Over the last couple of years I've not read as much as I used to. Mostly, I think it's due to work and the internet. Obvious, really. And the third culprit is being ridiculously emo a lot. So, it goes. I'm so glad that the last couple of months have sort of included a few novels and comics re-reads. These are the last three books I loved very much.
Don DeLillo's FALLING MAN is the story of Keith, a man who survived the September 11th destruction of the World Trade Center, and how it affected him, and his estranged-wife, and life in general. What made this particularly startling for me was, as the story unfolds, it tells the story of a man who isn't necessarily the best man - arguably, someone who might've not deserved to survive - and at the same time, you can't help but place yourself in his shoes, not during this period of time, but all the time: I didn't think about what I would've done if I was Keith, but more what I would be doing now and tomorrow. It sort of contextualizes me along with Keith in a place after this particular disaster. It isn't that Keith remains unchanged, but how through this unenviable experience, his wife Lianne, seems to think there's more changed than not, while her mother points out that Lianne isn't seeing that it's the world that's different and it's the world that's making her believe Keith is different. As much of UNDERWORLD, DeLillo uses events as a driving force in the lives of individuals, his characters and me, and in showing us this, for a brief moment we can see it but forget it once the moment is over. Which is the main reason why for me, it isn't Keith who is the Falling Man, but we all are in that we attempt in separating ourselves from history when the world changes. Sure, I wondered many times if I were Keith would I be doing the same things I was doing while reading the novel, but that is all. I had no context save the book in the same way Keith September 11, 2011. It is why Keith, eventually, would remain in hotels gambling, further distancing himself from history (a futile exercise) and me still believing I was him even though so much time had passed. The story does have a few threads I didn't care for: Justin, Keith and Lianne's son and his friends vigilance over the New York sky seemed too predictable, and didn't add much for me nor did I think it served any real purpose in the story save in a "think about the children" sort of way. Another was the performance artist known as Falling Man, who would re-enact suicide leaps from building and bridges all over New York while wearing a suit, which, after the attacks, took on a more sinister meaning beside the fact he was doing nothing new. While initially too obvious, I became tired of his final appearance before Lianne: again, for me, it served as nothing more than a cartoon and an expectation in the context of the story (I don't know if this was a real person DeLillo used, or if Falling Man was made up). And the last thread I'm not sure I liked but did find a little interesting was the few sections featuring the planning of the attacks and a young man named Hammad being trained for the very purpose. While still connecting the thread of the downward man from the title, I think not so much that these few scenes add much to the whole. I find them interesting as a literary exercise, but I think had they been left out, the book would not have suffered.
I came across Tao Lin via COMING & CRYING, my favorite book of 2010. It featured an excerpt from SHOPLIFTING FROM AMERICAN APPAREL and when I saw that his new novel, RICHARD YATES, was out via the internet, I figured, why not? A young writer from New York - Haley Joel Osment - is internet friends with a teenage girl from New Jersey named Dakota Fanning, and this is the story of their relationship, how it was built and how it eroded and how it suffered...but not quite sure how it would end. Osment likes Fanning and vice versa, but her being a teenager and suffering from that makes her erratic, potentially mentally unstable, curious, but ultimately normal. The older Osment, by some six years or so (he's twenty-two), however, ought to know better in a lot of ways but he likes the young Fanning, I think, because he's simply lonely. Connecting on the internet, both see themselves in each others odd observations and declarations (both at various points tell the other they're going to kill themselves) because, as anyone who's met anyone on the internet, you play off each other really well when there's an electronic wall between you. When Osment and Fanning are finally together, neither is fully at ease with each other, and at one point in the beginning of their face to face relationship, it is Osment who first contemplates abandoning Fanning in a school bus yard. But he doesn't, and they muddle through a rather dull relationship but I think that's the very point, and very in contrast with how we learn of them, of how they learned about each other via the internet. For various reasons, I found this story and the character's dynamics rather familiar and how it plays out until the end is dull, yes, but very realistic in a way that not a lost of stories can be. Osment's force of nature way in commanding aspect's of Fanning's life resonates because there is that dynamic in a relationship between two people, romantic or otherwise. Fanning's near submission to this is very indicative of, not just her age and maturity, but of how lonely she is as well. How a relationship works in the confines of the novel escapes both of them and muddle through it in spectacularly disastrous fashion. At various times, Lin is hilarious and rather sad and wistful. And what Lin did for me was show me that sometimes, perhaps, loneliness's cure isn't another person. Whatever the intent, Lin's novel gives me a good impression of what younger folk (my generation and all proceeding it) go through individually, hoping another person will "cure" them of their angst (this might be the wrong word) and frankly maneuvering through their lives. RICHARD YATES is hugely entertaining if you love people, I think. If you love someone, it's hilarious to a point. And if you're lonely, it certainly crystallizes a few things for you (it did for me). It reminds me that 1 + 1 does not always equal 2. And that it's perfectly fine that way too.
PLAYER ONE is Douglas Coupland's most recent novel and tells the story through five points of view: Karen, off to meet a man off the internet; Rick, the bartender where Karen is waiting; Luke, a pastor whose lost his faith but stole his congregation's money; Rachel, a stunningly attractive fluke of nature; Player One, a seemingly omniscient force that knows what's about to happen and wonders why humans are this way and that. All five are trapped in Rick's bar when suddenly, the world explodes into violence, oil prices skyrocketing to the stratosphere, chemical attacks, and a sniper. Through forces they do not understand or even know existed, these five are forced to fend for themselves in the hope that something will be waiting for them on the outside once the fires are out...but do they want to? When the world ends and you get another shot at life, would you still be the same or would you change? When given a new world, do you even want to change? Coupland revisits all of the themes he's known for nearly in every page: modernism, the meanings of time and space for us, post-millenial tension, technology, the individual and her/his place in the world, commercialism, stories as a salve, religion, faith, death, love, and the ever-present question of what makes us US. What he does in PLAYER ONE is give his characters flaws necessary to come to certain conclusions (is the fact Rachel might begin to believe in God part of her brain dysfunction? Or also that the sniper's religion what ties him to her and to his violent acts?), but it doesn't feel fabricated. None of these people seem one-dimensional in the way people on television are, and you always want to root for them. Coupland uses himself as inspiration as various bits of dialogue and narrative are featured here, verbatim, which illustrates, I think, the huge thematic web he's created with all his work: that we are all more alike than not, and it fucking works. The question arises that while none of these people generally believe in fate (Luke: "Fate is for losers."), is there are reason why it is them that are holed up in an airport lounge as the world ends? The answer is no, but only I know this because I am not in the story...or aren't I? You're in there as well, having this discussion about what's going to be waiting outside your door every morning because whether you see it or not, the world is ending, and as soon as you step outside into it, you're deciding who you want to be in a particularly base and fundamental way. Or not. PLAYER ONE presents us with characters that are excitingly human because they're as boring as us, but their questions about life and death and beyond and the future are our questions, only we're not trapped together by the apocalypse to fully express them to each other. Coupland does an excellent job in tying his entire work together with PLAYER ONE for me. It has placed not just his characters - all of them - in a certain place of history (and not just literary history) but in a certain place of time: the future, and they're just as scared and unknowing as we are. In PLAYER ONE, one of the ideas that is presented is that humans unlike animals have a concept of time. However, we don't really have a concept of Eternity.
All three books about very different things have a few things in common: the relationships we have with people in general and the world, what makes us US, and what we're willing and not willing to do in the world like change ourselves from time to time. Like Keith in FALLING MAN, do you pretend that you're damaged when you're not really and use it as an escape? Like Rachel in PLAYER ONE, even if you're damaged by birth, how badly do you want to be like everyone else? Like Fanning, would -be love, is that sufficient to change everything about yourself even if you don't really want to? How do the people around us make us US, and how much of ourselves are we willing to share? In the even of catastrophe, why do we use this time to do more change than we normally would? What are the forces in the world keeping you in the place made for you, and is there even one? In my reading of these three novels, I internalize and personalize a lot, which is something we all do, I think, and left me with a sense of wonder in way. What's going on in the world currently is evidence that the world is nothing but change, yet I am relatively the only constant in my life.
I think I've gone on too long already.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
It Goes...
Of course I miss 'em. All of them.
But not more than I miss being stupidly drunk, out somewhere in the middle of the night in a stranger's bed.
But not more than I miss being stupidly drunk, out somewhere in the middle of the night in a stranger's bed.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The Maiden
My mother asked me the other day why I still have all my med bottles. She asked me why I don't just throw them out and I told her that I just wanted to hang on to them. Kind of like a timeline, I said, but I don't think she cared for that very much because she looked at me like I wasn't speaking Spanish. My father then said that I need to look at it from their point of view, and I asked what that was, and neither one of them said anything, but my mother, finally, said she didn't like it.
A few days ago, I was telling Jodi this little bit and she interrupted my telling to ask why was I keeping them. I said they were just like little mementos of the years since my diagnosis. And as I thought about it a bit more, I came up with something a little more sinister: once I was gone, these little plastic bottles would remain. All the chemical fighting, and I'd be dead and I'd leave behind lots of plastic. I said to Jodi that once I was gone, they're what would stay behind. I'm not certain what she said in response but it wasn't anything fully enthusiastic. That I do recall.
I'd also divined my parents' point of view: I'm going to die. These little bits are yet another grand reminder to them, I suppose, and to my friend, that I'm sick. Good thing too because I'd forgotten.
I don't want to turn it into a big thing but my question will always be (until it isn't fact, I suppose) is why is it that the ones who care about me the most seem to be the ones who remind me that I'm unwell? I'm not stupid, I know why, but at the same time, I wish they'd stop it. Because I don't really dwell on it as much as I think they do. I think about it from time to time sure, but what I thought would be a little eccentric way of looking at my being sick has suddenly turned into my building my proverbial coffin. The even more curious thing in regard to my family is how ever-present a specter looms over me. I know why they might think about this, but I wonder why it isn't enough for me to say I'm just doing this for the sake of doing it, it has no further meaning. It is they who add some sort of gray cloud over it. And at this point, I know there isn't anything that I can do to stop them from feeling so.
And it keeps happening.
It's rather frustrating.
It's so strange that from the very beginning everyone I know has said that my being sick isn't 'the end' and that I will still live a 'normal' life. If this is true (it isn't so let's cut THAT bullshit out right now, yes?), then stop being the reminders that I won't. How selfish am I?
Alright, I know these folk's reasons for talking to me in this manner are entirely legit and valid, because all feelings are valid. Even I know this. If this is what they think, I wonder why they won't talk to me about it when I actually ask. Why aren't we allowed to discuss these gloom-doom scenarios that everyone seems to already have, including me? Frankly, perhaps before, the boy was right and I ought to outright ask what everyone what they think about my being sick whenever these things happen. I mean, it sounds a little heavy-handed in way, but at the same time, I wish at all times my folks, my best friend, my friends saw me as me first and never ever this fucking disease.
A few days ago, I was telling Jodi this little bit and she interrupted my telling to ask why was I keeping them. I said they were just like little mementos of the years since my diagnosis. And as I thought about it a bit more, I came up with something a little more sinister: once I was gone, these little plastic bottles would remain. All the chemical fighting, and I'd be dead and I'd leave behind lots of plastic. I said to Jodi that once I was gone, they're what would stay behind. I'm not certain what she said in response but it wasn't anything fully enthusiastic. That I do recall.
I'd also divined my parents' point of view: I'm going to die. These little bits are yet another grand reminder to them, I suppose, and to my friend, that I'm sick. Good thing too because I'd forgotten.
I don't want to turn it into a big thing but my question will always be (until it isn't fact, I suppose) is why is it that the ones who care about me the most seem to be the ones who remind me that I'm unwell? I'm not stupid, I know why, but at the same time, I wish they'd stop it. Because I don't really dwell on it as much as I think they do. I think about it from time to time sure, but what I thought would be a little eccentric way of looking at my being sick has suddenly turned into my building my proverbial coffin. The even more curious thing in regard to my family is how ever-present a specter looms over me. I know why they might think about this, but I wonder why it isn't enough for me to say I'm just doing this for the sake of doing it, it has no further meaning. It is they who add some sort of gray cloud over it. And at this point, I know there isn't anything that I can do to stop them from feeling so.
And it keeps happening.
It's rather frustrating.
It's so strange that from the very beginning everyone I know has said that my being sick isn't 'the end' and that I will still live a 'normal' life. If this is true (it isn't so let's cut THAT bullshit out right now, yes?), then stop being the reminders that I won't. How selfish am I?
Alright, I know these folk's reasons for talking to me in this manner are entirely legit and valid, because all feelings are valid. Even I know this. If this is what they think, I wonder why they won't talk to me about it when I actually ask. Why aren't we allowed to discuss these gloom-doom scenarios that everyone seems to already have, including me? Frankly, perhaps before, the boy was right and I ought to outright ask what everyone what they think about my being sick whenever these things happen. I mean, it sounds a little heavy-handed in way, but at the same time, I wish at all times my folks, my best friend, my friends saw me as me first and never ever this fucking disease.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Horny Werewolf
Okay, in the last three weeks something's sort of been bothering me because, well, I'm not very smart and I'm a socially awkward person.
Two summers ago, the boy and I broke up and when on the phone that night, he asked me if I had any other dating prospects. I said I didn't, I asked who does that, and afterward, I remember thinking how one has a cache of would-be boyfriends/girlfriends/partners ready and just check them off a list. I'm being facetious, sure, but when the best friend and I talked about it, she too had the same reaction.
One of the reasons why I don't date is, well, all the work in becoming to invested in a person. Call me lazy or whatever, but it's rare I come across someone I want to get to know more intimately. So when the boy said this to me then, I thought he was rather insane (what happened after, that summer, and last year cement it.).
For a number of weeks if not months, a man's been telling me he's more than interested in dating me. Full disclosure: this man is a friend of the ex's (when we were together, the boy would say his friend had a thing for me and I would brush it off and would say that his friend's friend (who's also *his* ex!) was the one who I thought had a thing for me). Anyway, after him being - I don't know what to call it, persistent? - we went out. And from the time we made plans to go out to the day itself, I thought, "Okay, I'm going into this with an open mind because, really, I've never had a man as to take me out before and it feels a little nice, and who knows what'll happen!" The date went like it did. After another week or so, I came home and discovered this man had updated his Facebook relationship status to "in a relationship".
This is what I think happened: this man, the friend of the ex's, is obviously dating or in the process of dating a number of people (at least two?), and after the disastrous events with me, things must've been going well with whoever it is he's now coupled with. Of course, because we're living in the 21st Century, I'm pretty certain I know who it is!
Late last week, the ex's friend's ex invited me out. Now, I'm not sure if I'm jumping the gun in assuming he was asking me out as in a date or not, but this is what's in my head, you see, due to recent and not-so-recent experience. Anyway, I had to turn him down because of my terrible work schedule, so nothing's come of that.
What I've come up with is that, whether I'm right or wrong, what was going on is me being in a weird sort of gay dating musical chairs kind of thing. Really, guys, were we all just waiting to be able to ask the same guy out? Is this how dating works? Have a list of potential dating ideas and just go through them like a proverbial shopping list? I am assuming a great deal here, and I am flattered to a degree (my inner slut is disappointed in no sex coming from any of this, only one round of drunken make outs and groping), but this seems really really weird. Again, when talked over with the best friend, she had the same reaction I did.
Granted, I'm not necessarily Mr. Sharp In Social Situations, but if what I'm imagining is true, it speaks volumes of this particular micro-culture, Los Angeles Gay Men. And it isn't good, in my opinion. If I am right, then...uh...it reeks of desperation to couple more than friendship or companionship. I wonder how often this happens and I'm blissfully unaware of any of it. I couldn't imagine being in a group of friends and knowing me and my friends had all dated the same person, or to the be that person. And, frankly, the idea of having several men lined up to date, whether one at a time or not, just seems so shallow and a little sad and rather ridiculous.
Two more things: when the boy and I broke up last year, I said something to him about how he wouldn't be my favorite person for a while and he said he thought we'd have sex and go to some theater thing afterward and I said I might not date as much as he but I was still hurt and his response was, "Are you calling me a slut?" And, when I went over to the ex's friend's house to watch a movie, I said to him I've never become friends with exes nor with people I've sex with because, well, I just don't and he said he's become friends with a number of people with whom he's fucked.
This is the most ridiculous blog post this year, I'm certain.
Two summers ago, the boy and I broke up and when on the phone that night, he asked me if I had any other dating prospects. I said I didn't, I asked who does that, and afterward, I remember thinking how one has a cache of would-be boyfriends/girlfriends/partners ready and just check them off a list. I'm being facetious, sure, but when the best friend and I talked about it, she too had the same reaction.
One of the reasons why I don't date is, well, all the work in becoming to invested in a person. Call me lazy or whatever, but it's rare I come across someone I want to get to know more intimately. So when the boy said this to me then, I thought he was rather insane (what happened after, that summer, and last year cement it.).
For a number of weeks if not months, a man's been telling me he's more than interested in dating me. Full disclosure: this man is a friend of the ex's (when we were together, the boy would say his friend had a thing for me and I would brush it off and would say that his friend's friend (who's also *his* ex!) was the one who I thought had a thing for me). Anyway, after him being - I don't know what to call it, persistent? - we went out. And from the time we made plans to go out to the day itself, I thought, "Okay, I'm going into this with an open mind because, really, I've never had a man as to take me out before and it feels a little nice, and who knows what'll happen!" The date went like it did. After another week or so, I came home and discovered this man had updated his Facebook relationship status to "in a relationship".
This is what I think happened: this man, the friend of the ex's, is obviously dating or in the process of dating a number of people (at least two?), and after the disastrous events with me, things must've been going well with whoever it is he's now coupled with. Of course, because we're living in the 21st Century, I'm pretty certain I know who it is!
Late last week, the ex's friend's ex invited me out. Now, I'm not sure if I'm jumping the gun in assuming he was asking me out as in a date or not, but this is what's in my head, you see, due to recent and not-so-recent experience. Anyway, I had to turn him down because of my terrible work schedule, so nothing's come of that.
What I've come up with is that, whether I'm right or wrong, what was going on is me being in a weird sort of gay dating musical chairs kind of thing. Really, guys, were we all just waiting to be able to ask the same guy out? Is this how dating works? Have a list of potential dating ideas and just go through them like a proverbial shopping list? I am assuming a great deal here, and I am flattered to a degree (my inner slut is disappointed in no sex coming from any of this, only one round of drunken make outs and groping), but this seems really really weird. Again, when talked over with the best friend, she had the same reaction I did.
Granted, I'm not necessarily Mr. Sharp In Social Situations, but if what I'm imagining is true, it speaks volumes of this particular micro-culture, Los Angeles Gay Men. And it isn't good, in my opinion. If I am right, then...uh...it reeks of desperation to couple more than friendship or companionship. I wonder how often this happens and I'm blissfully unaware of any of it. I couldn't imagine being in a group of friends and knowing me and my friends had all dated the same person, or to the be that person. And, frankly, the idea of having several men lined up to date, whether one at a time or not, just seems so shallow and a little sad and rather ridiculous.
Two more things: when the boy and I broke up last year, I said something to him about how he wouldn't be my favorite person for a while and he said he thought we'd have sex and go to some theater thing afterward and I said I might not date as much as he but I was still hurt and his response was, "Are you calling me a slut?" And, when I went over to the ex's friend's house to watch a movie, I said to him I've never become friends with exes nor with people I've sex with because, well, I just don't and he said he's become friends with a number of people with whom he's fucked.
This is the most ridiculous blog post this year, I'm certain.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
The Early Grave
Even when it's a quick trip to Las Vegas, I love traveling. Whether driving or flying, and as of last year, going by train, I just like the idea of getting up early in the morning, grabbing my backpack, maybe my computer and camera, and being off into the city. Any city. In the last nearly eight years, last year what the only one that only afforded me one, maybe two quick trips. And both were lovely in their own way. But that was it. All of it, really, my fault, but it doesn't make for me stopping wanting to go...somewhere.
I just spent an inordinate amount of time looking through hotel websites and through Expedia, trying to see if I can plan a trip, and book it this coming week. I want to commit to a trip. I suppose it's the one thing that I love the most that isn't something you can touch: travel. I mentioned at the beginning of the month the same thing. And as I was exchanging messages with Derrick (hi!) on Tumblr earlier, and my ridiculous lusting after online just now, I'm all set to go...
...except that I'm not certain to where, and why, and how much. All the practical details you know.
Since he posted on his blog, Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE always comes to mind when I start to think about traveling. Lots of my experiences out in the world, have involved great people, some who I love greatly, some who I can no longer stand, and as I've gotten older, and my venturing out has diminished, I'm finding that I prefer to be somewhere new alone. During the traveling part. At the destination, as it's been in not-so-recent years, I tend to walk a lot, talk to more strangers in a couple of days than I think I do in an entire year, have drinks, write more, and am happy.
This is when I'm the happiest in life.
I just spent an inordinate amount of time looking through hotel websites and through Expedia, trying to see if I can plan a trip, and book it this coming week. I want to commit to a trip. I suppose it's the one thing that I love the most that isn't something you can touch: travel. I mentioned at the beginning of the month the same thing. And as I was exchanging messages with Derrick (hi!) on Tumblr earlier, and my ridiculous lusting after online just now, I'm all set to go...
...except that I'm not certain to where, and why, and how much. All the practical details you know.
Since he posted on his blog, Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE always comes to mind when I start to think about traveling. Lots of my experiences out in the world, have involved great people, some who I love greatly, some who I can no longer stand, and as I've gotten older, and my venturing out has diminished, I'm finding that I prefer to be somewhere new alone. During the traveling part. At the destination, as it's been in not-so-recent years, I tend to walk a lot, talk to more strangers in a couple of days than I think I do in an entire year, have drinks, write more, and am happy.
This is when I'm the happiest in life.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Date
Just so you know, when you end up handcuffed in the back of a police car, get your shoelaces taken from you, you have to describe your tattoos to the booking cop, and then have to get a ride home from the same officer who arrested you, it was a bad date.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
READ: Blue Pills by Frederik Peeters
At one point in 2008, my friend Jodi and I were in Book Soup in West Hollywood. She remembered many years later I nearly got a parking ticket when we were about to leave. We were in Book Soup, just looking about, and we split up briefly at one point (it's such a rather small space, frankly), and I was at their then-new graphic novel section. there really wasn't much that grabbed my attention aside from two books, Adrian Tomine's SHORTCOMINGS (a gift for the best friend) and Frederik Peeters's BLUE PILLS.
When I was finally home, I read BLUE PILLS and I cried and cried as I read it. It's a memoir, telling Peeters's story about meeting his girlfriend Cati and her son, and how they came to be together. Cati and her son are HIV-positive, and Peeters tells us how it was that their relationship came to function, how wonderful it was, how mired in uncertainty it initially was, and how, ultimately, there wasn't necessarily anything spectacular about it. And I cried because for a very long time at that point, I was still having a lot of difficulty with my own then-recent diagnoses.
Christ.
I remember so many nights of not sleeping and thinking about it. Feeling as if I was off-limits, thinking that no one would want me, that I was broken and damaged, and that I was sentenced to an isolated life. I remember as I'm reading BLUE PILLS, when Cati tells Fred of hers and her son's infection, how he reacts, because it wasn't how nearly everyone I knew did. And it made me love him. The romantic in me made me think that even though this was a memoir, guys like Fred were only fiction. I cried because he seemed, rightly or not, hesitant but honest, and still very much willing to take the chance, you know? Ah! It all seems a little muted now, but I remember how great I felt for Cati! I wanted him to want her and he did!
And I remember when talking about Cati's son, when Fred begins to think about this child's future being forever tied to the medical system, and whose live will potentially end in sickness, I was broken apart again. Because that is how I felt, how I foresaw my life. And it didn't matter that everyone seemed terribly upbeat, including my doctor. All I saw, much like Fred, was a life forever linked to a hospital and pills. Blue pills for Cati and her son.
I think this comic did more for me at the time when I needed it the most than anyone or any other thing did. Because it wasn't talking in bullshit: it's direct and a little difficult to read through, but it gave me a glimpse at something other than what my brain had cooked up for months prior. It showed me in rather obvious way that it didn't need to be the end of anything for me, just adding a few more steps to life. And it illustrated very much how a lot of us who're HIV-positive so feel such guilt for seemingly inflicting ourselves upon others, how many mistakes lead us to where we are, and how scary it is to face the world sometimes.
This is the most important book in my life since 2008. Peeters got me. And I'm not even sure if that was his intent. But it accomplished so much for me than I think I can ever be grateful for. Perhaps you think this is all hyperbole. Whatever. I'd read other things (around this time I also read Shawn Decker's MY PET VIRUS, which in trying to talk to people about, they'd rather talk about their asshole boyfriends) and talked to several people about being HIV-positive, but everyone seemed to be either too blase, or too gloomy for me to ever get something useful out of it (I remember telling my doctor then that if "living with HIV" isn't such a big deal, why did everyone around me burst into a little chaos of tears around me). It's one of the instances in my life wherein comic books seem to have more value and truth and love and anguish and even hope than the rest of the universe has.
What I find curious now, even after just re-reading it is that one of the medications I take are blue pills.
[cross-posted everywhere.]
When I was finally home, I read BLUE PILLS and I cried and cried as I read it. It's a memoir, telling Peeters's story about meeting his girlfriend Cati and her son, and how they came to be together. Cati and her son are HIV-positive, and Peeters tells us how it was that their relationship came to function, how wonderful it was, how mired in uncertainty it initially was, and how, ultimately, there wasn't necessarily anything spectacular about it. And I cried because for a very long time at that point, I was still having a lot of difficulty with my own then-recent diagnoses.
Christ.
I remember so many nights of not sleeping and thinking about it. Feeling as if I was off-limits, thinking that no one would want me, that I was broken and damaged, and that I was sentenced to an isolated life. I remember as I'm reading BLUE PILLS, when Cati tells Fred of hers and her son's infection, how he reacts, because it wasn't how nearly everyone I knew did. And it made me love him. The romantic in me made me think that even though this was a memoir, guys like Fred were only fiction. I cried because he seemed, rightly or not, hesitant but honest, and still very much willing to take the chance, you know? Ah! It all seems a little muted now, but I remember how great I felt for Cati! I wanted him to want her and he did!
And I remember when talking about Cati's son, when Fred begins to think about this child's future being forever tied to the medical system, and whose live will potentially end in sickness, I was broken apart again. Because that is how I felt, how I foresaw my life. And it didn't matter that everyone seemed terribly upbeat, including my doctor. All I saw, much like Fred, was a life forever linked to a hospital and pills. Blue pills for Cati and her son.
I think this comic did more for me at the time when I needed it the most than anyone or any other thing did. Because it wasn't talking in bullshit: it's direct and a little difficult to read through, but it gave me a glimpse at something other than what my brain had cooked up for months prior. It showed me in rather obvious way that it didn't need to be the end of anything for me, just adding a few more steps to life. And it illustrated very much how a lot of us who're HIV-positive so feel such guilt for seemingly inflicting ourselves upon others, how many mistakes lead us to where we are, and how scary it is to face the world sometimes.
This is the most important book in my life since 2008. Peeters got me. And I'm not even sure if that was his intent. But it accomplished so much for me than I think I can ever be grateful for. Perhaps you think this is all hyperbole. Whatever. I'd read other things (around this time I also read Shawn Decker's MY PET VIRUS, which in trying to talk to people about, they'd rather talk about their asshole boyfriends) and talked to several people about being HIV-positive, but everyone seemed to be either too blase, or too gloomy for me to ever get something useful out of it (I remember telling my doctor then that if "living with HIV" isn't such a big deal, why did everyone around me burst into a little chaos of tears around me). It's one of the instances in my life wherein comic books seem to have more value and truth and love and anguish and even hope than the rest of the universe has.
What I find curious now, even after just re-reading it is that one of the medications I take are blue pills.
[cross-posted everywhere.]
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Partner
We were talking earlier in what ifs and wouldn't it be nices, in that sort of way, and I asked if when people decide to get married or live together, if one of the things they consider is what their partner, whether wife or husband or boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever, brings to that union in terms of something practical. Our ridiculous example was, of course, work and money. As in, if I didn't feel like working for, say, a week, would my partner say to me, "Of course! Take time off and I'll get paid. Don't worry about it." Is that part of it, or were we just talking crazy?
Monday, January 3, 2011
Junk Drawer
I'm listening to Isis's IN THE ABSENCE OF TRUTH right now after nearly posting a whiny rant about the band breaking up. I only just now discovered this, the end of the band. Which is terrible. But I posted a clumsy bit on why I love Isis over on Flickr...
This year I'm not optimistic at all, nor even realistic. 2011 will probably suck. Already, in 2011, the DMV is winning again, my car is falling apart more, and my wallet is crying. Boo-hoo, right? Anyway:
This year I'm going to do a bit of a 365 thing again, but because I'm pretty sick of myself still, I'm telling you about things I love. Because, well, I love me already, and a lot of people need better pop culture bits in their life that don't have the words 'gaga' or 'lakers' in them. Click here, there are two already, the aforementioned Isis and writer Neil Gaiman.
On the latter, I'm trying to study Gaiman's work. Because it would be fun to dissect his comics and novels and children's books and even blog posts. And at the same time, as I begin with NEVERWHERE, I'm wondering why am I doing it aside from my secret obvious reason? I think there's an underlying thread through all of his work that says something to me about our world; even in Wall or The Dreaming there are aspects of our universe. I kick myself for not being more academic over the years. Anyway, as it is, at the very least, I get to re-read some of the best stories I've ever read anywhere.
January is only three days old and already I know it won't be the end of all the personal life bullshit from last year. "So it goes..."
I'm not prone to body image issues. Sure, I complain about the few gray hairs I have, about my belly being too big for its own good, and, man, if I was only six inches taller! but I don't really take it to the next level, you know, when you start obsessing over it (if the folk I knew would just fucking stop that already!). I took a picture and immediately deleted it last night. That's it.
Saw David O. Russell's THE FIGHTER. Which was absolutely fucking great! I would totally have added it to my list if I had six spaces in it. So, let's see, Top Ten Movies: BLACK SWAN, THE SOCIAL NETWORK, INCEPTION, NEVER LET ME GO, SCOTT PILGRIM VS THE WORLD, THE FIGHTER... see? that's it! Whatever, go see it before it's out of theaters!
When Golden and I were recently on the phone, the two of us on the verge of tears for different reasons, I told her I wanted to give myself something new. I haven't traveled in a long time and I want to again. I love traveling. I love traveling alone most of all because I am better without people that way. Truth be told, the last trip I took I enjoyed the most was the alone bits in Dallas and San Diego and New York. But these places, I've been to and I want something new. I want to go to Seattle again, and Chicago, and again to Philadelphia. I never once imagined going anywhere else in the United States than these places. However, on my browser there is an open tab with a list that includes New Orleans, Austin, Cleveland, and Denver. Also, London would be lovely.
(Hm that last paragraph reminds me of Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE.)
I'm not sure what compelled me to jot all this down.
This year I'm not optimistic at all, nor even realistic. 2011 will probably suck. Already, in 2011, the DMV is winning again, my car is falling apart more, and my wallet is crying. Boo-hoo, right? Anyway:
This year I'm going to do a bit of a 365 thing again, but because I'm pretty sick of myself still, I'm telling you about things I love. Because, well, I love me already, and a lot of people need better pop culture bits in their life that don't have the words 'gaga' or 'lakers' in them. Click here, there are two already, the aforementioned Isis and writer Neil Gaiman.
On the latter, I'm trying to study Gaiman's work. Because it would be fun to dissect his comics and novels and children's books and even blog posts. And at the same time, as I begin with NEVERWHERE, I'm wondering why am I doing it aside from my secret obvious reason? I think there's an underlying thread through all of his work that says something to me about our world; even in Wall or The Dreaming there are aspects of our universe. I kick myself for not being more academic over the years. Anyway, as it is, at the very least, I get to re-read some of the best stories I've ever read anywhere.
January is only three days old and already I know it won't be the end of all the personal life bullshit from last year. "So it goes..."
I'm not prone to body image issues. Sure, I complain about the few gray hairs I have, about my belly being too big for its own good, and, man, if I was only six inches taller! but I don't really take it to the next level, you know, when you start obsessing over it (if the folk I knew would just fucking stop that already!). I took a picture and immediately deleted it last night. That's it.
Saw David O. Russell's THE FIGHTER. Which was absolutely fucking great! I would totally have added it to my list if I had six spaces in it. So, let's see, Top Ten Movies: BLACK SWAN, THE SOCIAL NETWORK, INCEPTION, NEVER LET ME GO, SCOTT PILGRIM VS THE WORLD, THE FIGHTER... see? that's it! Whatever, go see it before it's out of theaters!
When Golden and I were recently on the phone, the two of us on the verge of tears for different reasons, I told her I wanted to give myself something new. I haven't traveled in a long time and I want to again. I love traveling. I love traveling alone most of all because I am better without people that way. Truth be told, the last trip I took I enjoyed the most was the alone bits in Dallas and San Diego and New York. But these places, I've been to and I want something new. I want to go to Seattle again, and Chicago, and again to Philadelphia. I never once imagined going anywhere else in the United States than these places. However, on my browser there is an open tab with a list that includes New Orleans, Austin, Cleveland, and Denver. Also, London would be lovely.
(Hm that last paragraph reminds me of Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE.)
I'm not sure what compelled me to jot all this down.
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