HI. Sorry for the long absence. Server problems have kept me off line for the better part of the last two weeks (on the upside, I've never been so productive at work... I actually had to start slowing down before people realized why we were mysteriously ahead of schedule).

I was just about to bop out the door, when I felt the tight new wifebeater that Lex bought me for Christmas, gripping my stomach snuggly. For Christmas he gave me a 3-pack of wifebeaters, and some tommy underware and socks. Just the right gift for a three week extended fling that feels a lot like a relationship [ :) ] Not that I'm Pip or anything, but I've never actually bought any wifebeaters for myself. They've usually been approximated from my brother after he's already stretched them out to accomodate his larger frame. So this is perhaps the first set of fresh ones ever to grace my chest. They're so tight and comfy that they make me look kinda buff (plus fasting for Ramadan has kind of brought on that Somalia look that's oh-so-fashionable these days). So I just wanted to take a moment to remind myself how pleasant it is to be liked by a boy. How completely great it is to have some reciprocal loving. I'll probably muck it up in the next couple of months (I can already feel the grumblings), but for now, I'm one-day-at-a-time-ing it, and it sure feels nice (actually, nice is reserved for well laid cement, and the behavioir of children..., it feels more like the inside of a cheesecake, soft and sweet and rich and creamy).

I like him.

Things are rolling right along. Lex is a riddle, though he's showing some peculiar personality traits. For example..., I slept over last night and he agreed to wake me up at 5:30. At 6:15 he nonchalantly rolls over and says, "it's 6:15 you'd better go".. "Didn't you set the alarm for 5:30" I asked..., no comment from him. I asked again, still no comment. Now you know, maybe I'm just an ass..., but if you know someone's trying to avoid an interrogation, and get home in time to eat and drink the only food and water they'll have for the next 12 hours... wouldn't you at least admit that you hit snooze. I'm wasn't asking for an apology or anything..., but a response would've been nice.

But aside from that, he's perhaps the easiest man to sleep with on the planet. Which brings in the question... is he easy to sleep with, or are we compatible ? And if we're compatible than why am I quibbling over grumpy-morning-muteness ?

I didn't think I was a snuggler until I met him. But, nose beneath chin, finger against cheek... contented and calm we slept through the night. If I hadn't gotten so flummoxed on the departure, we could've had a little morning sex... but there's always tomorrow.

Something is happening. I don't know exactly what, and I'm not sure how... but something is definitely happening. I'm don't know where to begin becuase I feel like you should already know. But..., Lex, (the boy we met last weekend), is definitely occupying more space in my picture. Last night I slept with him and slowly began to understand why some people refuse to trick. I began to understand why some people only want to have sex with one person. These are intresting revelations. I've been having sex with guys for almost ten years, but this is the first time I've ever felt like this one should be just for me. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I've never had sex with guys who I wanted to see again, or have relationships with... it's just I've never felt that they should only have sex with me, or I with them. I've kind of had a real slutty outlook on the whole monogamy thing. But this is... virgin territory.

Feeling Good

Anthony Newley, Leslie Bricusse
sung by Nina Simone

Birds flying high you know how I feel
Sun in the sky you know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by you know how I feel

(refrain:)
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Fish in the sea you know how I feel
River running free you know how I feel
Blossom in the tree you know how I feel

(refrain)

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
That's what I mean

And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me

Stars when you shine you know how I feel
Scent of the pine you know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel

Why do we come to work ? There must be some better way to earn money. I'm not against the idea of putting effort into something you love, and laboring for the result... but this idiot process of punching time cards and signing off on documents has got to go. It's mundane. I wish I had the courage to rise from my chair, rip off my shirt and run screaming from the building. I think, no wait, I KNOW I'd be better off. It'd be a bitch to find another "job", but one can only guess how much that would do for my soul.

Intresting weekend. I met a boy and ended up at his house twice. He's neat, and I'm going to do my best not to let myself spoil it.

I'm a little bummed that I didn't get any email about my W.A.D. post. I didn't put it up for response, but I wouldn't have minded getting one or two. Admittedly, it's crappy writing, but it was such a surprise to realise how difficult it would be to write. Eventually, I''m going to write it over and do it the justice it deserves.

This is harder than I thought. Originally, I thought I'd just sit in front of the computer and the words would sail out of my fingers as they normally do. But I can't. Talking about the death of my my father, and the decimation of my nuclear unit, is more difficult than I expected.

I wanted to put this up on Friday, so it would have a full 24 hrs. of AIDS day to affect someone, but every time I sat to type, I found a reason not to. SO, as quickly and bluntly as possible, my father died of AIDS on May 20th, 1989. I've been thinking about how to convey this to you for two weeks, and after much procrastination, I've realized that I'm just not ready to deal with it yet. I looked though a box of recently relocated pictures this morning, trying to condense the swirl of emotions I have concerning my fathers death. And sitting here right now, the best I can say is that I have maybe 35 pictures of the man who gave me half of my genetic code. 35. And that's about it. 35 scraps of bent, glossy paper are all I have left to establish the memory of the man responsible for my long torso, and kinky hair. 35 pictures and a few scattered memories are all i have of my children's grandfather.

My father was the sun in the morning. He was beloved by all who met him. He went to the old folks home and talked to the people who didn't have any one. He stood up to the crackheads and pimps who dared sit on his stoop in Harlem. He sent his parents on a trip to China for their birthday. He arrived in Berkeley with a sock full of quarters and left with a degree in medicine. He was the stuff of legends, and that's all I have left of him. I used to play "what if" and speculate about how my life would have changed had not he died. When I couldn't get to sleep, I'd stare at the sealing, and allow images of my other life to dance across it. I stopped eventually because it never helped me get to sleep, and only made me more restless. I miss my father today at 25 as much as I did when I was 12.

It's tragic because I never got to talk to my father as a man. I barely got to talk to him as a boy. He died when I was 12, and hadn't fully realised the one thing that he and I alone shared. I feel robbed, and more than a little bitter. Especially when his death could have been prevented by a .99¢ piece of plastic. It's tragic, and it's tragic because it's completely unnecessary.