Change of Address

You've been good to me this past year, Blogger.

It's just time to move on.

j. belisario

Seaport Village, 10-0611

T2M #7-11

#7
0420 – 0624
Every time I stop to think about what I'm doing, a lump in my throat forms and my heart beats faster than it should.

Guess I just gotta keep my eyes facing forward and march on.

- - -

#8
Undated
I can hear the echoes of my future calling out to me.

It's only now that I am realizing what I'm giving up, but there is so much more that I stand to gain.

- - -

#9
0509 – 2122
If no man is an island, why do I feel like the world's loneliest soul?

Am I destined to feel this alone my entire life?

I know what I want, and though what I've got is good enough for some, my desire is still left unfulfilled.

I am haunted by the emptiness of solitude all the time.

My pride restrains me from reaching out.

The sea that divides me from the rest of the world is deeper than it looks, but I still wait for someone to tread those treacherous waters to seek the treasures I posses.

Hope is what nourishes me to keep me going, but is it leading me in the right direction?

- - -

#10
0522 – 1059
If I am such a forgiving person, why is the person hardest to forgive is myself?

Why is it that I don't take it easy on myself when I know the person who needs the most breaks is myself?

Why do I push myself to the extreme when everyone says to take it slow, to start off with baby steps?

I know I am an impatient person. I expect results as soon as I apply the techniques.

And damn, do I aim high in my expectations.

I guess the biggest thing I need to learn is patience.

Slow and steady wins the race, but true to form, I am already expecting myself to know this so I can move on already.

- - -

#11
0602 – 0541
I can only think, Now what?

I'm dejected, morose.

I feel as if something has been taken away from me, something that meant more to me than I thought it would now that it's gone.

I keep thinking Keep your head up, old friend., but it does nothing to mask the disappointment and shame in my eyes.

- - -

I can only ask, Why?

Why did you take this away from me?

I don't know what to do now- I'm feeling at such a loss, I don't even remember which direction is up anymore.

I can't blame this for the poor decisions I've been making lately, but it feels as if I no longer have control of my life.

What the fuck do I do now??

L.I.F.E.: 10-0513

OVER BLACK.

L. (V.O.)
Today is the first day of
the rest of your life.
(beat)
Don't fuck it up.

CUT TO:

INT. L.'S BATHROOM – DAY (PRESENT)

L. (22) stands in front of the mirror in a towel, dripping wet from a fresh shower.

HE IS STARING INTENTLY BACK AT HIS REFLECTION, the gaze from his tired, wizened eyes unwavering.

FLASHBACK TO:

THAT MORNING -
L. in a tee and shorts, doing jumping jacks at the foot of his bed with a blank, distant stare.

BACK TO:

INT. L.'S BATHROOM - SAME

His hair, NOW CROPPED EXTREMELY SHORT, glistens from the sunlight streaming from a nearby mirror.

FLASHBACK TO:

L. struggles through a series of push-ups on his bedroom floor, BREATHING HEAVY and obviously having difficulty.

BACK TO:

INT. L.'S BATHROOM - SAME

Fresh from a shave, he has A FEW TINY SQUARES OF TOILET PAPER on his face to tend to his hastily-delivered razor nicks.

FLASHBACK TO:

Sweat starts to trickle down his face as L. performs a round of sit-ups, GRUNTING IN AGONY.

BACK TO:

INT. L.'S BATHROOM - SAME

He's put on a few noticeable pounds since the last time we saw him, looking a little more solid, albeit still on the thin side.

FLASHBACK TO:

L. runs around his block, visibly in pain, GASPING FOR AIR, and soaked in sweat. He wipes a trickle from his eyes and pushes himself further.

BACK TO:

INT. L.'S BATHROOM - SAME

L. TAKES A DEEP BREATH, the reflection of his eyes never leaving his intense stare.

AFTER A MOMENT he nods back at himself in the mirror, having made up his mind out of sheer determination.

CUT TO:

INT. L.'S BEDROOM – CONTINUING

A SERIES OF QUICK FLASHCUTS as L. moves about his bedroom, consisting of L.:

a.) performing his moisturizing routine de rigeur in front of a mirror beside his bed.

b.) flipping the switch of his garment hand-steamer 'ON' with a curt CLICK.

c.) sliding the doors of his closet open, revealing A VAST SELECTION OF CLOTHES, neatly organized by style and color.

d.) selecting a conservative NAVY PINSTRIPED SHIRT and PALE GRAY WOOL DRESS PANT from the wardrobe and hanging it onto the steamer.

e.) steaming out the wrinkles from the shirt and pants to flawless perfection.

f.) slipping on the pair of pants, the trouser creases crisp and neat.

g.) buttoning up the shirt from the bottom up, stopping at the second to the last button.

h.) slapping on some Kiehl's styling wax to his cropped hair and styling it in a formal military-esque fashion.

PAN OUT to REVEAL we're in:

INT. L.'S BATHROOM – CONTINUING

L., now primped, polished, and impeccably styled, looks back at his reflection gravely and nods.

L.
Go get 'em, Tiger.

CUT TO:

INT. L.'s HOUSE – CONTINUING

L. prepares to leave the house when he is stopped by HIS MOTHER.

L.'S MOTHER
Where are you going? Work?

L.
No, I have that Navy test I told
you about. So I can get that
Nuke job. Remember?

L.'S MOTHER
Oh.
(beat)
I don't know what that means.

L. just smiles back at his mother and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

L.
I love you, Momma.

L.'S MOTHER
Love you, too. Good luck, anak.

She sees him out, watching him go with a MOTHERLY SIGH of affection.

CUT TO:

INT. NAVY RECRUITING OFFICE – TESTING ROOM – LATER

L. and ANOTHER BOY (20, confident, impatient) sit at a testing table, partitioned off from one another in the small, sparse room.

A blank answer sheet and test booklet sit before them, along with other testing materials including a few sheets of paper, three perfectly sharpened #2 pencils, and a simple calculator.

L. looks sickeningly anxious (but trying his best to hide it) as the uniformed exam proctor -- DANIEL CROMWELL, EM1(SW) (30s, wholesome, classic American good looks) -- briefs the two boys over the test.

(NOTE: He pronounces "nuclear" as "nucular.")

CROMWELL
You will be tested on your
skills in Algebra, Algebra II,
geometry, physics, and chemistry.
You must score at least 50 out
of 80 questions to be considered
a qualified candidate for the
Naval Nuclear Program. You will
have exactly 2 hours to complete
the test. Please mark all of your
answers in a neat and clear fashion.
(beat)
Any questions?

OTHER BOY
Nope.

L.
(struggling to speak)
No, sir.

CROMWELL
Very well. You have until 1430
to finish. Take your time, and
good luck to you both.

He exits the room, closing the door tightly behind him.

The Other Boy jumps right into the test.

L. TAKES A DEEP BREATH, staring at his blank answer sheet for a moment before opening his test booklet.

TIME CUT – LATER

L. stares at the open test booklet before him, stuck on question #7. His first page of scratch paper is already half-way marked with crossed-out work from the previous six questions.

He checks the time.

L.'S P.O.V. – HIS WATCH
tells him 15 minutes have elapsed.

BACK TO SCENE

He sneaks a quick glance from the corner of his eye to -

L.'S P.O.V. – THE OTHER BOY
who is seemingly flying through the test.

BACK TO SCENE

L. looks back at his test booklet, SWALLOWS HARD.

L.'S P.O.V. – E.C.U. TEST BOOKLET

"7. A 50-kilogram firefighter is on a ladder 10 meters above the ground. When the firefighter descends to 5 meters above the ground, the firefighter's gravitational potential energy will decrease by

A) 0.194 joules.
B) 5.10 joules.
C) 490 joules.
D) 2450 joules."

BACK TO SCENE

L. stares intensely at the question, frustrated and frightened as he struggles to find a way to work out a solution.

Finally he gives up and just fills in a random bubble on his answer sheet.

He moves onto the next question.

L.'S P.O.V. – E.C.U. TEST BOOKLET

"8. A ball is dropped from rest from a height 6.0 meters above the ground. The ball falls freely and reaches the ground 1.1 seconds later. What is the average speed of the ball?

A) 5.5 m/s
B) 6.1 m/s
C) 6.6 m/s
D) 11 m/s"

BACK TO SCENE

L. scrunches up his brows in pure frustration.

L.
(under his breath)
Give me a fuckin' break.

TIME CUT – LATER

L.'s on question #34, having already gone through two pages of scratch paper (both sides) and is on to his second pencil.

He's sweating bullets as he reads the question.

L.'S P.O.V. – E.C.U. TEST BOOKLET

"34. The specific heat of copper is about 0.4 joules/gram ºC. How much heat is needed to change the temperature of a 30-gram sample of copper from 20.0 ºC to 60.0 ºC?

A) 1000 J
B) 720 J
C) 480 J
D) 240 J"

BACK TO SCENE

L.'s face contorts to that of desperation and panic, just as Cromwell returns to the room.

CROMWELL
Gentlemen, it is 1330. You have
exactly one hour to complete the
exam. How are we doing?

THE OTHER BOY
Good.

L.
(small)
G-Good, sir.

Cromwell peers over The Other Boy's shoulder, seeing that he's currently working his way through question #62.

CROMWELL
Very good.

He peers over at L.'s answer sheet, noting where he is in regards to time.

L. SWALLOWS HARD, avoiding looking at the exam proctor in the eyes.

Cromwell places a reassuring hand on L.'s shoulder, giving him a polite and encouraging smile.

CROMWELL (CONT'D)
(gently, sotto: L.)
Just take your time and try
to do your best. You still
have one hour.

L.
(nods, small)
Yes, sir.

CROMWELL
(addressing both)
Very well, then. Continue.

He exits.

L. EXHALES FORCEFULLY and resumes his test, feeling defeated and embarrassed.

CUT TO:

INT. NAVY RECRUITING OFFICE – MAIN ROOM – LATER

L. exits the exam room and into the main room of recruiters' desks, tentative and wary.

All desks are empty of their respective recruiters except the one farthest away from L., where Cromwell and The Other Boy are CHATTING.

They STOP CONVERSING upon hearing L.'s approach and turn to him, causing L. to stop dead in his tracks.

Cromwell gives L. an amiable smile.

CROMWELL
How was it?

L. hesitates to answer.

CROMWELL (CONT'D)
Fun?

L. cracks a nervous smile, unsure how to respond.

L.
Barrels of.
(beat)
Sir.

Cromwell gestures for L. to sit beside The Other Boy.

CROMWELL
Come, sit. We were just discussing
the Nuclear Program. You can listen
in, maybe learn a thing or two.

L. tentatively sits beside The Other Boy as Cromwell resumes his account.

CROMWELL (CONT'D)
So after boot camp, that's nine
weeks of hell right there, you've
got what we call your 'A' School,
and you're there for about, say,
4 months. Then it's on to Power
School, and that's 6 months. So
starting out, it's a lot of time
spent in classrooms, lot of book-
learning, things like that. Then
after that, if you volunteered
to be in a sub . . .

His voice TRAILS OFF the soundtrack as we SLOW PAN TOWARDS -

C.U. - L.'S FACE
which is consumed by a poorly-constructed mask to hide the sinking fear and disappointment he's feeling inside.

CUT TO:

EXT. L.'S NEIGHBORHOOD – EVENING

L. makes his way home, his walk an unconscious studied tribute to the military's drill & ceremony standards, albeit a bit stiff.

He keeps his eyes trained on the horizon as he marches on, but his face betrays the confidence he's trying so hard to project.

Upon closer look, it's obvious he is visibly shaken. Terrified.

CUT TO:

INT. L.'S HOUSE – LATER

L. enters, carrying a box of chocolates. He closes the door behind him QUIETLY and heads for his bedroom when the SOUND OF HIS MOTHER'S VOICE catches him off-guard.

L.'S MOTHER (O.S.)
How was it?

L. pauses in the hallway for a moment, collecting himself before turning to find his mother on the sofa with a cup of tea.

L.
(haltingly)
It was fine.

L.'S MOTHER
"Fine?"

L.
Yeah. Fine.

L.'s Mother peers at her son closely, a concerned look on her face.

L.'S MOTHER
Come here. Sit down.

L.
Nah, that's okay. I'm kinda
tired and I just wanna take
a nap right now . . .

But L.'s Mother is not having it. She sets her cup of tea down onto the coffee table and looks back at L. gravely.

L.'S MOTHER
(no nonsense)
L., sit.

L. decides against putting up a fight and joins his mother, sitting on the opposite chair farthest from her.

L.'S MOTHER (CONT'D)
Tell me about it.

L.
What's there to tell? I went,
I took the test, I bombed.
End of story.

He opens the box of chocolates he brought home with him and begins to dig in, searching for some kind of comfort among the wrappers.

L.'S MOTHER
What do you mean, "bombed?"
Is that a nuclear joke?
(reaching for the chocolates)
Give me some.

L. hands her the box reluctantly. He peels out of his shirt and kicks off his shoes as he continues.

L.
No, Momma. It means I wasted
my time. The test asked questions
on subjects I had in high school
that I didn't even know the answers
to when I was  in high school.
(beat)
I . . .
(with great difficulty)
I failed it, Momma.

L.'S MOTHER
Don't say that, anak.

L.
I did. I failed that test.

L.'S MOTHER
How do you know? Did they tell
you what you got on it?

L.
No, I won't find out until
tomorrow.

He stuffs his face with more chocolate, not finding any solace.

L.'S MOTHER
Then how do you know you failed
it when you don't even know
what you got?

L. stops, mid-chew, to consider this.

L.
I did so poorly. I struggled
with so many of the questions.
I barely finished the test
on time.

L.'S MOTHER
As long as you did your best,
that's all that anyone can
ask for, anak.

L. gives her an ironic smile.

L.
That's such a motherly thing
to say.

L.'S MOTHER
Of course. Aren't I not your
mother?

A rogue tear appears in L.'s eye. He is quick to dispatch it to the back of his hand, but not before being caught by his mother.

L.
I don't know what I'm going
to do if I didn't pass this
test. I don't . . . I don't
have a back-up plan if this
fails. I have to get this.

L.'S MOTHER
Don't say such things. God
has a plan for you, whether
or not you pass the test.
He has a plan for you, and
it is good.

L. gives her a skeptical glance.

L.
How can you be so sure?

L.'S MOTHER
How can you not be? You just
have to believe that God has
good things planned for you.
I believe that.

L.
(sardonic)
Yeah, I'm sure he does.

L.'S MOTHER
Don't you dare talk like that
about God to me.

L. is immediately caught off-guard by his mother's sudden impassioned tone. She softens her voice.

L.'S MOTHER (CONT'D)
I was like you once. For 35
years, I wished and I prayed
for something I wanted so
badly, every single day. I
waited 35 years for it. I
suffered so much for it,
wanted it so bad that it hurt
deep down inside. You know
that kind of want?

L. can only nod. It's the same kind of hunger he himself has.

L.'S MOTHER (CONT'D)
And I finally got it, but even
till now, I haven't gotten all
of what I wanted. You understand?

Another tear slips out from L.'s eyes. This time he doesn't bother to hide it.

L.
You mean me. For 35 years, all
you ever wanted was a boy,
and you finally got him.
(bitterly)
But he wasn't exactly what
you wished for. Wasn't he?
Because he's gay.
(beat, disgusted)
What a cruel joke from God.

L.'S MOTHER
It's not a cruel joke. I don't
think of you as a cruel joke.

L.'s tears stream freely now. He STIFLES A SOB as he stuffs another piece of chocolate into his mouth.

L.'S MOTHER (CONT'D)
God was trying to teach me
a lesson, the same thing He
is trying to teach you: be
patient. Be forgiving. Some-
times what you think you
really want isn't in God's
plan for you, because He
has something better in mind.

She reaches across the space between them and takes L.'s hand in her own.

L.'S MOTHER
I love you, anak. No matter
who you are. No matter what
you do. No matter whether
or not you pass a test.

L.
I just want to make you proud
of me, Momma.

L.'S MOTHER
You think I'm not? I am! I'm
proud of you, L. So, so proud.
I thank God every day for you.
I don't need a test to tell
me to be proud of my son.

L. shakes his head, covering his face with his hand as he tries to wipe away his tears.

L.
If you're so proud of me,
why can't I be proud of myself?

L.'s Mother's face falls in sympathy. She gets it now.

She reaches for her son's hand again and holds it tightly against her chest.

L.'S MOTHER
Oh, son. No. No, you can't
think that way. You have to
be proud of yourself first,
before anyone else can be.
You have a lot to be proud
of, anak. You are smart, no
matter what that test says.

L.
This isn't about that test
anymore, Momma. Don't you
get it? I have people everyday
telling me they believe in
me. Telling me how smart I
am. Telling me how talented
I am. Telling me everything
I want to hear, that I can
do anything I want to if I
just put my mind to it, but
at the end of the day, I still
can't believe it.

L.'S MOTHER
Then you better start believing
it, L. You are my son. There is
nothing out there you cannot do
if you work hard it. You have
to be determined first to believe
you can do it, and the rest is
up to God. You just have to have
faith. That's all.

L.
(panicked)
But how? How am I supposed to
have faith in myself when I don't
have faith in anything else?!

He begins BREATHING HEAVILY, hyperventilating almost, as he struggles to get the words out.

L. (CONT'D)
Momma, help me. Please.
Momma, I can't breathe.

L.'s Mother immediately leaps to her feet and helps her son lay out on the sofa.

L.'S MOTHER
Here. Just lie down. Breathe
slowly now. In, out. In, out.

He does so, forcing himself to BREATHE SLOWLY.

L.
Momma, I can't feel my face.
I can't open my eyes!

L.'S MOTHER
Just relax. You're having a
panic attack. Your face is
all red. Just try to relax,
and keep breathing.

L.
Okay.

L.'s Mother breaks away towards the kitchen. Feeling her no longer at his side, L. starts to panic.

L.
Momma?!

L.'S MOTHER
I'm getting you some water.

L.
Okay. Okay.

L.'S MOTHER
Just breathe, anak. Deep
breaths now, just like that.
Here, drink this.

She returns to her son's side with a glass of water. He takes it from her and finishes it off in one gulp.

L.'S MOTHER (CONT'D)
Another?

L.
Yes. Please.

L.'S MOTHER
Okay. Just relax.

She goes to grab another glass of water, returning promptly. L. finishes it off quickly as the first glass, his BREATHING SLOWED.

L.'S MOTHER (CONT'D)
Feeling better?

L. nods.

L.'S MOTHER (CONT'D)
Good.

She sits beside him on the sofa and takes his hand, kisses it softly.

L.
Thank you, Momma.
(beat)
I love you.

L.'S MOTHER
I love you, anak.

She tenderly strokes his cheek as he slowly gives into exhaustion, letting sleep overcome him.

FADE OUT.

THE END.

Tragedy

Sorry.
I'm only human.
You know me.
Grown up- oh,  no.
Guess again.
 
My days always dry up and blow away.
Sometimes I could do that, too.

But make no mistake.

When you need a friend, you could count on anyone.
But you know I'll defend the tragedy that we knew as the end.

Progress, changing.
Growing, then giving up.
Somehow we're never quite prepared.

But I understand it.

When you need a friend, you could count on anyone.
But you know I'll defend the tragedy that we knew as the end.

So, taking you with me would be like  taking all your money to the grave.
It does no good to anyone.
Especially the one you're trying to save.

But it's so hard not to save.

When you need a friend, you could count on anyone.
But you know I'll defend the tragedy that we knew as the end.

You know I'll defend the tragedy that we knew as the end.

Scales Of A Lion

0506 – 1224AM

Sometimes I like to reread these pages and try to remember the boy who wrote them.

There are times when my heart aches reading these passages, my sympathy stretching, reaching out across time to the self-pitying boy who scribbled them down months before.

Sometimes my heart feels as if it's tearing anew as I relive those moments that tore it in the first place, perhaps to serve as a  reminder that the hollow void in my heart still persists, unfulfilled.

Other times I read through these entries and am left confused, having forgotten the author of those passages and disbelieving that he and I are the same, the emotional wounds that I wrote of long before having healed- scabbed over and scarred to take shape a new persona far from where he, I started.

- - -

0506 – 0419PM

I now know from where this intense desire to be in a meaningful relationship stems.*

I never really understood the aspects of Libra, perhaps because I never really understood the aspects of myself.

It's all becoming so clear now.

This newfound understanding has made sense of a lot of things I could not have quite figured out on my own before, has given rhyme and reason to the previously unexplored enigma of my subconscious.

The driving force beneath my ego is, as I've mentioned many times before, to be part of a meaningful relationship. To possess ties to other people and breathe something much deeper into its connection.

However, this driving force, this desire is so intense that it frightens me.

Its commanding intensity as my basic primal need is so great, so desperate in its yearning to be fulfilled that it's become my tragic flaw. My Achilles heel.

It's no wonder I am handicapped by my fear of rejection.

Partner that with the numerous disappointments from my previous endeavors and it becomes even more apparent as to why I don't even try to make new relationships, friendship or otherwise, anymore.

I am simply too exhausted, too disappointed to emotionally invest in someone else now.

I still haven't found what I'm looking for, but maybe that's because I gave up searching long ago.

T2M #6

0410— 211PM
I'm trying to make an important life decision, and all I want to do is weep.

I'm frightened and confused, lost and uncertain.

Nothing in life is ever easy, and everything must come at a price.

I know why I want to do this, but I just can't bring myself to do it.

Everything is giving me different answers; I can't even hear the voice inside.

I'm too bound by my fears, my fears of failure, of uncertainty, that I cannot make a move.

- - -

Thank you for that fated encounter, Mr. B.

You played an important role in setting my plans in motion, of motivating me to set forth and blaze that trail that had been beckoning me, almost haunting me.

I've been torn over this for so long, agonizing in my indecision that I've nearly lost sight of all direction.

But now, seemingly in the spur of the moment, I've managed to muster enough courage to make the first step.

Hard part's over.

Or has it just begun?

- - -

The best decisions in life are made on the fly.

Le Grande Artiste: 10-0411

Choices
Inspired by a random run-in with the ex-boyfriend's dad, this piece is the result of tireless rumination in  making a major decision that will play an integral role in shaping the rest of my life.

It represents my fear, while boldly expressing my wild hopes.

 Mon Avis
My first attempt at linear painting.

Wasn't too successful (I have no idea which brush to use for that yet), so I just painted over my crappy lines and filled it in to make a bolder statement.

(it's supposed to be the Eiffel Tower)

Chantico
A meditation in brown and caramel,
this image had been haunting my mind for so long that it inspired me to go buy a paint set so I can get it out of me.

It didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, but I can live with the results.

Fun fact: none of these paintings turned out the way I pictured them in my mind (nothing ever really does, I guess), but the results are serendipitous.

Still, it sucks being a perfectionist.

Embarcadero, 10-0331

T2M #5

0319 — 703AM
Pick a side.

You're either independent or not.

Stop teetering back and forth between needing nobody and wanting somebody.

Admitting you're lonely is the first mistake.

Batter up, rookie.

Oh, the Places You'll Go!*

There is fun to be done!

There are points to be scored.

There are games to be won.

And the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all.

Fame!

You’ll be famous as famous can be, with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.

Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games, too.

Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!

Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.

Ain't it the truth, Mr. Geisel.


* Dr. Seuss. Oh, the Places You'll Go!. New York: Random House, 1990. Print.

INSPIRATION: boudoir

(source)

Action Plan - 0211

Tax return money finally came in and already, I'm thinking of ways on how to spend it in the most frivolous manner despite the fact that I've got priorities to take care of first.

Let's remind myself what those priorities are, shall we?


(REV. 0212 | 946PM)

GET YOUR FUCKING MASSAGE LICENSE !!
x pay $150 CAMTC license fee - done online
x request $10 school transcript from Mueller College
x mail out CAMTC application
x get $90 Live Scan fingerprinted
_ set aside $200 for membership organization fee


VOLUNTEER WITH THE LGBT COMMUNITY CENTER !!
x get $20 Live Scan background-checked
_ attend New Volunteer orientation (TBD)


Let's get the ball rolling here in the right direction.

Absolution 9:50

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

I have thought unkind things toward myself and other people.

I seek Your retribution.

I seek Your forgiveness.

Forgive me for belittling Your work.

Forgive me for taking Your gifts for granted.

Forgive me for beseeching Your forgiveness.

Forgive me for what I've broken.

Heal me for what I've lost.

Give me hope for the better.

Help me find in me the strength I need.

Return to me the love I've lost.

Forgive me for losing sight.

Forgive me, Father, for all my faults and wrong-doing.

Give me hope.

Give me strength.

Give me faith.

Give me love.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

Amen.

From P., With Lust

0206-10 | 0942PM

A call from an unfamiliar number interrupts his thoughts, his solitude.

Curious more than anything, he decides to override his initial instinct to screen the call and just answer it.

He immediately regrets his decision once he hears the familiar voice on the other line- casual and nonchalant, but there is no denying the urgent need to fulfill a primal instinct belying an ulterior motive as the conversation progresses.

A brief catch up (How've you been? Alright. Me too.) serves as an awkward preamble to the meat of the of the matter, both comparing notes of their soonest availability and discovering a mutually agreeable opening in their respective schedules.

Put on the spot, his instinctive fear to commit kicks in, and he casually and nonchalantly in return asks for a raincheck, his gregarious nature leaving his response more along the lines of an open-ended regret than a flat-out rejection.

He hangs up as soon as the opportunity presents itself, remaining polite yet detached, and is surprised and ashamed to realize he's hard.

- - -

This loneliness thing is a bitch.

He knows what he wants, and it isn't this.

Or is it?

He can't decide.

He wants a committed, meaningful, satisfying connection with someone he can call his significant other.

His boyfriend.

His own.

But there doesn't seem to be much that, if any at all, headed his way lately.

So he figures, Why not settle?

Why not just go for something that is headed his way?

Even if it is just a meaningless fuck in a dark, dirty arcade booth of a sleazy adult video store?

Even if he knows this romance-less encounter will only leave him feeling all the more lonely, all the more empty inside?

Why not?

Bubble Boy

0206 – 0925PM

It's hard to admit to anyone, let alone to myself, that I'm sad, bitter, miserable, all because I'm lonely.

I drink to forget I'm lonely.

I sleep with strangers to hide the fact that I'm alone.

I push people away to deny that I need them.

I don't know where this insecurity comes from, where this persistent fear of rejection originates.

I can trace its effects, list the symptoms that derive from this fear, but I can't for the life of me find its origins.

I am stubbornly independent. My need to be in control of things at all times have won me no friends, in fact has drive more people away from my reach.

The comfort I find in working alone alone has put me inside a bubble, apart from everyone around me.

I don't know how to work in a team after working alone and only relying on myself all this time.

I don't know how to relate to people when, growing up, I only had my own experiences, my own thoughts, my own knowledge from which to draw.

I can't see anything beyond the solitary bubble I love in, besides the fact that I'm all alone, and everything I'm doing isn't helping to change that.

Righting The Wrong

It always feels like I am in the wrong.

It feels as if all the good I've done, am capable of doing, is overshadowed by the things I can't seem to get right.

I know I ought to look at the bright side, believe that the good I do outweighs the bad.

I know I'm looking at it all wrong, that I'd be happier if I just shifted my perspective on things a little different, but that only goes to show that I'm only capable of doing things wrong.

I'm not a great friend- I don't ask about you, don't care about you unless my immediate needs are met first, that my list of expectations have already been checked off before moving on to someone else.

I'm not a great leader- I'm blunt when it comes to communicating. My focus is on the task at hand and what needs to be done, not on why you can't do it if you're having a bad day.

There are times when my emotional side gets flipped off, diminished to a point of near nonexistence just so I can get through the job, get through the day.

I can spend a good portion of my day working and getting all my shit done, not realizing until the end of the day that I come home to an empty house, that there's a void in my heart and I can't figure out why.

I know I need to be my own best friend.

I've told myself that so many times.

No one's going to believe in me unless I believe in myself.

And I do.

For the most part.

I know I'm capable of doing good.

I know I'm capable of being so much more.

I know all that.

The worst thing about being able to see both sides is picking one.

I can find all the faults, scrutinize all the flaws and cracks.

And I can see the good, the glory behind the tragedy, the sun behind the clouds.

I can see the problem and find the solution.

The only thing I find difficult is choosing a path.

So I stay in the middle.

I stay on the current road and hope for the best while bemoaning my agonies.

I am a sadistic optimist, a optimistic sadist.

And I know that's wrong, but I won't choose something else.

- - -

I'm tired of always having to remind myself that I am better than this, better than wallowing in my sorrow over failures and hurdles I can't ever seem to overcome.

Tired of always having to remind myself that I am also capable of great achievements, accomplishing triumphant success.

Tired of reminding myself how far I've come, the leaps and bounds I've made, and the long, unfamiliar road that still looms in the distance.

I'm tired of being my own cheerleader.

It gets lonely sitting on the sidelines by myself, with no one else there rooting for me.

But it's the only choice I have.

Even it's a wrong one.

The Fate of the Groundhog

I'm feeling at such a loss.

Strange, I thought that period of the year for me was already over and done with.

I thought that once I made it through January, I'd be okay.

That I would pick up where I left off and resume normal functioning, rejoin the ranks of being a functional member of society again.

Looks like there's six more weeks of trouble.

- - -

I'm not yet at a point where I can fully comprehend how the loss of the man who taught me so much has affected me.

I'm devastated to be sure, but I just can't find the words to sum up exactly how I feel, to accurately identify what it is that's plaguing my mind over this.

I've learned so much under his tutelage, through his mastery and philosophy. It's added an invaluable layer to me that I hold dearly in such high regard.

I'm in woe of the regret I have for not making much of it, for not taking advantage of the time Fate had graciously given me to be spent with him.

Missed opportunities and such.

And now there is no more possibility of chance to learn more from him, learn from his experiences to help me grow, and I am saddened by this.

E.W. "Bill" Mueller was a great man. I did not know him personally in intimate detail, but nonetheless he imparted to me something so great I have no other way of thanking him but to continue on with what he's given me and to help share that with those in need of healing from his wisdom.

- - -

I've been filled with such grief and anguish lately and it feels like there is no stopping point looming in the horizon any time soon.

Blame it on the lack of working.

Blame it on the lack of consistency.

Blame it on the excessive amount of free time on my hands, and the lack of things to do that are within my control.

Blame it on reading old journal entries of tales that are done and over with yet from which I can't seem to move on.

Blame it on anything but myself because right now, I'm finding it difficult to take responsibility for my actions.

I'm lacking focus. I can't fully analyze anything, make sense of anything at the moment. This translates to a feeling of lack of control, and I automatically enter panic mode.

I feel as if I'm running in circles, going nowhere.

Can't even formulate a sentence, an idea or thought, to full fruition.

Can't even finish a fucking blog entry.

Notes on a Scandal: I – Last Night's Regret

Thomas

He woke up to the lingering smell of last night's cologne on his pillow.

He made an attempt to turn his head away from the strong scent stained beside him, catching instead the sharp morning light streaming from the room's sole window.

The screaming pain coming from the back of his skull as his eyes burned inside their sockets forced him to stop, forced him to assume his previous position with a defeated sigh.

Averting his gaze from the sunlight, he turned his attention to the still mass snoring softly beneath the blanket beside him.

Thinking it was easier on the eyes than the first glimpses of sunlight, he had yet to discover the dangers behind this vision- the meaning of it and the repercussions that will follow.

For now, he only took silent inventory of what he was seeing beside him at face value.

Shaggy dark hair spilled onto the pillow next to his.

A forearm draped over the eyes of an unidentifiable face.

A small, slightly upturned nose rested above a slackened mouth, outlined by a thin set of lips, from where the source of the soft wheezing came.

The neck beneath the angular jaw lead to a flat, bare chest, rising and falling with every breath, sparsely decorated with hair in the center that trailed down beyond the boundary of the covers.

It was an unfamiliar scene, finding a body next to him in his bed.

At least, it had been a while since he last found himself in this predicament.

Two years, three months, and nine days since, to be exact.

Not since the day Robert decided to effectively end their seven-year partnership by sleeping with somebody else.

Even since then, he remained faithful—to what, he didn't know now that everything he had believed in had dissolved in wake of his lover's departure.

He dutifully went to bed alone every single night since then, never once bothering to fill the empty void beside him even when the nights grew long and the bed loomed lonely after a hard day's work.

Until now.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to remember the previous series of events that transpired to this moment but not being able to see past the drunken haze of last night, couldn't recall anything beyond opening his eyes to the morning's harsh light and the cologne on his pillow.

It wasn't until the body of the man—no, a young man—beside him stirred, removed his arm away from his face and blinking his sleepy eyes back at him, did the entire night come back to him.

"Julian," he whispered in a gasp, shocked by the sight of the familiar face staring back at him.

Sleepily, Julian smiled back at him and touched his face.

"Good morning, Teach."

Looking for Trouble

Trouble is his only friend and he's back again.
Makes his body older than it really is.
He says it's high time he went away; no one's got much to say in this town.
Trouble is the only way is down.
Down, down.

As strong as you were, tender you'll go.
I'm watching you breathing for the last time.
A song for your heart, but when it is quiet,
I know what it means and I'll carry you home.
I'll carry you home.

If he had wings he would fly away, and another day God will give him some.
Trouble is the only way is down.
Down, down.

As strong as you were, tender you'll go.
I'm watching you breathing for the last time.
A song for your heart, but when it is quiet,
I know what it means and I'll carry you home.
I'll carry you home.

And they were all born pretty in New York City tonight.
And someone's little girl was taken from the world tonight, under the Stars and Stripes.

As strong as you were, tender you go.
I'm watching you breathing for the last time.
A song for your heart, but when it is quiet,
I know what it means and I'll carry you home.

I'll carry you home.

- - -

Expectations are gone, and I don't know who I am anymore.

From the moment I sent the text, I knew what would happen.

Knew what kind of unfulfilled emptiness I was doomed to repeat yet again.

But I still pursued.

This casual business has gotten me nowhere before, and it's getting me nowhere now.

I can only think of two things:

1) Old habits die hard, and
2) Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

Problem is I can remember my past; I just choose to ignore it.

Stingaree, 10-0122-23

  
Good times.

Signs

Found this while cleaning out the microchip in my phone:

I saw this at the Starbucks when I went to do some soul-searching.

It was the headline that caught my eye.

Am I still looking for a sign?

You Can't Handle The Truth*

"It's love that we need, Mike understood: sex is just what we do to get it."

Preaching to the choir, Mr. Scott.

I'm just envious of those who make it possible to base a relationship on sex first, romance later.


* Scott, Kevin. The Boys in the Brownstone. New York: The Hawthorne Press, Inc., 2005. Print.

Inertia

You think you're numb.

You can't feel a thing, aren't phased by any glaring sort of emotion, aren't coerced into action due to an overpowering gut instinct too great to comprehend.

You think you've lost your passion, unstirred by any sort of feeling, unmoved by a lack of empathy or compassion in what surrounds you.

You move through your days listless and unexpectant, not hoping for much but just for enough to get by to the next day.

And you're okay with this.

You've settled for this life of mundane content, knowing all the while you are capable of taking on so much more than you're given, as evidenced by the acute, inscrutable pang of emptiness that has burrowed deep inside you that you've managed to ignore.

The situation you've found yourself is not ideal by any means, but for you, for now, it's fine.

Simply… fine.

And then something comes along to knock you off that path of inertia you've been traveling on for God knows how long.

Something so huge, something so profound in its meaning has reached out from the blur that is your life and shakes up your world, shows you that the dormant emotions you've had within you were just idling, waiting for something to stir them up.

What's less surprising is where that catalyst is coming from.

a hand from the past reaches out to shake up my future.

I couldn't have said it better myself (which I did, November 21, 2008).

Same situation.

Same catalyst.

New year.

River Flows In You

 FASHION VALLEY, parking lot B

I'm amused by bodies of water being in places they shouldn't be.

Shiver

Natalie Imbruglia - Shiver

Awesome.

Seaport, After Dark (10-0115)

 

Règle de Reine

"On a high throne, looking into a clouded sky, sits a queen with a raised sword in her left hand. This suggests, 'Let those approach who dare!'

Her crown and the base of her throne are decorated with the butterflies of the soul, and just under the arm of the throne we find a sylph, the elemental of the air. The queen's face is chastened through suffering.

Choose this card for a brown-haired, brown-eyed woman.

Divinatory Meaning: A subtle, keen, and quick-witted woman who may represent a widow or one who is unable to bear children. Perhaps she is mourning for those she loves who are far away from her.

Reversed: Unreliability. Narrow-mindedness. Gossip. Deceit. Malice. A woman of artifice and prudery."*

- - -

"The Queen of Swords indicates a woman who is blessed (or cursed) with sharp perception, and highly honed intuition. She is acutely analytical, with a razor-sharp ability to get to the heart of a situation, seeing exactly what is, rather than what others would wish her to see.

She is a private woman, unwilling to let people too close to her until she is satisfied she thoroughly understands their motivations. But once won as a friend, she is unfailingly loyal, honest and supportive.

She's usually very intelligent, with a dry sense of humour. Her penetrating insight will often reveal aspects of themselves to others that they had previously been unable to grasp - thus she is a capable therapist, teacher or leader.

The woman represented by this card will be experienced in the flow of life, understanding a great deal about both the great triumphs, and the deepest failings of the race. Her clarity and measured expression will be of great value at times of confusion and sadness.

Sometimes in a reading, this card will turn up to indicate a woman in a particular phase of her life, where she temporarily becomes a Sword as a result of what is happening to her. In that case the card is not quite so positively defined, for it can indicate a woman left alone, and perhaps embittered. She may be a widow, or a woman passing through the aftermath of divorce.

In this case we often see the more negative aspects of the Queen - coldness, judgmentalism, criticism. At these times there is a certain sourness about her, with cynicism and sharpness making themselves felt.

It should be said that these qualities are inherent to the woman who is a Queen of Swords by nature too - if the woman concerned has not evolved sufficiently you will often find that the card represents a person who is hard and cold toward others."**

- - -

My guards are rising.

I can feel them going up, even though I know I'm desperate for the opposite.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

I want to say, Come in, come in. You're welcome here.

But the barbed wire I surround the gates with are less beckoning than my whole-hearted appeal.

You're welcome inside, as long as you don't hurt my pride.

And I wonder why the signals are always crossed.

- - -

I know I am meant to be happy.

I just haven't found anyone yet to bring me that happiness.

* Gray, Eden. A Complete Guide to the Tarot. New York: Bantam, 1972. Print.
** (source)

0104-b: Identity Crisis/Great Expectations

Last night's  journal entry made it clear to me that I really did not know myself very well, despite what I firmly believed.

I still look to others to tell me who I am, to give me a definition of myself so I know what the expectations around my neck are.

I often measure myself up to other people who share my birthday, holding myself accountable for insurmountable achievements that or on par with those of Yves Saint Laurent, Frances Scott Key, Herman Mellville, William Clark, Dom DeLuise.

Doing this only makes me feel even more at a loss at discovering my true self.

I've yet to accomplish any great feats my birth date brothers have accomplished before me, leaving me feeling only more like a failure, like I'm not meeting the maximum capacity of the potential bestowed upon me right at birth.

Instead of becoming obsessed with this realization, I decided to catalogue what I do know about myself.

So while in bed, I took out a sheet of paper and began jotting things down.

The following is what resulted.

WHO THE FUCK AM I??
a map of Jun Belisario

Granted, I couldn't get every last piece of who I am fitted into the 8.5" x 11" borders, but the general ideas of my persona are there.

Hopefully with this better knowledge of myself, I can put these qualities to good use and do something great with them, because it's about time I make my own great achievements to which other people can measure themselves up.

0104-a: Snake Skin

I went to Starbucks today to see if I could make sense out of the uncertain chaos going on in my life.

After yet another failed attempt for human company, I tidied up my room a bit (moved a pile of clothes from one spot and moved it to another) to the old, familiar, comforting sounds of Death Cab for Cutie's  "Transatlanticism."

After accomplishing that task, I crumpled onto the floor, my back against my sliding closet doors, as I tried to make sense of what was going on with my life as the mellow, poignant tunes of Death Cab continued to play.

Finally after a long moment of self-pity I decided, I don't need anyone to escort me through my life, and got up to head to the neighborhood Starbucks on my own.

Armed with cigarettes, my Gold card, one of my trusty journals, and two pens (hey, you never know), I grabbed my usual venti soy green tea latte at 140° and a table outside and got to writing to sort out the heavy cloud of thoughts I had floating in my head.

At a point where it felt like my life had fallen off the tracks, I originally wanted to write about what I was going to do to help myself get back in order.

But knowing the way life goes on (especially my own), I ended up writing about something else, touching on something much deeper that was going on in my psyche.

The following is the journal entry that transpired from this event.

0104 — 0550PM

I don't know what to do with my life.

A common theme, at least I'm sure it's something with which the pages of this journal is not unfamiliar.

I've been here before. This chaotic feeling of being all out at sea is not foreign to me whatsoever.

Regardless, I am still unnerved by this overpowering notion that the ground I've put myself on is still rocky, still unstable — ready to crumble from the immense weight of uncertainty I carry, ready to allow the earth to swallow me whole with no trace of me left for others to find.

Yes, I've been in this same situation before.

These raw feelings of being vulnerable and bare I still find uncomfortable, no matter how many times I've already come face-to-face with them.

It feels as if I'm shedding an old layer of skin to make room for a new one.

It is within this awkward, transitory process do I find myself naked and vulnerable. While having outgrown another layer of my life, I feel I am not ready to take on a new one.

I would very much like to hold on to that old layer of skin because it is there that I find secure protection.

I've earned that layer of skin I'm now trying to shed.

I've earned its experience, earned its knowledge and wisdom.

Earned everything that came with the life I lead while wearing it.

Everything I absorbed from life while living in that skin is what made it tough. The knowledge, the familiarity, the undoubted certainty -- everything that came with the passage of time -- made that skin my protector, my shell.

Those experiences helped to shape me, gave me an identity to show the world around me.

Told me who I was, where I stood.

My strengths. My flaws.

The overall quality of my existence so I knew how I measured up to those by whom I was surrounded.

Now that the powers that be have decided that it's time for me to shed that skin I had grown into, grown comfortable with after all this time, not only am I afraid of feeling raw and vulnerable once more, but also I wonder: who am I going to be once I lose that piece of me?

Despite my immense desire to understand the unknown (especially if it comes with the advantage of personal growth), I'm frightened by the possibility that after all these years of self-introspection and psychoanalyzation, I still don't understand myself at all.

I still look to outside sources to figure out who I am.

I guess in my desire to be a part of this world, I seek out ways to define myself in their terms.

A gay male.

A Leo.

A Rabbit.

A schizoid with minor psychopathic tendencies.

These are definitions made by other people that I assign to myself, believing in the knowledge of others as a means to understand myself instead of going straight to the source.

Because the truth of the matter is: I don't even know myself.

But then again, does anyone know their selves at such an intense and intimate level similar to what I am in pursuit of with myself?

It's very rare, if not impossible, to come in contact with an individual who knows everything about them self whole-heartedly.

For one, not many out there are willing to exchange their vision of the world around them for a closer look inside themselves.

They might already be too preoccupied with their outside world, too involved with the external to even consider the internal.

Or they may have already taken a peek at who they are inside, and either they were satisfied with the superficial snapshot of what they saw and moved on, or they saw something in themselves that frightened and discouraged them from the possibility of deeper exploration of their psyche.

Also, because of our resilient and pliable nature, it may very well be impossible for anyone to completely know their selves entirely.

As we move through life, we grow. We change. We are not always the same.

The beliefs, ideals, and understandings we hold on to one moment may not be the same ones to which we subscribe the next, or years after.

Because of the infinite possibilities bestowed upon us and the forward, linear fashion of our existence, our movement through life, we will never fully explore all the avenues within our grasp, therefore unable to fully understand the limits of our capacity, our actions, our thoughts, our essence — in short, the whole of our being.

Knowing this, however, has still yet to prevent me from attempting to wholly explore and understand myself with what I know and what I've been given.

I could have gone on and on, but unfortunately due to my body's design, my hand was already exhausted.

Also, I became distracted by the goings on of Facebook via my cell phone, so I decided there would be a good stopping point for that entry.

Going back to what I originally planned on writing about: my life being a jumbled mess of sorts.

Now that I'm officially no longer in school, it's as if my life is one big open road with just me behind the wheel.

While other people take solace in that and often doggedly pursue to be in a situation like that with their own lives, it has the opposite effect on me.

In all honesty, it scares the shit out of me.

I'm a person who craves structure.

Being the schizoid that I am, knowing all the predetermined rules and boundaries of a situation helps to make me feel safe and secure (then my minor psychopathic tendencies kick in so I can manipulate known variables toward my favor).

That's just the nature of my individual life's philosophy that I've willingly accepted.

I'm used to having life being dictated for me (under my conscious decisions to pick and choose my actions, of course), used to having schedules and tasks and preset expectations that I can meet and/or exceed.

This creates something of a bubble for me, if you will. An environment where I know what is expected, and thus, in control.

Take that bubble away and give me the freedom to choose where to go next in life with some dire and pressing points to consider, and I will inevitably choke.

I don't know where this fear of making my own decisions for myself stems from, because I know it's apparent that I have a mind of my own and am deftly capable of picking and choosing things of my interest or benefit.

However, when it comes to the huge, life-changing decisions, that's the part I always have the most trouble with.

I've experienced this before, after graduating from high school. Instead of going back to college immediately that fall, I decided to continue working my part-time retail job and wasting time.

Sure, I had a general idea of going to massage school, but I sat on that for two-and-a-half years before I eventually got myself around to enrolling.

Now that massage school is over, I'm back to square one. Back to trying to figure out what new direction to take my life on next.

I have yet another general plan, one I've already shared with countless others.

I've already publicly made known what my intentions were after finishing massage school, so not following through with them will only make me feel like a fraud, fill me with humiliation over the fact that I am unable to follow through with what I've set out to do in the first place.

I have the resources ready to get the ball rolling in that direction, so why I am hesitating?

Going back to what I've written earlier today about feeling like a snake shedding its skin. That's exactly what it is, where I am in life at the moment.

I'm being forced to outgrow my old skin (the safety and structure of going to massage school) to make room for a new one.

The only problem is that I don't know exactly what this new skin is meant for.

All I know is that I'm at a point in my life where things are fresh, the opportunities abound, and I'm still standing in the hallway, wondering which door to pick.

It's as if a burden has been lifted from my shoulders after completing school, only to have another, weightier load placed on my back— the weight of the world.

The question is not what am I now supposed to do with it, but rather, how can I get my fickle ass to make a decision?

That remains to be an unsolved mystery.




(another topic begs a response [just who the fuck am I?], but that's for another journal entry...)