Saturday, January 31

These Scarlett O'Hara Days

I am not a prophet nor am I fully a pessimist anymore. Yet, I have a feeling Harring's time in my life is done. It upset me earlier this week. The reason not being love sickness, but feeling manipulated.

I still feel like I've been lead on. I'm getting over the fact that this unfortunately was the case. I want to call, but I don't even feel like it's worth it. I have put my effort into it and I'm still baffled by how it all changed.

My prime example being that Harring apparently wrote a letter to my friend thanking him for "bringing Iguana to New Years and into his life." Something along those lines. I was touched when I heard that, which in turn helped promote investing in hoping it turned into something when he returned. Silly me.

Like a newlywed who has to hear of her husband's death on the battlefield. Never really getting a chance to know the man she wanted to love. I will wear black for a few weeks [hours] and then give up my wedding band for metal collection.

After that, I will begin again. . .

Picture of Success



I've had it with you, and Mexico can fucking wait.

You stood me up. Perhaps you really do want to get to know me, and if you do I would not mind getting to know you too. Just be fucking adult about it.

These are times that can't be weathered, and we have never been back there since.

Wednesday, January 28

Blood Mother Fucking Asshole

If you are lovesick/moody/blue. I share these to you. Martha Wainwright is in perfect tune with my mind these days.




To all those in the world, during these cold days. To Jim, to Noah, to Elizabeth, to Bradley, to K, to Jeff, to Eric, to Colin, to David and to Geoff [have you gotten my package yet?!] I think about each and every one of you everyday and I hope to keep those thoughts in my mind. Not these silly thoughts that have been forcing themselves in.



The Problem with Harring

A Point-to-Point if you will. . .

  • The first two weeks of his Mexico trip he texted me constantly. Telling me he missed me , he couldn't wait to see me, when he came home he was going to be very intense, etc.
  • The last week I did not hear a word from him. When I would text him there would not be a reply as there was the first two weeks.

  • He could NOT wait to see me when he got home.
  • When he got home I did not even hear a word from him until I called him the next day and then his response was just sort of, "Hi."

  • I opened myself up and said, "I missed you more than I expected while you were gone."
  • He responded with silence. Nothing.

  • He told me we've hang out tonight [meeting time was tentatively 8 o'clock] and that he would call some time to talk about it.
  • 8 o'clock rolls around. Nothing. In my wonderful way I call and text him. Instead of asking "What's up?" I send: Are you blowing me off?
  • He calls me back and asks me what is up. "You've been acting strange since I returned home." I admit I have been strange, but no stranger than you.

  • I respond that I will tell him fully when I see him. I say this as the movie I am working on is going crazy and I just exposed raw nerves at the support group last night and I have missed him for weeks.
  • He ends up canceling because he thinks he is getting a cold.

  • I call him on the way home and tell him I didn't mean to be weird or paranoid.
  • He was understanding and told me that he wants to get to know me. To be myself.
Now, while I agree with his last suggestion. From here on out I will be nothing but myself. He does not know that the notion that someone would just lose interest in me is hardly a fairytale in my life. I am terrified of opening myself up to anyone and I am trying to do this well.

My intuition is ringing out like a school bell. I have ideas and thoughts that have brought about this paranoia.

Yet, here is what is going to happen. . .

After all this was finished and I was riding home on the train. A man got on and looked at me. We rode home and I felt him looking at me. He was a tall man, not handsome, but a unique beauty was in his face. He wasn't ugly by far, but taller than a normal man and possibly bald under his winter cap.

In that moment I knew what was wrong with my equilibrium. I am not giving myself enough credit. I woke up today at 6 am, ran 4.30 miles (with a cold mind you!) I went to class, came home and did homework. Made myself hot for the meeting that never happened. I went to Manhattan, bought some plays for class, went to the Designer for the movie and worked until 10 PM.

The powerful being I am is beyond me. I am doing so much and I am allowing myself to fall apart over a guy. To let Harring rule my emotions and cause me to sound like a stuttering fool!

Not anymore. I still like him and wish to see him (perhaps it will happen sometime soon) again. No more paranoia though. If in Mexico he tells me of some Folgers man who came over the hills of Merida, riding on his mule. That they had a passionate tryst and that's why he stopped texting me. I can only reply with, "That was your choice."

I walk down the street and I see eyes. I see attractive men seeing me, looking at me. It makes me smile. I know anyone of these guys I could go up and strike a conversation, if I wanted to. For the moment I want to direct my attention towards Harring. I want to, that's why I don't just sleep with just anyone anymore. I know how nice it feels to sleep with the person you WANT to. If he wants to abuse his right and sleep with others and then show interest in me still. That is fine, I can expect no more or less these days.

Harring has been moved to the back burner. He decided that himself and I am okay with that. I will see him when I see him. I like him, but I was rash and thought his advances were sincere. He wants to spend time getting to know one another, I want to get to know him, but in order to do that. You actually need to see the person.

Monday, January 26

Group Session 1: Support & Cookies

I made it to the support group! I have been feeling off balance lately. Those entries are for a different date though. I will not be brought down by mild paranoia, stress and feelings of overwhelming doom. This is a night to celebrate!

I started off my journey to the group like this:

I needed to collect myself as only Joan Didion can teach me. I told myself that this was a good thing, there was no reason to feel as if the world is closing in on you. It was a bold attempt, and it worked somewhat.

Arriving to the LGBT Center, this time in the right room and on the right time. I began to feel terrified again. I clutched the chair. The room was filling up quickly, older gay men dominated, but of the twenty of us there were about seven who were in their 20s. I felt relief.

The group opened with stating your name and the feelings you were bringing into the session.

"I'm Iguana and I was supposed to be here two weeks ago, but I got lost." Everyone laughed and I smiled to show there were no hard feelings. "I feel overwhelmed. I have school that started today. Then this project outside of school. Also, this is all so new. . ." I trailed off, not wanting to be the talkative new guy. Another guy in the group passed around cookies and I held mine until after I had spoken. It was Oatmeal, M&Ms and HIV flavored.

"I am upset. . . because of all the new people attending the group." I felt a hint of shame, obviously I was one of these people. I would not let it get to me though, it saddened this man to see so many people infected. I had to admit he did have a right to feel that way.

I don't want to go into detail of how it all played out. I can best compare it to being in a cave filled with echoes. I heard so many things tonight. So many worries or issues that I'd heard before, but only in my head. I found myself agreeing with a guy who felt anxiety in trying to get proper medical care and felt nothing but frustration.

I listened to them open the discussion of "Were you surprised when you first found out?"

I felt my body tense. I'm new to this. Do I really go that far and tell that personal of a story?

Here it comes. . . "I knew I was going to get it. I did some many drugs. . .When you're that high, even when they told me they were poz. I didn't care. . ." Wait, what's not me. I looked up and saw a man across the way. He had the same story I had and so, I spoke up.

Why I spoke up is beyond me. I wanted to let him know he wasn't the only one. No one in the group had said it yet, "I agree with you--I--I have done many drugs-- f--or the last few--years. I would know who was poz and it didn't bother me either. Then when you're sober, it seems to be all you can think about." I trailed off because the reality had happened. I openly told a group of people that I did drugs and didn't care if I became positive. Okay, that felt different. We need to see what progresses from that point.

It was liberating in the sense that I know I am not the only person to make this choice. Does that make me feel any lighter? No. Do I feel proud? No. Do I feel that I've connected with the world and I am beginning to put my life together? A little. Baby steps.

We continued on. Discussing different issues. At one point someone pointed out how surprised he was that all the new people are sharing. I lowered my head until he added that it was a good thing.

The last thing that shook my soul was when someone brought up, "Telling your family." The room became a game of hush. The distance this creates and how we all hate it. I spoke out because the topic was so ripe I could not resist picking it from the vine.

"I was born the middle child and grew up as the one you didn't need to watch. I always got good grades and my brother created trouble. I could move to NYC and take care of myself! Now I can shake the very foundation of my family life with one sentence. I have become the child who has the biggest issue to deal with and I cannot speak with them about it. I fight with my mother and it ended with my screaming at her that I was looking for therapy and she said, 'I didn't know your childhood was so rough.' And I had to let her believe that was the reason I wanted it. . ."

I felt small. I felt afraid. I felt alone.

At the end of the group we went around again and stated our names and feelings.

"I'm Iguana and I'm still feeling overwhelmed."

I will return next week, though.

Sunday, January 25

As These Days Of Collegiate Experience Wane On. . .

The vicious cycle begins one last time. For one last semester. I'm writing this to keep my mind off other issues. I need to just type for a bit. Endless banter, as it were. I awoke early this mourning in a coughing fit. I couldn't breath and gasped for air, my eyes began to water. I could not tell where I was, the haze from the TheraFlu made sure of that. It could have been the end.

The choking fit pulled me from a nightmare I was having. A reoccurring one in which I am involved with a production of some kind. Usually it is a musical, this time was no different. I was in the lighting booth at my college. The show was opening tonight and I was to run the light board. Unfortunate as it is, the light board is broken. I can't communicate with anyone and the show goes on. Surprisingly, the performance is good. I sit there watching helplessly and hoping no one will notice that there are absolutely no light cues. No one does and they tell me how well they thought the show was . . . I feel guilty of taking the praise for doing nothing.

To have that dream and then to wake up in a coughing fit. It would put the shake on your day too? So I have been a little weary of everything, feeling doubtful of the future. The movie business is shaky right now, issues with production being organized. I have no power and tomorrow classes begin. It takes us full circle, no?

Class will be a welcome reminder. . . Oh and the Support Group! I am giving myself a pep talk right now, because this being positive thing is difficult. I am doing pretty well with it. It puts me to bed early.

Saturday, January 24

A Mind Cleanse

I am sick. I have a stuffy nose and I am coughing as if I have TB. These slow days, it's Saturday, yet I am stuck indoors. Oh, to be so poor! I have been using a Nettie Pot, but all I ever get is salt snot down the back of my throat.

Oh, forgive me, I just had a coughing fit. It's so hard to focus, ever since this cold arrived. Last night I slept, but not soundly. I kept dreaming that I was starting a rock band. I would wake up to pee or in a cold sweat. I would return to sleep, intent on forming the band.

College begins the final semester. A five year journey, coming to a close. Has it been five years? Am I still in college? I think back to Pratt, being 19, believing the world didn't have anything on me. I'm sinking into thoughts, I must change the topic or I'll be here all night.

Equus is a play I hold dear to my heart. I have been waiting to see it for about 2 years. There were parts that made me shiver. Daniel Radcliffe is a fine actor and has a cute body. More coughing, my throat feels raw.

I am finishing In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. It's one of those novels that you read and fully understand why it's famous. Is it necessarily shocking to the present date? Not quiet, but that's how unimpressed we've become.

Harring is due back from Meh-He-Co tomorrow. We shall see what happens. I need him to return before I can officially consider anything. Right now, I seem to be dying. So I consider that a touch more important. Having been reminded of what it feels like to be touched by another man, it just stirred my soul up. I have to forget that feeling all over again otherwise.

It's Difficult to Be Famous

Anita Morris is not a phrase you often hear out loud. Her name spoken is like hearing wind chimes, it takes me back to a better place.

I was going to see Equus with my good friend and we were in the second to last row of the mezzanine. Behind us were three out-of-towners—those kind of girls—who attended the show with all intents and purposes of seeing Harry Potter's dick from the last row of the mezzanine.

We had the unfortunate luck of arriving 25 minutes early to the show. I only need to be in a theater for a maximum of five minutes before the show. Tonight we had 30 minutes (for shows always begins 5 minutes late) to mingle with the people around us.

I was trying to talk to my friend and I stopped abruptly when the excessively gay usher in his 50s said. "Who's that on your arm?"

Let's stop for a moment as I explain. I love Anita Morris, I love that she is tattooed on my arm. I love to explain it to those that will understand the tribute behind it. This was not going to be one of those moments.

I looked to my right to see that the 3 ladies were interested as well, "Yes, who is that?"

"It's. . .Anita. . .It's a Broadway dancer." I quickly responded, for anything more and their heads my have imploded.

"NO! That is ANITA MORRIS!" The Usher quickly spouted out, making sure I was not escaping so easily. "Well my God! That is Anita Morris! Look at that!" He clicked on his flashlight and began shinning it on my arm. "Anita Morris! I know her! Charlie. . ." He said trying to wave down an usher in a different aisle. "Charlie! It's Anita Morris! Yes, Anita Morris! Tattooed on his arm. . . That's right!" His flashlight still shinning shoulder, however at this point I was so red the light wasn't necessary.

"Who was she?" One of the three women asked.

"She was a dancer on Broadway. . ." I saw their eyes glaze over. "She was sexy. . . Nine the musical? She. . .curves. . .Raul Julia. . . Ovarian Cancer?" I knew that anything I said sounded like the Sex and the City theme song.

"I love her! I can't believe she's on your arm!" The usher kept spouting out, he had given up seating newcomers and instead would take their ticket and say, "Look at that! He has Anita Morris tattooed on his arm!" I threw my head back and laughed. How could this moment get more weird?

I realized that my head was still starring at the girls behind us and they thought I was listening, "I used to choreograph musicals in high schoo--"

"So did Bob Fosse, Jeremone Robbins and Michael Bennett. I like their stories better." I replied and turned back to my friend, ready to return to normalcy. Before I got a word out I heard.

"What is she up to these days? Oh, I love her!" His face glowing.

My friend took this moment to whisper into my ear, "You've found your soul mate. The man who can identify your tattoo. You will wed." My face turned a pale shade of grey and I realized what I had to tell the usher now. . .

"She is dead." There was a silence as the usher let in a quick draw of air. A mother finding out her child died on the battlefield, he had to keep up appearances.

The weight of the situation was quickly alleviated when one of the threesome behind me went, "AWK-WARD!" The situation was now fun again, for everyone except the usher.

"Oh. . . That's. . .That's just to bad. When did she die?"

"In 1994." I just needed to give the facts. I knew it would be enough. "Ovarian Cancer."

"Well that's is news to me!" He said this with such venom, I felt the ink on my arm boil. He was playing the shock off with surprise. He took a moment to blink and collect his emotions. "She was a darling woman! Have you seen Hotel New Hampsire?" His final test it seemed. He was trying to blind side me with something he thought I did not know.

"Yes. It's an interesting movie. This is my tribute to a wonderful woman! For without her you wouldn't have movies like Hotel New Hamshire!" I sat as I heard the 5 minute tone chime. Now we could begin the real show.

Friday, January 23

Wednesday, January 21

While I Breath for a Moment

I'm taking the night to relax for a moment. I've been doing various things for the little independent movie and I haven't had a moment to just breath. I'm breathing right now. Winter Break has almost come to an end and what did I do?

I went home for oh so long and discovered more than I wanted. Which is usual of every visit it seems. I worked in a warehouse for a few weeks, helping organize Forbidden Broadway costumes. I am working on a film as a Wardrobe Supervisor.

I met Harring and lost him to the sun in Mexico. He returns Sunday and I just know it won't be easy. I wish he hadn't escaped so quickly and I had this time of leisure to have become more acquainted with him. I admit that my body has missed the physical attraction. I have felt withdrawal symptoms in my body. The struggle to not feel lonely.

I like his company, but I believe that I only got the brief illusion of what Harring is. Debonair and charming. I want to see what this extreme personality brings out before I begin to let myself fall for it's charm and glamor.

I want to get to know him more, which is the grown thing to do. I believe in lasting relationships. People change their tune so quickly at our age. Harring wants kids and five child family. Ha! Everyone knows my womb cannot bear offspring. Plus, five?! I can do one or two with the time span of 15 years in between.

I am so dedicated to myself, but I will try my damnedest to work him into the schedule. With class, the filming beginning, oh and, not to forget the Support Group.

Oh, but I joined the Support Group too! You've done so much and come so far! The group will lead to things. As will graduating from College. For better or for worse. You got into this life for a reason. There must be another chapter to all this. I feel my body saying to keep calm, this is that step I'm missing.

That essential piece of advice that I can't figure out. Terror. I'm nervous and scared. I can't let myself just give into it so easily. To share that part of yourself with someone. I should not necessarily run to him because he returns on Sunday. He left me for three weeks to go to Mexico, you met only a week ago. It's not the best idea, I can't spend the night and I need to stay focused in school.

I'm to cautious to live frivolously. To let my head fall into all this again. Yet, the plane will land and he will come home. He will call on me and I will feel the pull to run to him. Part of me says to withhold. You can see him on a day that suits you better. Am I allowed to be this way? I feel such a pull to be cautious, I'm so close to the border of change.

I am simply just writing out my nerves. I just wish it would click. What lesson did I miss?

Monday, January 19

The Mississippi Conversation

Wardrobe Supervisor is the position I will soon be able to add to my resume. It's not a paying job, but it's experience. It's the Depression, welcome and join me, will you? It's a movie about Lesbians and Vampires. I love dealing with the actors of this world. The designer is a nice connection to make. He's a Hot Asian. I like to call them Hot Dumplings. A nice guy and at such a young age, has so many credits to his name. I won't lie, my eyes turned a shade of green.

I'm giving out to the universe with this work. I love the experience and appreciate it. It feels terrific to put my all into something. I haven't felt driven, it's nice to have a constructive goal. Soon school will start and I will have more than one thing to focus on. Oh my goodness, I'm really finding work outside of school.

At this age I feel like I'm coming into my own. As if before this moment everything before this was a prologue. I am introduced at this age, coming into these situations. My life before now a mere pond of memories. I'm making changes in life, confronting myself.

Harring is in Mexico, as I am sure I have mentioned once before. I enjoy his Scorpio behavior, but I worry about the intensity of it all. He travels so often, it's seems so romantic. How his life works. He travels around to make documentaries. Perhaps I can be the Wardrobe Supervisor for his film. HAR HAR

I fear that if we date, I may turn into Hedda Gabler. After developing a taste of worrying about only myself. I find the idea of sharing that responsibility with someone unsettling. Not to shoulder my burden, but to give me something else to enjoy for a while. Am I possible of that commitment?

It feels odd wanting to enjoy something in these times of serious worry. It's all going to shift soon, this I can tell. My body feels it, for better or for worse. So far the steps have been promising. I feel so sorry for those I have read about who have been "let go." Leaving my job when I did, for ceremonies sake, was the perfect timing. They didn't let me go, I left them. Pride is a sin, this is true.

In a few days I will be seeing Equus. That's something to look forward to. I love that play, it's dated true, but it's unique. This man wrote Amadeus too, which I find utterly fascinating.

Saturday, January 17

A Continuation of Before

I should say something, shouldn't I?

What to say though? It's been a weird week and college will continue in seven days.

Now here comes the pisser of this post. I popped an Ambien before I started writing it.

Now, without my permission. I assure, the weirdest things I am beginning to see at this very moment. The way the computer screen begins to pulsate. As if it's about to give birth.

I should be talking about the job I have as Wardrobe Supervisor, but to watch the icons in my Dashboard. It suddenly seems ridiculous to even broach a topic in this state. I've been working on the script all day and I am due up at 10 AM. How vile, don't you agree?

I'm getting through the plots and such. Hopefully I'll finish it soon. Unfortunately I'm in phase two of Ambien. Where every other sleep in my sleep tells me to do nothing but sleep.

My life isn't worthy of writing about right now. It needs to be lived and not documented. It needs to be engraved in minds and not on paper.

Sleep.

Thursday, January 15

Life Returns. . .

Thanks to anyone who was comforting in my time of confusion. What made the situation more ironic (but in a good way) was that the moment I found this out. A bunch of people all jumped to my aid. From just being an ear to offering to make my calls for me. I did figure the situation out.

It's not a story that has lots of crying or screaming. I just kept calling and kept my cool. Finally after like the 4th or 5th call I got my answer. In two Monday's from now, I will be attending a group. Life will return to it's state of whatever it was before.

Thank you.

Monday, January 12

Learning To Connect

I hate the heavy feeling of tears. I don't know if everyone else can feel that when you're about to burst into tears. Suddenly, every facial gesture is calculated and planned. If you forget yourself for a second, then the flood will begin and it may never end.

For months I have been putting a lot of hope and faith into joining a support group to deal with the issues concerning my health and emotional spirit.
Positive Care II: Living with HIV
A group for men living long term with HIV to provide emotional support to maintain and promote health and happiness. This group provides a space to discuss concerns around self-esteem, isolation, safer sex, stigma, etc. Open to gay and bisexual men and men of trans-experience.
Mondays 7:30-9 pm—Jan 12 to Apr 6 (no mtgs on Jan 19 or Feb 16).
Intake required. Please call to schedule. Free.
There it is. My support group as explained by the advertisement on the website. I am HIV positive and I am living with it! To even type that stirs my soul and gives me reason to pause. I get frazzled when the idea enters my mind uninvited.

To partake in this group is a huge step for me. It was agreeing to meet weekly for three months and to address the issue of my HIV status with a group of other men. I ask you for a moment to sit and seriously think about that. What implications this holds on one's mind, body and spirit. Please. That's all I'm asking before I go on. Thank you for indulging me.

There was the intake session. Which is required for this group. It was meeting with this Counselor, Bonnie, that life got a little more real. I was open and honest with her. I named all the drugs I have issues with. All the thoughts that can go on my head in one day. I was being honest with myself. The old memories you have to disturb by just saying the word, "Crystal." Leaving that room left me shaken and vulnerable.

Then you realize the lack of vocabulary you have to articulate ideas about yourself. "Can you describe these thoughts? When you have them and how often?" I am sorry, but I don't see time the same way you do. Years and days have begun to flow into one another. What was once a thought I had for a day. Has suddenly been reoccurring for over a decade. I didn't notice it happening, yet there is the proof.

Also, give me a call next time you have to call up your doctor and ask him for the written paperwork declaring that you're HIV positive. I'll then be able to articulate the weirdness of the whole situation. Do I have to sound excited when I ask for them? Or do I sound matter-of-factly? Or when the front desk receptionist gives you an odd look as if no one with a disease has walked up to that desk before. Then when you tell her what you're seeking her tonal inflection changes just a little. As if apologizing to hear your news. If only you knew I was going to make copies and throw them off the Empire State Building.

* * *

Tonight. The first night of meetings and I arrived early. The train ride was a struggle in both the ride and in my head. I was not sure if this could be for me. Support groups can be so misleading. What if I am the only young guy here? What do I have to complain about? Some guy left you a month after you found out. I've abused drugs? Was that all that bad? Or perhaps these guys all got it from their partners. They may sound like simple fears, but they can make a forty minute train ride take forever.

Now I stood before the Welcome Center Desk and looked at the list of rooms and which groups were meeting where. My heart began to quicken at that moment, my mind was also listening to one of the attendant's talking to another older man who walked in. He was explaining, "I don't know about a group meeting afterward. There was the Positive Care I group that met from 6 to 7:30 PM. Nothing afterwards though . . ."

I quickly looked at the list and told myself that it wasn't my group too! I did not make this trip for nothing! I scanned the names and couldn't find the group. I took out my iPhone out and quickly went to the LGBT Center website to find the group. I then went up the volunteer attendant and showed her my phone. "I'm looking for this group."

She read the phone and called a number, screamed to someone across the room and said a little prayer before looking me in the eyes. There was that weight again, I felt the tears sneaking up. Now I needed to be careful in what I said or I may lose it.

"Why don't you go up to the group that meets before this group. Positive Care I, it's just getting out. Ask the coordinator there!" I still wonder if it hurts less to tire the victim down before giving the final blow?

As I walked up the stairs to the room, the group before was getting out. I had a feeling that even if my group was canceled I could possibly get into this group. Yet, as more people passed and I saw how crowded the group already was. My hopes dimmed a little more and my eyes felt heavy again.

I started into the eyes of a man I could tell was the coordinator of the group. I dared not speak for fear I already knew the answer I was going to receive. We stared at each other for a good 30 seconds before he finally broke and asked what I was looking for.

"I was told to ask you about a second group meeting here from 7:30 to 9?"

"No."

"Excuse me? It's listed on the website and I went to an inta--"

"I was not informed there was a second group meeting here tonight."

"Who would know?"

"Ada."

"Who?"

"Ada. In the CARE Center. Go ask her."

I ran down the hall, paying close attention to my eyes and how they looked. I was now getting frustrated and being sent on a chase that would not end happily. I got to the CARE Center and rang the doorbell. No one answered. I returned to the Welcome Center Desk. I approached the man who I had spoken to less than five minutes ago.

"I asked the man about the group." He gave me a blank stare. "About the Positive Care II group." Suddenly it all registered. "He told me to ask Ada. In the CARE Center. What time is that open?"

"10 AM to 6PM."

"So there's no one else here who can possibly know what's going on? If the group is happening?"

"No. Ada will know. She's gone home though. It's after 6 PM."

I turned away quickly and walked out the door. The cold air and the weight of my eyes caused a reaction that I hated, but was necessary. I wept openly as I walked down the street. The cold made it impossible for my eyes to not water, and the weight of the tears caused it to flow freely.

The crying felt so excessive. I will cry tomorrow after they tell me it's been canceled, I don't need to cry now! It was the irony of it all, the literal symbolism that made me weep. Partially out of hilarity as USUAL! I went to seek support and I found there was none to give. How can you not feel sad after discovering that. Yet it existed. There was another man who showed up. He and I. We wanted to learn about living with HIV from others at the allotted time of 7:30PM to 9PM!

Here I was, walking to the subway and balling my eyes out. I put on David Bowie and a song called Sorrows came on. It was over before it began.

I am not defeated. I know I'm not. I'm upset that this is the entry into what I hoped would be a positive experience. The theme of 2009 seems to be if you are nervous about something then life with throw a curve ball. At the end of the night it's just another night. I've gotten to this moment without a support group, so continuing another week or so won't destroy me.

If tomorrow they tell me that I missed my chance or something along those lines. I will tell them we need to discuss private therapy. Which I'm lead to believe can be given to me for free. It will work out.

I allowed my moment to cry. To burst into tears. How can all that build up not lead to tears?

Sunday, January 11

Post Mortem: Patti LuPone in Gypsy

I talked Elizabeth into buying a balcony ticket for the final performance of Gypsy. I had a passing vision of myself there in the St. James. I don't like to go against my visions. As the day drew closer I regretted it the entire day leading up to the event. How was I supposed to sit through three more hours of a show I'd already seen 3 1/4 times before?!

Seeing Patti LuPone take the stage, I knew how I could spend another three hours watching Gypsy. The same way I could dedicate two hours listening to Evita over and over again. I will never have a relationship so dedicated as the one I have with Patti LuPone.

The overture to Gypsy is another reason I can sit through it repeatedly. After it ended I jokingly whispered to Elizabeth, "And may I never hear that overture again!" I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. The old man next to me whispered, "I saw this show fifty years ago! You'll hear this music again!" I proceeded to squeal like a little school girl! More on him in a moment. . .

Patti LuPone is a perfect performer because she is so human. When you see her LIVE you know you're getting just that! I have seen Gypsy with Patti three times in less than a year. I can definitely tell you every time I've seen it has always been different. That's what I enjoy, I like that she keeps it's fresh and alert every time it's viewed. Yet, she still manages to keep the same powerful performance and gusto in every show.

She started Rose's Turn off in a whisper! A whisper!!! It was nuts, she knows she was doing something different and all you can do is sit back and let Patti drive! And we loved her for it, the song ended and we rose as one. Shouting and cheering. We didn't stop and at times I wanted to stop. I sat back down, but felt myself constantly shouting to her. Then she would bow more and we cheered more! As if the Ghost of the Great White Way was in my chair, I would jump up and continue cheering. Elizabeth told me to stop being stupid. *Note to self: Next Raul Esparza show. . .*

I know Elizabeth cannot understand the fascination I have with this lady. I made her a pillow for Christ's Sake! I sat down and with my limited knowledge of sewing and love for this woman. I made her a pillow!
[EDIT: I actually made her two pillows since I lost the first one on the D train. That's two pillows!]


So I screamed out to her, the surge of my cheers leaving my body left me feeling alleviated of sorrow! At one point I raised up my arms and she responded by doing the same and for a third time I felt myself lift from my chair. Screaming in Rapture!

During intermission I spoke with the old man next to me. He was a slice of history that I adore! He saw all the Broadway productions of Gypsy and West Side Story. He has a thing for Sondheim, but don't we all?

I am thoroughly glad that this is going to be my memory. That Patti LuPone will be interwoven with memories of my life. She's a woman I take the time to make pillows and wait at stage doors for. I have history with Patti and her development in my life, but those are memories and nothing more. There is a woman who can make me smile and enjoy myself in the darkest of times. As you said yourself, "Fare-thee-well Ms. LuPone."

Friday, January 9

One More Semester

Who managed to get all As this semester and securing a 3.9 GPA? I did. Yet, don't cheer for me, it was nothing. I'm just going through the motions until I graduate, which shall be happening in June of 2009. I've secured all my classes, now I need to file for graduation and it shall almost be done.

Oh. My. It's almost done. Excuse me while I reflect for a moment. . .

I saw Hedda Gabler the other night. Starring my favorite lady: Mary Louise Parker. She was solid, but the production was not a memorable one.

On Sunday, it's coming three-fold as I will be seeing Patti LuPone's final Gypsy performance. I have never seen a show live as many times as I have seen Patti LuPone in Gypsy. I suppose she will be that memory, like so many other gay men since 1980, who have the one show they remember Patti in. Evita, Les Miserable, Anything Goes, Sweeney Todd. The list goes on and on. I love her in Gypsy! Hearing her sing three of best power house numbers in musical history. Playing the role she was born to play. People may say she's hammy and awful, but I will always respect her!

Harring travels. He goes on trips all the time. I met him right as he arrived in from France and yesterday he flew off to Mexico for two weeks. Interesting twist, barely home and he leaves again. It gives me time to balance out and enjoy myself. I have been, spending time with good friends and keeping it local [in Brooklyn yo!]. Doing a little work in the warehouse, the possibilities it may lead to, but I dare not speak of it now.

I have recently fallen in love with Jacque Brel and his Belgian gurgle. He's not exactly like Edith Piaf, but. . .

If that mug looked at you and started singing in a different language. You would swoon a little, I am sure.

An Open Letter . . .

To anyone who has seen the movies Capote and Infamous, but not read In Cold Blood,

Ha. Ha. Ha. All silliness aside, seriously?

Regards,
E. Iguana

Tuesday, January 6

Monday, January 5

A Country Ride With a Prostitute; or The Sun Also Sets in Connecticut

Connecticut. 24 Hours. The Escort. A Chihuahua. Myself.

How I got tied up into it all is really besides the point. I had just returned from Harring's place and planned on a long night of sitting in my apartment and playing video games. Cut to an hour later when I was traveling to the West Village and preparing for my departure to Connecticut.
IGUANA: So I'm going to the same place in the Village. Your boss's apartment?
ESCORT: You've been here? When?
IGUANA: Some time in July, I think. We fucked twice and watched Nashville.
ESCORT: I remember Nashville.
IGUANA: Ha!
ESCORT: Oh, wait I remember you too.
IGUANA: Yea, sure. Doesn't matter.
We traveled up and I kept him company. I brought up Harring and in a funny turn of events. The Escort and Harring were involved, apparently right before I met Harring. What is this small world in which we live?

I didn't realize the door I opened in that one. Harring had mentioned they had dated and it hadn't ended nicely. The Escort told me his side of the story, as only a bitchy prostitute can.

"I'm just saying. YOU are very mature for 23."

We arrived to the cabin. Yes, I was spending a night in Connecticut! It wasn't Fenwick, but it would do. This place is The Escort's business partner/lover/pimp/father. It's a wonderful and interesting relationship.

I have heard about Bob. Yes, his name is Bob! He owns the house and according to The Escort's time frame in the stories he tells, Bob is about 738-years-old. Though he looks about sixty in physical appearances. He has lived through decades of drugs, sex, happiness, sadness, AIDS and death. He has amassed an unknown fortune and decided that this boy be his heir.

We arrived to the house, this is the house that The Escort built. It seems Bob has grown weary of The Escort though. He has now demoted The Escort from working at his Magazine to keeping house.

I like The Escort, now that I've taken the time to get to know him. I see the humanity he possesses. It's hidden beneath a thick layer of indifference. It's nice to view that on occasion. He is just as lost as the rest and I don't necessarily feel comfortable in knowing that.
(Waking up in the morning, they shared a bed, but have kept to their sides.)
ESCORT: Morning.
IGUANA (Yawning): Morn--ing
ESCORT: I'm hard.
IGUANA: That's nice.
ESCORT: I'm gonna jerk-off.
IGUANA: Good to know.
ESCORT: Or you could just sit on it.
IGUANA: I'll keep that in mind. Good luck.
ESCORT: Oh, yes! You're with Harring!
IGUANA: Exactly. (Smirks.)
ESCORT: Well, we've all been with each other. You've been with Harring. I've been with you.
IGUANA: And you have been with Harring. I know! It's less weird when the two of you don't dislike each other. Sorry.
It was a humorous scene to be sure. We spent the day fixing up the house, that Bob pays him $1200- a month to do. He needs to pay for materials I assume, but still that's not a bad job.

The night was spent watching videos he took of his trip to Europe with Bob. That night, while we slept away from each other, I dreamt of slide shows about Escorts and their old Johns. He wanted the company, his life was getting to hectic. Bob didn't pay him enough and he felt lost. I was there to help him smile and forget life. It was an ironic role I was playing, but I think I did fine. He made me laugh in return and I enjoyed that he wasn't be insincere anymore.

We discussed the jobs he could get. Part time of course, so he could continue hooking. Apparently, the life of an escort is one that boarders on hospitality. They see so many hotels, they get a natural glow whenever they enter one. The Escort wants to work at a front desk of a hotel. That is his ambition for now, while he gets his degree in Interior Design.

Do you see the beauty and sadness of it all? He showed me the front elevations he did of his kitchen, on graph paper. I smile because he seems so determined and I like that!

It was an unwanted diversion, but my trip to Connecticut was a fun little surprise. One of those journey's that comes about rarely. You jump down the rabbit hole and find out a little more than you figured you would.

A Job Is A Job Is A Job

The world is working out of the ordinary these days. It's playing a fun little game with me. Showing my influence on the world. Today's example is simple, but fun one.

I was talking with my friend about needing to go out and get a job. I got all bundled up and left the apartment. I went down to the train and realized I just missed the N Train. I took that as a sign (for the things I need to go, I can always accomplish tomorrow) and returned to the apartment. I began the conversation with my friend again. He then offered to pay me $10- an hour to clean up a warehouse full of costume junk. Of course I readily agreed.

It's a job and a job is a job is a job. Sure beats working in an office at least.

Here is what I looked like on New Year's Eve:

Yes, that face can attract men.

Friday, January 2

A Dream and a Reality — A Symphony of Emotion

I wrote this post last night before my date with Harring (whom was known before as The Documentarist, which is not an actual word). Remember this as you read on:
I had a dream last night. It was sort of a nightmare, but I can't quite tell. As usual, keep in mind that my dreams border on realism most times. So here we go...

I am with The Tall Man and other friends. We are renting a van to go to the zoo and we are standing around and smoking cigarettes. The Tall Man takes me aside and begins to berate me with insults. It's random especially since this is the first time we've seen each other in almost a year. I begin to cry and he doesn't react. When the group returns I stop crying and say, "I am sorry I can't be in this group right now. He is being a fucking asshole." Then I stalked off.

Hmmm...

Sometimes I wonder if I have Post-Traumatic Syndrome or something. Why is that my dream? Oh well, I just took it in my mind as one last memory of a past. That I'm moving on and always being positive. That's my only resolution. . .
The day thus continued on. Harring called and we decided to see a perfect date movie. Revolutionary Road. I have loved Kate Winslet around the time I saw her in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I have wanted to BE Kate Winslet since she stepped out of that car in Tiantic. After Revolutionary Road, she is a Goddess.

Yet, this still isn't a proper date movie. We went because I want to test fate, luckily, it wasn't a deal breaker. It's what happened afterward that caused me to once again question my life and why things happen the way they do.

We were standing and waiting for the L Train. Unexpectedly, I hear a voice say, "Hello Craig." In this moment there was no one I wanted to see less, yet life somehow deemed this plausable. An audience voted and results show that of anyone I could run into it would be The Tall Man.

Before this day, this moment, I have always wondered what would happen. How would I react? Would I be able to carry on a conversation? Would I cry? Suddenly this answer was about to be revealed. Here he is. Still incredibly tall and equally handsome. His hair had grown much longer, just as my own had shortened considerably.

I think I blinked for a considerable amount of time before stuttering, “I--I had a nightmare about you last night.” He laughed nervously and replied, “Oh. . .wow! I hope I didn’t die.

The pang, mixed with the sharpness of my tongue almost caused, “Oh. No, my dreams are horribly real to life. I’m sure you know what it was about.Yet, I think I may have just drooled. I can’t accurately remember what happened during this conversation because suddenly my mind went blank.

I could see The Tall Man, I just could not hear anything he said. I began to ask him questions, I didn’t want a moment of silence so my disbelief could be fully comprehended. “What are you doing on the L Train?” I watched as his mouth moved and I acted like I understood, but then I realized his explanation was taking longer than I expected. Oh no, he was asking me a question! Wait, I just hallucinated, what are you doing on the L Train?

As this silent film played out, I turned my head slowly to my right and realized there was still another player in the scene. Harring was standing there silently, “This is . . .” I looked at him hoping he could see my sudden panic. He seemed to catch on and quickly added, “Harring.”

I looked back at the Tall Man and informed him of the movie we saw. I felt my body begin to tense more, but I just smiled and laughed. Slowly but noticeably, I leaned into Harring. I just felt my body naturally doing it and suddenly a little switch flickered in my mind.

I felt life was on my side at this moment. Give me the strength to accept that which I cannot change. I could never think of what would happen when I saw the Tall Man because I always pictured it happening by myself. I never wrote a third character into the scene. I would not cry, because I was not alone. I would not yell, because I could lean and still get the same feeling of relief. I am moving on.

I knew that I had no feeling to reunite with him anymore. Also that he had no idea what happened after he hung up the phone. I suddenly didn’t care either. I was still trying to figure out why 2008 was running into 2009. Even if Harring and I don’t last longer than any other affair, he has already paid off his investment.

After the train arrived the Tall Man understood his time on stage was through and he took his leave. I looked at Harring and inevitably had to explain exactly why that hoofer was being allowed so much stage time. I got about two sentences out about the dream from earlier and just stopped talking. I needed to think. . .

Thursday, January 1

Enter The Documentarist

It's New Years Eve and only moments after 2009 rolls in I am making out with a boy. I didn't foresee this happening, not in the least. We all got dressed up before we left the house and I was so unaware that I was going to be courted. I had my friend give me a Black-Eye because it seemed what needed to be done at the time.

We arrived at the club and I pranced off, looking around for something fun to do. When I arrived back at the sitting area that was mine, The Documentarist, entered the scene. I knew him from Manhunt back in the day. Wed\ never hooked up because I was going through a lot of shit at the time and he is my age, it unnerves me to be interested in someone on my playing field.

Our eyes met. His piercing and mine glazed over. We'd been talking on manhunt, on and off, for about two years. We have a little knowledge of each other's lives, but nothing more than the basics. Cock size, HIV Status, etc.

I smiled at him and he whispered to me, "What are you on?" I rattled off a list of letters from the alphabet and he seemed nonchalant about it all. I think that was the moment I knew he was mine for taking.

I did not necessarily plot it out. I simply decided to dance with my shirt off, that is all, nothing wrong with that. Next thing I know we were in the bathroom kissing and then on the dance floor making out. He told me he'd have met me sooner if he had seen my smile before now. He has a smooth way with words. He also added, "You know you're coming home with me, so I can tie you up and not let you go?" I swear, my heart melted, just a little.

I was taken by his humor and mannerisms. He's a stout guy (maybe a little chubby), is Israeli and has a dark complexion. He always has stubble, smokes left-handed cigarettes and is covered with Keith Harring Tattoos. He is a Scorpio and has a huge sexual appetite.

He was smitten with my good looks and kept telling me how cute I am. After a little while, we finally decided to leave. We arrived at his apartment around 4 am and didn't go to bed until 6:30 am. We slept until about 2 PM and then continued to mess around and talk. He made me breakfast and I continued to turn him on. There was discussion of dating and other issues of monogamy. It moved so fast, I've never felt so attracted to someone before.

I've arrived home and wondrously, we have set a date for tomorrow. I read in Gay Love Signs that Cancer & Scorpio go together well. Exceedingly well, actually. It's already accurately called out how our first meeting would be.
"Your first sexual encounter could take place almost anywhere; at the baths, in the back of a truck or behind the locked door at his office, depending upon the circumstances under which you meet."
The book is surprisingly accurate. I left his apartment and began to doubt myself. He seems like a worthy thing to try for and the cards are already in my favor. I read the book and it addressed this issue right off the bat!
Scorpio men are sexuality incarnate. When you first meet you see it in his eyes that are deep-set and fixed in their gaze. When he makes eye contact, this man is not teasing. He doesn't flirty because he realizes that sex is more than a game. . .Your first instinct is to run away, but the promise of such intense sexuality and the challenge of coping with his power combine to force you to surrender.

You feel like you are jumping feet first into a deep pool of dark water, giving yourself up to a mystical experience that could lead you either to heaven or hell. After your first sexual encounter with a Scorpio man, you may feel that you don't care whether it's angels or devils as long as you can spend eternity with him as your lover.
It's very interesting all of it. It sounds promising and though it's not the cold heard facts, it's nice to have a perspective into the situation. I trust the ideas of what to look out for, since I find myself very Cancer-like.

Now what's tricky and I figure I may as well be honest with him. I have my LA Lover staying with me apparently from the 1st to the 3rd. He must've figured something was up today, because I didn't call him until I got home around 6:30. He is sick. Oh it's such divine intervention! Only the first day into Which is good because I have a hickey.