Wednesday, February 19, 2003


I sure did rant about fascism earlier. I think all in all it was a fairly thoughtful rant. Of course, you the reader must come to your own conclusions. Don't take my rant for it.

Yesterday, Rosebud and I rented the Jean Genet film: Querelle . Rosebud had treated me with so much kindness, that I soared for a good part of the evening. My mind had already felt speedy, though I was physically tired.
I had a kind of encounter with Grace. I felt suddenly that everything in the room possessed consciousness. Every cell of human and "inanimate" object glowed with awareness. Of course, the states and conditions of awareness varied. Won't they always vary, yet possess similarity? I felt a mild detachment from concern for the state of the world, for myself as a sentient being. I even felt a kind of it doesn't really matter what happens to us because we will all continue. I don't believe the detachment was a value judgement on the worth of existing, but as a distancing from the "if" of existing.

"If" this or that happens, then this might happen, which might trigger that, and on and on and on.

Rosebud and I discussed the mental traps that become habitual. Paranoia was one that was discussed. I told him that someone shared with me recently this thought: that it is not my business what someone else thinks of me.

I suppose that statement is helpful, up to a point. To extend it, it is my business if someone wants to do harm to me.

Rosebud seemed to like the statement. We also talked about how we hypnotize ourselves with beliefs. When we state a point of view, it is a belief, and therefore is entirely created by the person stating it, and is entirely subjective.

My rant on fascism was a collection of beliefs. Those beliefs will be filtered through the beliefs of others, and they will come to their own views.

We decided it is possible to hypnotize ourselves into believing we have certain physical maladies, so that we hang onto them much longer than is necessary. We believe we are powerless in the face of physical pain. Rosebud's hand hurt and ached. He is convincing himself that he has arthritis. I am afraid he may convince himself that he will always have it. He did seem to suddenly question that assumption as we talked.

Rosebud's artist friend, Sergie from downstairs paid us a visit. He comes from the far east and he likes Wadka. He stated a belief that it is possible to learn to be reasonable when drinking. "The old people,"he said. "When you talk to them, they tell you that they only drink this much", and he held his index finger and thumb apart about 2-3 inches. "I think if you can hold it down to that much, you will be okay."

Rosebud has two paintings of Sergie's on his wall. One painting is of what looks like an alien/human hybrid. The other painting is a bushy, green landscape. Rosebud had told me that Sergie doesn't like his own paintings, and often paints over them. The landscape had been painted on a canvas that was washed with a kind of lavender color. Sergie said the painting is meant to depict summer. The washed out lavender color lends of feeling of twilight in the summer. I have seen violet and lavender colored twilights here. The painting is very pretty. It does have a feeling about it, "Am I done or not?"

Sergie said, " I don't know if I am an artist or not".

Sergie and I wanted to smoke, so we raised Rosebud's livingroom window. He offered me a cigarette. At first I declined, saying "Oh, I have some". I immediately realized I had committed a mild faux pas . I hurt his feelings a little. I explained to him that I can only smoke filterless cigarettes. I offered him an American Spirit. He took it and gave me one of his, Marlborough, I think. I tore the filter off and smoked it. It was okay. He smoked the Spirit and really enjoyed it. I will try to never turn a cigarette down again when it is offered in a social setting.

Sergie dove into our subject of self-hypnosis. He agreed with us that we convince ourselves, through our beliefs, that something is true. We mostly stayed away from the subject of the war. He said he would not march in protest. He seemed to be a little embarrassed by the effusiveness of the beliefs. He said his friends back home believe that he is stupid because he considers himself an American now. He seemed very fond of this country.

He wanted to know if I am published yet, and I told him I am publishing myself in my blog. Blog is such an ugly and clumsy word, I almost don't want to say it. Perhaps I should say online journal and essays. I told him I didn't know where the writing would go, that it is evolving. I know that I have a vision of words exploding out of me onto this journal. I want to be free and playful with language.

I have been lazy about trying to publish my poems. I think it was something to do with depression also.

Sergie was very gentle and drew both Rosebud and I out of our shells. I was slightly resentful when he first arrived, but I quickly questioned that belief, that assumption, and the night became very beautiful with the enthusiastic sharing of thoughts and beliefs.

After Sergie left, Rosebud and I watched Querelle. I thought it was a very honest portrayal of one man's view of what it is to be male and gay in the modern world. I fell asleep towards the end, and I wonder if I didn't get so sleepy as a kind of defense against the subject matter. There was sadness and exploitation and violence, and the allowing of oneself to be exploited for, what, for sexual pleasure? To be wanted? To feel alive?

Casual sex is a puzzle to me because personally, I have never enjoyed it.

I didn't finish the movie, but I hope to. Rosebud kept saying he liked the film and could relate to some of the attitudes expressed, particularly the one of self-denial and self-repression. This is a very complex and sensitive subject.

It is my belief that the repression of homosexual tendencies leads to a worship of war and the military in some. Particularly if you block out all awareness of your own tendencies. I know that might sound God-awful strange, but I can't help but believe that Rumsfeld is a closet case, and would love to be the man on top.