After a year of sharing my studio and home with my disabled friend, the time has come to discuss his moving out. I met with him and his doctors and we agreed to try to find a place for him to move into March 1. The thought of this has produced anxiety and panic in my friend, despite my assurances that there’s plenty of time to find the right place, and that he’d never be homeless with me as his friend. A great deal of my time and energy right now are spent addressing his fears. He tends to make statements intent to force me into a challenge or action, rather than addressing the fear looming obviously behind the statement. For instance, he’ll say something like, “I’m moving out this weekend,” when he actually means, “I’m scared to death of being homeless and I want you to take care of me–don’t let me leave.” My goal right now is to help him move towards being more independent. It’s fairly clear that my goals are at odds with his, and that he’s going to kick and scream at every nudge I make in that direction. His idea of independence involves venturing out briefly into the world and scrambling back to Daddy Cub Coco’s Nest. BC told me that we’ve evolved into parent/adolescent roles, with all the acting-out and tension inherent in that dynamic. When he told me that he wanted to spend the holidays alone rather than be with me and my family, “who are all loud,” I told him that sometimes he has to do things that are difficult because others need him to, and that he is a part of the family and that I need him to participate in Christmas. Doesn’t that sound like something a demented mom would say?
There is no holiday entertainment from my kitchen window this year. My exhibitionists across the street are all away: the Asian pole dancer has closed the curtains and turned a light on that’s been on for three days; the hairy naked guy below hasn’t flashed me for two days; and the chicks to the right have a light on over their mantle that’s been on for two nights. Their anti-burglary measures are more like announcements that they’re out of town. Perhaps I should go into burglary.
On evening walks I love noticing the ubiquitous images of people sitting in windows illuminated by their glowing computer monitors.
The Japanese porn magazine wants to feature these bay area muscle dudes over three issues: the first will feature the Asian guy; the second issue the western guy; and the third will be of them “making love.” !!! I’m intensely nervous about this. First of all, I use a bulky camera and it takes me forever to set up a shot. Bring in the stunt pee-pees, please. I’m thinking of having the shoot be about me looking at them, implicitly, although framed as them looking at each other. The Asian guy would be in bed, perhaps viewed from behind, the camera would get closer, you’d see the hairy hand of Mr. Western Muscle Dude pull back the sheet, and Mr. Asian Muscle Dude respond to being looked at. Same with Mr. Western Muscle Dude. Then finally, we’d see them tumbling and intertwined, a mass of different skins tones, hair patterns, projectile appendages, and slobber.
For Thanksgiving dinner yesterday with my siblings, I made a pear pie, served with cream whipped into a frenzy with some fresh ginger. By the time I got to it, though, all of my organs were cowering under the pressure that my expansive stomach was exerting on them to make way for yet more. It’s so hard to not overeat on Thanksgiving. There’s so much sensation, so much flavor…
I am indeed grateful to have so many companions that I’ve never actually met, who fill my days and nights with such interesting tales and thoughts. Thank you, all!