March 1993

Lee and I have had some problems but we seem to have talked them out. I realize that we have a special relationship, that of writers. He inspires me, gives me writing assignments. Today he walked into the dining area where I was reading and said, "Give me a 250-word essay on where pens go when they get lost." It was funny. I actually did. Time goes by so fast. Lee spent some time in Germany when he was younger and slept with the actor Udo Kier. He talked to me for the first time about his HIV. He said he needs someone to talk to once in a while, that living alone on the farm can be lonely. I'm a little overwhelmed by all of it as I have spent months in Chicago distancing myself from all those around me. I like my space. I have been exploring the creeks, finding crawdads and salamanders. I love sitting up in the hayloft where it is quiet and still, watching the horses interact. I know that nothing is easy and no one is constantly happy but I love it here, and tomorrow I'm not taking that flight back to Chicago. Been writing letters and stories.

Want to make a difference. I'm lying in my boxers and feeling the heat from the woodstove as I write. Heat I have created myself. Feeling very much in the present. Reading a book of reflections geared toward people living with AIDS. A positive little book. How we need reminders constantly. I deserve to grow into myself and still love and be loved by my parents.

Cleaned up the barn while Eartha Kat played nearby. She follows me everywhere I go like a dog and is just delightful. Split wood in the sun, then stacked the logs on the front porch. It looked like a postcard. I floated for a while on the raft in the pond, in the silence, and felt the farm all around me. True friends are those who write back. God, give me the power to continue.

Just stepped out to bring in more coal for the stove and found the moon full. It's almost bright out. I could see rain clouds moving in. Lee and I worked on the new brochure today. He asks my opinion. I like that. Took a walk today. Eartha followed. We followed the stream into the hills. Found an empty box turtle shell, collected beautiful stones, sat on a log and reflected. Peed off the front porch. How country! A very masculine man whose wife is divorcing him because she suspects he's a homosexual visited us. He was tall and handsome, talked about his children, and seemed very sad. I wondered what it's like to come out so late in life, with so much at stake. I suppose there is beauty even in tragedy.

Lee is filing for bankruptsy; we spent the entire day in his office sorting through receipts and papers. It was really difficult. At one point Lee's medication made him really ill. He called to me from the bathroom where he sat huddled in a corner, weeping and pale. He asked for a particular pill, which I fetched for him immediately. My heart was racing I was so frightened. Later I took a walk out to the main road to get the mail. On the way back I saw a break in the barbed wire fence that separates Lee's property from the neighbor's. I walked through this with the mail under my arm until I came to a small hill. The sun beat down all around. Curiosity, like a voice inside me, told me to walk on, see what was on the other side. And there God unveiled a small quiet pond where I stood almost disbelieving. In a daze I circled the pond, breathed in the silence and the sun. Now the moon is full. I regret not having taken another walk, but I had to write. I don't really know what I'm doing but I guess anything I write is practice. Hightops, the poodle, has gotten so fat she looks like a lamb. When she gets excited she walks sideways, shakes her behind. I love her. My eyes are tired. I must sleep.

Lee's gone into town for the day. After finishing my chores I lay in the middle of my favorite pasture, the one on the way to the pool. I just watched the blue sky. It was beautiful. No thoughts came to mind. Hightops discovered a rat's nest and ate the babies. I rescued one but I don't know if it'll survive. Now I'm sitting on the raft, floating in the pond, writing. I just saw a muskrat come out of the water and crawl into its hole along the far bank. The ducks float like toys. I'm here. I wished for this for so long. I try to imagine this place in the summer. I put leaves on trees and scatter flowers everywhere. It looks beautiful. Wish me strength.

It was a beautiful, sunny, warm day with a wonderful wind that got even stronger as the day wore on. We filled the pond. Snakes scurried. Two young men came and asked about horseback riding. They asked what they could do in return for riding. Lee told them, "Pay?" They asked how. Lee said, "Cash usually works just fine!" I was shocked that scary hicks would even make such offers. I walked the two visitors to the back to see the horses. Something about them scared me. After they left I was angry that they'd brought such negative energy to this peaceful piece of land. Now I'm not sure if I'll like having a lot of guests here for the summer season. Lee and I did some minor roof repairs on the barn, chased Hashish and Andy from a section of land they had broken into. Dug a hole, planted a tree. The wind blew open the door to Quail Road and when Lee and I went to close it we found two chicken eggs inside the cabin. I shot a gun for the first time. It was disturbing. And as much as I didn't like it I sleep with a loaded gun under my bed. It makes me feel safe since there aren't any locks on the doors here, or children. The wood that was delivered today pops and cracks as it burns. Life, what am I supposed to do with it?

Hightops scratches herself, See-spot goes to Eartha Kat to play and the kitten rejects her, so, See-spot goes to Shortside for support. He nips her fur with care. I've just started my fire. Lee and I did some work in the house. I felt my usual dose of anger, confusion, and frustration with him, but got over it. I see and feel so much here that I love, but feel I must do more with it. Capture it and give it to others. Somehow. Lee and I talked about this. He said that it's the writer in me who wants this. Then he added, "I would never say this to just anyone, but I write and you are a writer!" There were tears in his eyes. Yes Lee, maybe someday I'll even write about this place…

I'm almost obsessed with the idea that I am young. I am young and so grateful. I don't want to be old and unhappy. I simply want to be. I am excited about my life. And yes, there will be more pain and tears, but I will always love and respect myself. As the snow gently falls today I know and recall so many lovely moments from the past. Even those terrible two days at the institution after my suicide attempt. Nothing is bad tonight. This feeling is incredible. Lee met with his doctor who told Lee that he looks good. He said that my presence on the farm helps him. I've always wanted to bring joy into people's lives and now it's happened. But I am both an angel and a devil. Yes, human. Very human. The farm has opened my mind. I feel so many things right now but as always I also feel that I can't write about it as I wish. I do not have the ability. Day by day. Moment by moment. Each breath. Head held high. Looking out windows. Feeling. Writing. Hearing and smelling. Understanding. This half-hour heaven within which I write could change any minute, disturbed at any moment by anything.

The dogs are in bed with me. Oh, to be cluttered with animals. A cat on my chest, a dog at my side, another at my feet. It's medicine! Too bad they stink! But don't we always put up with the faults of those we love? It snowed today. And snowed. And snowed. As a matter of fact there are twenty inches of snow on the ground. All over the farm the snowfall has created incredible shapes. I had to search for the coal under mounds of snow. I bundled up and went for a walk with my walking staff, camera, and the dogs. The snow made the dogs so awkward. Hightops was almost buried fully and had to hop through it. We trudged slowly to where the horses were to feed them. They were covered in frozen snow, icicles hung from their coats, mane, and tale. They shivered, which Lee says is what they're supposed to. It broke my heart, though. Before heading back the dogs and I rested in the barn. I thought of Jack London and wondered if I would ever revise anything I write. Been reading gay fiction. Just started "The Lost Language Of Cranes". Picked it out of the many books in Lee's library. For now I will sleep listening to the fierce wind that changes the shape of snow dunes outside.

There's no feeling like the love I get from the cat and the dogs who lie with me while I read. There are so many people in life to know, love, and miss. People to remember. All the memories are so fresh in my heart today. I feel them living and moving in my chest. Why should it hurt? Sometimes I feel a joy in this kind of powerlessness. The sentimental fool that I am. Thank God! Lee and I walked in the snow today. Postcard beauty. Sunny. Land like waves of white, white, white. We fed the horses. Lee left, but I stayed behind. Every day I am mad at him for something. Every day I try not to be. Every day I fail miserably.

I will be spoiled in my journal because I am not in real life, or try not to be. Kitten between my arms while I lie on my stomach writing. It was a terrible day. What's his name didn't help any. Images of a sunny afternoon, driving, sun in my eyes, horses behind fences and bushes, curves in the road. I can't tell now if this was a dream or if it really happened. I'll never know. Lee and I drove out to the mailbox. First time out that way in days. Nothing. No letters. Danielle called. We talked endlessly. Laughed. Disappointed when she talked about bars. I'm sick of it. Though, the gay books I read make me miss bars. I didn't think I'd make it today. There was that frightening feeling.

We went to Irve's farm next door. Irve lives and works away in Virginia, but we visited with his sister Nancy. She served us hot chocolate and poppy seed muffins. Nancy's white hair and blue eyes, and the way she annunciates every syllable, remind me of an English teacher. She's a riot. While Lee and Nancy talked politics at the kitchen table I went exploring. I could see our little house and our horses from Irve's property. Everything looked so small and distant. I went into their barn, which is beautiful, quiet, clean, and charming. I thought of Irve whom I've only met once. Nancy had asked me to feed the cats and the doves. There were many of them. The doves' calls were so hauntingly beautiful. The smell of hay and animals took me back to the villages in Iran, where some Assyrians still live, but very few. We used to go there in the summertime because my father grew up in one such village. I climbed up into the hayloft and imagined myself with a lover on a hot summer night… I hate Lee, but I think I'm feeling this way because I'm a brat! Or, maybe I have my reasons. I really don't know. I knew this would not be easy, but I never imagined that it would be this difficult. Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here and want to cry. But this is it, this is life. From the highest moments of inspired confidence to this. To 'What'll happen to me?' and 'What is our world about?' Anyway, the visit to Dear Run Farm was a lovely experience. Grow, Emil, and love.

Alone today. Sat on a log on a hillside and watched the horses graze. Andy approached me and showed affection. He sniffed my hair and nudged me with his muzzle. In the distant hills I could see the reflection of some deer, tiny against the sun. Patches of snow remain. The dogs follow me everywhere. Got a letter from Timothy, my prisoner pen pal. A bit needy and demanding. I wrote back immediately and told him photos are not necessary. Fear and anger. "You're the last person I'd worry about," Lee had said. Days come back in the form of memories. Why? How? When? Days that are in my diary somewhere. These naïve pages.

Lee, Rose, and I went into town for pizza. Rose is the old lady from whom Lee bought the farm fourteen years ago. She is a lovely little old, old woman. Her small home full of pictures and cluttered with knickknacks. Over dinner Rose asked if I was "Eye-talian". I tried not to laugh and said that I was Assyrian, and of course had to explain what that means. When we dropped Rose off at her home and took the windy roads back to the farm I wanted to cry. I felt so sad for Rose who is old and lives alone. We drove in silence while I feared getting old. I don't want to be afraid. I think back over my life so far and cherish everything that's happened. It's been wonderful. And I wonder if being here is merely a pause. Is Lee valley Farm earth's Nirvana?

Rain. Friends call occasionally. We reminisce. Everything looked beautiful today under the gray sky. Lee and I drove out to a tiny post office by the side of the desolate road. I marveled at the hills all around us. We stopped by Leigh's house, a local artist Lee knows who built the birdcage that hangs in the library. No one was home but Lee said it would be all right to look around. We saw Leigh's workshop that had a huge glass wall on one side that overlooked a still pond. In the workshop were huge unfinished rocking horses that were carved out of wood! The floor was littered with shaved wood. It was amazing. Lee said that Leigh and her husband and sons built the house themselves. Every window was a different shape and size. The house itself looked like something out of a fantasy novel. Ivy covered the face of it. On the drive home Lee told me that for Easter Leigh rolls joints and hides them for the adults to find while the children hunt for eggs! I thought this was fabulous and laughed. He also told me that one time she came home to find her pot plants had been stolen right out of her garden. I marveled at this. Now, tonight, I am feeling tired, ill. Frustrated that I can't write as well as I'd like to.

Out here I'm unable to imagine city life again. The things I became and felt in Chicago seem so strange here. Adulthood baffles me. You're supposed to have accomplished and overcome certain things, things that are a mystery to me. You're supposed to be "someone" by a certain age. What am I? One afternoon Santi had said, "At least I'm doing well for a twenty-seven-year-old." I had wanted to cry out, 'And what if I'm not feeling as stable as you when I'm your age?' By whose standards am I supposed to live and love myself? I can't always be content with dreaming and writing. There comes a time when you have to let these things go, outgrow them. But if it's meant for me to live in a fantasy then so be it. It's a charming way of life. It's who I am. I enjoy feeling and seeing things that are not so important to others. Things that might not ever "get me anywhere". This is who I am.

Rain, rain, rain. Looking through Lee's copy of "Writer's Market" I find myself excited, and feeling that lingering incompleteness. Is getting published so vital? Does my writing have to fit the standards of the publishing world? Do I have to adjust my talents to be accepted in the literary community? I'll be turning twenty soon and wonder if I can afford to continue being foolish. Is there such a thing? Does one outgrow himself? Are there really mistakes in life, or do things happen because they're supposed to? Anything is possible, right? At moments I can feel the power of the lesson of being here and alive. With the same force comes memory, a scattered past. The feelings. The people. The streets. The steps. The breezes. The smallest to the biggest. Or, are the smallest the most prodigious? I remember Maggie and I sitting in my car, blocks from school and smoking. All those days painstakingly recorded in this continuous diary. Life. I had a good day. Felt no rage. Thank God. Lee suggested having dad and Bell come visit. I'd like that. No, I'd love it. But I know they would not come. Americans are more fun than Assyrians. Assyrians are serious people. Americans are outgoing, silly, even immature. Assyrians are stuffy, old, no matter what age. But not me.

Warm out. Performed for the horses. Sang and danced while they watched and listened with full attention. I got a standing ovation! Andy was affectionate as always. He is young and handsome, muscular. He walks up to me and smells me. I brush him. I have yet to get paid for my services here, and am angry with Lee. But I will get over it. I only tell myself to write, read, learn. Here's the rest of my life. 'Grow, Emil,' I tell myself. 'Have your faults, you're human, but recognize them and love yourself. I know sometimes you feel alone, and sometimes you get angry with yourself, but you're doing the best you can. You may not always know it but you're fine.'

Last night Hightops would not go to Lee when he called her from the other room. She lay next to me and sighed. He yelled that I push her off the bed. I pushed a little, but she would not go. I didn't have the heart to use greater force. I called out to Lee to come and get her like he usually does and he did. But he was angry and said something snotty. This morning I talked to him about it. I told him that kind of aggression was not necessary, that he'd been out of line. Lee was not understanding and I walked away upset. There were tears in my eyes and it felt as though it were the end of the world, even though I knew it wasn't. It was an awful way to start a most beautiful morning. I felt that he had taken out his anger on me and how dare he? Still, I wasn't about to go running home back to Chicago. I would tough it out, but how? He later apologized. And when he came back from town he brought me a puppy. I was shocked, not delighted. It felt like he was trying to make up for his actions but was overcompensating. I did not want a puppy! What am I going to do with it? I already know I'll have to leave Eartha Kat behind when I leave here. He hugged me and kissed me on the head. Frankly, I don't want these acts of affection. I only want to laugh and work with him. Nothing more. Nothing less. Dad called and I mentioned to him Lee's invitation for him and Bell to come to the farm. He said something about thinking about it, then gave me advice I did not want or need. I told him none of this was his business and we hung up with each other. Although Lee and I forgave each other on the porch, in the sun, I am still hurt and confused by the whole thing, and cannot tell if being here is a good experience or a bad one.

The day started out well. I took a shower outside for the first time. Planted spinach and radishes in the garden. Then went for a walk but had to come back home because I felt scared. The clouds had rolled in by this point, but what was I so afraid of? There has to be something wrong with me. But what? Some awful feeling. I feel like I have emotionally and physically collapsed. I burned a finger making a fire. The stinging I feel now reminds me of a childhood incident. We were on a family road trip in Iran when an old man on a bicycle rode straight into the street without looking. Of course dad struck the man who rolled, bike and all, onto the hood of the car. I remember the old man rolling up the windshield, then back onto the hood. We had to wait there in the car for what felt like hours and hours to me, a small child. I crawled into the front seat and sat with mom, who desperately tried to keep me entertained and distracted. Gosh, she herself was then only in her twenties. Somehow I got a hold of the car lighter and when I saw the flaming orange rings inside I put my thumb on them. The pain was sharp and persistent then as it is now. I feel like I did that day when I was only four, or five.

Our guest Dan just said to Lee, "He's only nineteen!? I couldn't even spell my name at nineteen!" After dinner and after I got the kitchen squared away I thought of those I love, and how alone we all are in our lives. But I am so grateful for the way things are. Everything is perfect.

Planted flower seeds. Dan left and I realize what a nice man he really is. I woke up smiling. But by dinner I was in an entirely different mood. Working and living with Lee is very difficult. He's going through a lot, financially and emotionally.