September 2000

The world is mine.
And yours.
Let life begin.
Every moment counts. Even the dark moments.
Action heals wounds.
Nothing attracts me to my father. He is alive. He is there, I can call and tell him things, but I have no desire to share my life with him. My own father, who I loved and once worshiped, does not know me, does not have access to me.
I'm drinking port wine tonight. The first few sips were shockingly sweet, but after the tongue is coated the sweetness makes itself at home in the mouth... a mouth that has dreamed too much, divulged too much. My mouth doesn't know what a secret is.
I dreamt that I was in Tariq's apartment, but he was long gone. I had the daunting task of packing everything up, going through every room, every closet. Every shoe was missing its match.
My being has its roots in water, not dirt. I am a waterlily.
These days I am thinking less and doing more. No phone calls to disrupt my equilibrium. No friends to infiltrate my peaceful little world. In many ways I'm grateful Tariq is not my love and I'm not bound, distracted. I enjoy being a friend, not a lover. The role of the lover is not comfortable for me.
Well, that's not entirely true. Nothing's entirely true.
Sipping wine, wishing the ceilings would mechanically draw back, revealing the twilight sky, evening clouds splashed in iridescent hues- my heart illuminated by resplendent longings. It is the kind of evening that ought to be explored, shared, but there's no one to share my enthusiasm. Why? Better not ask. Better sip wine and unfurl. Better dance alone and not think of others.
I'm lying on my belly in the yard, in the grass. The sun on my back and in my hair. The wind in the trees and in my mouth. A lone ant crawls across this page, as small as words, as disciplined as my wishes, as diligent as my desires. I don't want happiness. Happiness is fickle. I want productivity, responsibility, dedication, steadfast commitment even as the external world envelopes me, crumbles and decays.
Every evening I turn into an animal that's driven by instinct into imagination, into the wild of coming darkness in search of finer emotions, hunting for poetry amid the pain, the missing, the lingering feelings of loss.
My mother walks by and says I drink too much wine.
I masturbate twice a day. Is that excessive as well?
Music- spinning my body out of the calendar and into deep space...
I've lost twenty pounds.
Evening, fragile light from candles, slow-burning music. Solitude, my closest friend. Still childlike, still wild, still imaginative. It's decided. I'm going to take care of myself, value myself- things I was never taught. I refuse to be another wayward fag- smoking, drinking excessively, drugging, out all hours of the night.
I push myself and demand endurance of character from others. I think of the way light filters softly through the majestic redwoods at Muir Woods and can only hope that the light of beautiful thoughts softens the grotesque face of life.
I want to touch and change the world... as writer, poet, diarist, man. It's vainglorious of me, I know.
Fuck it all. Fuck it hard. Fuck it fast. Fuck it well.
I sunbathed in the yard in the nude until it got too hot, and I got horny. Came inside and masturbated. There's so much sexual energy in me. So much life. So much hope.
In chemistry lab I feel rebellious and walk out. I go directly to the registration office and drop the class. I come home and crawl into bed, close my eyes, but my head flickers like an old neon sign. I weigh myself and find I've lost another five pounds. I now weigh 165.
There's always the bridge, the welcoming concrete sea.
One afternoon I decide I've had enough of routine, shower, dress, and set out for the city. I feel beautiful in my new body. I feel more myself thinner, lighter, more flexible, younger. This is me. But I have no plans, am meeting no friend. I'll just wing it. I go to the Castro, to a bar I haven't been to in years. Guys are watching me, but I don't meet their glances; I do not want to cruise or be cruised.
I order a drink. The bartender is young, easy-going. There's a different energy about the city tonight. What is it? The bartender says there's a festival going on in the city. I wouldn't know.
Someone comes up to the bartender and hands him a DVD, says he found it. 'Is it porn?' I ask, perking up playfully. The bartender opens the nondescript case, "Sex and the City"! 'Naturally.' We laugh.
The patron who's found the DVD draws closer to me, sits down. 'That was nice of you,' I say. He shrugs. I take a sip of my drink. His friend says he'll be on the dance floor. He says he'll stay at the bar, and the conversation that ensues for the next two hours is wonderfully serious, but also funny, lighthearted. He is interesting, charming, polite, unafraid to touch me.
Turns out David is Puerto Rican, thirty-four, handsome, trim, intelligent.
In the end we hug. He kisses me, which takes me aback a bit. We exchange phone numbers and e-mail addresses. A couple days later I e-mail him, tell him it was nice meeting him. He writes back something charming. It makes me smile.
David has a confidence that I like.
Today I worked a twelve-hour shift managing the restaurant. Lea came up to me in the midst of the bustle looking distraught, she'd just found out a friend had lost a seventeen-year battle with AIDS, and wept on my shoulder. We arranged it so she could leave.
Customers complemented my new posture.
In the late afternoon my grandmother and I picked figs from one of her trees in the yard. It was one of those gorgeous Northern California evenings, the light fading quickly, flashing its colorful feathers across uninterrupted skies. I felt a strong bond with my grandmother and said, 'I feel like we're back in the village.' She agreed as she tied string around a rogue branch like a doctor placing a sling on a broken arm. We laughed wondering how an older Assyrian woman, born in a village in Iran, ends up running her own business in Novato, California. She is a true maverick!
A glimmer of hope always. A death always. Always an even exchange in my heart. In my little world.
David's sister has MS too.