Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Diary’ Category

Diary #469

Some of you may already know that my planned Florida trip sort of collapsed last week.  After days of adjusting my schedule to Eastern Time, I got up at 5:30 AM Thursday and went to the airport about 2 hours later…only to be told that there had already been four flights cancelled, and the flight I was scheduled on was so hopelessly overbooked I immediately sat down and picked a backup route.  When it looked like I’d be booted from that one as well I went to the website and tried to find another route, but there was simply no way; nearly every flight out of Seattle or into any of the major airports in Florida was hopelessly overbooked, often by as many as 8 or 9 seats.  And the few exceptions out of Seattle or into Florida didn’t match up.  So, I texted with Alex Andrews of SWOP Behind Bars and we decided the most sensible course of action was for me to stay put and appear by video; though the video link didn’t work out staying put turned out to be a good idea, because the flight they automatically rolled me over to (which would’ve been a redeye departing at 10 PM) was cancelled a few hours later.  I don’t know what was going on, but it affected multiple airlines and multiple airports; summer travel is always bad, but this was absurd.  I’m hoping nobody wants to go to Washington DC in August, so I don’t have this trouble when it comes time for Woodhull…but all the same, I think I’ll go a couple of days early to be sure.

Read Full Post »

Diary #468

It’s always relaxing to go and spend the weekend at Sunset, but I’m going to have to figure out a way to get myself to actually write when I’m out here because I invariably neglect it in favor of watching movies, cooking, drinking, getting stoned and doing stuff to get the place in order.  I mean, look at this picture below and I think you will get the idea of what I’m talking about; how can a person be expected to focus on writing with a triple white Russian (with chocolate milk; maybe “brown Russian”?) on hand, a pig hanging around on the other side, and a friendly outside cat continually trying to jump on one’s lap?  It’s just not going to work.  But apparently, there’s a rolltop desk out in the garage, and it has been proposed that this desk could be cleaned up and moved inside so I can work on it as I do at The Den (where I also have a rolltop).  See, the people I bought the place from were kinda semi-hoarders, which is not unusual for folks who came of age during the Great Depression.  So actually, they left a LOT of things out here; most of them were just junk and we had to get rid of them in order to make use of the shop, garage and barn, and when we expanded the barnyard over the weekend we found lots more that will have to be removed for the safety of the animals.  For example, we keep finding old box springs and mattress springs buried just below the surface of the ground, interspersed with other metal rubbish, broken bottles, ceramic fragments, electrical transformers, car batteries…I have no explanation other than hoarding behavior.  But the yard is expanded and the animals now have more lush grazing area and trees, and there are now three proper gates.  We’re about to start the bookcase-building project, and once we hit the dry season next month it’ll at last be floor-repair time.  Now do you see why I have trouble writing out here?   

Read Full Post »

Sumer is Icumen In

Long-time readers know that I have kind of the opposite of seasonal affective disorder; because I’m so high-strung the short, gloomy winter days actually bring my natural tensions down into the manageable range, whereas the long, bright summer days increase my anxiety to the point where it can become almost intolerable.  Even when it’s a rainy day, the higher levels of ambient light throw my pineal gland way off, and it’s very difficult to get my brain to calm down before midnight (it’s not so bad in the morning because I use blackout curtains and cover my eyes with my hair).  Like so many other things, I’ve learned over the years how to manage the problem to some degree; as anyone who’s ever visited The Den (as I call it, evoking ideas like “Snake Den”, “Den of Iniquity” and “Drug Den”) knows, I keep it rather dark in here, and then of course there’s my nightly cannabis edible.  I usually consume that about 11 or 11:30, but when I’m out at Sunset I tend to start a lot earlier because I know I won’t be required to go anywhere or do anything.  Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m more relaxed out there; Jae says she can actually see my shoulders drop, and Grace agrees with her.  Because of that, I’m trying to bring as much of that experience as I can into the city; I no longer answer voice calls from numbers I don’t recognize (at any time of day or night, but especially in the late evening), and I’m trying to enforce an 11pm writing curfew on myself whenever possible so I can force my brain to just relax into the THC and wind the fuck down.  It also helps that even though the summer days are longer here than at lower latitudes, they’re also much cooler, which removes one of the things that used to stress me out about summer (true fact: in my twenties I used to lose roughly 5-10 pounds every summer in Louisiana because the heat killed my appetite for anything more than a glass of iced tea and maybe an egg salad sandwich or a few french fries).  No mitigation technique is perfect, of course, but at least my advancing age makes the summers seem much shorter than they used to be, and once the Dog Days are over I can start looking forward to the comparative (emotional) peace and (mental) quiet of autumn.

Read Full Post »

I promised I’d show y’all a photo of the lovely steel rose sculpture a gentleman gave me three weeks ago, but I’m afraid photography is not one of my strong suits and this was the best I could do (I decided to hold it in my hand for scale).  It’s one of several generous gifts I’ve received lately; another was a very fancy drill press for Grace, which I’ll be taking her when I visit Friday for her birthday.  Alas, unlike the rose I don’t know who sent the drill press; ever since Amazon started doing its own deliveries it has really dropped the ball on packaging, so the first I knew of the delivery was when one of my neighbors told me it was sitting outside my door, just as though it had been taken from a shelf at Home Depot, with no shipping carton or packing list or anything to let me know who sent it (other than the shipping label with my address on it).  I’ve mentioned it on Twitter several times, but no answer; if you sent it, please let me know!  And speaking of presents, it’s now my turn to give one to some of y’all:  Paul Johnson received our first shipment of DVDs late last week, so I’ll be sending those out to donors very soon!  If you donated at the $60 or $125 level, expect me to ask your address in the next few days.  In just over a week I’ll be flying to Florida for three screenings arranged by SWOP Behind Bars; thanks to all my donors for helping that to happen!  And thanks to everyone who kindness and generosity – in the past, in the future and every day – helps make my life just a bit easier and a whole lot nicer.

Read Full Post »

Diary #466

I would think it’s obvious to anyone who isn’t a complete moral imbecile that when one voluntarily accepts responsibility for a living creature, human or not, one is then responsible for the health and well-being of that creature.  It’s not a toy to be thrown away when one tires of it, and yet – as anyone who has ever lived on a farm or similar property can attest – many people do exactly that.  They get some kind of pet and then, when they decide on some whim that they don’t want it any more, they just drive it out to the area of the nearest farm, ranch, or stable and dump it.  Sure, they could contact some kind of animal welfare organization and ask for help rehoming the pet, but that’s too much like work for these entitled turds; it’s so much easier just to put the poor trusting beast in the car, take it for a ride, and then dump it off without any regard for the fact that it has absolutely no ability to take care of itself.  Well, week before last somebody did exactly that at a farm belonging to a neighbor of my friend Winnie; the lady went out in the morning to find a kunekune, a small breed of pig from New Zealand, making friends with her horses.  It’s about 80 pounds full-grown, so Winnie asked me if we had room for it out at Sunset and Grace, being an animal lover (who happens to have a special fondness for pigs), of course said yes.  So I bought a large dog kennel at the local Goodwill and Chekhov came to fetch him last Wednesday.  I named him Orville, and I’m happy to report that he seems very happy at Sunset.  He and Shiloh immediately became friends, but since all llamas are temperamental and Jonathan is a complete drama queen, he carried on frightfully the first day and has since been giving the little porker a wide berth.  It won’t last; he played “keep away from Shiloh” the entire first week she was there, but now they’re inseparable.  I can’t say I’m personally all that fond of pigs, but I’m told he is extremely friendly and clearly has the deportment of a house pet, so I’ll probably get used to him pretty quickly.  And if Jae can have a miniature horse, it only seems fair for Grace to have a miniature pig.  Besides, crazy cat ladies are pretty common; a crazy cat, dog, chicken, llama, pony and pig lady is much rarer.

Read Full Post »

Diary #465

As those of you who read this blog every day already know, a week ago today I flew cross-country to see a lovely and generous gentleman overnight; I returned the next day and on Friday rode out to Sunset for the weekend.  My gent gave me a lovely metal sculpture of a rose, and I would’ve featured a picture of it in this column had I been able to take a good one in time.  See, because of the metal “thorns” neither he nor I was willing to risk some TSA goon deciding it was a “weapon” and stealing it from me, so he instead shipped it and it arrived a few hours after I left on Friday, and my landlord kept it and gave it to me last night, when it was too dark to get a good shot.  Had my brain been operating at full capacity I probably could’ve figured out a way to take one, but as I explained yesterday I was just emotionally exhausted, so it’ll have to wait.  As a poor but interesting substitute, please enjoy this picture of an actual egg one of my hens laid on Thursday; when I first saw it I thought it was a goose egg (for those who don’t have a good idea of the size of my hand, the egg is over 3″ long and a typical large egg is about 2″).  Anyhow, I ate it for dinner last night and it not only had two yolks, but covered roughly the same area in my skillet as three eggs ordinarily would, so I’m guessing it’s from the same hen who used to regularly lay double-yolked eggs last year (maybe it’s something she does in warm weather?)  Anyhow, we’re just about finished expanding the corral, we’ve started on the bookcases and Jae is just about finished decorating my room, so I’ll share a pic of that soon; it’s so nice to have my canopy bed back after it was in storage for 17 years!

Read Full Post »

24 years ago on Memorial Day (it was the 29th that year), I suffered a deeply-traumatic experience which permanently shaped my feelings.  In the old Twilight Zone TV show, characters were often subjected to weird events which caused them to change their minds about some belief; well, I’m exactly the opposite.  Whenever something bad happens to me, it’s much more likely to confirm my prejudices than to challenge them, and the event to which I allude was no exception.  I had always disliked and distrusted cops, and after what was done to me that night any vestige of tolerance for their existence and behavior evaporated, long before I started doing sex work full-time.  For years I suffered panic attacks at the slightest sign of a cop, and though I eventually learned to manage those (to the point where I mostly managed to keep my head when I was caught in a “sting” in 2005), this day remained difficult for me and has remained so ever since.  Over the past several years I’ve dealt with it mostly by spending the day with someone I love; in 2016 it was my wasband (who took me to Disneyland), in 2017 it was Lorelei, and last year it was Brooke.  This year I originally planned to go back to the UK, where I didn’t even have to hear the awful day named:  unfortunately, the planning proved far too anxiety-provoking so I had to cancel, and instead I went out to Sunset (and plan to return to Seattle today).  Alas, the distraction proved insufficient, and I’m typing this Sunday evening in a deep state of emotional exhaustion.  I don’t feel sad or upset; just very, very tired.  Anyhow, I’m not telling this all again in order to get sympathy, nor to lend impact to my statements about why government is evil; I guess I’m just explaining why I’m completely uninterested in hearing defenses of rapist thugs society would be far better off without.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »