Out Of The Closet

2003-07-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

Whew, it has taken me awhile to get back on here hasn't it? I have so much to tell. I have left the realms of rejects and have found myself back in my old pad. Where I am comfortable, pampered and spoiled, this is what life is all about. Terrance has taken up residence in my place yet again, I don't much mind but his ridiculous eating and sleeping habits are wearing on me.

Who works 9 to 5 anyways? No one I have ever known, leaving him with sleeping habits that never vear from eleven pm until seven am. It sickens me to see someone with so much potential falling into the swarm of meaningless employment ventures. So sad so sad. He eats these strange concoctions that reek up my tidy and frescia scented living quarters and for what? Nothing, a simple platonic relationship. When did I become so kind hearted? I make myself physically sick come to think of it.

Lidia is nagging at me lately to fill out my quaterly reports I simply don't want to look at the small font that engages me into depression. Knowing that I will be returning to the realms of the classroom in just a few short weeks only takes from the good times I am trying to have now. Unlike Lidia I would prefer to just buffer my way through, where she obsesses over every little detail, every paper, every cover letter. A complete opposite to my nature yet we share the same DNA.

I have been flaunting my self around Trent and Jason, purposly drawing a thin line between them. I think that I have left them both with blue ball syndrome for my own good. Only to reject both of them and give them lessons on relationship moral. I am a son of a bitch.

I must get to the mall before Lidia has the fuzz out looking for me.

Signed,
Michael

2003-06-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

So I gave in. I went away for the the weekend, took off to home. I couldn't bare it any longer. But in my defense, I returned.

And what a weekend it was.

I got to hang with the crew, frequent the bars and try some killer E. Lidia was excited to have me back, so much so that I felt guilty to leave her again. She seems dragged down and tired. It could be because of all of the partying and shananagans between her and Justin, but I think it may be her own form of longing for her other half. We tend not to veer to far away from one another, we share more than identical D.N.A. More of a one way mind.

However, this was all her idea, I merely complied. And all that know me, know I never back down to a dare or a challenge. I did as I would have, and so would she.

So I ran into Crimson at the club on Saturday night. I chose to ignore him and go my merry way, but he seemed to have flocked to whatever gathering I was in. I took the hint and decided that maybe it would be fine to approach him first. Knowing his bold moves were only a reflection of his insecurites. I complied. We chatted for awhile about current affairs, and my current living arrangements. He seemed in awe of my daring moves. I shrugged it off.

It seems that nothing was missed here over my time off. I don't think much has changed here in years really. Nothing lost. But my room feels sticky and muggy. I need a shower.

Signed,
Michael

2003-06-20T16:11:00.000-07:00

Michelle Branch has released what I would call a great single. And although my friends back home don't seem to understand that I do infact get MTV here, I find the video creative and assertive.
I am highly anticipating the new Black Eyed Peas album in stores any day now. Thank the heavens and pagans for Amazon.

It's hot, really hot. I know heat but this is that awful heat that doesn't let up. I am miserable. Highly considering the old meds to get me through the next week, and thinking ahead I did bring some along. I must have sensed not only boredom but anxiety when packing my bags for this voyage. Little tablets will surely make the longing for home a bit bearable. Doubting myself.

I spent most of the day locked up in this hot pot reading blogs. I came across one of these pages a bit back, found myself annoyed at the lack of updating so went on a search for another. I haven't found a lot of interesting ones, mostly just teenages going on about relentless teenage matters, some artistic ones that lack substance but have possess great imagery. A few that remind me why computers are expensive, those who can't afford them shouldn't be writing. And one from a girl, who I believe could turn me straight. She is deep and insightful and brutally honest. I liked her style, her work was interesting. I shall go back.

Spoke to Marcus today on a whim. Called his cell. He was at the mall at the time, so fairy like. He reflects my masculinity like a mirror. So sad. He seems to be well, not much interested in this escapade but interested in me. What a fool.

Lidia sent me an email today about Canada and their new laws. They are giving us rights? I guess next they will invent something digital and call themselves hip. What do I care about Canada? Went there once to ski, left 3 days early, couldn't understand the locals. Of course back then places like this scared me.

I need to go to the store to get cigarettes. It will be my second time out today, and I have put if off far too long. I should go, but I don't want to. But I will.

Signed,
Michael

2003-06-20T08:26:00.000-07:00

Oh this place does grow boring quite quickly. You would think that while in a place so strange to me that I would be able to find something interesting to do. But no. Although most of the locals play darts, I haven't been able to pick it up. And my appearance is my downfall. I don't resemble the lumberjacks that play this game. My aim has never been much good for anything, and I only see someone getting hurt in the process.

Back in prep school days I remember the loyalty that surrounded our team Football being the only extracaricular activity that I took part in. The chess club being much to unattractive. I can run, and the game of football can always use a guy boy who can run and has hands that seem to have a natural glue stained on them. Jake Yates, our star quaterback was always a bit different. Especially in the light of a gay teenager. I haven't heard any news yet, but I do guess that he is either out of the closet or atleast undercover. It was just a matter of time. This town resembles the locker room. The loyalty and secrets that wander the exterior. They are here, and they hide from me unlike the days of ball. I was always included, my sexual orientation didn't make walls for me. It was well known yet not discussed. I didn't mind much, I was confident enough back then to not need the publicity. However once older, I lost that security. Now I need the show.

A young lady by the name of Margaret visited me today. She works at the diner downstairs and usually brings me my breakfast. Today being her day off, she decided to stop by on her way to the the grocery. She brought me soda, which was much appreciated. The heat here has become unbearable to a culture shocked season boy. She has a sugary sweetness to her, and I predict that she is quite popular with her local peers. She is flattering, but I hold no interest in her little conversations. She is always prying for information about where I am from, maybe she is keener than the rest. I give no details, which seems to interest her all the more. Her mother passed away 5 years ago to some kind of cancer. She seems to fear my idle cigarettes. I empathize, and usually refrain from lighting up in her presence. Her clothes are drab and different from any others I have seen. She reminds me of Laura Inglis in a way. Probably wild in bed, but I will leave that to the local boys to define.

I told Mrs. Brown the other day that my mother made cookies that tasted just like hers, she seemed warmed by the compliment. As if flattered that she gave me a piece of home. I laugh, as she thinks my mother is dead, commiting suicide after my father left her for her sister. A wonderful old lady, but much too naive. I thought that the elderly held some kind of wisdom? She is perhaps upon the easier foooled. Her home, which I have been invited into numerous times smells of dough and grease. It makes me hungry and I think that this is what Lidia has been craving in a grandmother. Our stone cold frame of a woman we call a grandmother is drawn but strong. Never showing emotion or love certainly not they type to make such cookies. I envy Lidia for her need to be customary.

My internet connection is so slow. I wonder if this is what Bill Gates had in mind when he stold such an idea from our military? Did he expect his dreams to become the livlyhood of society?

Kurt Cobains voice has drawn to a close, it's time for me to bath.

Signed,
Michael

2003-06-19T09:38:00.000-07:00

I am not sure if this is where I introduce myself or just start the ramblings? Realistically there isn't even anyone reading this. It will probably lead to nothing more than my online journal. Created to remind me of the stories I tell, the details that I sometimes forget and of course to watch the process. The process that has become my daily routine. Where I pretend to be something that couldn't be farther from what I actually am.

I remember when Derek and Lidia came up with this brilliant idea. Sitting in their apartment on a Sunday morning after a hard night of tequilla. Grunged in our hangover gear, we decided that living as socialites was getting old and sadly enough there was no way to escape our trustfunds and bank accounts. No way to escape the lingering press that only wanted a piece of a story that led to the demise of my privelidged parents. Just a way to keep them on their front pages when there was nothing else for them to write about. The stories of their affairs and mistresses had become old news and all that remained was a heir with a shady past. I was an easy target.

With my army greens jacket and streaked hair I stood as their best bet. An easy target to get to the story. That I was. So it wasn't that strange when Lidia came up with this crazy idea.

Move to some rural trailer town where big news was defined with recent engagements and front page news was farming productivity. Where everyone knows everyone and everyone gathers at the local saloon to drink home brew and play lame card games. I could get a place, get by with just a bit of money that I was left with, and become one of the locals. Keep contact with home but escape from the hussle of the big city life. One catch though, no one could know who I was. No one could figure out that I was even more of an outsider than I originally appeared. Live the artistic dream that haunted me from my window seat overlooking the skyscrapers. Something that would be impossible to set out to do in the setting I had been living in. This was not only an adventure but my escape.

It seems odd I remember thinking. Could a place like this exist outside of Capeside culture? Is there a place out there that fits this western movie setting? Well if there was, I was out to find it.

I was sick of being gay in a place where it was socially acceptable. It took away from the excitement and liberation that was being gay. I wanted to live gay in a place where people frowned upon such sins. Maybe even spin the boat and become bisexual. Just to ruffle more feathers. I had always liked a girl with a sence of freedom and rebel. I could find it within my homosexual soul to mate with just a few of the locals. And if all of this corruption were to end in a gun fight on a dirt road with the sheriff, and the entire city watching me so be it. I would go out in a blaze of glory. I was taking my adventure and running wild with it. This was after all a world without want.

Derek thought it to be absurd. Saying things like "Why do this? You have all the money to make you happy, the guys at the club love you, you can't want this? It's stupid". Such typical Derek talk. It had grown old. I was doing this. And it would all start on March 25th 2003.

I packed my bags, with only the essentials. My roughing it clothing some beaded jewellery, my c.d's, stereo, a library of books, and some sand from the beach where I became who I am. And although I would lose who I am in the process, I needed a reminder. Something to differentiate between fact and fiction. The sand would be my block. I had bought a pick up oh the irony. I would travel until I found the perfect place to set my plans into action.

I found it 5 days later. After maxing my gas card, on a whim. I turn off that was necessary for lunch. I found this perfect little place. Population unknown, only because many of the locals find it hard to use numbers past 10. The food is great, and unlike anything I have ever tasted. Hip music includes Chicago and Air Supply, and I couldn't fit in if I tried. It was perfect.

It has been three months. And l could say that everything I dreamed it would be. A small boy that lives downstairs gave me a rock just the other day. In some cultures I could look deep and find meaning in this rock, but in a place like this it is just a rock.

I am a gay 24 year old guy, who lurks on these streets. Foreign to the locals, and a mystery to all the young women who look at me with lust. Not understanding the rainbow flag on my jacket. But I see it. I see the young boys who look at me with a confusing idea of what I am. Lured in by my boyish charm, knowing that they too want to wear this jacket. But who could do such a thing in a place where social gatherings only happen in the house of God? This is kind of place where people only know what they consider to be normal. Homosexuality is only something that happens in Hollywood, not in normal towns. It is a contageous sickness much like the plague.

I spoke to Lidia this morning. Apparently the scene is in full affect with the summer months approaching. A part of me wants to be there, but another part of me is too caught up in what could happen here. I plan to shake up this little town, and I have only started loosening the strings that hold this hypocricy together. Mums and Dad are both away on business as usual. I haven't spoken to them in weeks. I don't miss them much, and I think the feeling is mutual. My finances are in order just 2 states away. Building interest and growing. I could care less.

Signed,
Michael