Mi hermano tiene casado.

5 days in Montana -- biggest regret, I could not, did not express my love for my parents. Could I not get a word in edgewise? Did I not have great enough control of my emotions, such that I was calm and clear enough to say what was true? Or is it as Liz discovered (again), my mind has wandered so far into a field of flesh that there is precious little space remaining for deep thought?

Considerations that will surely be considered over the coming days.

My toast to my little brother and his wife, at Serano's Cantina in East Glacier on the night of June 7th:

"First of all, thank you Glacier National Park and the spirits who reside here. Thank you Jody [the minister and his wife from Browning] for conducting the service. Now, as growing up and leaving home as young boys do, my greatest regret has been the distance and loss of my little brother as my best friend. I'm happy to see that he has found that with Naomi, and so this toast is to their wedding."

That part I think I got right. Mom said later, now I am a Godfather and a Best Man.

Prestigious titles. I can't say I feel worthy of them, though I now wear them.

I see my father but I have trouble looking him in the eye. While in the city, my intuition of people is a contentable wash of 3rd party emotions, of my family is a tidal wave of personal laundry.

I watch my father in the lounge take the stage in the Glacier Park Lodge afront arm-in-sling Mom, my brother, Liz, Naomi's stepfather, mother, sister (and boyfriend Kyle), Grandmom, grandmother (and twin)...and I sense/see on everyone's face a resigned will to listen politely, bordering so closely to sighs of "omg-here-we-go-again" that my heart sinks. I turn my attention to listen but I can't hear -- I only see my dad's childlike eyes and enthusiasm shining forth like blue ocean. His nature is foolishly optimistic, despite all of his tough stories and bullish theories of business and power. I am his son?

And of course I am, in so many ways that the embaressment I feel on his behalf is entirely embaressment at myself -- oh how I have unconciously modeled my after him!

My mother sits in physical pain; they occaisionally break apart at the seams, crescendoing to animal ferocity at each other and patch it all back up again as if it never happened -- pleasant conversation ensures. Is this the essence of marriage? An inevitable collision course with each other that amounts only to as much drama as its participants are willing to extract? In Mom and Dad's case, they push each other to the door-jam of an open shouting match, where somehow he either compromises in a fit or she goes into a massive pout so large you can't breathe. Always with pleasant conversation following.

I find myself borrowing wheel-barrows of Liz's dark pessimism towards human behavior, and soon enough, I find myself hating myself for not loving my parents.

She and I become lost in this, reminding me, despite the reassuring solidity of our relationship, it remains so mostly because of a careful arrangement of life elements around us. When we are tested, we break apart at the seams (also), and plummet to depths of which we have not yet had 30 years to explore.

I lose hope. As my behavior is selfish and ignorant of consequence. As hers is deeply wounded and wild with passion. The two combined can create our night together post-wedding party -- wrecked with hurt and misunderstanding. I blame it on bad Montana skunk weed.

But what can be done? The grace of God inspires all things and all events. . .indeed, where does the division lie between mortal manifestation and something more akin to an opportunity to be moved as a divine vessal?

I stood ready to sleep in the lobby. She called me back with a heart so big. A profound story evolves within me. A story of love and angels, a story that has enough room to somehow fit my mother, the other women, Leticia, and Liz together in a beautiful way that crowns this moment with her the most important of all. The Love that is Now. And I get a sense of possibility, of mortals loving so much, so purely, commitedly, and self-sacrificially that, where before I was the devil, today I have learned enough to be (potentially) an angel.

My pulp-fiction philosopher (who has been guiding me since I was 13), Dean Koontz, says in his latest novel during our stormy flight into Seattle and on to Ontario, "Life is about 3 stages: 1) Boot Camp 2) Service 3) Eternal Life (and/or Freedom?)"

I muse that my 12 year induction to Los Angeles, essentially my coming-of-age, has been boot camp. I know that my graduation test began that morning after we found O'Brian and Little Sister, when I stayed up all night to witness the most beautiful morning I could remember since infanthood, as though I'd never seen it before. I know that my test was Leticia, and God Bless her forever, I know I passed.

I muse that with Liz we stand to rise above such silliness entirely, be husband and wife, lovers forever, and not suffer this whole heeba-jeeba of loss and remorse. And I do believe we believe this generally.

My baby girl has worn the cloak of the night and has reigned as the Queen of Darkness. Be that as titilating as it may for my own dark fantasies, she went that path not as one would dream of being something great, but as a spiritual inability to be broken. Notwithstanding, the pain of her reign has not entirely been exorcised.

As our long night proved, Love heals. And it is indeed refreshing to know that, as much Love as I take, I do after all have Love to give.

Her brother picks us up at the airport -- where the distracting loveliness of the female form was, in Montana, a savory find, in Ontario it is (as Los Angeles always is) a porn festival of outrageously, provacatively dressed girls and women. Somehow this both depresses the shit out of me, and gives me hope that no one of these masterfully construed bags of shit and piss has any game that can hit my achilles heal.

Watching Anastacia also gives me the duality full-on: She is no older than I was in the house at Echo Lake which Mom and Dad drove us to see. She is stumbling quickly and with more confidence towards her terrible twos, and it looks exhausting. She is far, far more able to cause mischief than any pet I can think of less than a monkey. She happily explores language but joyfully pretends to not understand a word of it. So her freedom is boundless, despite many boundaries. Punishment is required and I see it given justly.

The duality is this: Hell no, I don't want to spend my time doing that, and on the other hand, there could be nothing more engaging, challenging, and gratifying.

Amazingly, the answer to that question does not actually put more pressure on my fear that I am not man enough to wear my wings. After all, the whole world is obviously fucked with its social head buried in its proverbial ass -- basically, the heiness level required to even be accused a bad parent is outrageously worse than I could ever do. And terrible parenting, shitty education, and miserable circumstances seem to be the norm.

I really don't see any argument other than "Am I willing to accept responsibility in raising a child?" Of course, yes. Yes a thousand times. Yes until the sky falls. The child within me chuckles because he knows I have LOVED being raised and raising a fantastic mesh of children, of whom most all were adults. In a way, I am already a parent several times over, with Tacia, with Susie, and Derek to name a few. I speculate that adding another will not overly tax me, and in fact, recalling the quality that these people bring to my life, it could even make me feel better.

So things are good. I guess that's about as honest a confession as I can make.

The Things That Slip Away Forever

A quiet dream of childhood has found its way into my weekly routine.  The rings, the parallel bars, and the pull-up bar -- I guess you'd call it recreational gymnastics.  I have been doing it simply for the joy of self-motation and discovery.  I have no aspirations of joining clubs, competing, or even showing off.  It just fits in my overall exploration of physical confidence and balance.

I have always liked to exercise, but I had a childhood environment ill-suited for becoming well-trained.  On one hand, I was too self-inclined to receive instruction from my father, and on the other, he was busy burying his own bullied childhood in career and hobby.  Furthermore, I was shy and before 6th grade, I never lived in one place long enough to make friends or get involved with any of the normal physical tributaries.

By the time I finally found my way on to a skateboard and basketball court, I was so ill-coordinated and weak that it was only a short time before I had broken bones and injuries which would debilitate me through my 20s.

My greatest influence, in fact, was my mother.  I remember sitting in various Elk's Foundation or community centers with Daryl Hall & John Oats, Pat Benetar, and other 80s euro-electro-dance combos moving a bunch of leotarded women in unison.  I was not inspired, but the combination of music and movement somehow made natural sense to me.

Not surprisingly, my journey from home to adulthood took me directly into the American heart of hip-moving music and dance -- Latino Los Angeles.  My high-school exercise routines were forgotten within several years of being here.  I was killed by the overwhelming talent of my classmates at Art Center.  Having thought of myself as among the best, the shock that I was just a country-bumpkin was crippling.  I ducked my head and walked off the campus like I had something more important to do.

Instead, I wandered.  I started practicing guitar.  I replaced my dreams with women and an exploration of this gigantic and mysterious place called the city.

I was totally self-conscious and utterly unfamiliar with dancing and social games, so it indeed took 12 years just to find a secure place within myself.  In this time, I muse that I was dead in a way.  I made no effort to direct my life in any direction.  Opportunities, miracles and better, were happening around me, but I drifted and remained broken on the inside.

By my late 20s, I was recognizing that I'd taken the wrong turn and that my dreams were as close as my willingness to achieve them.  I had an experience of being reborn and apparently a childhood as well.

My "walk of shame" was a great display of personal pride and accomplishment -- almost like a graduation.  It required the courage to say that I had coveted my talent and ambition for fear of failure.  It signified my desire to show-all, not back down, and own my personal power.

People often ask me why I did such a thing.  The only explanation I have( that is still strong in my heart )is the memory of the 15 minutes before leaving the apartment.  I sat naked meditating and I pleading with myself not to do it.  For embarressment, for my family, etc.  As clearly as another person talking to me, my Self told me, "You have been challenged. You may either meet the challenge and accept the outcome, or you may try to bury it and watch yourself squirm in your insecurity for years-to-come until this day lives in your memory as the last chance you ever had."

Having already made that choice in childhood, I had to go the path less troden.  Life is a feast.  I knew in my heart, and Leticia often echoed it: I was still eating baby-food.  I had to grow up and get on with life.

After having risen to this singular and dramatic occaision, I have discovered that every day offers challenges to greater and lesser degrees.  Whereas this used to be a constant torment, it begins now to unveil itself as the greatest thing ever!  At this point in my life, I have both ducked the confrontation and met it head-on.  I see now that I have this full arsenal of options in every situation and with each day a growing body of experience upon which to make my choice.

Carnelian

The crystal work that I started two years ago (though I did put it away for some time), I continued sometime in late February. I remember because for my birthday, my present to myself was a stunning smokey quartz "master" crystal.

I remember my last episodes with Smokey Quartz. Because I had been confident of my righteousness, my first smokey was the rutilated variety. I had read that the rutile would amplify and accelerate the natural qualities of the smokey. And since there was a whole book of crystals to work through, I was gung-ho about blasting through the first one.

OMFG. What happened? I don't know, but I do know that one way or another, all of my crystals ended up packaged up in a "memory box" in the corner of my room -- including my gorgeous gigantic tangerine quartz crystal ball that I found in China. Ha-ha!

This happened shortly after Liz and I reunited in June 2006. I had finished working on Faketown, which was an exceptionally dark and miserable period of my life. Sadly, my memories from this time are jumbled and lost -- I was drinking a lot, every day, and even more on the weekends. My business was eeking by, but hardly making me a comfortable living. Memorable things: We made a trip to San Francisco, we visited Ariana. I know we made two trips to Vegas -- one together where I tried coke for the first time. I can't quite remember the name of the casino we stayed at, although I can picture the place...I remember doing really really well with machine blackjack, especially at the Wynn casino which we visited. We watched Zumanity. We made another trip with Guadalupe, Patty, and Anthony. I remember on this occaision staying at the castle casino, and taking Anthony on a arcade game spree. Oh, yes, interesting, I made a third trip to see Tom because he was there on business. I remember he and I stayed in the old part of Vegas. We studied the craps tables, and since both our girlfriends had (jokingly?) told us we should go to a strip club together...we did. I remember Tom trying to talk to his lap-dancer, about her "career", other possibilities, etc. Wow, I know that inclination so well I think I probably treated him like I was embarressed by it.

More 2006 memories are taking Liz to Montana in the fall to meet Mom and Dad, but I'm confused. I remember fishing with her, I remember having drinks in the Seattle airport on the way back. But there was another trip I made by myself to take Grandpa back to San Diego -- I think that may have happened earlier in the year, yes, because I remember talking to her on the phone, feeling those "new love affair" feelings. So yes, her first trip must have been when we drove Bob up, and he paid for one of our tickets back, and that accounts for those Seattle memories.

Well, into 2007, business is hell -- I'm totally busy with clients but steadily going deeper into debt. I form a relationship with an agency, Heavenspot, that will later become my saving grace. I start working at Panjea sometime in Feb or March. Liz and I go to Argentina to visit Damon and Melanie in April. At the end of August, Liz and I fly together to Montana, and that is when Grandpa passes away. That fall, I quit Panjea and the next day I get a call to start working for Heavenspot full-time.

I think the fall is pretty mellow -- finally have some regular pay checks, and the haze starts to lift. Sadly, it is only then, a full year and change into our relationship that I begin to really see Liz. I demonstrate this badly by becoming jealous of an admiration I witness in her seeing our neighbor Tim perform at El Cid. This becomes my birthday present to her, but we work through it.

Pathetically, I can recall nothing else of the fall -- I know that I was gung-ho about v2 of KingNitram. I re-wrote the entire game-engine and a UI that I intended to deploy as a MySpace widget. But, by January, along-side the work I'm doing for Heavenspot, I realize that my widget is already an out-dated concept. For any real possibility for mass-adoption, I decide that the widget must interface with Facebook. But having learned so much from rebuilding it and from the projects at work, I decide that trying to salvage v2 is a waste of energy. I am able to re-use the backend, but I start over on v3 of the UI. This takes me through the spring, and to present, I am still working on it. I have a functional session maintainance engine which does bridge MySpace and Facebook and any other HTML page (which by itself is a stupidly valuable piece of technology), and the UI is more-or-less functional, with more of the game-play fully working than ever before. But sadly, life has changed so much that I am currently experiencing no inspiration to work on it. Having seen the plethora of games that have hit Facebook, and the repulsive mental perversions which drive them, I question trying to accomplish anything in this virtual world. The humanity is so raw. I muse, "Of course! That is what I always thought of the internet -- that it is an empty illusion -- and this is what KingNitram always stood to accomplish: A mechanism to make real the pathologies created by mass numbers of people interacting simultaneously." Write Love!

But curiously, for as many of my ideas that have become manifested weeks after I have described them, this idea seems mysteriously unattained. I wonder, should I just keep it up my sleeve? Is this something that I ought not to deploy pre-maturely?

Still though, I am closer than I ever have been, and it seems foolish not to go forward, if for other reason than to prove the concept to myself. But I digress.

I purchase my master smokey quartz crystal. Not sure why now...maybe it was the slowness of things since getting back into a regular groove, the need to feel progress, inspite of the insipid quality of work.

Ironically, not a week later, the meltdown happens with Judy and Craig on my birthday. We had tried to reacquaint with Windra, but somehow Goyo senses it and sends her a text trying to say he didn't write the anonymous letter. She calls the hell out of me and Liz on my birthday, blaming us for rekindling the fight with her and Craig. I tell them both off; her for her false accusations particularly considering ridiculous effort I have made to be 'for everyone, against no one'; him for his pathological ability to manipulate the truth, leaving me not knowing what is true or not true.

I continue working with the smokey up until I have my own meltdown with Luella, my producer, regarding a project for which she budgeted too little time. When I still managed to meet the deadline, she took the tone of, "See, I knew you could do it." I bit her head off and said, it is totally inappropriate behavior to sprint your horse, get to the finish line and just say, "Good horse! I knew you could do it!" In a follow up email I challenged her to be more invested in protecting her company's assets than in pleasing the company's clients.

I felt crappy about it. After all this time and effort committed to over-coming my tantrums, the slightest thing still set me into a tyranical rage. I expressed this to Rhonda, and that was when she said, "Whatever -- your line was crossed, you told her how you felt, she probably needed to hear it. But as for you, it's time for you to move on to Carnelian."

I have done so, and in good story-keeping fashion, I might add that rather joyously, Luella and I have somehow met in the middle and I am thrilled to be developing currently a work-relationship that is good for me, good for Heavenspot, good for our clients, and hopefully good for Luella. It feels like we are a team, and that is awesome.

But I would not say this is the work of Carnelian -- rather it is more the fruits of the labors spent with Smokey. I see Smokey as a basic crystal of human survival. It fights for what must be fought for, rather, it does not even fight, it simply nots, or negates, whatever is wrongly opposed; it waits as patiently as a mountain; and it erects itself with intricate, baffling precision and order. It does indeed remind me of the most primal and instinctive quality of a human being, and it does not surprise me that this vibrates with our root chakra.

Carnelian has me in a twitter. While I would definitely say Smokey kicked my ass where it needed kicking, Carnelian has been something more of a tantilizing exploration of an aspect of my nature around which I had previously thought circles. . .and avoided completely.

It has come at me in terms of flesh. My realization of the body, my separation from my mother, my hatred of my father's continued relationship to her, my "evil twin" joy at seeing him utterly unsatisfied by her, and my own ability to explore independently my father's other gratifications.

And what a long-ass trip that has been! Had I known what those porn magazines meant!! Ha-ha, I probably would have still picked them up!! Fool! Damn fool!

Ahhhh, this is what I mean. . .these crazy things have happened, all on a level so much deeper than my ability to comprehend, but somehow precisely enabling my particular taste for life.

So much has come to light. How did I never realize in my musing of childhood that my last memory of sleeping in bed with Mom came at the same time as my first memory of 'tantruming' came at the same time as beginning to 'play doctor' with Carrie?

In the present, a head-on collision with the topic of my sexual preference (which I had never considered to be an issue, open-minded person that I am) has rather wonderfully caused an open-ness in my communication with Liz. Rather than this in-the-closet, ass-looking, porn-groking, masturbation addict behavior (which Liz sees and has not judged), instead events have provoked us to consider the lengths to which we might go to satisfy our sexual curiousity. In the span of two days, we go from bragging with Suzie about past threesomes, to considering it with her, to having a FINE-ASS lesbian (could be orgy) upstairs.

Liz and I went camping this weekend and further speculated on these things. . .wondering if just the possibility is absolutely enough of a turn-on. Strangely, I have gone almost a week without busting a nut -- the willingness Liz has shown to explore group sex sends my mind reeling into a realm of possibility that is so much more, stupifyingly more a turn-on than any of my previous lusts, that groveling like an animal for an ass glimpse of a wanna-be sex-pot aging Silverlake bitch from the midwest seems a waste of time. Or unsatisfying at best.

Even more arousingly, was the dodgeball thing which I don't even have my head around yet -- let's just say that I have now stood next to the precise incarnation of my every sexual fantasy. Nevermind her age, the fantasy is absolute. And it left me. . .not hard. Not needing to jerk-off. It left me feeling, mmm, my age, happy about how sexy Liz is, and yah. Happy. Reminded of just how damn fine an architect is behind this whole game.

And the fantasies of threesomes and wild sex parties? This is very much still in the air of my mind, but Liz has also become more comfortable talking about the men she might desire, and of course, I dumbly must admit that only a very specific set of circumstances would ever make right another man, on, touching, or near my baby in that way. And in fact, the circumstances are so infinitely complex that I have almost had to admit defeat in preconceiving them. Which is fine, because I don't feel there is any hunger for this thing to happen, on either side, just that life has quite presented us with the subject of late.

The good news is a very exciting realm of possibility has sprung up in my mind, which does indeed include men. People call this gay, I suppose, but it feels to me more like there is a vagina hidden beneath my scrotum which so desperately and longingly wishes to be made love to that it almost hurts. And along with this is the desire to see, feel, hear and be the cause of a man's enjoyment of it. Quite a pickle to be feeling this way and walking around with one between my legs.

That is present. That is up to where I feel I am today. I haven't smoked weed in 5 days and I think I'm about to. Ought to be interesting.

Carnelian

Tis the night before Anastacia's baptism, Mom and Dad are down from Montana. We had a nice dinner together at El Caserio( very European/South American place, great food, quite a find in our little hood ).

Went to bed early -- was tired from a Bruce Lee work week. Woke up like a snap after a dream I was having.

Of course( and this consistently bothers me about myself ), even immediately after I woke from the dream, my mind began paraphrasing the actual events of the dream with my emotional understanding of the situation. I could not go back to sleep.

Instead, I came upstairs to have a cigarette. Now I am writing.

Since I can't remember the exact conversation( which is a shame, since as I said, otherwise all I have is this potentially skewed emotional memory ), I will summarize my feeling of the dream.

I was riding on a bus. Leticia's grandma Nonnie was sitting across the aisle to my left. I always loved that old woman, and so I was feeling( as I always felt with her )somewhat giddy to be in her presence. But she would have none of it. She seemed to tell me my worst fears regarding the love and loss of her grand-daughter -- that same schtick that I fight from time-to-time( sometimes daily )with myself and my sense of irreplaceable loss. Something along the lines of, "Everything is awry, nothing in life will ever have meaning again, my love for Elizabeth is a hoax, and this pounding guilt is deservedly mine."

Of course, she said none of this. These are just the words that my feelings take upon waking and not being able to shake the sensation of the dream.

So I come upstairs and reflect, tiredly, once again, on Leticia. She haunts me with poems of young love. She contrasts the expressions our love took with the older and more experienced rhythm that Liz and I share. And shamefully, I miss Leticia and I miss those times. I feel deprived of something, and I hear Liz breathing heavily, and I feel like a puppet in a stage-play mimickry of something real.

I begin to panic. I get up, hoping a cigarette will tire me. Instead, I feel conflict between my desire to excel physically and this generational habit that attracts blame for what would otherwise be a natural process of human birth, aging, and return to dust.

Tears fill my eyes, the memories turn sour. I snarl to the spirits, "How could I love her?" They return, "The same way you love Liz( except without this burden of contrast, without this burden of contrast! )" I say, "I was sick! I was broken from many childhood mishaps, she NEVER accepted that!" And so I had to do independently, even against her will, what I had to do to heal -- and time has proven, to me and her as well, that I have healed.

I am a man. I swing with the players; if I take a hit deservedly, I thank my adversary as a savior -- otherwise, if my facial expression alone does not return him/her to the pool of delusion from which they came, I send them there. These words are not my own -- they are a force of nature. The precision and power of my blade, in fact, I would not even loudly claim...for were I to desire credit for the blistering power of my righteousness, I would indeed be required to manage the throne of the King.

On one hand I do, and it is this power embodied by my playful and childlike spirit that ms leticia does indeed regret losing, and if these dreams are any indication, seeks to affect.

Therefore, I say unto her with love in my heart: Please let it be, as they say, it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

I desire the touch of every smooth-bodied minstel I see, in fact, I may very likely muck up the world for my lust of it. Yet, the carinoso affection between two lovers is the only thing that gives me peace. Meanwhile, it is abundantly obvious in the humanesque masks that these tramps and maidens wear that they have no love for me.

So I fantasize, and I align chess pieces like an Olypian to manifest a world where I can have both. For this lust, I am guilty. But it was not for this lust that I compromised my marriage, nor do I think that I will ever betray Liz for it.

I can be free of my past. I set my past free. I beseech young Leticia to do the same, as something about this emotional conversation rings distinctly familiar to the way she was. And yet, in reality, as I have changed, so I am sure she has too, and these projections I make certainly must be more narrated by my memory than by a window of the occult. So I lose nothing to set free something that is already long evaporated into mist.

Nonnie, tsk! tsk! I know you liked me more than this new yahoo, but Jim is your son, and his performance raised a spoiled princess of what would otherwise have been a perfectly educated, naturally-talented, fine-ass-bitch...the likes of which I doubt I could have held onto without the godsend of Letica as she was to me...an angel of mercy.

I go forward with an open heart.

Smokey Quartz

So I had put down my crystal work more than a year ago. I don't know why -- it just seemed like I needed to get past a whole bunch of things and the rocks were just another reminder of what I'd failed to accomplish with a period of my life.

But for my birthday recently, I had come to the conclusion that I had thrown the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak. So I went in search of a smokey quartz crystal that I could respect and work with.

Oh man did I find one, and oh man have things been COOKING ever since. Let me try to say it in as few words as possible, as I need to get to work:

I have been motivated, probably as most people are, by aspirations which henceforth I can only refer to as DREAMS. Going backwards, I can list the major chapters as titled by these dreams. Present to breaking up with Sandra(1998), I have wanted to play guitar and master music. However, in committing myself to that dream, I put aside an earlier dream of being a comic-book artist, and curiously, much of the last 10 years has been an expose of dream derailment. Art still pulsed through my life, breathing in me every manner of selfishness, and even eventually destroyed the thing that originally took me off course...a relationship to a woman.

However, art was something I became attached to in high school. Before that I believe my curiousities were explored more quickly and on smaller scale. I had been pursuing model airplane building quite religiously until I met Seth, who impressed upon me the need for physicality and sports. Which interestingly, also came in a pair of relationships: First the introduction with Seth, then the long road of recovery and understanding with Damon. Very similar to Sandra-Leticia.

Before these dreams...ah yes, Pinball. Fruitland model railroad, Hamilton Legoland. Livingston music and TI-99 programming. Playing doctor with the Libby neighbor girl. Playing in the sandbox. And before that it seems I start getting into First Experiences, of which each seemed like a dream, but quickly advanced to a new experience.

I should reflect now on these earlier dreams and try to remember more accurately the emotions and events which narrated them. To work I go.

panjea test

Smokey Quartz 3:

Where are you self-serving in you life? Explain.

Everything I do is self-serving. Even my benevolent actions towards others are attempts to make myself feel better about myself.

I don't know what I need in life from one minute to the next. I have had monetary success, all of the sexual attention any man could desire, loving friends and family. I could easily fall into self-hatred just to think about all of my blessings, and how I am almost immediately discontent.

It makes me humble. I look deeply into the eyes of every person I meet, and this too I see as self-serving. I look to see them see me. I look always with the arrogance that I have a wisdom and a grip on life that could inspire them. I continously ride this bravado.

It is all an illusion I cast. In reality, I am nothing without the steady flow of love from all people and things. I am self-serving to such a degree that, especially when I was younger, I would do almost anything to feel 'loved'.

These days, having failed at both marriage and true love, I am quite alone. I have no one around willing to play my game, and so I realize profoundly the extent of my selfishness. I realize the amount of negativity and despair that I have created for myself that I am afraid to rise above.

It is kicking my ass -- who am I? Where is happiness to be found? Is there anything that can be done about anything at all? I am left only with these hard questions that I must answer and execute if I am to feel better. I am very sad tonight.