 September 10, 2006 When I listen to “Diana” as sung by Frankie Lymon of the Teenagers, and not the well known version by Paul Anka, I experience a low-grade type of bliss. The unbridled talent and soulfulness of the youthful star transform the basically silly pop song into what? I don’t know: ecstasy?, rapture? At any rate, the virtuoso doo wop singer died of a heroin overdose somewhere down the line. I don’t know the date. Here am I in 2006, surrounded by the quiet of night and trying to write a few words about this cover song he once did, and for which no one but myself and a probable crowd of a very few others remembers him. Well, DAMMIT, a few more shall be added to that crowd. Go to www.thedoowopjukebox.com, press the “control” and “f” keys simultaneously, and then do a search on Diana. Also: If you haven’t yet heard the Paul Anka version, which is at once snazzy, fruity, and actually quite catchy, then never mind. You need to know both to appreciate the extra oomph of soul which Lymon pours into the song. Enough soul to lift up even me for a while. Anyone familiar with my diary knows that I’m not exactly a cheery, care free optimist. Perhaps the most positive thing you could say about my authorial mood is that I’m somewhat poetic (whatever that means.. I know, I’m sorry). Anyway, Frankie Lymon’s version of Diana is to me about as good as it gets. Its up there with Jake Gyllenhaal’s smile, walking the streets of venerable old Rome, and taking long, lazy drives through the heart of Los Angeles. But with all due respect to Lymon and Gyllenhaal, I was happier in the past and at that time when I was diverted by a million different things which this journal could never contain. 13 or 14 years ago I could see “a World in a Grain of Sand, And Heaven in a Wild Flower” (William Blake). Nowadays, alas, I brace myself and spend most of the time in the presence of a dreadful companion- emptiness. I would banish this companion with heroin or some other opiate (as Lymon did recklessly), but I’m not a rich musician, and also, as a Catholic, I just can’t see my vocation as being a junkie. I get more tired as I write of my personal woes. I think I’ll play “Diana” a few more times and go to bed. September 11 2006 Two things to avoid: drug addiction and suicide. I have been tempted greatly by these two things recently. They usually hover around me in varying degrees of corrosive influence and suggestion, but having now had them attack me with ferocious intensity I have been forced to make a choice. Either I live or I die. Of course there shall inevitably come a time when my soul departs from my disintegrating body, but I would not like it to be the result of self-annihilating despair. Tonight I watched “The Deer Hunter” on the big screen with my friend J.R.. (spoiler of the plot ahead) The profound, powerful, and tragic film culminates in a suicide, and I have revered this movie long before I ever considered suicide as an option in my own personal existence. I do not like the film because it romanticizes suicide, which it doesn’t. I like the story because the characters are summoned to test the limits of human love as friendship and community are swept up in the strife of fate and war. Robert Deniro’s character Michael truly descends into hell in an attempt to save Christopher Walken’s psychologically mangled Nick from self-destruction. That he fails him from suicide does not erase the genuine love that he had for Nick. The lingering true devotion of Nick’s friends and family are also evident from the final scenes of the film. Suicide is devastating, but nothing is stronger than love. The most recent official Catholic catechism holds that those who take their own lives should be commended to the mercy of God, and not despaired of. Not long ago, at my friend’s grandmother’s birthday party, the grandmother asked that everyone (in addition to singing for herself) sing “Happy Birthday” for her son who a number of years back had killed himself. This was a very moving thing to witness. It was extremely edifying as well. Clearly, suicide had left a deep wound in this woman’s heart, and everyone, including myself, of course, should realize how damaging suicide is to friends and relations. On the other hand, where there is love, there is hope. In the words of Saint Paul “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” My friend’s wonderful grandmother is testimony to this. She and her family believe that a beloved person lost to suicide is actually still with us, because he is not lost to God. And that’s what I have to say for tonight. September 15, 2006 I was going to go to an AA meeting tonight, but alas my rendezvous was instead with the triple A. A stranded friend needed me to use my Automobile Club card and so I missed my meeting. Oh well. I’ve been to two already. I will have to wait until the next meeting, on Tuesday. Dad is carrying on in the room below me. “Spiritual Court” he calls it. There is an invisible judge and a large cast of defendants and witnesses. I’m not quite sure who the judge is. My dad yells at him a lot, so he’s not very good at keeping order in his court room- that much I know. My father positively excoriates the defendants and witnesses; people ranging from the pope to his deceased father, to his brothers. A frequent accusation is that they have taken his money. Dad is very noisy. As I write this my mother, who is a light sleeper to begin with, is having to yell at him from the next room, this in a miserable attempt to get him to relent from his bizarre raving. Well, that’s enough exploiting of my family drama for your entertainment, dear reader. I should say that in general I am feeling better lately. Being completely clean and sober is nice. Too bad I’ve always been so stubborn about this stuff, and it takes horrible pain to spur me into making the right decisions. Time for bed. Go bye bye. September 18, 2006 Tonight I saw the film “ A Man for All Seasons”, about Thomas More, the English scholar, lawyer, statesman, and Catholic martyr. I believe More was a great man, and it is hard to think of anyone who stands in greater contrast to the person who had him killed: the corpulent, alcoholic, egomaniacal and ruthless Henry VIII. I find it interesting that More was canonized by Pius XI, a pope who was similarly courageous in living out principles in an unprincipled political climate. Pius spoke vehemently against oppressors of both the left and the right. He dashed off a fuming encyclical- Mitt Brennender Sorge- “With Burning Anxiety”, when Hitler began to seriously de-Christianize Germany and humiliate the Catholic Church in particular. It is a little known fact that before he died Pius was preparing an encyclical entitled Humani Generis Unitatas- “On the Unity of the Human Race”. Alarmed by the racism and anti-Semitism of the Nazis, which was being increasingly emulated in Italy as well, the pope was ready to do battle with some of the greatest criminals of human history. For better or worse (for worse in my opinion), his immediate successor, Pius XII, was not a vociferous critic of the Nazis. Pius XI’s anti-racist encyclical disappeared with his papacy and the Church became much more timid as the winds of war began to blow across Europe. On the other hand, the Vatican did shelter a significant number of Jews under Pius XII. The epithet “Hitler’s Pope”, given him by historian John Cornwell, was probably not deserved. (I will admit that I have not read the book “Hitler’s Pope”; however, I have studied documents evidencing the assault which the Nazis directed toward the Church within their borders. I can’t imagine any sort of quiet alliance between the Reich and the Vatican.). Anyway: Thomas More, Pius XI- thumbs up, dudes! One more thing. The current pope Benedict not long ago opened up archives which may make possible the retrieval of the long lost Humani Generis Unitatas. Then we might know what good Pius XI had to say about a world which was about to sink into some of its darkest hours. September 19, 2006 A friend informs me that the Pius XI encyclical on racism may already be available. Kool. Anyway, I went to another AA meeting tonight and got my first sobriety token. I put it in my wallet, but I guess I’ll probably go ahead and place it in one of the many boxes in my room. (I collect small boxes) I was rejected the other day regarding my attempt to collect disability insurance for severe depression. I do not think the rejection was fair, but I’m not sure whether I will continue to pursue the matter. I have 20 days to dispute the state’s decision. To conclude, I would like to say that I really have nothing interesting left to say. I guess I could spew something like: “A curse on any heretic who shoots an Italian nun in the back”. But upon reflection I think the nun who died in Somalia would not agree with such a statement. Hence, I will now float away for the time being into the silent darkness. September 20, 2006 Went to an oil painting class at adult school today. I had earlier to shop for a bunch of necessary supplies with my mom. Expensive. Later in the evening, I wrote a somewhat ferocious defense of the Catholic Church on the gay Christian forum of Dave Cullen’s “Ultimate Brokeback Mountain Forum” website. Then I watched part of a lengthy documentary on Bob Dylan. It is directed by Martin Scorsese and is quite a history lesson. It is now 1:57 in the morning. I need to get to bed. If an airplane (or zeppelin) should land on my house while I’m asleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Good night Irene. September 22, 2006 I just got home from seeing Jackass II. Pain, pranks, and zany homoeroticism. I laughed, I shouted, and when Chris Pontius drank horse semen I gagged so hard that it tugged on my testicles, causing real pain. A truly unique cinematic experience this was. I wonder if all the straight people picked up on just how gay some of the humor was. There were a lot of, shall we say, “inside jokes”. All in all, I like the Jackass guys. I mean, yes, they’re idiots, but they make me laugh. I’m a gloomy guy a lot of the time. If someone makes me laugh, I am thankful for the relief. Last, but not least: my “little cousin” Amanda went into labor this morning. I have no knowledge of what has happened since. My mom wasn’t able to get through to my uncle all afternoon. I assume she’s had her baby now. It’s so hard to believe. I remember Amanda when she was seven years old, and now she’s a mother. So strange. I would believe life were a dream if it were not so intense. September 24, 2006 Today I worked the snow cone booth at a church fiesta in Long Beach. It was at a parish which is mostly Hispanic and working class, with a minority of more affluent gays of various ethnicities. I am part of a gay Catholic group which is centered at this parish and I was invited to participate in the fiesta in honor of the parish saint- St. Matthew. My sobriety is going pretty well and I am surprised at how mentally alert I am. Thank God for such a blessing. Buenas noches, amigos. September 25, 2006 I just finished watching a two disc DVD set of Martin Scorsese’s documentary on Bob Dylan. It is a long, sprawling biopic, and yet it leaves you left feeling cut short at the end, like reading to page 186 of a 250 page book and then misplacing it. Nonetheless, it perhaps reflects somewhat the nature of Bob Dylan, who cannot with ease be limited, labeled, defined, or encapsuled. There is just too much Dylan to be captured in 3 hours. One thing that really grabbed my attention was the varied footage of his band getting booed and taking horrible verbal abuse when playing rock/blues variations to audiences enamored of his familiar folk style. I admire his guts for standing out artistically and not being a mindless slave to the crowd. Remember when Michael Moore gave his Oscar’s speech denouncing Bush’s Iraq war and everyone booed and criticized him? Well, now the majority of Americans are against the war and are quite mistrustful of the president. Michael Moore had to be brave and shout out what he knew to be true, even though it meant unpopularity. He is vindicated now, though the public does not think of him as a political prophet (which in a certain respect he was). Another message that was too overwhelming for the public came in the form of “Brokeback Mountain“. Although its critical acclaim was near unanimous, it eventually was subjected to deeply inappropriate mockery in the popular media. Finally it was rejected at the Oscar’s in favor of an inferior film- “Crash”. I guess there must be something about the Academy Awards and mob mentality. The minds of Hollywood entertainers and the minds of their vast public audience are in that TV ceremony fused together into one great spirit of heartless, ugly stupidity. That’s my intuition anyway. Though my bruises are still smarting from the lack of a fully proper reception to “Brokeback Mountain”, I have a zany consolation in seeing that “Jackass: Number Two” is number one at the box office. That movie is homoerotic from start to finish (literally people- it ends with an adaptation of a song from “La Cage Aux Folles”- or in english- “The Bird Cage“). The Jackass team are guys’ guys: crude, physical, even courageous. Yet this hilarious explosion of a film leaves one wondering-- are these guys gay, straight, bi, or simply imported here from another galaxy? When Brokeback came upon us, all of us gays saw it and wept. The straight people who were sensitive enough to give it a try wept too, but mostly the public didn’t see the film and laughed at a thing which they knew little or nothing about. Now we gays and straights can laugh together-- and at a comedy, for God’s sake. Laughing at a tragic drama is sickening, and that‘s what made me mad at you about Brokeback, America. With that thought I bid you good night. September 27, 2006 Listening to a nice old love song right now (circa 1962). Minutes ago, finished watching a fairly good romantic film starring Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. I think it was called “Lakeside”. Love, love, love. Love, love, love. In my life, as far as true love goes, I have come so close, yet fallen so far short. With one person, I feel I almost had an amazing night (believe me, with this person, whom I care for dearly, it would have definitely been an amazing night). With another person, I felt an all out amazing relationship was almost in my grasp, or almost had me in its grasp, you could say. I will not give out the details. But be sure that it is not an accident that I write poems, be they good or bad. Poor, unhappy lover am I. Ho, hum. Oh well. Good things come to those who wait.... (Please, God, Please...) October 2006
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