Role Models

"Well, obviously we're not supposed to buttfuck these kids." -- Wheeler

Earlier today, I was sitting with a friend in his attic bedroom discussing life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Really, we were discussing drugs, alcohol, anonymous sex, and the price of tea in China, but life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness just sounded like a better way to start out a post about being a role model and specifically growing up gay in Omaha, Nebraska without any real male role model to speak of, and especially no gay role model. This came up because while discussing the less-than-savory aspects of my life with this friend, he brought up setting a good example for our younger siblings. He was speaking metaphorically because he has no younger siblings as of now, and it got us to thinking about how we grew up, and how we learned to be the us that we are today, and I thought it would make a good blog post. I should mention as a preemptive warning that I haven't really slept, and I'm running on caffeine so this post may suck monumental

Get Real

"The strange thing is, after I, done that to you ... all I could think of doing was holding you to make it all right, and I knew, I really knew, that I've never loved anyone so much." -- John Dixon

Continuing the series concerning The Things I Have Learned from the Boys I Have Kissed, I give you the story of Adam: The Mormon from Utah. This boy happened to educate me on the power of forgetting yourself and your ideals for the sake of adventure. This is what established my mentality of moving the story forward. That mentality is important, because it has managed to make my life rather entertaining from time to time, and it is one of the few universal mandates that I observe on a daily basis.


For the sake of exposition and establishment of setting, this story takes place in June of 2005, in the Arizona High Desert, specifically, a simple place called Arcosanti where I spent several years following high school. As I'm sure you can imagine, it's hot outside. On this particular night, I was a quiet, and I mean that, quiet 20 year-old man. At that point, I had only ever kissed three people, and one of them was a girl. I had only had sex with three people, and one of them was unwillingly. I was new to the world, not even 21, which is when I would blossom into the person I genuinely enjoyed being. I was a weekend warrior, my friends and I would have adventures in the shape of parties every weekend and during the summertime, the party-place was the Arbor. It was a nicely enclosed location with a great view of the river, and a sense of inclusion to it. My best friend at the time would be Talullah-Jewel, who taught me to love red wine, and would share drinks with me when we were dancing under the stars. This was one of those parties. 

The Craft

"We are the weirdos, mister." -- Nancy

This is a continuation of my ongoing series about The Things I Have Learned From The Boys I Have Kissed. It is a jump sideways. You'll note I'm not going chronologically. This is purposeful, intentional and direct. I have ranked these kisses in order from most-important to least-important. Not that any kiss is less important than any other, Oh who am I kidding? Some kisses just matter more. This posting isn't about one kiss in particular, in fact it is about several kisses by several men in one night. Specifically, the Vernal Equinox of 2006. March 20th to give a precise date. 

There are those who have known me since 2007 that have never heard this tale. Likewise, there are those who have known me only a very short time that do know this tale. It is one that I have closely guarded for various reasons. It speaks of unwed sex, and liberal kisses. What the few who know this story don't know is that it is the first instance in Arizona in which I was truly happy and comfortable with myself, my body and my sexuality. 

It starts with a party. I had a lot of these when I lived in Arizona. my fellows Arconauts and I enjoyed our soirees. They offered a bit of a break from the daily mundanity that comes from living at the arcology. Paolo Soleri and Mary Hoadley would have you think us studious little architects building a better tomorrow, when really we were college students, pot heads, alcoholics, rapists, and the worst scum of the universe. Ok, maybe we weren't that bad, but we got close from time to time. You'd be amazed at what happens when a group of ecologically-minded twenty-somethings start to consume alcohol and dance in an enclosed space. 

On this particular night, I was given the task of manning the bar. Trading kisses for shots of tequila and brief makeout sessions for mixed drinks, I took advantage of the situation and exerted power over the boys I most lusted for. The most important people this night were Franklin and Sun. Franklin was a boy with a girlfriend. Specifically, a girlfriend that I worked with on a daily basis and who loathed it when I would spend time with her significant other. I had always sensed the existing option that the two of them had troubles in the past with his wandering lips, and hands. I definitely took advantage of this fact through the evening. 

Sun was a boy visiting from Prescott. I would later go on to have an adventure with him that was far more personal and private when I moved to Phoenix later in the year. Tonight though was our first meeting, and was filled with public sex, and bisexual adventures. Eventually he and I would venture toward adventures that would lead to my favorite blanket, my least favorite trip to Burning Man and my most exciting weekend ever. 

Franklin was a sweet little desert thing, a creature of fantasy and music. He created sounds that made my heart pulsate with joy, and moved my feet to dancing. He was electric and delicious, with little cracks in his skin that begged exploration. His eyes were the best part though. There was something inside of them that entranced me and on his first night into the Arcology, he traded a kiss for a few shots, which is what gave me the idea for this particular evening to take advantage of the boys I most longed for. 

He managed to teach me that sometimes, all it takes is for us to let our guards down. I've found, since him, that letting myself be vulnerable has led me to some of the most rewarding opportunities in my life, both romantically and otherwise. Regardless of such, I still have these situations where I try to avoid vulnerability in an effort to remain in control of situations. This has led to a number of unfortunate episodes. (see also: Momma's little breakdown)

The boy called Sun was made of magic. He was fashioned from whispers and tied together with rainbow-strings. His skin tasted like salt and strawberries. His lips had the distinct texture of cream, and touching him felt like bathing in warm silk. He taught me that no matter how you look, how you feel, who you are, or where you're from, somewhere there is a person who can and will sense a connection with you and eventually, somehow, the two of you will meet. 

These two boys, and this night, taught me to be happy in my own skin. It's no secret that I'm not the thinnest. I'm not the most attractive. I'm not the most debonair, or intelligent. I'm not the perfect guy by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm beautiful, and whole, and complete. I'm me and I'm happy to be such. They also taught me to be comfortable with my sexuality and be open with it, until that point, I had guarded it in Arizona as if it were a disease or a monster that i kept inside of me. 

Someday, I'll recount my adventures with Sun, my trip to the reservation and other stories of my time in Northern Arizona. For now though, I'll leave you here, and hope that you find a little bit of guidance or knowledge in tales of my life and the boys I have kissed.

Slam

"His invisible strokes are felt as he stands on the stage in front of me, a mic and a million miles away from me." -- Lauren Bell

Something that few people know about me is that I was, at one point, very involved in the Slam Poetry scene of Arizona. I've tried, from time to time, to get involved with the scene here in Omaha, but things never go exactly the way I intend them to go. I used to be able to cut open my veins and pour myself onto the audience coloring them with the history of my sins and the glory of my intentions. I judge the places I live on the quality of their verse and the passion of their poets. In Arizona people scream on stage and showcase an originality that is staggering, and a strength that has, on more than one occasion forced me to cry.

There is one poet though that I want to share with you. His name is Logan Phillips. Logan Phillips is credited with my passion and obsession with poetry. It is because of him that while living at Arcosanti, I ventured into poetry as an art form and performance method. His words and movement spark life into whatever he speaks in a way that few poets have managed to do in my life. He has been a major influence in my works through the years. Above, you'll find one of his videos. This would be him performing Worth Words, in Tucson, Arizona several years ago. While this isn't the first piece I saw him perform, It is one of the strongest. He delivers every line with conviction and dedication.

I own every single book he's ever put out. I have gone to GREAT lengths to secure them in at least two cases, where I have had to have people in Arizona hunt down his next live performance and buy it for me and mail it halfway across the country. If I ever need to be motivated to do something with my life, I turn to his words and they give me a sense of purpose and remind me of my times in Arizona when my sole purpose was creating art and sharing it with the world.

If you ever get the chance to go to a Poetry Slam in your local area, please do so. They're a wonderful opportunity to seek out some of the best talent in your city, and they have a tendency to delve into adventures, the likes of which make fantastic blogfodder. By the by, I should clarify that by no means do I intend to neglect the poets of Omaha. We have some sensational talent here. The number one poet I've seen perform in the local area would have to be Ben Wenzl, who shocks me and makes my gut hurt with every punch from his lips. He makes me laugh like Eddie Izzard only wishes he could, which is a lot coming from me. To have a positive comparison with Eddie Izzard come from my lips is like being compared to God and finding out you're a little bit better.

I wish I had more time, motivation, or inspiration to produce poetry. As it stands, the scene here in Omaha is staggering and I am out of practice. I would like to get back into the scene though, and I'd love it if more of my friends had the chance to catch the local area slams. The largest, strongest slam is every second-saturday at the Omaha Healing Arts Center in the Omaha Old Market. Should you ever have the desire to go, or to perform, you need only let me know, and I will fall in line and happily do what I can to join you.

Dear blogbuddies, what inspires you when you're feeling sluggish? Where do you look for motivation and guidance? I genuinely want to know. I like finding new methods for lighting a fire under myself. Likewise, I have links to other Logan Phillips videos, and several MP3s, so if you'd like any, I'd hate to take money from Logan, but I'm more than happy to share one or two with you. Let me know, and I'll send it onward.

For more on Logan Phillips, check out his website. [dirtyverbs]

Romeo + Juliet

"And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

This continues my ongoing series on The Things I Have Learned From The Boys I Have Kissed. This particular installment is in recognition of a young man I lived with in Arizona, specifically Arcosanti. For those who don't know, Arcosanti is an experimental Arcology and failed attempt at ecological design paradigms. I moved to Phoenix in 2003, almost immediately after graduation, and then moved to Arcosanti in October.Over my three years at Arcosanti, I met a lot of people, with a constant influx of new population every five weeks, it was easy to meet new guys and have single-serving sexual partners that would disappear and never return. Until I met Murray.

Murray was pretty much made of magic. Not beautiful in the classical or traditional sense of the word, he set my soule on fire. He managed to fill me up with new thoughts and ideas. He challenged my pre-existing ideals and gave me somebody to confide in and fall in love with. Boy did I fall too. I crashed and burned. We shared some of the closest moments I've ever shared with another person. We would spend hours atop the ceramics apse, Crafts III building, and Vaults enjoying our lives and sharing whispers with each other.

During the day we would have passing conversations in the Office, and share meals in the Cafe. he would tail my tours, and I would give him pointers on his. At night, we would spend hours conversing via AIM and trade commentaries on livejournal and beyond. From time to time, we would bury ourselves in our friend Denman and spend the evening watching anime in her room while cracking wise, and making light of the universe as a whole, all the while respecting it.

Once, we committed acts of art and war at McDonald's all the while being pet by Denman, and egged on by others. We ate Swedish Fish, and drove a solar-powered golf-cart in the middle of the night. Sharing poetry in the Vaults, and at the mouths of caves in the middle of the desert, we practiced speaking our mind and not being a bitch.

He taught me something that no other boy had taught me before though. During all of our adventures, we never once kissed each other on the lips. In fact, we did little more than touch hands, and always in secret. We would sit together and interlink fingers, passing energy back and forth and sharing the heat we each produced. We would curl up in couches and fall asleep to the sounds of the desert. All in all, he showed me that love can be had without physical signs of such.

He taught me that sometimes, love takes the form of running a half-mile down the hill to camp at sunset, racing the moon to make sure that the boy you love more than life itself is calm, cool, collected and comfortable. We shared a closeness that I have found to echo in my continued friendships since my departure back to Omaha. Sometimes a kiss is overrated.

Edge of Seventeen

"It hurts"

 This is the first of a series of posts I intend to make. The series theme? Things I Have Learned from Boys I Have Kissed. Please note the distinction that I have made here, a kiss does not imply dating, and specifically, I mention boys, as the bulk of these will have taken place prior to my triumphant return to Omaha in 2008. I started thinking of this about a week ago while I was sorting DVDs, the movie, Edge of Seventeen showed up and it intrigued me, because the only people who watch films like this are gay kids who are sick and tired of John Hughes being such a douche bag. Well, and creepy straight girls who spend their lives attached to gay men an can't find any real passion in their own lives. 

I'll admit that being the only out guy in high school meant that I got a lot of play from young men who would later become the proud homosexuals of Omaha North High School. It got me a lot more play from boys who would never come out ever in their entire life, and to this day will probably deny that they ever did anything with a man. I've been the tester for numerous guys and I think I'm kind of satisfied with that. Each experience taught me a lot about who I am, what I like, and what my limits, standards and expectations are. Aside from being an introductory post, this is also about one of the first boys I kissed. I'm pretty sure he falls into the second category of toe-dipper, but I'll freely admit, he had the biggest impact on my development as a man. 

His name was Zach. He wasn't the first boy I kissed, not by a longshot. He was actually somewhere in the middle. It was my senior year of high school, and I couldn't tell you what grade he was in if I tried. I do know that we only started talking via email at school. He was dating an obnoxious little mousey girl with an attitude. I asked him to homecoming. When he said he had a date already, I was disappointed, but we kept talking, and actually became pretty good friends. It wasn't until a few weeks later, via phone-call that he asked me to be his boyfriend. It was cute. This was important because up until this moment, I had always been the aggressor in any sort of interaction with men. He was a pretty fantastic guy, one of the few that I continued to talk to after departing Nebraska for Arizona. He loves ducks. He's a whole lotta punk-rock. He bites when he kisses, which has stuck with me ever since. He came to my school play on opening night and brought me a carnation, something nobody has ever done since. He would walk me from class to class and we'd sneak a kiss before disappearing into our classrooms. He wore black lipstick that left cute little marks that I wore with pride. 

I haven't spoken to him directly since 2005. We're friends on facebook, but I never know what to say to him to let him know just how formative he was in my youth. I won't go so far as to say I love him, but I definitely enjoyed him and adore the parts of him I find in others I meet on a daily basis. There is rarely a day that passes that I don't meet somebody who reminds me of him in some way, shape or form.