June 12, 2005 When I got back home I took my late-evening clonazepam tablet. (It’s the only tranquilizer that I’ve ever been able to benefit from and not develop a serious habit). I played some more of my computer game, and when weary of that called my boyfriend, D. S.(full name omitted on request). He was near Disneyland watching the fireworks show. He spent the day with his Dad so I’m presuming he was with his Dad at that time too. I let him go so he could enjoy the show, and he said he’d call me back later. It’s about 3 hours later so I’ve given up on that prospect. Finally, bored and sensation-hungry (GET READY FOR SOME REAL VICE), I masturbated to some free gay pornography I found on the internet. I’m not proud of this. I’m not at peace with this. BUT. For some reason it all has an air of inevitability about it. St. Paul speaks of the war between the spirit and the flesh, of the mind wanting one thing, and of the members doing another. Now, I’m no St. Paul, no great spiritual warrior on a mission to subdue his pride and lust, but as a Catholic, and a gay one at that, I do fight a daily struggle, and I live an (apparent at least) daily contradiction. Plus-- the solution to the struggle, as I have dared to conceive it, is to most people who actually care, inconceivable. Gay Christian-- not a widely acknowledged spiritual achievement. Most would suspect some form of weakness, confusion, or hypocrisy. But such is my life. The two halves of me, so to speak, cannot either live with each other as mutually respecting equals, or come to a point where one claims a final, just, and clement victory over the other. I wish that the Christian in me would predominate, but in such a way so as not to vanquish and immolate the homosexual; rather, the Christian would, if possible, perfect and transfigure the homosexual. There would be a seamless blend. Grace perfects and completes nature, says the Church: indeed, this is my deepest hope and dream. And for the Church to bless this dream, which its own theology has in a way fostered, what an even greater aspiration. Perhaps I am like Jacob, wrestling with an angel; demanding a blessing from the Lord. Perhaps, perhaps. Now its time for prayers and bed, and other dreams (maybe of Blink-182 and Jake Gyllenhaal ). My first journal entry is complete. June 13, 2005 I began yesterday’s journal entry with a caveat that the reader was entering a realm inhabited by someone in the top 5 percent of American weirdos. After seeing the events at the Jackson trial this afternoon, and after reading an extended article about the whole phenomenon when I got home from work, I have come to at least one conclusion: I now know who resides in the top 1 percent of American weirdos, and despite his name, it isn’t Weird Al Yancovic. Michael Jackson is thoroughly bizarre, and despite the fact that the immediate charges involving one particular minor have been dismissed, there is an array of past events with various other kids that has not been exhaustively investigated and things still sound quite shady. Not that I have it in for Michael. My status as a Roman Catholic has impelled me for the past several years to attempt to sympathize with, or a least understand, notorious pedophiles. Often I just thank God that I’m not one myself. Its just one more sickness and loneliness I don’t have to deal with. Sure, every once in a while a fourteen year old walks by who is really damn cute, but mostly I fantasize about boning people in my own age range. Blink-182 are a few years older than me, but they’ve still got that early to mid twenties look (is it the lighting?); I used to joke that I would spend more than a few years in purgatory for a night with them. Moving on from the topics of pedophilia, Michael Jackson, and my desire to bone Blink-182, I should like to discuss my day at work. As I am a security guard, it was permeated by what most people would tend to call “mind-numbing boredom”. I, however, like to consider it an opportunity to get paid $8.50 an hour for engaging in what Greek philosophers and Catholic monks have hailed as “The Contemplative Life”. The people at my office building: they file past me all day long. They are almost always friendly, and I smile and happily return their hellos and goodbyes. But as they head out into the parking lot (often towards their BMW’s and Mercedes), no doubt some of them pity this poor wretch who has apparently not done a great deal with his life. What is really interesting is when an office tenant inquires about what book I am reading (you see I always bring books; otherwise it really would get boring). Nervous and embarrassed, I hold up the book to the employee. “It’s a book of quotations of Goethe, a German writer”. “Wow!” she exclaims, out of pure kindness I presume. Another time I silently hold out a book to a gentleman: “Aristotle” is boldly lettered across the front. “Very impressive!” he replies. Nice people. They probably don’t really understand me. I certainly don’t really understand them. Most of the time I can barely understand myself. A full time security guard who studies Goethe and Aristotelian philosophy? Shouldn’t I at least be in college? Hell, I’m already 26: I should have my degree. It always used to amuse me that during my senior year at high school, when I was the captain of one academic team and co-captain of another, I dropped out of school and became a pot-head (though a very artistic one). The team I had been captain of was the Kiwanis Bowl (which is like Jeopardy for opposing 5 player teams):, and to put it frankly, I lead that sucker to championship over the entire county, literally answering the majority of the questions. I clearly kicked some intellectual ass during that time, demonstrating at least some sort of potential. But so many years later I still live with my mom and dad. To put it bluntly: What the fuck is up with me? June 15, 2005 All apologies for the absence of a June 14 diary entry. Very soon upon getting home last night I had no choice but to check my e-mail, briefly chat on the phone with my boyfriend, and then hurry into bed. No time for the journal. I needed sleep for the next day. Today I had to work the day shift and that implied getting up at 6:00 in the morning. Mom fortunately helped me with the whole waking up process. I was handed a can of diet Coke- caffeinated- this is essential. Then she turned on my stereo, which played a Cole Porter CD. Clumsily I imbibed my stimulant, and by the time “Let’s Misbehave” was playing I had accumulated enough nervous energy to spring from my bed a semi-conscious human being. After I shaved and got dressed, Mom made me a breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs- just perfect, neither runny nor rubbery. Even though she is a seriously lapsed Catholic, it is at times like this that I pause and reflect that she actually might be a saint. Her being canonized aside, there is no doubt about what I am: a mama’s boy. In dreadful haste, and yet proud and confident wearing my jacket and tie, I got into my car and in five minutes was on the freeway. It was a mire of traffic and I didn’t extract myself from it for at least an hour. The security guard I relieved was snotty, as he sometimes is, and he informed me that he had chalked up an extra half hour’s paid time to his time sheet because I was 37 minutes late. This would have been appropriate in most situations; however, he has been late relieving me innumerable times- something I have grudgingly ignored. In other words I never chalk up shit for myself. Being the highly passive, “nice” guy that I am, I stood by and said nothing. Needless to say, I spent much of the subsequent day brooding over the whole thing and inwardly cursing him as greedy hypocrite. You see why I put nice in quotation marks. Aside from all this, I bought an LA Times, talked a number of times with the day porter, and did my regular duties as a guard. (I’ll spare you a description of those.) When I was relieved in the afternoon by another guard who was (this is becoming a theme) late, I happily hopped in my car and embarked upon Southern California’s Freeway system. Depending on traffic conditions the freeways are an amazing convenience or a tortuous nightmare. An invariant is that the gasoline powered beasts which pack them contribute daily to the destruction of our air quality. People say that the smog problem here has much improved over 25 years ago. Nevertheless, pollution blocks from clear view the lovely mountains which form So Cal’s backdrop for most of the year. If you’ll indulge me a little digression, my favorite times of year are late winter and early spring. That’s when rainstorms come quite often and blow the smog away. On a day after a storm the sky in LA is crisp blue and graced by countless cottony clouds. To all you meanies who hate So Cal: it’s fucking beautiful! You can see the Santa Monica, San Gabriel, and San Bernadino mountain ranges to the north, and at that time of year the latter two ranges are crowned by majestic peaks of snow. The weather is cool but comfortable- 65-75 degrees- and during that time I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. (digression complete) The very first thing I did when I got back to my area was get a hair cut. Or as Missy Elliot would- I got my hair did. Being liberated from my overgrown, frizzy waves of hair made me feel great. I next made a stop at California Video, my home away from home. The only one there was a guy named Chris Page. A brother of the current main employee there, he was minding the store while the owner, J.R., was up in LA watching a classic movie at one of the old renovated theaters there. I hung out for a short while and took home the classic gay coming of age movie- “Beautiful Thing”. A love story of two working class teenagers in England, I hoped to watch it with my boyfriend later in the evening. When I arrived at my home I was happy to see my niece and nephew there (my work schedule has seriously cut into the time that I see them). Our family ate dinner together and before the kids took their evening shower I got to play with them. Now don’t let this word “play” mislead you into thinking I’m this really nice Uncle who lavishes lots of kindness on his niece and nephew and exhausts all of his energy entertaining them. Our play consisted of me chasing them around the house with a belt and lightly whipping their scurrying little bottoms. No one was seriously hurt, but Ashley burst out in tears at one point (although this was mostly her brother’s fault, not mine). Amazingly enough, this coming Saturday I will be attending Anthony’s baptism into the Catholic church and will be acting as his Godfather. Perhaps this means that simultaneous to the ceremony I will have the heads of the other major crime families brutally assassinated. I can now be the gay, Portuguese Michael Corleone. More likely it means I should begin taking my role as an uncle a little more seriously, and try to be a positive, Christian influence in the life of the kids. One awkward point in my relationship with Anthony and Ashley is my sexual orientation. I don’t think they comprehend what homosexuality really is, although I am sure Anthony has heard the word “gay” used on the playground. Ashley is still in kindergarten so she is probably almost completely naïve. Interestingly enough, though, it is Ashley who is totally fascinated when my boyfriend comes over and spends the night in my room. When he started doing this she promptly asked him in the morning if he had slept over. When he said yes, she asked if he had slept on the floor. He lied and said he had. I know that both the kids have since peeked inside the room and seen us lying on the bed together. Who knows what they really think of us. I’m not sure I really want to know. I suppose that I’m too “ego-dystonic” a homosexual to go around discussing the fact that I’m a queer with young children. To continue with the gay theme I should like to relate to you how the night went that I spent at my lover-boy‘s house. When I arrived he was engaged in typical D. behavior: glancing from time to time at a campy TV show, but primarily concentrating on advanced math and physics problems being worked through on a note pad. When the TV show ended I proposed we watch “Beautiful Thing”, which he thought was fine. Unfortunately I discovered he didn’t have a VCR, his household being a solely DVD establishment. I was totally bummed we couldn‘t watch “Beautiful Thing” together, as I wanted to share that really touching movie. I think in my heart I wanted to soften him up some because he has grown more cool and apathetic toward me over the past month and a half or so. “The Honeymoon is Over” some might say. Now is the time in the relationship where we begin to take each other for granted and lose some of that initial magic. He’s told me that he’s had about four serious boyfriends before, so maybe this is all part of accepted experience to him. I, who have never been in a guy-guy relationship, am taking it sorely. Sometimes he passes beyond apathy and acts like an arrogant jerk. I get very bruised by this, and have sternly rebuked him a couple of times. At one point we didn’t call each other for almost a week, but finally he called me and was very contrite--- and mushy. I miss mushy! Anyway, I sat and pouted in a pathetic state upon learning that we couldn’t watch my flick. He must have felt sorry for me because he began to proffer me all sorts of sweets: strawberries, chocolate ice cream, etc. (maybe he’s not so bad after all). Then he put in an episode of Babylon 5. I reacted in semi-horror as I apprehended that it was some sort of Star Trek show. Nevertheless, I believe by that by that point I was already starting to get stoned with him, so I put up no fight. The show was oddly amusing, but if I dont see it again that‘s just fine with me. At one point in the evening Damian asked me what the longest sentence ever written was. I replied that it might be in “The Remembrance of Things Past” by Marcel Proust. After regurgitating the small amount of second hand information I knew about Proust, Damian was for some reason impelled to put a massive physics book in my hands, and instructed me to read a very long paragraph. I did my best and was able to glean a teensty bit of meaning. He then proceeded to teach me about set theory and how there are different types of infinities and finally he tried to explain Godel’s incompleteness theorem. Wow! It was a good thing I was stoned. My semi-expanded mind did take in a few morsels of what he was trying to convey (or at least I think it did). To round off the evening we watched a documentary about Stephen Hawking and the history of physics in general. It was very fascinating. I was very high at that point, and despite the swig of vodka I had imbibed, I was, shall we say, existentially anxious. The documentary was awesome. Hell, the universe itself is clearly awesome. But as I remember the great scientist (and devout Christian) Pascal writing of the universe: “These vast empty spaces terrify me.” Vast empty spaces make it all the more imperative to say a quick prayer and hop into bed with a big Polish boyfriend. June 18, 2005 “Mr. Greene, some aspects of your books are certain to offend some Catholics, but you should pay no attention to that.” So spoke Pope Paul VI to the English writer Graham Greene, years after several Vatican officials had pressed Greene to suppress certain “scandalous” elements of The Power and the Glory, widely acknowledged to be one of the great novels of the 20th century. I read the book in high school, and its probably due for another reading. Recently I have been deeply impressed by a couple of novels I’ve read by the late Shushaku Endo-- dubbed by many to be the Japanese Graham Greene. The main reason I wanted to put up the snappy quote by Paul VI is that if practicing Catholics, or Christians in general, read this journal I’ve posted, and are disgusted by revelations that I masturbate, indulge in pornography, smoke pot now and then, take prescribed tranquilizers, strongly dislike President Bush, am a total homosexual in orientation, have a boyfriend, and do or am various other things which are not up to par with established moral decency, well, I still may have a few words to say which could instruct, inspire, or even enlighten. I’m not Positive that I can do any of this this with my online diary. But if I do, I won’t be the first sorry case of a human being who could still, at the end of the day, create something beautiful. May Graham Greene and Shushaku Endo intercede for me from the other side of death. Whew! Alright. On to describing the weird, goofy, pathetic, profound, perplexing, bitterly banal, silly, sad, and inescapably human affair of my life. Oh wait! Forgive me again, but I should like to throw in another quote which I discovered reading while making a quick trip to the toilet: “Man, as a being set entirely in a context of relationship, cannot come to himself through himself, although he cannot do it without himself either.” That’s by an old-time German theologian named Johann Mohler. I picked it up in a book by Joe Ratzinger a.k.a., our new pope. My take on the quote is that we are given true life only by relationships; it is only other human beings who can complete us, but it is our responsibility to drag our own sorry ass out into the interpersonal realm and disclose ourselves- so that this whole interactive transformation can happen in the first place. And perhaps, optimistically, that’s what could come out of this diary. I’m making the first step, in a way, by disclosing my thoughts and actions, habits, ordeals and everyday experiences, and across the internet this can seep into your consciousness, gets some neurons firing, set some thoughts and emotions into play, and then you can write me an e-mail, read one of the authors I quote, ask your doctor for the medication I’m on, or decide that you never want to be like someone as stupid and self-absorbed as Brian Gonsalves. Who knows. My life can really drag sometimes so it might get boring, but some people find me to be a highly unique creature, so maybe my point of view will tickle you. As for my friends and family, here’s the place where I’ll make disclosures that are sometimes to hard to make in person. This can be the place where I gossip about myself (and I’m fairly honest, so it will be high quality gossip). Anyways, last night me and Damian went to a comedy show in West Holywood. It was at a small venue and among four or five other comics was Charlie Vaughn, a former employee of California Video. Charlie did a pretty nice performance; he had a fairly large amount of material, so his set wasn‘t uncomfortably slow. Damian and I bought cocktails, so that enhanced the fun. Enhancing my ego was the fact that a female comic did a few jokes on misogyny and asked if anyone knew what the opposite term was. “Misandrist“, I replied, which actually impressed the comic, as she says almost nobody ever knows the answer. I internally complemented myself for a half minute, but when that grew disgusting I started paying attention to the show again. There was a gay girl form Chicago who was pretty funny. She joked about being an alcoholic lesbian which made recall a lesbian I once knew, and for some weird reason had a crush on (maybe it was because she looked like a cute boy). She was an outrageous alcoholic who drank to drive away her deep inner pain (which was very real, I‘m afraid), but was reprehensible with her drunk driving (and occasional skankiness). After the show D. and I tried to get Charlie to go out for another few drinks with us, but he was busy early the next morning so he arranged for us to go out with one of the other comics from that show. His name was Shawn- or Sean- who knows- but he was really nice. He was 26, originally from Sacramento, and had lost 200 pounds- wow! At this point in time he is very cute. What was really interesting is that, after conversing about various other things, he eventually started counseling us about our relationship. To sum up his final statements: Damian is an Evil Bitch and I am a Whiny Bitch. To expand a little: Damian has a need to argue, to engage in incisive, edgy, intellectual conversation. And I have a need for physical affection and kindness. Damian needs to be more nice, more physical; but I also have to accept that he likes to argue. Well, I guess he may be right. And I admit that I enjoy the debates when they don’t get too personal and mean spirited. The thing that has made it so hard (as D. has grown edgier over the past month and a half) is that I am not a thick skinned person. When someone says a sharp word to me, it doesn’t bounce off; it sinks in and festers. I’m a wimp. A depressive, resentful- and every so often- heart broken wimp. This wimp has to thank our new comic friend, though, because after we parted with him, D. and I got along fairly better than usual. When we got back to D.’s place, our cuddling in bed was pleasant, and the next morning it was very pleasant and sweet. No sex. Just the mush that I imagine is the truly best part of all physical relationships. If I am not mistaken, St. Augustine speculated that before the Fall our first parents copulated and brought children into the world by some special, highly spiritual, rational and detached means of sexual union. Maybe this sounds corny, but I think they just cuddled. Upon terminating all the cuddling and lying around on Saturday morning, me and D. went out to Fuddruckers where we ate ½ pound hamburgers. It was a battle eating that thing- let me tell you. And after that we went to Best Buy and bought me my first cell phone. This was the true event of the day. I have resisted buying those detestable things for as long as possible, but Damian has also been pressing me to buy one for as long as we‘ve been dating. My will finally broken by him- I gave in. What was truly hilarious was when we got back to my house later my mom gave Damian a real scolding about the whole deal, which she thought was a big waste of money. Pardon my schadenfreude, but I think it was worth wasting all the money just to see Damian get scolded for several minutes by my Mom. I guess I’m the Evil bitch now! After a few minutes we kissed goodbye and D. took off. I spent the better part of my evening over at California video watching hilarious Saturday Night Live DVD’s with J.R. and our friend Nick (a fellow security guard no less). We also watched a cool DVD Nick brought in called “John Lennon Legend“. J.R. gave me a movie to take home for free, but self-centered artist that I am, I was impelled to devote myself to this journal, which I will right now bring to a pause. Good Night June 19, 2005 Today was the day of my nephew’s baptism. I was honored with the role of Godfather. According to Catholic Christian theology my nephew has been immersed into the death of Christ, washed of original sin, and has been born again a new creation. Well, I certainly hope all these things are true. I did not notice a palpable difference in my nephew, though this thing is of course a great mystery. I believe that in the Orthodox Church the seven sacraments literally are called “the mysteries of the Church”. He seemed quite naughty and obnoxious when we were all eating lunch. Shouldn’t he have been a little better behaved after what was technically a type of exorcism? In the early Church adult baptism was the norm, and indeed many prospective Christians would postpone baptism until the end of their lives ( because becoming a Christian was considered such an awesome commitment). Anthony is 7, so that makes him unusually old for a Catholic baptism these days, or should I say- the past 1500 years. You may suspect that I have my doubts about whether we should baptize children. To be honest, I do. But as for the belief that the Catholic Church is the true Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ, I have fewer doubts. The Gates of Hell shall not prevail against us, and Peter holds the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven. I must simply trust Christ about this. The Church has come to believe it is wise to baptize the little ones, so I just have to accept that this is the wisdom of the Holy Spirit. Other than the baptism today, I got to pig out with family members, talk on my new cell phone with a friend in Hawaii, and watch a DVD with my Mom. The movie was called “Rory O’Shea Was Here”. It was about 2 disabled guys who move out of a home and take a shot at independent living. I don’t want to take the time to detail the plot. I’ll only say that it made me cry. I must go to bed now because I have to get up early and go to work tomorrow (aargh). I guess I’ll end with a prayer: May the primal sin of our ancestors truly be blotted from my nephew, and may that beautiful little human one day enjoy life with Jesus in Paradise. June 20, 2005 Today was a day of extreme fatigue. I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and even the four caffeinated beverages I drank only slightly roused me from my stupor. I had the most exalted honor of training a new security guard at my post today. She was a somewhat awkward and simple person, a little bit goofy, but very sincere. She said she had had a rough life story, losing her mother and being abandoned by her father at a young age. She had given her life to Jesus Christ quite a while back. At various times we relaxed and talked back and forth on religion, though I was not so bold as to reveal that I was a Catholic. I wonder how she would have reacted? Perhaps I have a small mission to carry out: to explain to a handful of sincere Protestants that we lowly little Catholics are not the heathen. Aside from such higher callings, I embarrassed myself by giving her advice on how to get away with not working too hard- all within earshot of my boss. Good grief! I keep my mouth shut when I could enlighten others and open it to lead them into trouble. The brightest point of my day was seeing my old teacher friend- Rita Dressendorfer- at Walker Junior High. I drove there after work, hoping to see if she was there. We chatted happily and I borrowed a bizarre Salvador Dali video. Just a while ago Steve came over asking for books that he could read at work. It was nice to see him. Now its time for bed. May God have mercy on all of us quirky, crazy little bits of finitude. May he forgive our stupid, life-constricting selfishness, and may he give us the Spirit that makes life beautiful. June 21, 2005 Today, Tuesday, was a dreadful day at work. I hate my new schedule of getting up at 5:30 in the morning. It wasn’t as bad as yesterday, but it sucked pretty bad. Only a Red Bull completely jolted me into consciousness. That was nice, but by the time I finished the can in the early afternoon it made me too nervous and gave me a headache. I felt very uncomfortable. I have decided that I am going to start introducing selected pieces of my old journal writings into this new “open to the public” project. You see, I’ve noticed that the way I wrote when communicating only with God, myself, and the universe, was often radically different than the way I’ve been writing recently. I thought maybe you’d be intrigued to see a much more personal, and tormented side of myself (though I will have to censor some of it). I’m not sure how I’ll weave this material in, but it should be posted in a few days. Damian has been spending time with his dad, who is a truck driver. When his dad leaves he and I will have more time to hang out. I look forward to a nice cuddle session on Thursday. I hope D. wouldn’t be horribly embarrassed by my writing this. I do have a reputation for being extremely deficient in tact on certain occasions. In other words, the things I say in public embarrass the hell out of my friends and family. That’s about all I’ve got to say for the evening. Goodnight to all of you poor human souls across the internet. The Lord’s peace be with you. June 22, 2005 Just got through watching some Missy Elliot videos on the internet with my sister. No doubt that Missy is the funkiest, freest, most creative woman in hip hop. The video for “Pass That Dutch” is wildly entertaining and almost makes you want to memorize the dance moves. I should mention that Lauryn Hill is also a brilliant artist in her genre, but she hasn’t had as sustained a productive streak as Missy. Missy is the bad girl. Lauryn the mesmerizing preacher. Lauryn Hill: “Where hip hop meets scripture. Develop a negative into a positive picture”. Not that Missy isn’t religious. Apparently she professes herself a devoted Baptist. She’s just not explicit about Christianity in her music. Hopefully God will judge her kindly for bringing joy to so many with her fresh and interesting creative work. As a Baptist, I suppose, she’s expecting to be justified by faith alone. My day at work was somewhat interesting, with me handing out a number of parking tickets and having one car towed. It was a bit of a power trip, albeit a completely warranted one. I unfortunately had the employer of the car owner wig out on me when he found out about the tow. It was a space reserved only for employees of another tenant, so I was pretty much justified in what I did.. Plus I had no way of knowing who owned the car and of giving that person an initial warning. I spent a great deal of the day sitting at my desk playing with my new cell phone. I recorded a handful of phone numbers in my address book, recorded a voice mail box message, and sent a text message to Damian. I have to admit that it is an amusing toy. Perhaps it will show itself useful on occasion. I’m sure D. is pleased that I like my new techno-pet. What’s absorbing most of his thought, however, is probably his coming move to New York City. He’s already arranged an apartment deal and is looking for work as a lab assistant at Columbia University. I used to be very sad about the whole thing, since I am unwilling to tear myself away from So Cal and move with him- thus necessitating the impending institution of an awkward long distance relationship. On the other hand, I feel excited that he is getting a chance to move on with his life and profit from new opportunities. He is an incredibly bright guy who already has a BA in physics. He doesn’t deserve to be stuck in a rut. After a few more months of working and saving, I’ll hopefully be able to visit him. I also have plans of traveling to Mexico and Rome. If I’m really brave I might go to Istanbul, (or Constantinople as the Byzantine in me would have it). It’s now past 10:00 so I must go to bed in order not to be completely exhausted and miserable tomorrow. Say a prayer for this funny little creature known as Brian Gonsalves. June 23, 2005 Right now I am listening to a recording of the “Ave Verum Corpus” on the Catholic Page for Lovers Website. It is a beautiful choral work by Mozart. If you don’t know any Latin, “Ave Verum Corpus” means “Hail True Body” and is a hymn to the Eucharist. If you don’t know what the Eucharist is then you really don’t know much about Christianity, or your conception of it is very constricted. We Catholics consider it the genuine body and blood of Jesus Christ in the form of, or more accurately, under the appearance of bread and wine. The Eucharist to me is an inspiring and beautiful thing. In it is concentrated the entire Catholic worldview of considering material, visible things as stepping stones to higher spiritual realities. This is what is called the sacramental notion of reality, sacraments literally being material signs and instruments of God’s grace. Opposed to the sacramental view of reality are various forms of philosophical and religious dualism, dualism considering matter and spirit as conflicting and irreconcilable realities (spirit being seen as good, and matter as inherently evil). The Gnostic heresy during the times of the very early Church was such a dualism, as was the ancient Persian religion of Manicheanism. The Cathar and Albigensian heresies of the Middle Ages were radically dualistic, to the point of condoning ritual suicide as a way of releasing the spirit from the prison of the body. The philosophy of Plato is sometimes strikingly dualistic in its cast, but an over-arching sense of unity and harmony is apparent, and various Christian theologians have profited much from the study of Plato. Perhaps one of the most popular Western belief systems characterized by dualism is the Protestant branch of Christianity. Ask a Protestant fundamentalist what they think of the Catholic mass and the idea of eating and drinking the substance of Christ, and they will likely recoil at the alleged paganism of the whole thing. To them religion is a pure affair of the spirit, of the interior person who has a relationship with God mediated only by the Heavenly, resurrected Christ. If they knew a little more about the past perhaps they could see the similarity of aspects of their worldview with dangerous heresies and truly pagan belief systems which have often posed grave threats to historical Christianity. I’m not sure if I’m a Jansenist, as they were very severe and Puritanical people. Nevertheless, the Eucharist, which I am inclined to be attracted to, often becomes an object of dread to me. This is because there are so many rules in Roman Catholicism which, if broken, for all practical purposes place you in the category of mortal sinner (and mortal sinners cannot receive the Eucharist). Instead of being spiritual medicine for sick people who need it, the body of Christ seems to become a reward for people who have been made ritually pure- either through the sacrament of confession, or through miraculously blameless lives. I do not wish to malign the Church. It is my spiritual home and I would almost rather die than not be Catholic. I must be honest, however, and admit that my spirit groans under burdens which sometimes seem inappropriately harsh, and which detract from a wholesome life of faith. Those are my thoughts for the evening. Good night. June 28, 2005 Yikes! I’ve been neglecting my diary for quite a few days, haven’t I? I’m really sorry for all you sad souls who’ve been deprived of my delightful autobiographical prose. Hmm… can I even remember what I did the past 4 days? Well, let’s just try to focus on the interesting stuff. Boredom isn’t the best stimulant to memory. On Friday or Saturday night I had a really great conversation with D., when I was staying over at his house. We watched a DVD about string theory, one of the most exciting topics in current physics. What I have gleaned is that it is a really funky way of harmonizing the laws of general relativity with quantum mechanics. Though very controversial, it is nevertheless the best horse in the race for that grand prize of physics, the “Theory of Everything”. T.O.E. really just means a mathematically precise system which can unite our understanding of the macroscopic realm (described majestically by Einstein in relativity) with the microscopic realm, the weird sub-atomic world of the quantum ( described by Bohr, Heisenberg and company). We of course smoked pot that evening, so my mind was really tickled by the whole thing. In addition, I had just read a few very interesting passages of Whitehead’s philosophical treatise “Science and the Modern World” while chilling on the couch. All of these factors- the weed, the string theory, and the Whitehead, made me primed for a good discussion. We covered science, philosophy, and a good deal of theology. I just want to emphasize that when two people who see the world as differently as D. and I can think creatively together, it is, to say the least, a very rewarding experience. During the weekend we saw “Howl’s Flying Castle” together. It was a cute and very visually beautiful anime film. On Monday afternoon, after I finally escaped from my workplace (my relief was late, as usual) Damian, myself, and his dog Zaba went up into the Angeles National Forest to hike for a couple hours before the sun went down. It was a nice outing, though I perhaps would have liked it more stoned. Sorry folks, but marijuana is a fairly decent enhancer of many aesthetic experiences. In any event, it was some time to spend with Damian before he leaves. He will be gone for New York in just a handful of days, and our 4 months of companionship will be for the time being abbreviated. I might go visit him in September. I hope New York will be good for him. Well, that’s all for tonight, folks. Take it EASY. June 29, 2005 Just got back from seeing “War of the Worlds” with D. I ran into some old friends at the theater too.. It was okay as a movie. I’ve seen MUCH worse. Pretty soon and D. will be gone. Our weird little shared dream will be interrupted. I hope I don’t do anything stupid like immediately dump him from 3,000 miles away and acquire another boyfriend. I’ve gotta at least be true for a couple more months. Then I’ll visit him in September, and we can see how things go from there. He’s a special guy. Drives me crazy and hurts my feelings quite a bit, but he also stimulates me and makes me grow in interesting ways. I wonder how I’ve affected his world. I’ve complained enough to him to let him know my concerns. We each love one another in our own imperfect ways, but perhaps I’ve overstepped the bounds of what I can comprehend. God himself shall judge our love. If anyone out there is feeling spiritually alive, please say a prayer for me and D. Good Night June 30, 2005 Today was a fun day for me because it was an L.A. day. As soon as I got off work (and my relief is actually showing up on time lately!) I jumped onto the 5 freeway, and passing the interchange that takes me straight home, I instead spent an hour in traffic journeying to the heart of my favorite city in the world. Now I’ll admit that Rome is pretty cool, as it is the eternal city, the Roman Catholic Disneyland, and the habitat of lots of extremely handsome young men. Lisbon in Portugal is a lovely place. Paris may be too. I was impressed by the airport in Paris because the French people were actually reading great literature while waiting to be boarded on their flights. Seattle was a nice town, and I enjoyed my protesting there during the WTO meeting. Hell, I even would have to admit that I really like going to Tijuana, and not just for buying scheduled substances from farmacias-- its actually a fascinating place on its own to me. BUT…. I must nevertheless, and to the consternation of all those supposed to have wisdom and good taste, maintain that L.A. is my favorite city in the world, and confess that I have always been enchanted by its unique beauty. First I went to the Central Library, a building blending Byzantine, Assyrian, Egyptian, Greek and who knows what else architectural styles. I searched and searched for anything by or about the German paleontologist, Edgar Dacque. He was a prominent man in his field, but was not taken seriously after he “went metaphysical” and posited a primal, human archetype from which all subsequent life forms developed, not just mankind. There was close to zilch on him at the Library, which is a pretty big place. I guess he resides somewhere deep in the dust bin of history. Who knows if his books were even translated into English? I found out about him through the book “Meditations on the Tarot: A Journey into Christian Hermeticism”. This was a book which contained much arcane material, and yet was always interesting, often provocative, and sometimes profound. Its not a text on how to predict the future with cards, but rather a series of rich philosophical meditations on the symbolism of the various tarot figures. A definite read if you’re a Christian, but are on a quest for philosophic and mystical wisdom which is beyond what is the general fare in spiritual books Any who, I checked out a collection of short stories by the late Shushaku Endo, a Catholic Japanese writer who is widely esteemed as his nation's greatest novelist (I think I’ve mentioned him before). I loved the last two things of his I read: “The Samurai” and “Silence”. When I left the library I went to Phillipe’s for a turkey dip sandwich and some pecan pie. Yum. Yum. After that I simply drove home taking surface streets the whole way. It was all ghetto, all “scary neighborhoods” (I did cut through South Central L.A., after all), but even though I was too afraid to get out of the car, I managed to thoroughly enjoy myself. Poor neighborhoods are so make-shift, casual, random, and in one word- colorful- that going for a drive through Hawthorne, Central L.A., or Watts is sometimes more like going through a woodsy country town than cruising through the suburbs. There are little ugly houses, stucco-ed and painted garishly, spiked fences surrounding their tiny lawns, but right across the street will be an impressive and well maintained Craftsman home, a California classic. Around the corner will be taco stands, barbecue kitchens, liquor stores, and botanicas (Mexican folk magic shops). Children are always playing everywhere. Ice cream trucks seem to be going up every other street. People, whether black, Hispanic, or whatever, always congregate on their porches to relax as the day winds down. Sometimes people just prop themselves up in a chair right at the corner of a street. Today I saw an old fat guy who did that and had a pair of binoculars around his neck. In heavily Hispanic areas murals of the Virgin of Guadalupe are ubiquitous. Grafitti is ubiquitous as well, but some of it is actually good. There are always an incredible number of Churches in the ghetto, half of the congregations with names you’ve never even heard before. There are grand old palm trees everywhere, along with many other kinds of luxuriant vegetation, planned or unplanned. It’s just a weird, funky, mysterious atmosphere that I find irresistibly charming. Call me crazy, but I think its worth the risk of a possible car-jacking! I shall now plunge beneath my bed sheets. Pray for my salvation. I’m a measly sinner. Somewhere down the line its important that I attain salvation. Adios
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