abject affirmation.

last night, on a work-escaping whim, i made an unplanned trek 90 miles north to see one of my favorite songwriters play a solo set. david bazan- a bearding, balding, nervous twitch of a man whose very presence is equal parts peculiar and profound- is an artist who sings some of the most thought-provoking, truth-exposing, unflinchingly raw lyrics you or i will ever have the pleasure (or the pain) to absorb. david has delved deep to the core of the christian faith in many melodic musings, and his eventual acceptance of christ as savior, taking the good with the bad (read: many christ followers), influenced my own wrestling walk as significantly as any other source. you should hear his words. start here or here. but alas, i digress. i do that a lot, actually.

anyway, a few songs into his set, david paused and shared his spotlight with the rest of us by opening the floor for questions...any questions. this is no new custom at his concerts, and wide is the scope of inquiries at each and every show. after a few predictable q&a's about song meanings and former bandmates, a fuzzy-haired hipster to my right asked rather pointedly (bravely?), "where are you with christianity right now?" david matter-of-factly responded, "i am no longer a christian."

applause followed.
cheering followed applause.
nervous laughter made an appearance.
silence finally prevailed.


why...were...they...cheering?


this question plagued me from that awkward moment until now. i can't figure it out for the life of me, and perhaps the life of me has made it's answer so difficult to unearth. now, i'll readily admit that the God i attempt to follow with varying degrees of success/difficulty has allowed some pretty god-awful things to shake the world around us, the world within us. some would even deem them to be God-damning things. after such experiences, i've often questioned whether i can actually trust with a clear conscience that there is a God who turned darkness back to light by sending some Son down here to live perfectly and die tragically for a bunch of la-vida-loca-loving lemmings like us. it sounds as silly as it sounds saving, really.

in the deep trenches of my doubt, though, in the frustration that follows an untold number of unanswered prayers, in the decisive moments when i'm ready to throw the Baby out with the baptismal water; never am i eager for exhortation. never do my shifting mindsets merit applause.

in much the same way, i've never felt deserving of praise in the rare instances when clarity overcomes confusion enough to make the Truth seem just a God-given heartbeat away. (the equation for most said instances: padron 3000 natural cigar + glass of coppola black label claret + any book by frederick buechner.)

these are not achievements or accomplishments on either side of the fence. they are not to be celebrated as one might if the chicago cubs finally broke the curse or if dane cook managed to muster something humorous at last. they are heart issues of the heaviest sort. they come with weeping and gnashing of teeth. they lie at the ends of long and winding roads of faith and doubt. why have they been relegated to thumbs-up/thumbs-down snap judgments in smoky rooms of polarized patrons, like some kind of pious popularity contest?

why were they cheering? your thoughts?

Currently listening : Fewer Moving Parts By David Bazan Release date: 13 June, 2006

7:41 PM - 24 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

glass houses: one hamster's plight and his ill-fated pursuit of freedom. part 1
Category: Blogging

my dad is allergic to anything with hair, except for (most) people, so julie and i were never allowed to have pets. well, at least not REAL pets. here are my prerequisites for what defines a real pet:

1. an animal that isn't permanently confined within the walls of a cage
2. an animal that has at least some control over bowel and bladder movements
3. an animal that responds to a handful of simple commands, i.e. "come," "sit," "stay," "stop humping my leg," etc.

thanks to dad's sensitive sinus cavities, we were relegated to a cornucopia of characterless critters throughout our formative years. birds, fish, turtles, hermit crabs-- you name it, we bought it/found it/won it at the county fair. eventually, we were able to wear down dad's defenses enough to allow a few furry pets into the family, provided that they were caged and kept far from his allergenic personal space. and oh, the escapades that ensued once those floodgates flew open.

the story i am about to share is a cautionary tale. it is a story of the fragility of life. it is a warning of the tragedy that can result when man plays God and tries to tame the savage beast.

hamsters are escape artists. there is no other way to classify them. imagine being dropped inside a large tank with slippery glass walls fifteen times as tall as you are, topped with imposing steel mesh which is bolted and bound on all sides. you want desperately to run free into the great wide open visible all around you, but all you've got to facilitate your escape is: 1. a spinning, squeaky wheel 2. an empty toilet paper roll 3. an apple core, and 4. something that resembles a xanadu home from the 60's, fashioned in primary-colored plastic.

what do you do?

if you're like me, you're probably going to fall off the top of the wheel a few times, gnaw on the decaying core until no nourishment remains, and quickly concede defeat, curled up in the fetal position beneath a pile of cedar chips.

if you're tweedledee, an unfortunately named runt of a rodent with the mind of macgyver, you're going to make multiple successful getaways--all under the cover of night--so your secret stays safe.

tweedledee was never supposed to be a part of our family, the result of a litter of rodents after our two male hamsters (whiskas and nibbles) were revealed to be one male and one female. his arrival was accompanied by nine (9) siblings, which came as a stupendous surprise to my sister and me. mom and dad were less enthused, to say the least. we kept them all during the nursing process, naming only the aforementioned furball and an albino, hugo, who was inexplicably named after a devastating hurricane that had recently ripped through the southeast.

the life-affirming majesty of a milking mother was eventually replaced by the horrifying act of cannabalism, as whiskas eventually decided to try eating rather than feeding her young. at the shocking discovery of this, we scrambled around the house searching for makeshift dwellings for the now endangered little ones, and in a matter of minutes, my room became a hamster housing project of cardboard boxes and tupperware containers. by the next morning, mom had negotiated a shrewd business deal with a local pet store, and julie and i pocketed $13.50 to share for all of whiskas' labor and nine-tenths of her litter.


tweedledee was incredibly brilliant as far as rodents go, one of those hamsters who learned to walk before he ever bothered to crawl. he made up for in craftiness and cunning what he lacked in size and stature, and it took him about thirteen days to develop a sure-fire plan for flying the coop/cage. his breakouts became so commonplace around our household that julie and i were regularly issued search party summons by our mouse-fearing mother. because of this, i thought nothing out of the ordinary about the rousing i received one morning before school. mom had awoken to yet again discover an empty tank, and her keen sense of hearing led her to the bathroom closet, where my furry friend was burrowing his way through her extensive collection of footwear. this was understandably not ok, so i rolled out of bed in a sleepy stupor to help save her shoes from harm and cut short tweedledee's latest attempt at freedom.



to be continued...

9:52 PM - 26 Comments - 23 Kudos - Add Comment

missing the boat

i just got home from a night at the bar. every weekend night at 10pm, the restaurant where my emploment resides transforms from a trendy, over-priced eating establishment to a trendy, under-priced drinking establishment...which brings fraternity brothers, sorority sisters, and socialites by the masses.

tonight, i got off work early and decided to hang around for awhile, taking advantage of a complimentary glass of my favorite pinot noir. i had been relaxing at the bar for an hour or so, when a girlfriend of a friend made her temporary home in a chair to my right. a surface conversation ensued for a few minutes, and then somehow those niceties led to a pretty intense dialogue about God.

for some reason, i've been having conversations like this more often as of late. i really have no idea why. in fact, if i'm being honest, it's amazing to me that anyone would approach me at all on a hunch i might have some insight to offer about God or Jesus, when most of my social time is spent trying to mask my belief in them for fear that i might be regarded as uncool/unintelligent/closed-minded/naive/etc. but sometimes, despite my efforts to the contrary, the ones whom i profess to give my life to on sundays make their ways around the walls i've built to hide them from the world, and spill into my life outside the safety of the sanctuary. i thank them for their persistence to be present in spite of me.

anyway, back to the conversation. over the course of an hour, we discussed and dissected our checkered church pasts, trying to make sense of all the things we learned--intentionally and inadvertently-- about christ and christianity.

i listened as she recalled the christians in her church who let her know her parents were going to hell because they were interracially married.

i listened as she remembered their pastor reassuring them that their asian-caucasian relationship was actually ok--unlike other interracial pairings-- when he was most likely just burying his bigotry to keep them from taking their substantial weekly tithe elsewhere.

i listened as she reminisced about the kids at summer camp who seemed to have a condemning passage of scripture for every evil deed she'd done, and how she feels like they're still looking over her shoulder, imposing their uninvited/uninviting will whenever they think her path needs straightening...and how she feels it's now too crooked to correct.

and i listened as she talked about her parents, whom she loves and respects for being christians for "the right reasons." she talked about how big their hearts are and how much they give of themselves to others. she talked about her dad, who used to measure her skirts and dresses in high school, making sure they were the long enough to keep others from "stumbling" over her physical appearance. she talked about her mom, who would unleash ungodly tirades whenever she and her brother would beg and plead to skip sunday services at their less-than-loving church home.

i listened to her wrestle with the actions of a host of flawed followers, and my heart was broken. it's unbelievably difficult to separate christ from christians, and most of us don't even try. in a feeble attempt to foster some clarity, i offered the only words that came to my mind/heart.

or, in other words...

1Jesus returned to the Mount of Olives, 2but early the next morning he was back again at the Temple. A crowd soon gathered, and he sat down and taught them. 3As he was speaking, the teachers of religious law and Pharisees brought a woman they had caught in the act of adultery. They put her in front of the crowd.

4"Teacher," they said to Jesus, "this woman was caught in the very act of adultery. 5The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?"

6They were trying to trap him into saying something they could use against him, but Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust with his finger. 7They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said,8"All right, stone her. But let those who have never sinned throw the first stones!" 9When the accusers heard this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman. 10Then Jesus stood up again and said to her, "Where are your accusers? Didn't even one of them condemn you?"

11"No, Lord," she said.

And Jesus said, "Neither do I."

and jesus christ, who never had any stones to throw, who never factored the length of a skirt into the fabric of relationships, who never prepared a scolding speech for slept-in sunday mornings...

jesus just wants julie.

and me.

and you.

10:07 PM - 12 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

snapshot no.1: bad b-sides

every monday evening at 7:00, i meet some friends at panera bread for what has become affectionately referred to as "family night," although no one in the group is blood-related. i look forward to this weekly rendezvous, as it's always a time where intriguing topics are discussed over (marginally) healthy fare.

so anyway, last night i am enjoying my bacon turkey bravo--a one-time diversion from the pepperblue steak sandwich--when somehow the great(?) early 90's band ub40 enters the (usually) stimulating conversation. i've already forgotten the context that brought them into the fray, but eventually everyone was putting their heads together trying to remember what elvis presley classic they covered back in the day.

i knew immediately.

and it isn't because i am a connoiseur of good music (of which ub40 would certainly not qualify), and it isn't because i am a sponge for useless, trivial information (which i am...watch out ken jennings).

i remembered the song "i can't help falling in love with you" because the b-side of that cassette single marked one of my earliest memories of shutting down, of retreating into my own isolated world of dealing with the fear of HIV alone.

"jungle love" was the name of the forgettable song on the flip side of that elvis remake, and i implore you to find it anywhere online. seems as though the band wanted to forget about it as well. i somehow found a thirty second clip just to provide a point of reference for you, the reader, and you can trust me when i say that once you've heard half a minute, you won't want for more.



my sister and i wore the elvis song out before discovering this gem of an inexplicable tune, and for whatever reason, we garnered great joy in mimicking the only line of lyric in the song at a high pitch and even higher volume. it was a kind of karaoke gone way wrong. nonetheless, this musical mayhem never seemed to get old, mom loved listening to every minute of it, and i can't recall how many times we popped that cassette into the boombox for some jungle love, ub40 style.

i do recall the last time we did that, though.

mom had a white, 1988 pontiac bonneville that i considered to be a luxury car. there were three reason for this: 1. we were a frugal minister's family, and it was the first automobile we owned that actually looked relatively late-model, 2. the car went fast and displayed said speed with a red, backlit speedometer, and 3. it had a tape deck with accompanying sweet stereo. because of reason number three, and because our in-home hi-fi alternatives paled in comparison, i spent an inordinate amount of time in the driver's seat of our sedan soaking in the hits.

so the particular afternoon the music died, i was seated behind the wheel in my usual position, julie had joined me as a passenger on the road to nowhere, and we were belting our favorite collaboration. mom heard us from afar and joined the party. we were laughing, i mean REALLY laughing, when it suddenly hit me.

i can't do this.

i can't allow the song to go on.

it will be so much more difficult for my family to deal with my death if i give them more reasons to wish i were still alive.

and so i stopped singing. the party was over. with all that was within me, i wanted to enjoy the moment with the reckess abandon i had experienced just seconds before. but now, facing the harsh reality of a terminal disease they did not/could not know i had, i made the decision to distance myself so our goodbye would be less painful to someday swallow.

and so began my decade of daily deciding to keep them/you/everyone at arm's length. it was for the best. it became the worst.

12:53 AM - 12 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

snapshots. an introduction.

if all it takes is a simple picture to conjure up a thousand descriptive words, britannica volumes could be written about the images burned into our minds and hearts, the scenes from our respective pasts that for whatever/every reason, we can recall as if they were lived yesterday.

why do we remember such moments?

what do they say about us?

how do we feel about them?

over the next two weeks, i am going to post a few memories that have always remained one small step from the front of my mind. will you share your snapshots here as well? i'd be willing to bet that our pictures look more than just a little bit alike.

thanks for reading.

12:29 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

life imitates art imitates life. (an intro to "100m dash")

i never thought i would write a blog introducing/prefacing another blog, but then again, i never thought i'd be doing any of this in the first place. in the interest of full disclosure and complete honesty, though, i feel it's necessary. if anything, it will help you to know my heart, and why i haven't written for so long.

over the last several weeks, i have become positively scared of posting another entry here as the blog views grow. the funny thing is that my fear has nothing to do with the content i have to share and everything to do with the way it's presented. i never really realized how much i enjoyed writing until this "experiment" began, and that has been a blessing and a curse for me. on one hand, it's satisfying to craft my thoughts/doubts/frustrations/secrets together in a way that is stimulating/compelling to read. on the other hand, it is an utterly tormenting when crafting overtakes content and i can't even think about WHAT i'm writing because i am so consumed with HOW to write it. the irony here cannot be missed. i started this as an outlet to share my heart without regard for how others might view/judge me, and now i am so concerned with regard to how others might view/judge the blogs, that i can't focus on sharing my heart.

i guess all of this really came to a head tonight as i finished the post you're about to read (or that you've read already, depending on your ability to decipher the order of intended consumption). when i finished it, i actually sent it to a few myspace friends (thy, zach, claire, katelyn), asking them their thoughts and offering disclaimers left and right about it being unfinished, unedited, and unresolved. they were gracious and encouraging, but as our conversations drew to a close, i began to realize how much their opinions of my "work" mattered more to me than the simple desire to reveal my insides for honesty's sake, artistic merit be damned.

so here is my next post. do with it what you will. i can't promise it (or any subsequent blog) will wow you or make you phone a publisher, or even be worth your time to read. i can promise, however, that the content will now come before the crafting, as much as i am able to maintain that mindset. i can also promise i am going to try hard to forget about you, the reader, every time i sit down to write. trust me, it will be more beneficial for both of us. :)

thank you for reading.

5:25 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

100m dash.

here is what a two month backpacking trip in europe will do for you: it will render you completely unable to return to the stagnant, adventure-less yet comfortable world you've created in which to live. and while i am thankful this trip has made it abundantly clear to me just how much i have been spinning my wheels over the last couple years, i am more than a little bit overwhelmed at the follow-up question…. "ok then, now what?"

if i'm being honest, i've been asking that question for a while now, since about seven minutes after i got my negative HIV test results in november of '03. and instead of trying to answer that question, a question i had never allowed because i thought the "what"=dying of AIDS, i have been sitting on my hands, immobilized by the fear of making the wrong choices as i gingerly step into a world of options i never knew i'd be able to consider. why can't i just get in the game?

the game was "track and field." for those of you unfortunately too young to remember it, let me offer a brief explanation. the concept was quite simple, really. three buttons: two labeled run, one labeled jump/throw. the object of the game was basically to pound the hell out of the run buttons, which would either generate speed or power, depending on the event. at the defining moment (when needed), the jump/throw button would launch the pixelated athlete into a terrific triple jump, or send a jagged-looking javelin or discus soaring through the air. and that was it. no flashy graphics, no need for an extra few fingers to manipulate the controls. just run, run, jump/throw.

i was ten years old during the golden age of this arcade classic, and the mr. gatti's pizza place down the street had wisely invested in the stand-up version of the videogame. on the few sunday afternoons the family didn't go enjoy(?) stony's breakfast buffet, gatti’s was the alternate restaurant destination. like clockwork, there would always be a long line at the door when we arrived, and dad, julie, and i would go play while mom held our place.

i remember this particular sunday afternoon like it happened last week. dad popped a quarter into the machine, and the triumphant theme music announced that we were in for at least three or four minutes of hand-hurting excitement. i sandwiched my way in between him and the game, barely able to see the screen over the protruding, red-buttoned console. dad cruised through the first couple events with ease...and then came the 100 meter dash. always the hardest one to win because it required hummingbird-like, button-mashing speed; dad geared up for the challenge. the gun went off, and the ferocity began.

things were looking alright at first, but about 40 meters in, i could tell that he was losing steam. in an instant i decided that this would be my moment to shine, and with all the i'll-save-the-day i could muster, i jumped for the controls and hit run! run! run!

we lost.

and as we defeatedly walked away while the credits rolled, the post-game talk wasn't all "'a' for effort, better luck next time, try try again." instead, it went something (exactly) like this:

"why did you do that? you made me lose. you ruined it."

so i sat on my hands from then on out. and to think...i just wanted to get in the game.

now i am not at all insinuating that my dad/that moment is solely responsible for my inability to step out and make some forward progress in my life. i will say, though, that most of the things you never forget you always remember. and i know that in my heart i have been waiting for someone to tell me that i can in fact play the game, that i am capable of tackling the events, one by one. isn't it amazing how much we are paralyzed by fear of failing? i knew at the moment i lost that stupid race that i would do anything to avoid going through that feeling again. and as i type this now, i can look back on my life and see that my primary goals have been to 1) stay safe and 2) evade risk. sometimes i think the only reason i didn't find out the truth about my HIV status sooner is because i knew i wouldn't have to make potentially life-altering decisions if i believed i'd have no life to alter. and now that i have been given this clean slate, this clearance to jump into the "land of opportunity" with both feet, i stand sandwiched between the voice of reason/caution and this game that is life, wondering what buttons to push, when all I want to do is run, run.

jump/throw.

walk.

walk.

crawl.

1:45 AM - 20 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

she and i (and rahzel)
Current mood: contemplative

tonight i ventured out after a long and less-than-lucrative night at the restaurant to catch rahzel in concert at a local venue. in case you're unaware, rahzel is an elemental member of the roots (one of my favorite bands), and he can do musical things with only his mouth that are beyond my comprehension. all of that is neither here nor there...just a bit of background.

until tomorrow.

1:35 AM - 22 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

minimum wage
Current mood: restless

teddy, ken and i were a ragtag bunch of dishwashers, even by ragtag standards. teddy was a "simple" man (to be p.c.) who didn't speak much, and when he did it was almost impossible to decipher his words, as he had no remaining teeth with which to partner with his tongue in forming them. tobacco had taken them all years before, but that didn't stop him from keeping an always-present pinch of skoal between lower gum and lip.

ken had a mullet most rednecks would die for, a well-groomed plumage that rivaled bono's early u2 era coif. unlike teddy, ken had a lot to say, and most all of it regarded country music or admiration of the female form. he systematically dissected the physical features of the servers who appeared in fleeting moments with plates to clean, and then proceeded to discuss how he would use them to his advantage if given the chance. he also had an extensive collection of pornographic videos, which he would reference on a regular basis in conversation and generally creep out anyone within earshot. i hated working with him, maybe because i was afraid i would someday embody him, as my own interest in the subject of sex slowly tracked toward ken-like levels.

i started working at stony's restaurant for two reasons. first, i had just turned fifteen, and nobody else in town would hire me. second, and more importantly, stony's was the "official" post-church destination for a decent meal, and i thought it would be fun to work at a place where i was already a well-liked/respected regular. also, stony was good friends with my dad, and that connection helped me to make a little more than the minimum wage my friends were pulling in from the various fast-food places in town.

dishwashing isn't the most glamorous occupation in the world, needless to say, and stony's was no exception. i am a pretty germ-phobic person, and the gloveless and repeated exposure to strangers' saliva, discarded food, and the occasional soiled kleenex/band-aid left me longing for a cleaner occupation. beggars can't be choosers, though, and a fifteen year old entering the job market is just that. my job as a dishwasher also neatly coincided with the dawn of my sexual revolution, and many evening shifts were followed by wild-in-bed-alone moments (described earlier) as the awkwardness of adolescence stayed its course. the unclean feeling that went hand in hand with such an unsanitary job manifest itself anew at home in the "dirtiness" of my actions.

Currently listening : Yankee Hotel Foxtrot By Wilco Release date: 23 April, 2002

10:44 AM - 17 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

unblinking
Current mood: embarassed/ashamed/exposed/somehow free

just for the record...

i am not telling this part of my story to be shocking, sensational or offensive. i am not sharing this because i gain any pleasure whatsoever from having strangers read about my sexual exploration/exploitation (quite the contrary, my stomach is in knots). i realize that some topics aren't really discussed in mixed company. i apologize if this makes you uncomfortable.

i am telling this part of my story because i've never told anyone, and i NEED to be honest. i am telling you this because it's a pivotal point in my life that led me into a decade of fear, isolation, regret, and shame. i am telling you this because it is a piece of the puzzle that hasn't been placed until now, a piece that will help you and others to understand why i believed i was HIV positive for so long, and why i felt i had to keep it a secret from my family and friends.

ok. now that we've gotten that established.

the book is a lot smaller than i remember it. perhaps its size has increased in my mind over the years as i've spent so much time thinking about it, wondering how my life would be different today if i'd never followed justin's lead and sought it out. nonetheless, it's a small one to be so significant.

it's been 12 years since i picked up my first copy of "Wild in Bed Together." what a ridiculous name. through the magic(?) of half.com, i am holding it once again, for the purchased price of a dollar plus shipping. and the moment is overwhelming. i cried as i opened the box a few days ago. i am crying as i type this now.

the book is quite graphic, even more so than i remember it. its pages are packed with sordid testimonies of couples who've stopped at nothing to spruce up their sex lives, and who are willing to share said stories in unblinking detail. the back cover reads:

In page after page of exciting insights, techniques, and sexy-hot fitness exercises, you'll learn how to entice, tease, titillate, and tantalize your partner--whatever it takes to heighten the joy of your lovemaking.  You'll meet ten super sexually fit couples who dare to reveal their own X-rated secrets and who willingly offer hundreds of scandalous ideas as they act out intriguing and intimate sexual scenarios--no holds barred. It's all here in this ultra-erotic book where you'll find everything your heart--and body--could desire. You'll love the pleasure it brings.

X-rated secrets? scandalous ideas? intimate sexual scenarios? are you kidding me? i had found the adolescent's holy grail. this was the stuff of dreams/fantasies, and it was exactly what i needed to feed my appetite for sexual discovery and exploration. i remember sitting on the floor of Waldenbooks, petrified that i might be spotted with such smut, but more than willing to take the risk as i raced through every in-depth encounter.

a few chapters toward the end of the book were dedicated to techniques and practices that didn't necessarily require a couple to perform. these were of particular value to me, since i had already ruled out any wild in bed "together" moments until marriage in keeping with my/my parent's convictions. one in particular involved something that resembled a self-prostate examination, which apparently made self-pleasure the most earth-shattering sensation short of sex itself. i made a mental note.

**again, please know that i must share this to paint a complete picture.**

a few days later, i recalled what i had read in a time when the hormones were raging once again and i needed a release. i decided to give it a shot, and sure enough, the book was right on the money. my unparalled ecstasy lasted for a few minutes or so...and then the shame hit hard. really hard. how disgusting am i? something is very wrong with what i've just done. i hate myself. i feel dirty. i am perverted. i have no self control. does this make me gay? can i be forgiven for this? i've let myself down. i've let God down. i will NEVER do that again.

but i did. again and again. and after every time, the same gamut of emotions ran through my head and made their home in my heart, followed by another empty promise to make this time the last time. but as the roots of my sexual dependence deepened, the pleasure began to overshadow the pain (or so i thought), the promises became easier to break, and the cycle of my craving spun out of control.

about that time, i began my first job...

11:36 PM - 15 Comments - 11 Kudos - Add Comment

third person
Current mood: nostalgic/uneasy

morgan was the "bad" kid in my neighborhood growing up. he also had the most friends, which is usually the case for bad kids, as they hold the keys to a world of forbidden fruits that taste so sweet in innocent mouths. at the age of six, i learned my first cuss word from him--bitch--and then learned what that word meant (and the subsequent punishment for its use) after addressing my father as one. note to self...don't call dad a bitch again. morgan, who was a few years older, also talked a lot about liking girls, which was fascinating to me because i had not yet developed an understanding as to why God created them in the first place, other than to try (and fail) to get into our clubs and cry a lot over sissy things. morgan was a great friend until he broke my basketball goal one night (on purpose, dad said) and wasn't allowed around anymore. last i heard, he was a missionary or something, probably swearing at some lost souls somewhere.

a year later, our family moved across town and a new neighborhood would bring a couple new friends to show me the ways of the world. i met jonathan on the first day we moved in. his parents were alcoholics, which worked out really well for us because we could do ANYTHING we wanted at any time as long as we didn't wake them from their respective drunken stupors. most of our time was spent watching every scary movie we could get our hands on, especially if it was rated R, since i was absolutely forbidden to watch anything over PG, and even then i had to ask first. nightmare on elm street, friday the 13th, halloween...everything was fair game at jonathan's house as long as the milwaukee's best kept flowing. our friendship, which lasted five or so eye-opening years, suffered its coup de grace after he inexplicably--and incorrectly--wrote my sister's name in ink on my parents' bedspread and then tried to blame her for the offense. i still ask myself what motivated that decision.

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by the time i met my friend justin, i was about 14 and full-on into the most awkward stage of anyone's life: adolescence. in a time when your sexuality first rocks you like a hurricane,  justin was a great resource since he had already done--or at least claimed to have done--many of the things i was learning guys and girls do. and since i had decided (out of fear? out of faith?) not to do those things until marriage, i resorted to living my life vicariously through embellishment-ridden tales of his sexual conquests with girls at school, camp, in church vans, wherever. justin also had a knack for scoring contraband dirty magazines, whose pages i devoured like the bread of life, totally oblivious to the long-term consequences of my short-term satisfaction. my appetite became insatiable quickly. i wanted more, needed more, and became absolutely consumed by these images and the next place to find them.

one day justin clued me in to a book he had discovered while perusing the sexuality aisle of our local waldenbooks store. that book would change my life. i've never told anyone about it.

and i won't yet tonight.

Currently listening : When The Pawn... By Fiona Apple Release date: 09 November, 1999

2:11 AM - 6 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

roots
Current mood: mellow

my dad is a minister at a christian church. for the first fifteen years of my life, he was the senior pastor at a small church in the small town where i was born and raised...versailles, kentucky. mom played the piano every sunday while he led the congregation in singing. we were the model family in the community, which is not the most desirable role to play if you value your sanity. you can do no wrong--rather, you are expected to only do right. some of my earliest childhood memories are of countless people asking me countless times the seemingly harmless question, "Are you going to be a preacher like your dad when you grow up?" i had big shoes to fill, and i was reminded almost daily, or at least weekly, when we put on our "sunday best" and headed off to be the husband/wife/sister/brother everyone wished they were or were related to.

i learned how to appear perfect and blameless in the eyes of others at a pretty early age. i had to. we had to. at some point in the bruised, troubled, broken history of the church, someone decided that the best way to reach bruised, troubled, broken people (i.e. the "lost") is to appear happy and holy to a fault, so that those who aren't happy or holy will see our satisfied souls and want what/who we've got. most christians (including me then, and sometimes now) have made that their mantra for life, when all anyone really wants to know is that christians are bruised, troubled, and broken, too. but our family held all that hurt in for the Kingdom, or so we thought. i remember my mom retreating to a room upstairs to cry after frequent fights over the phone with my dad, not allowing my sister or me to come up and see her that way. after an hour or so in isolated anguish, she would come downstairs smiling with puffy eyes and act like everything's ok. my heart broke for her then, and it does now as i remember that time in our lives.

on equal ground with happiness was holiness, which i understood to mean trying hard not to sin or do wrong. there were two reasons to strive for this goal:

          1. others might "stumble" if they see a christian sinning and decide not to follow Christ
          2. God would get mad or at least disappointed in us and we'd have to work our way back into His favor

i would say that the better part of my childhood was spent trying not to sin and being scared to death on those occasions when my carnal mind got the best of me. one time, a couple friends and i were in the basement of the church talking about donald duck when i thought it would be funny to loudly refer to him as donald "dick" instead. it got quite the laugh, i must say, but i hardly stuck around long enough to relish it, racing to the piano bench instead to confess my potty mouth to mom. on another occasion, someone in a sunday school class told me about some sin called blasphemy of the holy spirit, which apparently is a big deal, because even God in HIs infinite mercy can't muster up the grace to forgive it. it even had a name: the unpardonable sin. so, of course, i became absolutely petrified that i might commit such an offense. but no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't keep my mind from thinking, "damn you, holy spirit," or some variation of the phrase, which would most certainly seal my fate and screw me over for eternity.

it would take a long time to realize that the safety net is a lot larger than i once thought, and that punishment isn't the first thing on God's mind when we slip up. it would take even longer to understand that internalizing our pain and going it alone is not the way anyone should live.

Currently listening : I Don't Think There's No Need By Linford Detweiler Release date: 01 June, 1999

1:27 AM - 16 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

the framework.
Current mood: anxious/calm

happy birthday to me.

...and here we go. i have done nothing short of agonize about how to kick off this whole "experiment of truth" or whatever it is to be called. where do i begin? what should be the foundation to build on for a year? does anyone care but me?

after far too much pondering of the subject than should be allowed (it's a  blog, for God's sake), i decided that the best way to begin would be to help you (and me) understand where this unquenchable urge to tell the whole truth, nothing but the truth, originated. and i guess i'm kind of letting the proverbial cat out of the bag kind of early here, but without knowledge of this very significant part of my past, most of what's presently written won't have the perspective it needs. let this be the framework.

i lived for ten (10) years believing with my whole heart that i was HIV positive...and never told a soul.

i just found out the truth (i'm negative) eighteen months ago.

now please stay with me here. i realize that such a revelation leaves MUCH to be explained, and i've got a year to do just that. i intend to take you and me back through the how, the why, the whatever that shaped this reality in my heart and my choice to live through it alone. most of this i will be facing...unlearning...for the first time in my life. i've never done anything like this, and i can't promise that these posts will always (or ever) be intellectually stimulating, poignant, proper, or put-together. i CAN promise that i will speak from my heart, i will leave everything on the table, and i will be honest. because i can...i must. for the first time.

i don't know what, if anything, will happen here over the next twelve months. i hope to grow through this. i hope that in some capacity you can, too. i hope that although your story is most likely different than mine, you will find parallels and we will meet there and help each other.

thanks for reading this post and ones to come.

john

p.s. a sidenote. PLEASE feel free to write/type whatever you'd like here, on the comment part of my profile, or in messages. it doesn't have to be anything profound or topical.. it doesn't even have to be nice, for that matter. :)  it would just be great to hear from you.

Currently listening : American IV: The Man Comes Around By Johnny Cash Release date: 05 November, 2002

11:24 PM - 7 Comments - 7 Kudos - Add Comment

in two weeks...a life laid bare.
Current mood: hopeful...

for most of my life, i have managed to keep most of my friendships and relationships on the surface level, safe and requiring little vulnerability, not letting anyone too far into my mind and heart for fear of what might happen when they really get to know me. over the years, i've gotten pretty good at doing this, mostly through hiding behind a "me" that meets others' expectations of who they think i am. all the while, i've got secrets i feel are too dark to tell, habits i can't break that eat at me, things in my past that i won't let myself live down. surely i must be the only one who struggles with that/experiences this regret/is consumed by these thoughts, i tell myself. no one else can relate. no one can know the real me. and i put on some new clothes, put on some new persona to deflect the attention, wave my right hand so you won't see what the left one is doing, and it wears me out. can you relate?

what if we were all just honest with each other and ourselves? what if we had nothing to hide? what if our lives were open books?

i'm about to find out.

for the next year, starting on june 5th (my birthday), i am going to peel away the layers that i've created to define me and post my life. all of it. i plan to blog twice a week everything there is to know about me. i don't care how embarassing it is for me to disclose, how offensive or ugly it makes me look, how hilarious or quirky i appear as a result. :) it is my hope above all else that this will create a place where others like YOU can come and feel freed up to do the same. i will post every comment that comes my way--about you, about me, about whatever--unless you ask otherwise. i want this to be an open, honest, non-threatening forum for people who long to be transparent.

a yearlong committment. an experiment of truth, if you will. let's all do this together. let's see what happens when there is nothing to hide. are you in?

www.myspace.com/openbook

john black

Currently listening : It's Hard to Find a Friend By Pedro the Lion Release date: 16 October, 2001

10:40 AM - 12 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment