Matthew 6: 24-34

Yesterday morning was my penultimate Sunday singing with the choir at Centenary United Methodist. I've been driving an hour there and back to Quincy for three years now, and next Sunday is the last time I'll sit in the choir loft and sing with them. Sad and strange to realize so late how much the little things mean to you.

For the Memorial Day service, some names were lifted, a bell chimed, and a prayer given. The sermon, however, was about worry.

Which seems to me like a rather arbitrary choice for a Memorial Day service.

Nonetheless, it came on the heels of a week racked with the most annoying and persevering anxieties for me and all of my immediate friends. Everyone around me has been consumed with worry- and the pastor read and spoke on this:

"So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

I don't consider myself a highly religious person. Typically, I feel no direct connection to or with a church. But this was moving. And it didnt' fall on deaf ears.

I have a job for the summer singing, I have a way to get there, and I have a plan. Fiction Plane says 'Everything will never be ok', and that's the truth. But most times, lots of things are better than you recognize.

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i don't know where this is coming from.

these are the nights i hope to always remember.

these are the night that i hope to remember and then learn from.


girls will be girls.
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may 30, 2006

14 times i've awakened to this itching
in the middle of my back
in that one place i can't reach.
i've tried using the doorframe
but the wood is too dull
and the carpet, for once,
despite my slithering about like a salted slug,
is too soft for the job.
the water from my showerhead
is a mere trickle now that i need
a deluge
and i can't seem to find
one of those handy little plastic arms
in green or blue, or my favorite, red
to reach back there and solve the problem.
the problem i'm having
with this smug little nuisance
is that its goody two-shoed tenacity
is keeping me awake.
when all of your muscles and
all of your nerves converse
(with one another)
about the admirable little itch
in the lower middle quadrant
of the skin above the spine,
there is very little peace to be found
above the ruckus.
so instead i fade to gray,
my skin and eyes losing pallor,
my tongue drying out
and my hair more brittle, despite
this enticing new conditioner i use,
and lie, on my back of course,
hoping to suffocate the itch
that works harder than i ever have.



It still shows up to nag every now and then.
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the tower of learning.

What do Jumanji and The Others, Frances and Rob, rum and Sprite, Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright, miniature mummies and fancy townhouses, Students United for Peace and Justice and the time where he occurred, when he was there with me at Starbucks (and I remembered the ABT pants), All-Saints and the move, the return and the year check-in (after the end of it all), Pride and everything else I left out all have in common?

You.

Damn you.

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Gwenovier: Come on, Frank. What are you doing?

Frank T.J. Mackey: What am I doing? I'm quietly judging you.

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these are just the rules and regulations of the birds and the bees.

Go Team Whitney!



I probably couldn't have chosen a gayer opener for a blog corresponding directly with the fact that I do not identify as a gay person. Whoops.



For a long time, I've felt a lot of pressure when it comes to identifying socially and ethnically with a trend or a caste. It's something that I've always had a hard time doing. When I was younger, I got good grades in elementary and middle school because my mother rewarded me for working hard, and after a little while, excellence became a habit. I skipped a grade, was marked a smart kid, but never engaged in smart kid behavior. I didn't want to be in clubs or societies that said to the whole world, "I'm an intelligent young man, look at me!" Even now, I don't identify with that nauseating brand of arrogant intelligentsia that feed us their obscure knowledge via facebook and myspace profiles, I certainly don't feel inclined to type up long emails and blogs asserting the validity of my political stances, and I don't feel obligated to let you know just how much I took from Lolita when I read it.... three summers ago.

It wasn't until my sophomore year of college that I even truly understand what it meant to identify as a black person in this country. Culturally speaking, I don't align with very much of what African-American society seems to convey. But after attending one of the rather random but required Martin Luther King day assemblies, I found that I was deeply moved by the speaker (his daughter, Bernice King) and by the dancing of this roots dance ensemble. I had never had a moment in my life when I identified with my race in this way- I'd never had such a moment of personal pride for those that came before me. Never had I connected in any way to those idealistic freedom fighters of the past- but I can recall being overwhelmed by tears, and leaving Ruby Diamond with a new understanding of cultural and racial pride. I'm proud to be Black, just as I'm proud to be Welsh, and proud to call myself a Puerto Rican. Blood or not, these are parts of my heritage, and they make up who I am in many ways.

I got into an accidental round table discussion the other night with several gay people who are my friends from the College of Music. We were, naturally, talking about different professors and classes and relaying stories about our experiences with both, when the conversation turned to whether or not anyone in the circle had "come out" to their parents. Now, whenever a talk like this arises, I steel myself for a ton of cliche discussion, and I prepare myself not to judge the choices and experience of the others in the discussion. I started to feel bothered when I realized how many people feel an absolute obligation to identify themselves to their family and friends as homosexual. There is, generally speaking, a consensus among members of the gay community that the last step in accepting who you are comes with telling as many people as you can just how proud you are to be gay. I find this to be a truly disturbing trend and feel no such obligation. I do not and never have had the desire to "come out", because I think that every part of that, down to the terminology, is limiting, restricting, and degrading. Let me parse that language down some.

From what or where does one "come out"? If this expression implies coming out of the fear inherent in hiding something about yourself, I'll accept it. But why should we have to come out of anything? Completely heterosexual people don't make all of their family aware on their 19th birthdays that they are solely interested in the opposite sex. My mother didn't 'come out' to her friends that she was left handed when she turned 20. My friends don't 'come out' to me about their color blindness or their allergies to certain foods. Why should I have to express to anyone my interest in those of the same sex - my lifestyle would hardly even reflect that about me. I mean no offense to those people who have felt it a part of their journey to come to terms with something they've been hiding or stifling- I respect their courage and don't mean to belittle that step in their lives. I do mean to say that it is not something that I personally have ever felt obligated to do, because I spent very little time hiding anything from anyone.

I speak so openly about this because I also feel like "coming out of the closet" then immediately associates you as a member of the 'gay community', whatever that entails. Any foray into said community leaves me feeling utterly hopeless and excommunicated. If I am in fact gay (it goes without saying that I hate that word because it excludes the possibility that you could be happy with someone of the opposite sex...), then I am a really unfortunate and failing gay person. I don't subscribe to any of the stereotypical inclusions and assumptions about gay life- I am not promiscuous, I'm not obsessed with fashion, I don't love Madonna, I don't consider myself overtly feminine and I absolutely could date someone who wasn't stunningly attractive. In GayLand, my 6'4", 220 lbs. frame is monstrous. Too tall, too fat, too brown. Every time I've ever been out to a club, or immersed myself in anyway with other gay people, I've found that I don't fit in, and because of this have no desire to be assimilated. So much of the past year I've spent worried about what I could do to get someone interested in me. For a year, I've been adjusting the way that I do things- the way that I dress, the way that I eat, the people that I hang out with- all in hopes of being more likable to a large chunk of people that infuriate me. I'm not going to do that anymore.

Because I'm a reasonable person, I understand that it isn't fair to slop these general disappointments and judgments of mine on the whole of the gay population. I realize that my current location and situation very much feed this feeling of mine, but I can only work with what I know. In this town, the ideal guy is about 5'8", 150 lbs., and looks like he's 14 years old. Of course, there are slight variations on this, but in general, these are the kinds of guys I'm competing with. In NO WORLD and no dimension will I ever be able to successfully compete with these guys. I've been trying for far too long- my only meaningful romantic relationship was destroyed because of one of these imprints of a person, and because of that I have pinpointed a deep rooted resentment for them all. It seems at every cross, it's their kind that are ruining my chances.

I am relevant and worthwhile regardless of the absolutely impossible standards set before me.

I know that I don't fit your ideal. I know that you were just placating me, and I know that YOU would never admit that you have no interest in me. All of you fucked with me, but I think I might be passed seeking validation from you people.

Having said all of this and then read through it, it all seems rather trite. Perhaps I could have kept a bit of my intrigue by keeping this to myself. Ah well. At least I say what I mean- a rapidly diminishing quality in most of my acquaintances...
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i'm too tall.

LEO - (two different horoscopes, obnoxiously pointing to a genuine and unfortunate concern of mine)

1. "Even though you are usually willing to spring for nice stuff, you're feeling a bit more miserly today, so you might scrimp in a way that surprises friends or family. Try not to make a scene!"

2. "Cash matters will still require careful handling today, but an inclination to worry and fret about an emotional matter could make something appear to be much worse than it really is. Spend time with lively friends this evening; a fun few hours will provide the time-out that you need!"

Oh dear.
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How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?

Age is a high price to pay for maturity.
~Tom Stoppard


Youth is a disease from which we all recover. Games like this are merely placebos. Let's get real, yes?
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goodnight and go.

I very much hate the idea of posting lyrics instead of my own original thoughts. But:



Skipping beats, blushing cheeks; I am struggling.
Daydreaming, bed scenes in the corner cafe,
And then I'm left in bits, recovering, tectonic tremblings.
You get me every time.

Why'd you have to be so cute?
It's impossible to ignore you.
Must you make me laugh so much?
It's bad enough we get along so well.
Say goodnight and go.

Follow you home, you've got your headphones on and you're dancing.
Got lucky, beautiful shot; you're taking everything off, watch the curtains wide open.
Then you fall in the same routine, flicking through the TV, relaxed and reclining,
And you think you're alone...

One of these days, you'll miss your train and come stay with me.
We'll have drinks, and talk about things, any excuse to stay awake with you.
You'll sleep here, I'll sleep there,
But then the heating may be down again,
At my convenience.
We'd be good, we'd be great together.

Say goodnight and go,
Why's it always, always
goodnight and go?
Darling, not again,
Goodnight and go.





Very well.
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white daisy passing

see? just say what you mean.

how one can be calmed by candor.

moving on, with ease.
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funny, funny games.

I write a million songs about the weather
But when it comes to you
I pick up all the pieces of the chords I didn't use.

I pick them up and glue them back together
I sure hope this will do
Here's piece of trash I cleaned and polished just for you.

This distance is the best thing that could happen
When it comes to us
I was getting tired of pretending it was love

One girl's trash is some other boy's treasure
When it comes to skin
Against a tiny shirt, you know the boys don't often win

Can't you see I'm killing you
Can't you see I'm dead
Goodbye love, goodnight hate, just let me go to bed.

Cause it's the last stop of the night
I sure hope this will do
Yeah, I sure hope it will do
It's the last kiss of the night
I sure hope it'll do
Cause after this I'm through

With you

With you...with you...

I'm through


Let's nip this in the bud, no?
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This Leo's Sunday

It may be more difficult than usual for you to handle your peers at work or at school -- or anywhere else, for that matter! You may need to try bowing out for a little while, until they come to their senses!

Whatever could this mean!?
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Left and Leaving.

I have so much to get out but, naturally, I haven't taken a ton of time to organize it all so it will come as it comes.

1.
I already have a hole in my heart for this. A big gaping hole.

2.
About a month ago, I was asked to spend some time workshopping a group of instrumentalists who were preparing an a cappella version of Prayer for the Children for their convention. It was a really interesting experience- I got to musically singers who weren't singers- people who weren't used to my ticks and my language, and what I told them can be reduced to this: "don't sing it unless it matters to you." I gave them some moments to hone in on, some words to stress, some phrases to really feel internally, and I think you'll hear/see that they did a beautiful job. I'm really proud to have been a part of it at all, and it feels good to know that I'm good at what I do.

3. I'm officially done. The 15 recitals I have to attend this summer withstanding, I'm done. I have a degree. I have to grow up. I hate this idea so much.

4. The tour I just went on went through Waco, Houston, Baton Rouge and New Orleans. I haven't had so much fun in a while, except with ANY. New Orleans is one of the most fun cities I've ever been- and as cliche as it sounds, the city really did seem to be brimming with life. It was a great time. I partied hard. I sang harder. I cried a little, and realized that I won't be able to live without singing.

Some people ask me if I want to be a famous solo artist, a la American Idol. It wouldn't be an awful future- getting paid to sing my music. But I realize that the only true delight I find in singing at all comes in sharing it with people that I care about. I could sing alone, but I'd much rather have others. That is the primary reason that I know I have a future in a cappella music. I need to share it.

5. I'm working on an experiment. It's a trial in giving up some of the control that I so vehemently expect and demand. It's been difficult. I loike to guide and coax situations- negatively so, at times- because even if they don't end up the way that I wish, I will have manifested an outcome. I'm being prevented from doing things the way that I normally do. It's exciting/enthralling/enchanting/frightening/frustrating, but if something worthwhile can be born of it, I'll be happy to have learned.

6. I am surrounded, on a constant basis, by the best people this world has to offer. Just take my word from it, I'm spoiled and am just so sad to have to watch them spread away from me.
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