My call to arms

I’ve heard it said that the benchmark for love is whether or not you would die for someone.

It’s not. Death is Easy. We all do it. It’s going to happen.

No, the benchmark for love is whether or not you will live for someone.
Will you wake each day with the intention that today you will be as good to them as when you were courting. As when you were dating. As when you first saw them blush with their body. As when you first touched and your heart sped up a little.

Love is a emotion, yes. But in a relationship, it’s also a choice. The choice to love completely. To not allow all of the noise and fury of this chaotic, beautiful, mad world we live in, to not allow it to take over and intrude where it is not welcome.

But, people call me crazy for opening my heart so wide. And I won’t pretend that I have not been hurt. But, if I allow that pain to make my choices for me then I am not living. I am hiding.

I choose to not hide. To not be ruled by pain. By fear. I may not always know the way. But I know that love is my guide

Annual rant about love

I hate loving as I do. It seems a form of madness to see this crack in someone’s facade and for the briefest instant see who they are, who they might be. Then to fall in love with them. It’s crazy. Everyone says, experts, psychologists, philosophers, etc. Everyone says love takes awhile to form. But for me, that only happens if I’m actively impeding it or if I sense something…off.

Otherwise the fall is inevitable. So yes I hate loving in this way because when I’m not with someone, I pine. I pine for all whom I love but am not with. Who say that “I mean so much or If only this or that.” And I rail against this cage of almost but not quite and shout “Why not!”

While I may accept the choices of others, because I must, I do not agree. Better to allow love to bloom in fullness, to throw yourself into it completely, to dance in its madness and delirious joy than to hold back and be safe or wait for more opportune times.

There is no perfect time. No mythical place where it’s easy. No set of actions that make life easy. But love, the luxury we have.
To not choose love is a blasphemy to me. A thing profane.

We live in a time and place where love can be chosen. Where who you are with is not dictated solely by economics and opportunity. We are not limited by social circle, physical location, or class. We get to choose.

How can the choice not be love? How can comfort be more important than the chance at joy? All the comfort in the world cannot make up for a lack, for the heartache, the silent loneliness.

That moment when my heart sped up, when you put your head to my chest, was love. Some would say it’s sex, but I say “Bah, boring.” Sex without emotion is empty. It’s the equivalent of eating candy. As compared to a meal of complexity and satisfaction.

Look me in the eye and tell me you are happy with your life. That your days all sit in the band between content and joy. And if not, define and discover why not.

If I am not the choice that brings you to the place of joy, then I implore, find it. Find love. Don’t just accept, strive. Don’t just survive, live. I don’t care if it’s with me, though I would prefer it. Choose love. Not just the love that is really like. Choose to exist in a state of love. It’s better than the alternatives. Even if it is fucking painful.

In my ire

I am not a creature of lightness. I merely know the dark well enough to see the gradients of gray. There are rules and lines that should not, must not be crossed. I am a creature Caged by rules. I am passionate and caring but make not the mistake that this makes me soft, weak, or unwilling.

I say all this to make this point: My friends and loves enjoy my protection. I’m not suited to bodyguard work, but it would be a mistake to think them not protected.

I don’t say this to be intimidating or to act the big man. I say it to be honest and to make my friends and people know that I am here. I say this because, if a truth is to be a deterrent to bad actors, it must be known.

My love does not need my help. She’s amazingly capable on her own. This is more for my people. The ones I say Friend to.

I probably should not post this. But my rage is only controlled by action. And I need to be rid of this cold calculation.

Evil is as evil does

The goodness of a person is expressed in the actions they take and the way that they treat others. Who they are in their heart matters but if they take no action that echos that then it doesn’t matter.

A person who is evil that does good works has brought good into the world.

A person who is good who does evil works has brought evil into the world.

I don’t think it is as black and white as that but it behooves us to see ourselves by this criteria as well as others.

And to check in with ourselves to make sure we are acting as we desire and that those we associate with are as well. For instance, I love my father. But I must acknowledge that the man I grew up with has faded and been replaced by a dogmatic extreme right leaning person. I don’t think in his heart he is evil. But his choices and speech say otherwise.

Rant on consent and disrespect

I hate that men don’t defend women anymore. That when some asshole says something or does something, even right in front of them, they chuckle along or are, at best, silent. Silence is condonment, jackass.

Not around me. And this isn’t some “I’m a nice guy” rant. I can be a bastard. It’s just this. If you are my friend or my family or my lover, I will protect you. And if someone’s behavior speaks of nonconsent then, I’m a nightmare. It’s a line that those around me are not allowed to cross. By my direct intervention if necessary.

But lesser offenses too. For instance, I was talking to a friend of mine and this jackass who works for her makes the swirling finger, your crazy gesture in reference to my friend. He was smiling like he thought it was the best joke in the world.

I stopped talking to my friend, turned to him and said, “If you ever make that gesture to my friend again I will snap it off and feed it to you.”

His expression went from all smiles to cowering that quickly. Like I had kicked his dog. But he never did it again. She had told him to stop doing things like that and it never stuck. Because he didn’t respect her.
But he feared me, and rightly so.

Would I prefer that when a person is demeaned or insulted or predatory behavior occurs and they try to put a stop to it, that the behavior stops? Yes, absolutely.
But if it doesn’t, then say something. It’s not bro’s being bro’s. It’s not fucking acceptable. And it is in no way the victims fault that you are acting like a asshat.

So yeah, I’ll defend women or the vulnerable. I’ll back your play if you want to act instead. If you say you have it, then ok. But I’m still here.

Emotional shotgun: feeling lonely during the holidays edition

I have dreamed a thousand lives and in each you are there. I’ve kissed you a thousand ways. Made love to you with word and skin. Fucked like beasts. Commanded and caressed. But in each, you will not stay. All I have learned, all the pleasures, the highs and the lows, all my knowledge I bring and still you walk away. I bare my soul and jump with my heart wide open, and still you walk away. And so I wake, because why live in the dreaming if I cannot be with you. I wake and try to find a way to another.

But I cannot get away from us. Why are you still single? Always that question. Always the answer, “That’s complicated.” Hoping they let it go, hoping to allow you to know me better before most of my secrets come spilling out.

I suppose I could lie. That’s the logical thing to do. But I can’t betray your memory. I won’t lie. So they hear a tale of sadness and pain and depression and that’s no way to get a second or third date. Yes, date.

Netflix and chill is bullshit. Even if we get to the point where sex is involved, I’m going to refer to those nights as the nights we fuck. Or better, as scene’s. Give me some emotional connection or give me a paddle in my hand. Preferably both.

A proper date. With dancing, with music, with conversation.

Fuck! You can see how bad I am. I’m all over the place even just writing about looking for a relationship.

Just shortcut it. If you like me, read me, and call me SIR and mean it. We’ll get there. Roll the dice. Make a move. My caution comes from a good place, it’s not lack of assertiveness.

Or ask me to text you, apparently I’ll ramble on and on.

Empathy cuts sharper than blades

Is it as painful for you as it is to me to watch a relationship falter? To watch it fail? I don’t mean from abuse or betrayal, that’s something else entire. No, I mean from missteps, from mistaken interpretation, from inaction, from neglect. Watching it all unfold and being unable to act. Because this is completely personal and I am on the outside. I can’t say something because I am not a good enough friend to say something. But it tears me up to watch it. I want to help. To show them what I see, but I can’t do that without trust. So I’m relegated to a watcher role. Helpless as it falls apart.

I know I’m not great at seeing the same fault lines in my own relationships. But maybe that’s because a little suspicion,  in that case, is more destructive than trust.  If I trust and it fails then at least I can feel OK that I acted in good faith. If I give in to my more cautious mind, then at the end, I will always second guess that action. That’s a greater burden than the truth.  

Maybe that’s why it’s so painful to watch in others.  I just want to shake them and say, share what’s in your heart.  It may hurt but you’ll rarely feel so hurt that you don’t heal.  Doubt and regret are worse than loss.  

Being single is bullshit

If I am romantically interested in you, then you probably, bout 90% of the time, fall into one of these 3 categories.

1. Married.
I don’t know what vibe married men and women are putting out that I seem to latch on too but really? What the fuck? I always check for the ring. Men, wear the damn ring. Married to a man, married to a woman, whatever just wear the damn ring. Stop me from doing something embarrassing. Help me out. Women, same bloody thing! The reasons are generally different for not wearing it. But I don’t want to flirt for an hour then ask you out after buying you drinks and your response is to slip the ring on. That’s not cool.

2. Not interested in cismale.
Maybe when at a bar known as a gay bar, populated by gay men, don’t be the guy that came with his girlfriend because you are a jealous asshole and didn’t want her to be hit on but still wanted a vodka cranberry.
Am I referring to a specific incident? Maybe.

Outside of that, just say not interested. Please, by the gods just say not interested. It is the least embarrassing. And straight dudes, don’t try to swing at me. It doesn’t happen often, but it doesn’t end well for you. So just don’t.

3. In a relationship.
Again just turn me down. Thanks but not interested. The quick easy let down.

There is a 4th category. The ones who are single, begin dating me then for whatever reason they go back to their ex. Ex boyfriend, ex girlfriend, ex husband, ex wife. I wouldn’t mention it but it’s become a trend.
Of those that tell me why, it seems to come down to, “I talk about love alot and that makes them think about love and the last time they felt that way and they start talking with the ex and the history comes rushing back.” That’s damn near a direct quote. From more than one person.

Love and stress

Stress ate me up and spit me out yesterday
Thought I was sad but after the 19th, the 11 year Anniversary of Morgan’s death, I felt OK. I never tell people which day we met, when her birthday was, the day we said I love you. I never tell them about the thousand moments and pleasures and discussions we had. Because those are mine. Those are what tells me that love is still possible. That there is beauty and joy in this world. I only tell people about her death, because fuck them! Fuck them! She was the light of my world. She was judged, I was judged by our lifestyle and when a shitbag motherfucking piece of shit took advantage of the world we shared and took her life, her family shut me out. I don’t even know where she is buried. I don’t know if they cremated her and spread her ashes in the Tradewinds like she wanted. So that a part of her would always be in the sky. Watching over those she loved. I don’t tell stories about us, about her because I can’t get 20 words in before I’m crying and my throat closes up. I can talk about her death because it fills me with a cold rage. A control seeps into me and I can function.
But the stress, the knowledge of her sits somewhere in the background. And yesterday, it caused me to collapse. My brain shut my body down. I slept for 16 plus hours. And I write this now as a reminder. Morgan is gone. My love remains. I need to acknowledge that while seeking the beauty and love I know is out in the world. Someone is sitting there and we’ll meet.
To whoever that is, you aren’t competing with a ghost. I know I can love greater and deeper because of my Morgan. I’ll just be sad sometimes. I’ll be destroyed sometimes. I collapsed because I tried to bury it. To hide my pain, to forget. Because that is what people seem to expect. But what people expect has never really worked out for me. I guess I just needed to see that.