I'm supposed to have.
I know this. Of all the things I've been told. Of all the things I've been instructed. Of all the things I've read. The only REAL thing that I know to be wrong, truly know, deep down in my non existent soul, is to intentionally bring harm to another human being. In any form. Physical. Sexual. Psychological. Even financial.
We have invented laws, and rules, and moral codes, and congratulated ourselves for being civilized because of them.
Those laws, rules and codes don't mean anything.
Each person will follow AND break them according to his own conscience and desires. All of us...every single one of us, will pick and choose the ones we like, and don't like.
Laws do not make us civilized.
We are not at all civilized.
Unless we choose to be.
Civilization can only happen when we choose to live with each other, without harming each other...not because the laws make it so, but because we actually prefer to live that way of our own volition.
We must open the dialogue.
We HAVE to talk about the things that make us uncomfortable.
We need to stop condemning,,,and start exploring.
We need to ask questions.
We need to not be afraid of the answers.
I think we can be better...
but in order to become so...
we must be brave
we must be honest
we must
be.
Now if you'll excuse me...
I've got a goat to go not fuck.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Split into two
Last night I started a new blog. I do this now and then.
Some night long ago, 2002 or 03 maybe, my friend Frank, (who also has a blog that you should absolutely read) told me of this new thing called a blog that he was trying.
I'd never heard of such a thing. He explained it, and I was instantly intrigued, and a little intimidated by the whole idea. What? Write stuff that people can read? Whatever I want? No form? No format?
It all seemed so big.
Since then I haven't really stopped blogging. Oh I've had slow periods.
I've got blogs floating all over the place out in internetland. I don't even remember where some of them are. Just...out there. Going unnoticed. Floating in digital purgatory, waiting to be noticed...or something.
I've been part of blog groups.
I read probably twice as many as I write.
I voyeur my friends through their written words. All the time.
I really love how uninhibited we become. The things we choose to share.
I love getting to know you better.
I've had this habit in the past of starting a new blog, and then forgetting the old one, and then the new one becomes what the old one was. I actually did that a LOT in the beginning. I tried. I explored. I looked for a voice, then a new one, then a new one.
I think the first blog I really settled into was my Myspace blog. I would probably still be doing that one, but circumstances beyond my control (Myspace becoming completely irrelevant) made that impossible. FB, for all it's little apps and games and whatnots, never really did get behind the blog, and that always pissed me off.
So I came back to where I started. My very first blog ever was on blogger. This is not that one. I sometimes go back and look at it though. Fun times.
This one you're reading now, I am absolutely devoted to. It is my playground. It is my joy. It's my catharsis. My therapy. My place where I get to go and have sex with words.
It's not always a great result...but for me, it's always a good time.
So a few days ago, a friend of mine posted on her timeline something about small boobs. Me...being who I am...saw a post about boobs. Of course I commented. It came up in the thread of comments that years ago had written an ode to small breasts.
I use the word "ode" VERY lightly. Mostly I had written an appreciation blog, and titled it Ode.
It took me a while to find it. It was posted on a blog site I hadn't used in years. I quickly created a new blogger page, and put it there, simply so I could share it with her.
She seemed to like it, and that made me glad. Even though after having read it again after so long, I saw all the re-writes I wanted to do to make it better.
At first that was the end of it. I had created a throwaway space, simply to share something with a friend.
Yesterday, in one of my FB groups, the topic of Polyamory came up. In the comments thread I answered a couple questions...but I always felt limited. I'm not a fan of creating a wall of text in a comment. That's what I have this for.
(Light Bulb)
I had just created a new blog, where I had left something for what polite society calls "Mature Audiences" (I hate that term btw)
Now I had something in the "Mature Audiences" category I wanted to write...and by sheer coincidence... a place to put it.
Things started falling into a weird sort of place. I often contemplate writing more adult themed pieces, but I never want to leave them here. Sometimes I will, but I find I have a lot of thoughts, and I don't want this place to get locked into a theme. I love the openness of what i have here...where it can be anything. I also don't want people who read this blog, to start thinking of it thematically. I don't want to become topically predictable here. I'm sure I have been...or can be...but it's still my desire for the place.
So my friend Frank. He started me on this whole thing. He is in fact my longest time blog follower (and I'm very likely one of his), knowing my penchant for starting up new blogs, expressed his concern. I've done this before. It is quite valid. That I may forsake one for the other...or turn one into the other rendering it superfluous. I will extend every effort to make that not so. This one is my me. This is who I am in all my digital naked glory.
The other one I really do want to make topic specific. Something I've rarely tried, and never with any great success.
Here's the thing though.
Once upon a time...here on this very blog...I wrote one about boobs. It was done because someone suggested I should...and I did. According to my blog tracker, that blog, without even the slightest competition, has been viewed in numbers nearly tripling the blog with the next highest number of views.
I posted a blog here last night. I posted just the second blog ever at the other space last night. My other blog has more than double the views, even though this one is far more established.
Face it. People love reading about all things sexual. It's a simple fact. I extended no effort to promote the other blog at all. Since it's a topic I don't necessarily want every person on my friends list to know about, I announced it in a limited friends list. STILL...it had more than double the hits as this much more established, and followed blog which I announced to my entire group of friends.
I think that says something.
It also encourages me to write for a larger audience.
We'll see what happens.
I know this. This one...isn't going anywhere, and will always be whatever the fuck I'm thinking or feeling when I sit down to type it all out.
The other one is as much an exercise in topical discipline, as it is something that I think may also turn out to be a little bit of fun.
Also...I may lose interest in that one.
Also...like always...I appreciate feedback, and comments, and well...suggestions on what you would like me to write about...
In the end, I'll always have drasagoblog.
but for now, I also have
For What It Isn't
Some night long ago, 2002 or 03 maybe, my friend Frank, (who also has a blog that you should absolutely read) told me of this new thing called a blog that he was trying.
I'd never heard of such a thing. He explained it, and I was instantly intrigued, and a little intimidated by the whole idea. What? Write stuff that people can read? Whatever I want? No form? No format?
It all seemed so big.
Since then I haven't really stopped blogging. Oh I've had slow periods.
I've got blogs floating all over the place out in internetland. I don't even remember where some of them are. Just...out there. Going unnoticed. Floating in digital purgatory, waiting to be noticed...or something.
I've been part of blog groups.
I read probably twice as many as I write.
I voyeur my friends through their written words. All the time.
I really love how uninhibited we become. The things we choose to share.
I love getting to know you better.
I've had this habit in the past of starting a new blog, and then forgetting the old one, and then the new one becomes what the old one was. I actually did that a LOT in the beginning. I tried. I explored. I looked for a voice, then a new one, then a new one.
I think the first blog I really settled into was my Myspace blog. I would probably still be doing that one, but circumstances beyond my control (Myspace becoming completely irrelevant) made that impossible. FB, for all it's little apps and games and whatnots, never really did get behind the blog, and that always pissed me off.
So I came back to where I started. My very first blog ever was on blogger. This is not that one. I sometimes go back and look at it though. Fun times.
This one you're reading now, I am absolutely devoted to. It is my playground. It is my joy. It's my catharsis. My therapy. My place where I get to go and have sex with words.
It's not always a great result...but for me, it's always a good time.
So a few days ago, a friend of mine posted on her timeline something about small boobs. Me...being who I am...saw a post about boobs. Of course I commented. It came up in the thread of comments that years ago had written an ode to small breasts.
I use the word "ode" VERY lightly. Mostly I had written an appreciation blog, and titled it Ode.
It took me a while to find it. It was posted on a blog site I hadn't used in years. I quickly created a new blogger page, and put it there, simply so I could share it with her.
She seemed to like it, and that made me glad. Even though after having read it again after so long, I saw all the re-writes I wanted to do to make it better.
At first that was the end of it. I had created a throwaway space, simply to share something with a friend.
Yesterday, in one of my FB groups, the topic of Polyamory came up. In the comments thread I answered a couple questions...but I always felt limited. I'm not a fan of creating a wall of text in a comment. That's what I have this for.
(Light Bulb)
I had just created a new blog, where I had left something for what polite society calls "Mature Audiences" (I hate that term btw)
Now I had something in the "Mature Audiences" category I wanted to write...and by sheer coincidence... a place to put it.
Things started falling into a weird sort of place. I often contemplate writing more adult themed pieces, but I never want to leave them here. Sometimes I will, but I find I have a lot of thoughts, and I don't want this place to get locked into a theme. I love the openness of what i have here...where it can be anything. I also don't want people who read this blog, to start thinking of it thematically. I don't want to become topically predictable here. I'm sure I have been...or can be...but it's still my desire for the place.
So my friend Frank. He started me on this whole thing. He is in fact my longest time blog follower (and I'm very likely one of his), knowing my penchant for starting up new blogs, expressed his concern. I've done this before. It is quite valid. That I may forsake one for the other...or turn one into the other rendering it superfluous. I will extend every effort to make that not so. This one is my me. This is who I am in all my digital naked glory.
The other one I really do want to make topic specific. Something I've rarely tried, and never with any great success.
Here's the thing though.
Once upon a time...here on this very blog...I wrote one about boobs. It was done because someone suggested I should...and I did. According to my blog tracker, that blog, without even the slightest competition, has been viewed in numbers nearly tripling the blog with the next highest number of views.
I posted a blog here last night. I posted just the second blog ever at the other space last night. My other blog has more than double the views, even though this one is far more established.
Face it. People love reading about all things sexual. It's a simple fact. I extended no effort to promote the other blog at all. Since it's a topic I don't necessarily want every person on my friends list to know about, I announced it in a limited friends list. STILL...it had more than double the hits as this much more established, and followed blog which I announced to my entire group of friends.
I think that says something.
It also encourages me to write for a larger audience.
We'll see what happens.
I know this. This one...isn't going anywhere, and will always be whatever the fuck I'm thinking or feeling when I sit down to type it all out.
The other one is as much an exercise in topical discipline, as it is something that I think may also turn out to be a little bit of fun.
Also...I may lose interest in that one.
Also...like always...I appreciate feedback, and comments, and well...suggestions on what you would like me to write about...
In the end, I'll always have drasagoblog.
but for now, I also have
For What It Isn't
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