 August 2, 2005 March 3, 2004 Well, I’ve had a bad cold and been very depressed today. A miserable day, really. I just don’t know what to do. I’ve lost hope in God. I do not believe in his goodness. I feel that I have been tortured unfairly for years. Forgive me, God. But the agony of my spirit is unbelievable. I want to die and sleep forever. Help me to be at peace with the Protestants without becoming one of them. Help me to accept myself through accepting them. Help the Catholic Church to make the reforms it needs through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. I can barely hang on. All is darkness. I am very confused. We have been betrayed by our leaders. Betrayed so badly that we are constantly tempted into heresy. My pain is incredible, Lord. It does not seem just. I am not a saint. I think I am. Which is the first sign that I am not. All this saint stuff is designed to make you go crazy. I have begun to be suicidal again. I am so confused and lost in my own mind . I cannot turn to most of my friends when I am in despair. I guess I really did overvalue friendship. God, help me remember my family when I am tempted to suicide. Help me to think positive, all other things being equal. Have mercy on my poor church. Helps us to rise out of the ashes. My agony is continual, God. Unite my sufferings to the cross of Christ. All the spirituality, Lord, is beyond me. How can I love what I do not see. I don’t know. I wish my life could be finished. The pain would stop. I wish the disturbance, the persecution and torment in my soul would end. I am being tortured. Have mercy on me. I feel that God wants to destroy me. I remember telling my Grandma that before I ended up in the mental hospital. I am tormented in that same way again. I am hopeless and can barely go on. God in heaven. Please reduce my suffering so I can carry on and serve you in some small way. I ask you this, hoping in your total mercy, through JESUS That was some stuff I wrote in my private journal last year. (Remember I said I was gonna post some of my old private journals) I didn’t conceive at the time of revealing it to others, like I am now. Is it appropriate to show this stuff? I’m not positive. Re-reading it, it seems that the main undercurrent of the journal entry is deep emotional depression, as well as a sense of abandonment by God, coupled with a very dark and negative view of God’s nature. Hence the “I feel like God wants to destroy me” stuff. There is also, of course, some concern about the state of the Catholic Church at the time, i.e. the pedophilia crisis. Note the remark about not wanting to become a Protestant (one of my genuine dreads). All in all, I guess I can at least be thankful that back then, even though I was in such a distressed state, I was able to call upon God through Jesus Christ to help me out. I think it is safe to say that one of the rules of spiritual life is: never stop talking to God. That can get you through a lot of tough times. Anyway, what’s going on with my life now? I quit my job today for one. Actually, I gave my boss a two week notice. Pretty soon I’ll be in full time leisure mode. I’ll be spending time with my friends and family here in SoCal, then I’ll go see Damian in NY, and finally, hopefully, I’ll go to Europe for a while. Doesn’t sound so bad. Hopefully I’ll be in a good mood when I do my traveling. I might be going to Europe alone, so that would be tough in a depressed state. To move into a totally different subject, last night I read a few chapters of a book I have on the “Enneagram”, a rather esoteric, and supposedly ancient personality type test. From the little I read it seems I am mainly a “type 4”. My main need is to be special. Hence the vast personal web-page: “Hey everybody, read about the fascinating Brian Gonsalves and all his unique interests!”. I’m relentlessly individualistic, artistically inclined, obsessed with beauty, filled with hopeless longing and a sense of loss, prone to the pitfall of depression, and haunted by death. The diagnosis seems pretty close to the mark. I’ll have to read more of the book at a later time. I have to go into the office tomorrow and fill out some forms, so now its off into slumber land for me. August 3, 2005 Well, not much happened today at work. I only spoke with Damian briefly on my cell. He’s dying of the humidity out there in New York and didn’t have much energy for chatter. I guess the highlight of my day, if you could call it that, was reading some of the “Pensees”, by the 17th century French thinker, Blaise Pascal. The book comprises a rather severe and gloomy, yet nevertheless profound defense of the Christian religion. I found myself at turns disturbed and deeply moved. Sometimes I feel I’m just not the kind of guy meant to take up his cross and follow Jesus. I make a rather timid ascetic. Nevertheless, and largely against my will, I find myself well acquainted with a deep sense of darkness and dread. Does that make me some sort of mystic by default? How I wish I was 13 again. Junior High was awful, this is true. But the summers off from school were cool, and I hadn’t really figured out that I too was one day going to die. Good Night. Please say a prayer for me, whoever’s out there. August 4, 2005 I know that whatever people out there who actually read my journals are probably growing a little tired of the depressive, angst-ridden litanies which make up my daily entries. I am a man haunted by the idea of death, I must confess. Perhaps this gloom poisons my mind, and my creativity as well. Judge for yourselves. It seems to me, nonetheless, that my frequent thoughts of death are to a degree realistically grounded in the very large number of deaths over the past year of people (and beings) who populate my mental universe. To name the principal figures who have passed over to the other side: 1. John Paul II. Now here was an interesting man, probably one of the most respected in the world. The Church seemed to be in a wretched state during his twilight years due to the sexual abuse scandals. He himself became the epitome of physical wretchedness. But he stuck things out as long as he could. I’ll always admire him for being consistent enough to oppose both abortion, the war in Iraq, and the death penalty. Truly pro-life if you ask me. He transcended the easy categories of liberal and conservative and his teachings were not to be passed over lightly. John Paul the Great? I’m not certain yet. But he surely was an impressive pope. 2. Dr. Gene Scott. At quite the other end of the religious spectrum was that most unique of televangelists, Gene Scott. Imperious, eccentric, bold, sometimes foul-mouthed, he was nevertheless genuinely intelligent. A talented linguist and scholar of the Bible, he seemed to me to preach a vigorous, full-blooded Protestantism, more reminiscent of giants like Luther than charlatans like Jimmy Swaggart and his ilk. I’m glad I got to see some of his broadcasts before he died. His strong views sometimes angered me (he occasionally got into anti-Catholic spiels), but I can say with confidence that the man was no fool and his death leaves a great hole in popular religion. 3. Hunter S. Thompson. Now this man had a fairly strong influence on me during the years before I believed in Christianity. To continually use drugs, and of every kind, all the while churning out fascinating journalistic prose: that seemed to be the life. I once had something of a Fear and Loathing experience in Tijuana Mexico, where I spent three weeks alone in a hotel room popping all sorts of pills and smoking weed. I ended up real sick and losing a lot of weight. I guess I didn’t have the strength or talent to be a Hunter T.. All the better, I guess, because now he has committed suicide and I’m still here. True, he was a lot older than I am, so we’ll still have to wait and see if I can stick it out to the end like he didn‘t. Incidentally, I had the luck of reading “Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail: 1972” not that long before its author died. It was a good book and helped me to get over the recent failed candidacy of John Kerry. 1972 was the year Nixon beat McGovern in a landslide. McGovern was known as the most decent man in the senate. As for Nixon, we all know about that character. American politics can be ugly and the American people are easily duped. Thank you, Hunter, for your insights. 4. Max Maxwell. This guy was the younger brother of my sister’s ex-fiance. He was known as a very good guy, loved by his family, and was soon to propose to his girlfriend. He died tragically in a random auto accident. I didn’t know him (I think I met him once), but it all seems to show that God will sometimes take the best of us early. 5. Rick James. And now the singer of “Super-Freak” is gone. I’m really at a loss for words here. I think we’re all gonna have to work through this time of grief on our own. And how many drugs did they find when they autopsied him? 5? 6? Damn, Rick! Didn’t you know when to slow down? 6. Marlon Brando. I really only saw him in the Godfather and about one other movie. I’m sorry the Tattaglia family caused him such personal grief, and his son, Santino, they really did over-kill him with the tommy guns 7. Bobtail Gonsalves. Last but not least, this year we lost the Manx cat (he only had a stub tail) who was our family’s companion since I was in the sixth grade. Over his last year of life he progressively lost more and more weight due to a thyroid condition. No longer was he the spunky cat, full of personality, that we once knew. We buried him in our rose garden, where he is wrapped in the same blanket that I was wrapped in as a baby. I loved that cat so much. He was so much fun to have as a pet. I couldn’t help but cry when we buried him. August 5, 2005 Well folks, admittedly I’m slightly dazed from a funky tea that I concoted in our kitchen. No illegal ingredients, but still an unorthodox brew: two conventional tea bags, a bunch of mashed fresh garlic, crushed cinnamon sticks, oregano, a little nutmeg, and finally some honey poured in. It was really gross, but I do feel kind of goofy now. Doesn’t that make it worth it? Two books arrived at my house today which I ordered from a used book store in Oregon: “Athanasius Kircher, the Last Man Who Knew Everything”, and “The Melody of Theology, a Philosophical Dictionary”. My interest has recently been piqued in Athanasius, a 17th century Jesuit who was considered among the most learned men of his time. His elaborate theories and huge, lavishly illustrated books were kind of funky, sometimes ridiculed, but never ignored-- at least not until the modern era. The last few years, however, he’s been experiencing a sort of vogue. With physicists talking enthusiastically about a theory of everything, his wide-ranging syncretism is looking less bizarre, and at the very least is being admired for its aesthetic qualities. As for “The Melody of Theology”, it is a book by Jaroslav Pelikan, a superb scholar whose history of the Bible through the ages I just finished. At work I’m now concentrating mostly on reading the “Pensees” (literally Thoughts) of Blaise Pascal, a book at once disturbing, profound, and inspiring. One of the great Christian works of modern times Anyway, I have only one more week of work left and then this gay, Catholic security guard will simply be a gay Catholic, shall we say- gentlemen of leisure. I have to start concerning myself with flight schedules, tickets, passports, etc. I’m not the most practical person. Hopefully others will be able to help me realize my travel goals. It’s almost 3:30 in the morning. Time for nite nite. Hasta Manana August 6, 2005 Today I woke up at three in the afternoon or so. How nice it is to be able to recover from your work week by staying in bed for most of Saturday! First thing I noticed when I went downstairs was that a second order of books had arrived for me in the mail. One, a volume of Von Balthasar, another of Ratzinger. Two theological luminaries of modern Catholicism. The Ratzinger book is on eschatology (doctrine of the Last Things) and is supposed to be really good. I’m interested in how he’s going to deal with a problem known among theologians as “the delay of the parousia”. Parousia, a Greek word used in the New Testament, refers to the Grand entrance Christ is supposed to make into the world at the close of history-- the Second Coming. What has puzzled theologians is that some passages in the Bible suggest that early disciples, and even Jesus himself, believed that the parousia was going to occur some time within that very generation of people. Obviously, this didn’t happen. There are all sorts of theories which have sprung from this problem. I don’t want to take the time to get into them right now. I’m just hoping that Ratzinger, who I believe has a superb mind, will shed some true light on this subject which often vexes me. I spent some time later in the day at the video store hanging out with Nick, J.R., and Kenneth. Finally, this evening, Steve, myself and a couple other friends went to see the movie “Hustle and Flow”. It’s about a pimp in Memphis, Tennessee who wants to escape his lifestyle and become a successful rapper. It was actually very good, and as much as is possible, I was made to actually like and identify with a pimp. Put that in your crack pipe and smoke it!. Afterward, me, Steve, and a friend named Dustin went and shot off some illegal fireworks on the grounds of the nearest high school. That was fun. A hearty thank you to my co-worker who supplied me with the Mexican fireworks. When that naughtiness was concluded we had a few beers, etc, etc, and now I'm sitting here in front of my computer being beckoned by the sleep fairy. I would like to close with a few lines from a great poet. For some reason I couldn’t help but think of them as we were walking back to our cars after the movie, under the great night sky. "They are not long, the days of wine and roses Out of a misty dream our path emerges for a while, Then closes within a dream." Life and death truly are such mysteries. I am overwhelmed by the immensity of it all. August 7, 2005 Today was an interesting day. It started out banal enough, and I’m gonna describe the banal stuff first, but stick with me and you may possibly find this an interesting diary entry. When I finally woke up I had some chicken enchiladas that my mom made last night. A little bit later I treated Steve to some In and Out hamburgers. He didn’t have any money to pay for himself, so why not be charitable to a friend, eh? When we got back home we went to his place and watched a DVD I had purchased the other day entitled “Bonhoeffer”. It is about a well known German pastor/ theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who was outspoken against the Nazis (unlike many Protestants of his time, and I’m sad to say- Catholics as well). After much deep reflection he eventually involved himself in a plot to kill Hitler. The plot failed and he was executed for his role in it. The documentary certainly was very successful in portraying Bonhoeffer as an admirable guy. He didn’t just talk the talk- he walked the walk as well. It impressed me that many of his achievements as a theologian, pastor, and political subversive were undergone at my age or younger. A truly serious-minded young man, he was someone concerned with Christian love and genuine ethics rather than the “cheap grace” which he felt was too often preached by his fellow Lutherans. That much of popular Lutheran theology was a cop-out on serious ethics, the demanding morality preached by Christ in His sermon on the mount, was what Bonhoeffer thought led to the Church’s capitulation to Hitlerism and its unwillingness to stand by the suffering people of the era, namely the Jews. Before I move on, I should mention that there was one small detail in the film which particularly struck me. When the Nazis killed him, they had stripped him of his clothes- he was hanged naked. Now there is more than one way you can look at this. Certainly, stripping people of their clothing, especially adults, and parading them in public, can be a profoundly effective tool in humiliating them. Imagining Bonhoeffer marching up to the gallows naked, my primary intuition is that this man had embraced the deepest vulnerability. Thinking of this homely German fellow, who being thus degraded hardly any longer measured up to any canon of worldly beauty, I nevertheless cannot help but sense a soft yet definite note of redemption and recaptured innocence-- the nudity, if you will, of a young child, or ultimately I believe of Adam and Eve before the Fall. I’m theologizing here, and drawing on some recent reading, but here’s what I’ll call my homily for the evening. Having passed through the consuming fire of hate, which is really also the greatest opportunity to love, in that we can follow Jesus in practicing forgiveness and testimony to the truth, Bonhoeffer had been purged of the shameful, obscene nakedness of the world, the kind which we spend our whole lives trying to hide, and had arrived in the new Eden, the second innocence and the glorious nakedness of total surrender to Christ. I learned from a book by Thomas Merton that some Church fathers believed that the way back into Eden for fallen man was to walk right back through the flaming swords wielded by angels which God had initially placed there to keep us out. In I Corinthians St. Paul speaks of a Final purifying fire which burns away all that we are and have done that is not of love. I guess you could say that Christ (and remember, in the creed it does state that he himself descended into Hell) was the one who showed us how to walk perfectly through this fire, a victim of love. He leads us backs into Paradise by passing through the flaming swords. If the Catholic Church ever reaches a point in its ecumenical endeavors in which it starts canonizing people who were not formal members of the Church, I recommend Dietrich Bonhoeffer. A life of heroic virtue he led indeed. I know you need to have a certain number of miracles attributed to you to get canonized. I think that Bonhoeffer himself may have been the pertinent miracle. After the movie, Steve and I parted for a while and after a time I went with my Dad to five o’clock Mass. The homily from the priest was fairly good. (Catholics can preach well from time to time-believe it or not). The Old Testament reading was about the prophet Elijah and his strange encounter with “the still, small voice” up on the mountain top. God revealed himself not in thunder, fire, wind, or other clamorous physical perils, but rather in something gentle and peaceful. The theologian James Alison, who is a truly nice guy and is kind enough to exchange e-mails with me, makes quite a bit of God’s “still, small voice”. He believes in a progressive revelation of God’s nature, I guess you could say. One of his catchphrases is “subversion from within”. The Holy Spirit, you see, has been working through history to change, to subvert even, our image of God into an ever less violent one. Of course, the perfect image of God is His Son and Word, the Lamb. Lamb’s are pretty gentle as far as I know. To finally move on from the God-talk, I ate fried chicken with my family around seven o’clock, and spent some time goofing with my mom and Anthony. For some reason I was impelled to tell Anthony and Mom some ghost stories. He was interested but he went to bed crying. That was real nice of me, huh? He ended up sleeping in the Den with Mom. After nine Steve and I hooked up again and began deliberating what we should do with our evening. As I was apparently still on a spirit world kick, I told him about a website Paul had sent me which described haunted places all over California. We discussed it at his place (or rather his girlfriend’s Mom’s house in which he lives) and then went down to my house and went directly to the ghost website. Steve really wanted to go to a cemetery that was haunted, but I thought it was too risky. I convinced him we should try to get into County USC Medical Center in LA, the biggest public hospital in Los Angeles, dating from the 30’s. If there are ghosts anywhere they’ve gotta be there-- just think of all the people who have died there over the years. Even the live patients are supposed to be weird-- just go to the emergency ward at midnight on a full moon, I was told once by a male nurse who had worked there. Steve went for the plan. Unfortunately the moon was far from full, and tonight was hardly a freak show. No definite evidence of supernatural activity either. Happily though, getting inside the hospital was vastly easier than we had thought. After several minutes there, we almost gave up on it. Luckily a security guard on the outside of the building confided to me that I merely need to say I’m a visitor to get in (I told this guard I had interest in architecture and wanted to see the building from the inside-- which is true). So after these instructions we went ahead and said we were visitors, went through the metal detectors, and the rest was a piece of cake. We covered a fair amount of ground, used the elevators to go on a number of stories of the building (the elevators moved incredibly fast and wobbly), but for the most part stayed out of trouble. I really feel that the hospital is a treasure of late 20’s/ early 30’s architecture; it is a really cool experience to explore the sprawling grounds. Vast, antiquated, infinitely valuable to the impoverished sick people for whom it exists, I strongly suggest a visit. Steve complemented my boldness in bull-shitting our way in there. As Steve can be a master bull-shitter, I take that as a complement indeed. To cap off the night we drove all around the Elysian Park area-- not the most upscale part of L.A.-- and speculated on the real chances of getting car-jacked. Luckily, it remained speculation. So there you have my day: chicken enchiladas, DVD’s on saintly Lutheran pastors who wanted to help Jews and kill Hitler, telling ghost stories to my hapless nephew, going to Mass, fried chicken dinner, sneaking into a massive old hospital with one of my closest friends. Finally an attempt to make sense of it all and present it to the 200 or so people who visit my site daily. Such is my life. I’m not exactly Gandhi or Winston Churchill; neither am I a worm or a hyena. I am simply Brian, humble manifestation of the enigma that is man. August 10, 2005 Well folks, I have exactly two more days of work until I am cast into the waters of uncertain freedom. On the agenda is 1. Using my Forest Adventure Pass by making frequent trips to the local mountains. 2. Helping my Mom mind my niece and nephew while my sister and Shawn are off getting married in Hawaii. 3. Visiting Damian in New York during the last half of September. 4. Going on a trip to Paris, France in October and from there on to Rome, Italy. I plan on being in Europe for about a month. Maybe my good friend Paul will join me for part of my trip if he can get time off from his job. When I get back my life is going to be possibly quite challenging. There is the possibility of my moving in with Damian in NY. That might be hard. I’m a very committed Angeleno and don‘t like being away from home for too long. Aside from that, there is the issue of my health insurance running out and my not being able to get cheap psychiatric medication anymore. This may happen in not so many months. Also in my mind is the issue of going back to school and trying to get a degree, something which I’ve made VERY sketchy progress toward thus far? Should I try to get some sort of civil service job that would have the good medical benefits that I need? All these things loom on the horizon. Nevertheless, I hope the immediate few months will be fun, despite my chronic depression (cursed melancholy!). Life often seems to be one crisis and worry after another. But there is still so much joy, despite the darkness of adult existence. I wrote an ode to blink-182 last night. You may have noticed it posted on the site. I’m a little bit crazy, but you probably already figured that out. Good night August 12, 2005 Today was my last day at work. I felt sad saying goodbye to my boss and to my buddy Alex, the building engineer’s assistant. I bought him some cigars for a parting gift. We shook hands. It was a genuinely warm feeling. I was antsy for most of my shift because after I said my important goodbyes I was hellbent on going home and being 100% work free, at least officially. I hung out with my friend Laila tonight. There was some chemical use, but nothing too heavy- so hopefully very few brains cells were lost. I actually recording some philosophical thoughts for several hours when I got home. Laila and I had smoked weed with a bunch of younger people, some of whom she knew, over at a park in Lakewood. A few thousand miles away my sister and Shawn are in Kauai and have already gotten married. Cheers to them! Steve and I might go on a little trip to Mexico later this week. That’s all I have to report for now. Oh wait, my new definition of man: “the transcendental animal”. This animal, as you may have discerned, has a lot of transcending to do. Good night. August 14, 2005 Today was Sunday, the Lord’s day. I did no real work (something I’m very good at), so I guess you could say I kept the Sabbath. I managed to wake up before three in the afternoon today as well, so I was actually conscious during some of the time that I was not working. I’ve been spending a lot of time with my friend Steve lately. I enjoy his company, there is no doubt, but sometimes a lot of it can land me in psychic/emotional trouble. As I’ve mentioned before, he is an old flame of mine. You could even call him my ultimate unrequited love, although there were a few times when he seemed to be on the verge of taking the plunge with me. Last night I was in the car with Steve and his girlfriend driving back from a comedy show when I spoke on my cellular with my New Yorker boyfriend. He asked who I was with and I responded that I was with Steve and his girlfriend. He immediately shot back with “You mean you’re with your boyfriend and his girlfriend”. I was a little taken by surprise by the way he said it, as there was a lot of humor and jest in his voice. He expressed an odd mixture of insight and amusement. Steve has asked me a number of times if Damian is jealous when I hang out with him. I don’t really know what the exact answer is. Does the humor conceal hurt? To complicate things a bit, Steve and I are planning a car trip down the coast of Baja in Mexico, and we are going alone. If my boyfriend is gonna be jealous, and Steve’s girlfriend is gonna be jealous, now would seem to be the time, right? Steve is a very important friend to me. I truly would give my right arm for him (with of course a little anesthesia). To cut to the chase as regards our life situation, he’ll be going on an extended trip to the Philippines soon and I will be going to New York and Europe. We might not get to hang with each other for a long time. Despite potential jealousy from our partners, now could be the time for some real bonding as friends. I guess things depend on how committed we are to our respective partners and how much we strive for the ideal of a Platonic friendship between ourselves. Perhaps I’m rolling the dice a little too recklessly here, but perhaps its time to test the mettle of our friendship and figure out what the hell the bond between Brian Gonsalves and Steve Pulver really is. We’ve been continually close for over four years so there is some sort of strong spiritual chemistry. I guess I’ll close with this statement: I sure hope I will never be guilty of deeply wounding either Damian, Steve’s girlfriend (who is a very cool person), or Steve. Please, God, may our trip to Mexico stir up no evil in our personal lives. And may we be shielded from thieves and crooked cops (very important in Mexico). Amen. Tommorrow is the feast of the Assumption of Mary. I might go to the mass and ask for her protection. All gay boys are close to their mothers, right? Why shouldn’t this queer have a bond with his mother in Christ? Anyways, goodnight folks. Sorry to anyone mentioned in the above journal entry if I've been too indiscreet. August 15, 2005 Well, there's plenty of things which transpired today which I could have recorded in this journal entry. Instead of recording them I'm going to give you a personal tidbit I composed which is somewhere between an experimental prose poem and a Christian prayer. I wrote this piece while listening to the 80's song "Don't Dream It's Over" again and again and again on my CD player. I hope I didn't wake up mom. If by chance you start to think I'm deep because of what I write, just remember I'm a pill-popping masturbator as well as a philosopher. Ah, the sadness and the longing of my soul. The desperation for attention, the hidden hunger for kindness, acceptance, and affection. Trudging across my days, staggering stupid across the bleakness of my empty nights, I sing a song to a few fools who chance upon the mystery of my life. Love is the answer. Love is the answer. Love alone can set you free. That’s what I’ve read and heard. That’s the core and the heartbeat of the wisdom I’ve attained. And yet believing with my mind, I tremble with my heart and stumble in a pool of guilt and fear. The joyous beyond which is our God, in whom each of us has a special place; he truly is beyond us. This bundle of contradictions which I know as myself, which I see as mankind, it is sorrily equipped for the grasping of his grace. The aching, enigmatic wound of desire cries out for healing, and yet the strange blend of mind and body which makes up my being can’t be satisfied by any particularity. Reluctantly learned is the lesson of Things. No mere piece of the world, not even a beautiful lover‘s body, can completely fill the chasms of the spirit. And yet the unseen world of God, the spring of our spirit and as the mystics would have it, its goal as well, is for most of us an object of dread. Our lives are spent wandering the maze of the world, seeking peace in restlessness and life in stagnation. Oh my Jesus, the God who deigned to wander a while with his scattered children on the Earth, what does it mean that you were man? Rejected you were, as you had to be by blind fools like us, but loving us in pain, did you know also the pain of not knowing how to love? Such is the pain of man. Such is the pain of man. Loving us in pain, could you not view the hell of selfishness, the vast and aching desert, the world of strangers? Oh my Jesus, the prison of self is the tiniest crack of all, but in it one is lost forever. Fill the crack we may with objects of desire, but losing true love for our brothers and sisters, we seal it as an abyss of our destruction. Lord Jesus, You who came to save what is lost, I ask you to know my sin so that in touching me I might also know your grace. Unite this lonely world to the freedom of your Love. August 16, 2005 Well, the Baja California trip with Steve is cancelled and I never did go to mass for the Feast of the Assumption. Two things I spoke of with great certitude in Sunday night’s journal have come to nothing. That’s the way life is. To live is in many ways to experience a series of surprises. Humans only have a limited knowledge of things and we could never comprehend the future in its totality. It is inevitable that we be slapped by waves of the unexpected, whether one enjoys surprises, seeks them out, or otherwise. As it turned out, yesterday was a fairly decent day, despite, or perhaps because it was different from what I expected. Around the time I had planned to go to mass I instead ate dinner at a nice Italian restaurant with my buddy Paul. We discussed life and the world and indulged in our own inside sense of humor. That’s the way it is with a lot of the people I know from the video store. My “video store friends” are a great source of relaxation and enjoyment for me. I associate the actual store so much with having fun that I have fantasized of being able to transport it effortlessly from place to place, with me enjoying the company of my video store friends and the customers who go there at different locales around the world. Flying video stores and time machines would probably be the two biggest things that I want which will never become available to me. Besides seeing Paul I did hang out with Steve, although our time together was not spent planning out a trip to Mexico. Rather we walked around Seal Beach at night and went to a park in Buena Park (Steve showed me his favorite tree there, where he had a lot of memories). Besides having the certain “Twilight Zone“ feeling that most of my days do, yesterday was tolerable overall and at times enjoyable. When I got home at night I took one and a half klonopin tablets, drank a Red Bull and later on a Diet Coke. I spent several hours in front of the computer, finishing writing in my journal around 6.:00 in the morning. Today I’ve had a bad headache from the Red Bull. I’ve also had an annoying queasy stomach, which is probably from a medication called Depakote which I take. Depakote is a mood stabilizer and a headache medicine for me; for some people it works as an anti-epilepsy drug. Today’s nice highlights have been seeing a puppet show in the park with my Mom and my niece and nephew, and going to a Krispy Kreeme’s so that Anthony could eat a doughnut and also examine the fancy doughnut producing machinery on display there. Krispy Kreeme’s are too icky sweet for me, but the machinery on display really is neat. Later in the evening Steve and I went to a ghetto area in Long Beach to pick up a camera which a friend of his had. Then we went to see Laila in Fullerton, accompanied her when she went to go buy some weed, and then went to our friends Nate’s and Dustin’s apartment. I got really stoned in the car with Laila. It was to the point that I was a weirded out, blithering pot-head idiot. Whatever sense for Reality that I am privileged to enjoy was gone, and I gave Steve the keys to my car so I wouldn’t have to drive in such a state. With much effort I have recorded this diary entry. I bid you Adieu. August 17, 2005 I would like to present to you this philosophical rhapsody which I just wrote. If its not really your thing, I understand. If you like it, cool, that makes me feel special! Oh strangest World of shadows and distortions, where is the central spring of your Mystery? I, a man of dreams and dust, I stand before the wound of your imperfect Infinity. Oh World of shaded enigmas, what is the secret of your mighty sorrow? It seems that God our Father has hid himself in darkness and the Unknown. His lost bride is You, the groaning, aching Universe, the aging woman who bore us. Mother, mourning widow Earth, your tears fall down on all your children of the dust. These tears of struggling vitality turn my ashes into clay, matter in turn for the dreams of my sad and seething soul. My being is nourished too by the sweat dripping from the impassioned frenzy which is your Life. For another month I live, I suffer, I laugh and feel, but always too, the plow of Time rips apart the shelter of any lasting wholeness which I achieve. The breath of my desire gives only feeble Life to whatever piece of Reality I choose to give structure to. Ultimately I am a subordinate part within a larger whole. I am not a time-transcending constructor of an all encompassing whole outside myself- I cannot shape the entire World to conform with my happiness. Neither am I an all encompassing whole in and of myself- As much as I would like to believe otherwise, my dwelling place within Reality is not Reality itself. I am neither completely solitary and independent, nor am I dominant over what and who is Other than myself. I live in relation to the Other, a subject within the Real World, a human among humans, a person among people. This realm of relations is not only spread out spatially, but through time as well. In the broadest sense, I am in relation to the Other which is beyond me but potentially present, and the Other which is present but potentially beyond me. Potentiality, a term interchangeable with possibility, is the fluid soaking through every pore and cell of Reality. If I am the fortunate vessel of the sense of potentiality, Hope will blossom in the freedom of my mind. I can then transcend the present and reach the beyond; I can finally reach out to those beyond me both in space and in time. But again I must return to my lament: this indeed is the shadowy Earth. Childhood’s gentle morning light has been replaced by the tired and heavy shadows of the late noon hours. Baked into senselessness by the mid-noon sun, I trudge now wearily among the tired shades of the twilight time. The electrification I feel from interaction with other persons is too soon drained of impact upon the absence of those who occasion it. It seems an inevitable thing that I sometimes float in the waters of alienation, shame, and confusion. To be alien from other beings, from Being as a maternal whole, and from God who is the transcendent ground of Being, this is necessarily the intermittent lot of humans. To be truly alive in this World is to ride the rivers of repetitive crisis and fleeting Beauty. To be on the stream of Life is to be led slowly but surely toward the Infinite Wilderness of Death. The joy of man is the occasional ecstasy of a noble but dying being. The potentiality, the possibility which permeates human Reality reaches its climax in Death, in which mans is hurled, full of trembling, into the greatest adventure since his birth into this very World. What lies beyond the portals of Death is our greatest uncertainty. Death reminds us of the finality of our passivity. In the end, in this imperfect, transitory, but somehow meaningful World, our ideal orientation can only be one of trust and Hopeful surrender. And ain’t that the truth, folks! Anyways, today I finished cleaning my car, and my nephew Anthony helped me out for some of that time. I was stoned much of the day from a little nugget of weed which Laila gave me. Steve rolled us a couple of cigarettes with marijuana added in and we smoked them on a bike ride together around 6:30. We went down to the wash, Los Coyotes Creek, to ride on the path there. It was really great until we realized both our tires were going flat because of thorns we had run over. We had to walk the bikes back several miles home. That was a drag, but not a nightmare. When I ran out of gas on the freeway one time, and all of my friends and myself were stoned- that was a nightmare. But that was back in the wild days. Now I’m only semi-decadent and am a bit more adult in my thrill-seeking quest for diversion. I shall be off to Europe in October. Now doesn’t that sound adult! Ha Ha. To be truthful, my life is a bundle of contradictions, deceptions, cowardices, and failures, but I haven’t thrown in the towel yet. This thing called living has an allure which can numb us to the weight of the worst pain. And then there is hope. When that rare bird settles somewhere, joy and beauty are infectious. Goodnight, my fellow travelers in the world. August 18, 2005 As I still had a little marijuana left from Laila’s gift to me, I’ve spent a greater part of my day under the influence of this most unique of drugs. It hasn’t really made me feel any better, just different I guess. In some respects marijuana is an emotional amplifier- if you feel good, it will make you feel better; if you feel bad, it will make you feel worse. As the melancholic humor is prominent in me, Mary Jane often makes me a little extra depressed. However, it’s mind expanding capabilities frequently provide interesting compensation for that bad effect. After hanging out at the video store with Nick and J.R., I went to Bolsa Chica Wetlands, which is still mostly closed due to “restoration”, and proceeded to get high over there. I drove back high, stopped at Tower Records, read briefly some unusual magazines, talked with Damian on the cell, and went along on my merry, law-transgressing way. I don’t feel immensely guilty about my casual use of the drug marijuana. However, there are many people who have contempt for potheads, and I am often confused about what my stance toward the drug should be. Its ability to dispel a certain amount of my chronic boredom, my ennui, is often an eloquent argument which pushes me to use the stuff. I must also say I have definite scruples about driving on the drug. I‘m not the most exemplary driver to begin with, and I don't think pot helps. When I got home I went with my mom and niece and nephew to a park in Cerritos. It was a park I went to frequently as a kid. It is called “Heritage Park”, is colonially themed, and has a cool island in the middle accessible by a bridge. It was depressing seeing how small and boring everything looked now that I’m grown up. I was amused, however, by the band which was playing there, as the woman singer did a pretty bad rendition of a No Doubt song which was funny to listen to stoned. Well, there you have my weed intoxicated, unemployed ways. This evening was spent watching the Dave Chapelle Show, which is pretty cool, as well preparing a new section of my website on the work of Northern Renaissance artists. What else should I say? I fear I’m a failure in both the worldly and spiritual senses of the word. Ain’t that great?! Purgatory was invented for people like me. Good Night. August 20, 2005 Today was a full day, my friends. Only because I love my virtual audience shall I attempt to give an account of it for you. Things started out early, for me at least. From 11:00 until about noon Steve kept calling me to try to get me out of bed. This was because we decided last night on going paint-balling today. Our friend Dustin had a bunch of free tickets for this somewhat brutish activity, and having eaten breakfast and dressed myself, I did my best to embrace the prospect of firing and being fired upon in an environment of war simulation. As it turned out, Dustin discovered his tickets were bogus, a fraud. We were again back at the drawing table. I somewhat insistently declared that I was going to the mountains. Neither Dustin or Steve seemed interested. The idea of going somewhere for the sole purpose of contemplating natural beauty was sadly alien to their minds. Most guys aren’t very interested in the beautiful. Even concerning girls the main quality which allures most guys is that of being “hot”, not beautiful. Everything else in the universe which they approve of they describe as being “cool”. Hot and cool, that’s what guys like. If it ain’t hot or cool it’s probably gay. Anyway, facing the stubbornness of too much testosterone was all the more reason to stick with my guns. If they didn’t want to go, then I would go without them. Since I was the willing driver amid horrible gas prices and transportation costs, a compromise with me was desirable. Steve, who is a good compromiser, proposed to go to the batting cages over by Family Fun Center, after which we could go to the mountains. It sounded fair enough to me, so off we went. 20 minutes later we discovered that this area next to the Fun Center had been demolished. That was that, so we stocked up on some snacks and drinks and headed for the Angeles National Forest. After quite a bit of miserable traffic we arrived in the San Gabriel Valley and took surface streets until we hit Azusa boulevard, which we took straight up into the mountains. I must confess that on the way up the mountain some of the group testosterone must have infected me and combined itself with my homosexual propensity toward theatricality. As a result I engaged in some reckless driving in order to show off. While remaining at a high speed I veered over into the dirt embankment on the car’s right side. I lost a measure of control, and to my horror the car began to swerve. I was straightened out in a few seconds, but I guess you could say it scared the shit out of me. I think I must have been saying stuff like “Oh my God” and “I’m so sorry”. Steve, on the other hand, was pretty quiet, but then after 30 seconds or so he started bursting into laughter. I guess this is in some way a metaphor for my life. Steve’s humor and lack of seriousness about so many things helps balance out my dread of life’s hazards and abysses. Having arrived and hit the trails, we faced about a mile of asphalt beneath our feet and a blazing sun over our heads. A minor challenge, I felt. However, my companions in wilderness exploration did not prove themselves to be likely prospective members of the Sierra Club. Steve didn’t really bitch about things, though he did not beam enthusiasm either. Dustin, to be honest, was something of a carping and complaining skeptic. When we finally made it to the point where we could walk down to the riverbed, which was heavily shaded and just a ways from the waterfall I had been promising the boys, I felt I would finally be vindicated. At first we were distracted by a tiny frog which Steve caught, which was interesting. When we at last stood before the waterfall, Dustin kept on asking me, as if to mock me, “is this your waterfall, Brian?”. He must have said it four times. “Well, I guess so“, I said defeated. After that, as Dustin and Steve walked further downstream, I made up my mind not to care if people rejected things which I thought were special. I wouldn’t hate people just because they couldn’t appreciate the things I like. Then, oddly, Dustin came back and offered me a cigarette. He started encouraging me to cross the river and go up to the waterfall. Well- dammit, I smoked some of that cancer stick, I took off my shoes, and straddling a log that formed a sort of bridge to the other side, I made my way across. Then I went up to the fall and got wet beneath it, which actually felt really nice. Then I started trying to climb up alongside the fall as far as I could go. When I reached what I determined was my limit I yelled out at Steve and Dustin for attention and they were, I think, intrigued by their gay monkey friend who was so mobile. Soon I descended and Steve started showering in the waterfall. When Steve went up the side, clutching tree roots as I had done, he went further than myself and got to the top. He helped me up, and then Dustin was able to make it up too. Now past the steepest part of the fall, we began climbing our way up the rugged stream which flowed down at about a 45% angle. There were tons of rocks, big and small, and it was beginning to get painful for our bare feet. As we had cell phones and other possessions waiting down by the river, we decided after a short time to make our way back. When we were at the bottom of the waterfall, we took another quick, exhilirating shower and then recrossed the river. Whatever expectation any one of us may have had going into the Forest, I feel as if for a brief period going up that waterfall we were all caught up into an unexpected magic. This is something for which I can only be grateful. As for my friends, I should have had more faith that despite their initial displeasure, the beauty of the wilderness would win them over. As for myself, they should have trusted a little more that I was not on a quest to bore them to death, but really wanted to share something that was worthwhile. Steve and Dustin actually thanked me several times for taking them to the mountains, and expressed that they had had a very good time. That meant a lot. HAPPY ENDING! Well, you would think this would be enough for a journal entry, but No! My sister and Shawn got back from Hawaii today, which meant we had to go pick them up at LAX. From what they said, it sounds like they had a really nice time on their tropical isle (they stayed in Kauai); and I do have to remark that the wedding pictures really are beautiful. Here’s to a long and happy marriage. It was pretty funny when thy were gone, because that meant Mom and I were in charge of the kids. Well, actually, Mom was in charge of the kids and I kinda hung around and played with them some of the time. Usually it seems I do more bad than good, as I have a tendency to play with them very energetically and inflame their wildness. I’m not sure if its exactly appreciated by the other adults in the house. At best, I think the kids will have a few nice memories of their crazy Uncle B. When we got back from LAX, I was soon on my way to Club Addiction off Imperial Highway to see my friend Laila. I got somewhat drunk and danced my little gay heart out. They played “But Not Tonight” by Depeche Mode two times. I absolutely love that song and it happens to be scratched on my CD which contains it. I guess that makes the ten dollar entrance fee aptly spent. Well Maybe. Good Night. Say a prayer for this eccentric lover of beauty. August 21, 2005 A dull day today overall. I wasn’t really functioning until about three in the afternoon, so perhaps the day got off to too late and lackadaisical a start to amount to much. I did attend mass with Dad, which is our weekly habit. I refrained from receiving communion, as I am a pill-popping, pot smoking, porn watching, masturbating homosexual who is in a romantic relationship with guess whom?-- another homosexual. If all those poor people who are divorced and remarried are not supposed to receive communion then why should I? I was actually somewhat heartened by the new pope’s recent remarks about making divorced Catholics feel welcome and valued in their parishes despite the necessity of denying them the sacrament. I often get twisted in a spiritual knot over not receiving the Eucharist, and it is good to know that the leader of our church considers non-communicants as still having an importance within the body of Christ. Overall, I think Benedict has gotten a bad rap. Having read his well known book “An Introduction to Christianity”, I was greatly impressed by the subtlety of his mind and the range of his learning. In the book he has combined German speculative depth with the precious clarity one expects from a C.S. Lewis. Though certainly a defender of the faith, he did not impress me as a dour, narrow minded dogmatist. My advice for liberals would be to take a second, more careful glance at him. As for conservatives, you are certainly right to be enthusiastic about this talented man, but it should be kept in mind that worldly, political conservatism is not always congruent with theological conservatism, with Christian orthodoxy. There have been quite a few orthodox Christians, such as Dorothy Day, who were outright socialists and pacifists, and many others who held views which were at least highly progressive- G.K. Chesterton for example. To my mind, the late pope John Paul II was outstanding in the way he rose above the conflicting ideologies of left and right. Also worth mentioning is Sojourners magazine, which combines a solid evangelical Protestant outlook with a mostly liberal political philosophy. It is a very important voice amid the religious and political rhetoric of our times. Umm, as I said, not a whole lot transpired today. My nephew greatly impressed us all by making a hand held string puppet. It was a ghost with sun glasses. After I talked to my friend David in Texas for about a half hour, I went downstairs and saw the cool little ghost dancing to Madonna’s music. The lights were out and my niece, Ashley was shining a flashlight on the ghost. A very cute spectacle. It can be amazing how inventive my nephew can be. Before I close I should mention that I’m starting a new drug, a newer antidepressant called Cymbalta (duloxetine). I won’t bore you with pharmacological details, but hopefully it will tweak my mood upwards a bit. I would like to have a good time in New York and Europe. If it is possible, an improved disposition would be helpful in having a good time. You see, if you are clinically depressed, even the most exciting change of locales can prove painfully ineffective in making you feel better. Oddly enough, as I sit in front of my computer I feel surprisingly happy. Its too soon for the new pills to start working- that’s supposed to take a couple of weeks- I think I’m just feeling a temporary infusion of the inscrutable spirit of life. It blows wherever and whenever it desires. May God have mercy on everyone. Let there be beauty. Amen August 22, 2000 Yo, I’m a white guy who just finished watching the Dave Chapelle show high- so that makes me mad niggerish, biatch! Ya’ll understand what I’m saying? I’m ready to skeet on some bitches! Um, the marijuana and the racially charged comedy may have potentiated my occasional tendency to be a wigger. It’s a pretty common condition these days, so I‘m not very self-conscious about it. I think specifically black slang, humor, and mannerisms are broadly imitated in our culture. Popular culture, in many areas, is particularly impressed by the mark of blacks. Let’s face it: half the fun and genuine coolness in the social and cultural realm would be lost if there were no blacks. In many ways, blacks have taught our society how to laugh, how to cuss at each other, and how to sing. And all of that is half of life. I guess you could say that that’s my ode to black people. I hope it can make up in a small way for the thousands of times I’ve used the N-word. But on second thought, isn’t it unfair that whites and other groups can’t use the N-word when it’s usage in casual black lingo has almost made it an article of speech? I guess blacks may have earned an exclusive dominion over the potent term (being its victim for so many years), but the influence which blacks have on popular culture and everyday discourse makes it all but inevitable that they should be imitated. And so people like me, when they’re having fun, say: “oh, nigga please.” But anyway, my niggas, why am I dwelling so long on one subject? Many things happened today, but I’m too stoned to get this down efficiently into my journal. I‘ll just have to try my hardest. I didn’t get up very early today. I think it was a little after two. My mom made me a yummy breakfast of hash browns, sausage and eggs. I somehow filled the time after that although I can’t remember a damn thing. A constant through my day (until I got stoned a few hours ago) was an irritating headache combined with a queasy stomach. After I was no longer full from breakfast I went out to lunch with Steve. I had In and Out hamburger; he had Asian food. Next, we went into a really crappy pet shop and also to a Rite Aid which was unfortunately no longer selling ice cream (another childhood landmark dashed!). We goofed for a while at my house and eventually got sucked into the book I have on the esoteric psychological tool called the enneagram. According to the book, as best as we can tell anyway, Steve is a number nine enneagram type, and I am a four. The main need of the nine is comfort, while that of fours is to be different. I had read the chapter of the book on my number type a while ago (I mentioned it in a previous diary entry), and it had impressed me as having striking accuracies. Steve was surprised by the revealing nature of the book as well. It tends to make you both uncomfortable and amused. Anyways, we studied the enneagram until Steve left. In the later afternoon I tried to read on my bed, but was too distracted by the kids to focus. Among other things, I talked to Damian and hung out with Francine, Laila, and our friend James. Laila and Francine were around each other even though they have officially broken up. Kind of a weird feeling being with both of them. Most of the rest of my day I can‘t remember because I‘m too high. I have attained the weed from a source which I shall not expose. Steve and I rolled and smoked it several hours ago (Steve did the rolling while I drove around in my car). My headache and stomach ache have now been banished away. Life is just a little more interesting when I’m high, although I’m not so sure I myself am more interesting. Whether I will one day be completely drug-free, I don’t know. I’m dependent on continual use of prescription medicine and occasional recreational drug use. My experience of life is all too often dark and painful. Does this justify my taking drugs in an attempt to alleviate my pain? Important questions. I’ve been to AA meetings, but I must confess I don’t feel excited about going back. I was once free of recreational drugs for an entire year without going to meetings. Could I do something like that again? Ah, forget about it- I think its time to take my meds and go to sleep! Good night, internet junkies. Let’s hope God is more of a caring, forgiving guy than we human beings are. Hasta Manana August 23 Well, well, today, thanks to my mom's initiative, I had a dentist appointment. I haven't been to the dentist since I was a boy and apparently I have a total of eight cavities and am in need of a root canal. Hoorah. Besides that I got stoned again with some of the weed I have left. Damian advised me that smoking using my makeshift pipes of aluminum cans is bad-- apparently aluminum is not good for me. And so I rolled a couple joints, at which I was rather pitiful. Ah, but skills aside, I've become such a stoner of late. Today I watched my nephew play video games stoned, I ate dinner with my familty stoned, I talked to my boyfriend stoned, I wrote stuff on my computer stoned, and I consoled a deeply upset friend stoned. Such a panoply of stoned activity have I partaken in. The sinner in my being is just as strong as the servant of God. No wars are ever won in my soul. At best there are uneasy detentes, temporary ceasefires in the conflicts. Wholeness is beyond me. I'm the impossible contradiction of the holy sinner and the wicked saint. Only in the lived process of salvation, of evolving towards and approaching an ever greater and more merciful God are the contradictions and the wars of spirit and flesh resolved. You could call salvation a continuing graced transcendence of the damaged self. But that's just me trying to speak the language of philosophers. Perhaps I should leave it to the pros: But Kierkegaard can't always have the last say on the meaning of the universe! A little guy named Brian Gonsalves has to carve out his interpretation of reality into cyber-space. If you're willing to listen to dreary thinkers of lower rank than Kierkegaard, I offer you this rumination on death I composed recently: A great but greatly flawed man, Jean Cocteau, once said that life is a speeding train heading towards death. That is definitely what it feels like for me so much of the time. To be alone in your thoughts and feelings, journeying down the path of time, and to see clearly and distinctly the inevitable darkness ahead of us-- this is our greatest torment. The skull which each of us carries, our souvenir from the Carnival of Death, is the mirror of our deepest self knowledge. In it man can discern his finitude, his guilt, and his desperate ignorance of what lies beyond the black horizon of death. Before I came to accept most of the core truths of traditional Christianity, I truly was balked by death. Its immense and mocking presence called for initiative against it, both on my personal level and on the social plane. Whatever solution, whatever mental balm or fragrance I could devise, however, was impotent before the hopeless prospect of a final elimination of consciousness, a complete and lasting return of man to the elements. As has been pointed out by the philosopher Pascal in his remarks on diversion, we continually fill our lives with distractions in order not to face the wretchedness of our native state. According to him it is more painful to think about death without actually facing it than it is to not think of it when one is in real danger. A dread of death is man's reliable companion; his thoughts and continual ruminations on death probably bring him even more sorrow than do his real brushes with mortality. I would have to say that I am continually torn between living a worldly life here on earth, living a virtuous life here on earth, or sitting tight until the second coming. I think the first impulse mentioned is the strongest. Worldly I am above all. Virtuous and fixated on the afterlife, those come in at second and third place. Supposedly, according to a religion which I ascribe to (Christianity) but hardly exemplify, the passion and Resurrection of Jesus has made possible the ethical/spiritual renewal which is the church, and is the beginning of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. His triumph over sin and death has also made possible the salvation of the cosmos and of all willing humans in a Kingdom fulfilled only at the end of history and beyond history. I feel that as difficult as is the Christian conception of both man's death, and his absorption into the realities of judgment, purgatory, heaven, and hell, and despite this theology's unsettling effect on the individual consciousness, it remains a simple but powerful metaphysical structure which may undergird man’s personal existence, and may begin to give all aspects of his life a dynamic meaning. ****** That's the best I can come up with for now. Young guys- what do we really know about death? Maybe a lot sometimes. I don't really know. Maybe I just have an old soul, one foot in the netherworld.. August 24, 2005 As I woke up around 7:00 PM today, there has been very little time for anything to happen to me. I guess the highlight of my day was seeing Werner Herzog’s documentary “Grizzly Man”, about an incredibly eccentric young man who spent 13 summers in Alaska living in reckless proximity to bears whom he loved and believed he was defending. He came across in the film as very unbalanced and egocentric. He had an unmistakable childlike quality about him which was remarkable though sometimes fatuous and sentimental. Sadly, he and his female companion were eaten by an aggressive grizzly during their final expedition. There is audio tape of the killing, but thankfully we did not have to listen to it. The movie was very different from what I expected, but so little in life turns out as we expect, right? I’ll be purchasing tickets to New York and Europe soon. My only absolute certainty about the trip is that it will be marked by surprises. I am in God’s hands. By the way, as readers of these journals have probably noticed, religious references, theological speculation, and even prayers, are not uncommon in my entries. As I am a highly imperfect guy and let my readers in on some of my vices and torments, perhaps all of the religious stuff seems out of place, or hypocritical. All I can say is that I am a sinful being who has been fortunate enough to be infused with a tiny gleam of enlightenment. Every day is a moral struggle for me, as it is for so many, or possibly most, of you out there. At the very least, in my journals, I try to speak the truth as I grasp it. Sometimes I may be unworthy of the words I speak, but hopefully the words have an intrinsic purity which can help people despite the ugliness and disrepair of the fountain from which they flow. Take it easy everyone. I hope everything works out in the end. August 27, 2005 It’s been over two weeks since I’ve left my job and what exactly have I done during this temporary emancipation from wage slavery? I can’t give you very many exact answers or overall conclusions. It’s been something of a blur-- not that I am engaging in such riotous living that I must be a reincarnated Jim Morrison-- its just that the freer, more self-indulgent and whimsical Brian has taken the helm of the ship of my life. Indifferent to American laws and other such constrictions, I have resorted to a liberal use of marijuana to treat my queasy stomach aches-- this medicinal treatment has the super-cool side effect of getting me pretty high. On a couple of undisciplined occasions, I’ve gone a pill or two over the prescribed nightly limit with my tranquilizers. That has left me with an empty clonazepam bottle for the last five days of this month. I hate it when that happens. With regards to a much easier to get, much more potent, and hence much more dangerous drug-- Alcohol-- I’ve been pretty free with its consumption, and on more than one occasion. The night before last I got way too drunk and experienced a really bad hangover the next day, something which it used to seem I was immune to. Perhaps a sign of growing older? I am twenty six years of age now, and some people might say I really, really need to focus on making some progress in my life. But you see, I have it all planned out- kind of. Traveling to New York and France and Italy will have a magical effect on my creative powers and anything I write or draw will be good enough to establish me as a real live “been around the block and actually did something-ADULT”. Before I leave, I will linger for a while in my party animal mode and my life will consist of, besides fulfilling my basic needs of sleep, air, food, and water, the indulgence in moderate recreational drug use, clubbing, drinking, dancing, playing with the kids, going to the mountains, starting books without finishing them, hanging out at the video store and making people listen to my various impressions, especially “Rick James” ala Dave Chapelle. Finally I would like to spend as much of my time watching Chapelle’s show in itself, as it is the funniest stuff I know of out there. I’ve always had a passion for sketch comedy and I think his stuff really makes the mark. As “ethnic” humor is the primary strand that runs through his work, it would seem that he was reviving something very tired and over-done (and rightfully relegated to the past). Indeed, in our radically multi-ethnic culture, in which a certain decorum called “political correctness” seems to keep things from simmering over, is it really possible as a comedian to play on deep-seated racial stereotypes, cultural idiosyncrasies, social and political tensions, and up to the minute street culture, and present it to a broad adult audience with good effects. The answer, ladies and gentlemen, is Yes! If you are Dave Chapelle, you have accomplished all of the above. His work is tremendously energetic, intelligent, wild, often delightfully absurd, and just as often wonderfully real. My advice to you is to get your hands on the Season 1 and 2 DVD’s which are available. As it doesn’t look like Dave is coming back for a Season 3, boning out of a 50 million dollar contract, we’re just going to have to savor what we’ve got left of the Truth About Human Beings, as told very Hilariously, by Dave Chapelle. I guess he’s still doing stand up gigs. Anyone who wants to is welcome to buy me a free ticket! Having employed my powers of abstract thought in summing up Dave Chapelle’s comedy, I think I’ll round off my diary entry with a crude retelling of today’s events. When I woke up, well past noon, Mom made me French Toast and sausages. Inspired to be as weird an Uncle as possible, I went up to my niece and nephew playing in the backyard, told them this was Fear Factor, and instructed them to eat the pee pee of a lemur, which was really a sausage. They thought it was hysterical. Anthony didn’t want to do it, but Ashley ate it for a quarter my mom offered her. That was the highlight of my morning (or afternoon, depending on whether we’re using Brian time or not). Overall it was a miserable Saturday because of the heat. Yesterday’s hangover had dissipated, but I just couldn’t feel well lying around in our hot house. I drove a few places in my car, such a the video store, but never anywhere very far. In the evening my mom made pork chops for us and we ate the meal outside in our dim and cool backyard. The grand finale of my day was watching “The Brother’s Grimm” with Steve and Shawn. It has gotten mostly mediocre reviews. I actually found it to be quite a bit of fun. I guess you can say that low expectations make for pleasant surprises. There’s also the fact that Heath Ledger is in it. He plays his character very charmingly, and to put it simply, graces the screen with his cuteness throughout the film. I can’t wait till “Brokeback Mountain” comes out in which Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal star in a gay themed love story. I know I’ve mentioned “Brokeback” elsewhere on the site, but I guess I just have a one track mind. Goodnight friends and strangers. August 29, 2005 Sorry everybody for being so sporadic with my journal entries. I’m not exactly sure who “everybody” is, as I don’t know who reads my journal except for two friends who have commented on it. They have given me an overall positive response, so I guess there’s a chance others might be out there who also enjoy this stuff. As can be concluded from my August 27 diary entry, my life has gotten a little more mired down and directionless since I quit my job. Unemployment has definite bright spots, but I have to admit that my quality of existence, in a substantial sense, may have taken a turn for the worse. Hopefully I will be better off spending time with Damian in New York. Its been a long time since I’ve seen him. I also look forward with desire to my trip to Europe. It would really be nice to see Rome again. It is a magical place, one of the truly great cities I have been to. Paris should also be great, at least from what I’ve heard. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find any friend or family member who can go with me to Europe. I hope I survive over there, let alone have a good time! Kinda scary thinking about being alone on another continent for a whole month. Today was a weird sort of day. My main events of the day have been: getting dental work done, cleaning my room, and smoking weed a bunch of times. Maybe the dental work set the tone for the day, giving it its unpleasant and unusual quality. I haven’t been to the dentist in maybe 15 years, so that made its effect on me especially unsettling. They scraped and cleaned and drilled over my entire mouth for a long enough time to make me quite miserable. Afterwards, my lower mouth coninued to be numbed out with novocaine for hours. All this scary stuff happenning, plus my getting high a bunch of times, makes it remarkable that I managed to clean my room so well. I guess it’s a testament to my need to give at least a tiny effort in the struggle to have a worthwhile existencee. Tweakers, after all, are famous for their tendency to devote nearly heroic periods of time to cleaning. (For anyone who doesn’t know, a tweaker is a methamphetamine addict). Maybe they think that all of their activity will wipe away a portion of the tragic guilt and unhealthiness of their lives. When I cleaned my room today and felt good about it, was I enjoying something like a tweaker’s psychological consolation? Do the small plus signs which appear in the life of a druggie count for anything in the scheme of things? Does a pall of darkness overtake our whole lives? Things get really confusing sometimes, don‘t they? A zillion things pass through my awareness every day- its so hard to know what I need to convey to others. I’m kind of at a loss for words now. I shall return reluctantly to silence. I’m out. August 30, 2005 Well, if yesterday was bad weird, today was good weird-- for the most part anyway. I spent the day with Steve. Our mission was to drop off all my old uniforms at the office and then head down to Tijuana, Mexico to buy a medication for Steve. TJ is a genuinely weird place; something of a cross between Vegas, East LA, and a Third World slum. Steve wanted “memory pills”, which is what we call a fairly mild set of medications like piracetam which stimulate the acetylcholine system (which is central to memory). On our way there Steve realized that he had forgotten his passport (he is not a full citizen of the US). Because of this, with heightened post-9-11 border security on our minds, I had to venture into the wilds of Mexico all on my own. Steve drove my car around pleasant and tame San Ysidro while I ventured alone into the huge city. As soon as I could I got in a taxi and asked to be taken to the downtown tourist area, Avenida Revolucion. The taxi drive, as is routine, was extremely wild. When I got out it took me about a half an hour to score Steve some medicine (he plans to take it to enhance his experience on his coming Philippines trip). I could not find what I had in mind, so I settled for 30 tablets of Modafinil- a pretty mild stimulant which didn’t require a prescription. Although I wasn’t running cocaine across the border, my past experience with irate and intrusive border guards made me a little apprehensive about transporting my friend’s goods. I bought a couple crappy souvenirs to round out my shopping, and I headed toward the border while praying to the Virgin Mary to get me across unmolested. She seems to have been clement toward this skinny half-Portuguese medicine runner, as everything went very smooth. Steve and I met up at 6:00 at Jack and the Box on the American side of the border and drove back into San Diego. We decided to test the medicine by taking a tablet each. I can say with confidence that it stimulated us gently for the rest of the evening. I also rolled a marijuana cigarette for myself as we drove around Coronado island in San Diego. I think the weed helped to take the edge off the Modafinil for me, and the drive back was nice. We listened to a lot off music by the Doors. When we got back home we watched an Anime DVD in my room. It was violent, set in a fictional Medieval locale, and had some funny homoerotic undertones in places. When Steve left I worked on a short essay on the art of the Northern European Renaissance. I hope to soon post it on my website. And there you have my day- weird, but mostly good- in one giant paragraph no less. I could’ve written more about Mexico, but my experience of that place is somewhat unique, and complicated by many powerful memories. (For example, I once stayed for three weeks in a Tijuana hotel room doing drugs, completely alone and becoming progressively sick-- Sometimes I’m amazed that I didn’t end up in a alley in TJ with an empty wallet and some broken ribs, or worse). Maybe at a later time I’ll write about my experiences in the sleazy, scary, hauntingly sad place known to Americans as TJ or “Tiajuana” (we always put in that damn extra syllable). A TJ essay would make a nice contrast to my exalted piece on Renaissance art! Anyways, I’m off to bed soon. Tomorrow is my root canal. Ain't that dandy? Thank you for reading my stuff. August 31, 2005 I had my root canal today. I guess I now know in an extremely tiny way some of the distress which prisoners undergo who are tortured. I hesitate to make any comparison, as I know that the sufferings of so many unfortunate people have been profoundly more intense than mine. To be a little bit more down to earth, I meditated a bit today on the phenomenon of torture, and that was basically due to the root canal. Here's what I think: What a horrible little secret torture is, so horrible as to call the basic goodness of man’s world into severe question. That people were broken on the rack for religious heresy, that they were herded into gulags and death camps for ideological deviation or mere ethnicity, that they were tortured to the brink of insanity for political dissent-- how much more sick can humans possibly become? Is there anything in heaven and earth that we haven’t done to hurt each other? Christianity teaches that God walked on earth as a fully human being. What did we eventually do to this God? We got so sick of him that we tortured him to death. But I think I might be on a bum trip from watching too much violent anime, and I’ll quit for now my dissertation on the evils of the world. Hopefully, most of us will experience only the root canals of life, and not the truly bad stuff. One remarkable thing that happened today was my learning that my little nephew is bored with many of the old things which gave him pleasure; things such as drawing, building train tracks, and other innocent activities. This really made me sad, as it doesn’t seem right that Anthony, who is only a second grader, should experience something like the ennui which first afflicted me only as a teenager. This revelation occurred when my mom was trying to get him to list the favorite things he likes to do (as part of a homework paper). He was very surly, almost like a teenager, and said that he was tired of most of the old things he had liked. Hopefully his frustration at having to do homework had something to do with the negative tone of the things he said, and yet even if they are true only in a small way, it still makes me sad. It is the enthusiasm and delight which my niece and nephew take in life which is the best consolation to me when I feel that I myself have lost this faculty for joy. If you’ll believe it, tonight I almost feel inspired to help my nephew find renewed joy in life. I know I have not been as good an uncle as I really could be. For a while, I think I have been hindered by a fear that too much contact with my nephew would somehow infect him and make him like me- a homosexual, depressive drug-addict. Maybe that only served as an excuse to be irresponsible. I believe now that maybe I really just need to forget about myself and focus on giving him everything positive that I possibly can. I have gifts and I need to share them with the kids. Anyways, folks, that’s enough personal revelations for you to chew on for a night. Sweet dreams, and never stop hoping for the victory of beauty and everything else that is good.
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