Streetlights And A Subway Ride

Hot dog breath is pouring onto my tender alabaster-white shoulder in puffs, emerging from an exhausted Annie. Annie is the hot dog. Not a devil's food cake with a crevice of cream, but a small, cute shelter dog. She is perched on the back of the couch, snoozing.

The streetlight blinked into a steady glow at 4:46 this evening. At that moment I was looking at the white snow and the white clouds, both dark and dirty in spots, with my neighbors and I settled in between. It felt at that moment as it feels now; a perfectly fine place to pass the time away. A place to call a home.

Fundamentally, a home is a place to hide. A place to be with a very, very select group of people with whom you can live. You want to feel safe and be left alone, so you can gauge your limits in that safety. But, of course, that doesn't work. You can't explore the edges of the map from your TV room, despite what The Discovery Channel says.

Although some of us can reach the far limits of our ability and curiosity for the price of a subway ride or a walk through the square.

Other people have to go to Africa and shoot a lion in the face, or screw a child in The Philippines, or backpack on the moon. Their limits are farther away.

The universe smiles on some of us.

Here Comes the Sun

This morning I awoke to find a common situation that is, at the same time, rare in the universe. This universe, anyway. Linda and Annie were sleeping peacefully next to me, and had me pressed against the wall. The window, now unencumbered by an air conditioner, was open wide and a cool September breeze blew across my naked body. Annie and Linda shifted slightly as I pushed away from the wall and pointed my toes at the ceiling. Sunlight poured in and found my toes, first.

My toes have seen a lot in 37 years. In my early teens, I had nine ingrown toenails. Five on my left, four on my right. Eventually, they killed the nerves so that it wouldn't happen again. It worked. The sole of my left foot has an odd scar, caused by muriatic acid and an early attempt at distraction through self-injury.

I've promised Linda that I wouldn't engage in that sort of thing anymore.

My legs reflected the sun like an alabaster statue, making them glow a bit. I feel a modicum of disgust at the loose skin of my thighs, having lost 240 over the last 8 years. My eye then travels to the long scar on my abdomen, which I'm emotionally indifferent towards. It's simply there because it has to be.

My penis is flaccid and lying on a bed of pubic hair, and my scrotum is tight between my legs. It's pleasant to feel the warm sun shining there, in a place that is supposed to be tucked into underwear and covered with clothes. Usually jeans, in my case.

Women have told me all my life that my deformity is of no aesthetic or sexually practical consequence. My penis works, compelled by a very healthy libido. While I understand that, and do not wish to have children, I still find myself in awe of sex for procreation. I'm rather fond of sex, anyway. In a moment of (hopefully mutual) rapture, a new life is created. Just amazing.

I'm very aware of my inability to pull off that magic trick.

Some mornings I live in my mind, where I think about every stupid comment, every mistake, every bad one night stand and every mean thing I've ever said. And every choice.

On this morning, nerve damage from my orchiectomy is radiating up my back. Before I take a sip of coffee, which I can smell brewing downstairs, there are pills to take. Two tramadol for the aforementioned pain, one lithium carbonate, and one levoxythyroxine for hypothyroidism.

The sun and the moon and the Earth all keep my in my place. In that place, I function as best as possible and can't help but be amused at people who talk about "controlling" destiny, or the power of positive thinking, or how organic vegetables will make my life better and longer. It seems absurd to me.

Victory Garden

Tonight I'm considering taking a week or two to mentally convalesce in the psychiatric ward. Generally I've been well, but a silly, personal rivalry has developed between L's family and myself. Some of them anyway. It's hard to explain, but in moments like this there is a lot of self-blame, and after some time it can be withering.

I'm am so tired of this disease. But I'm fighting it. In my free time I do a great deal of reading, and playing with the puppy. A little victory there.

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Did Clinton Give Kim the 'Terrorist Fist Bump?'

The level of political discourse in this country keeps pushing downward, to the point where we don't disagree anymore, we embrace alternate realities. When I began getting politically involved back in 1988, for the Dukakis campaign, there were facts on which most of us could agree, even if our opinions were on opposite ends of the spectrum. I admit that maybe my youth has altered my perception. People like me are given to sentimentality. And those were happy days for me, as I found my voice and entered the Socialist Party. Between 1990 and 2000 I had the high honor of meeting some brilliant, passionate people, whom I've mentioned countless times on this 'blog.

Today, it seems as if there is not only a spectrum of political beliefs, but a spectrum of accepted realities. A casual glance at the news, or the Internet, makes it very clear that we all may live in the same country, but we don't live in the same world. The recent success of President Bill Clinton is a political and human victory that a reasonable person might think of as unassailable. Two young journalists were saved from a hideous fate (12 years at hard labor), and North Korea has shown a willingness to talk to other nations besides China. Some good news, set amid stories of yet another mass shooting in Pennsylvania, four more soldiers killed in Afghanistan, and a grisly tale of a pregnant woman murdered for her unborn baby.

According to Fox News, the mouthpiece for Neo-Conservative Rupert Murdoch, President Clinton's successful negotiation comes with a terrible price. Using strained logic, and a bizarre lack of concern for the hostages, Clinton and Obama were attacked for, "dealing with terrorists." What Murdoch is trying to do, of course, is present diplomacy as a sign of weakness.

I'm not going to present my opinion, except to say that Fox News, the largest 24 hour news channel, clearly has a vehement anti-Obama (and pro-Right) agenda.

That's it, the extent of my contention. I ask anyone who has watched Fox for more than an hour over the past 3 months if they see my point. If you feel the same way about CNN and/or MSNBC (coming from the other direction), then I have to ask, why are we getting our news from people who are clearly trying to manipulate us?

In this post-newspaper world (almost), where are we supposed to find actual journalists who are guided by ethics and at least an attempt at avoiding bias? While it may be true that every journalist is biased to some degree, it's also true that objectivity should be the goal. Corruption may be impossible to eliminate among law enforcement people, but that doesn't mean that we should embrace lawlessness. The very concept of journalistic integrity is now seen as an indication of "elitism" and a liberal bias based in the universities!

Do you remember the "terrorist fist bump" discussed on Fox News' morning show? Does that seem like a reasonable observation? Or do you feel like you're being manipulated?

I focus on Fox News because, very simply, I think that they have an unrelenting bias that they embrace and even advertise. Even when they are broadcasting "the news" they are clearly doing so through a distorted lens. They celebrate spin.

Different opinions should be considered, but if an opinion is passionately expressed that goes against your idea of logic and scruples, consider the source. Always consider the source. The fellow with the megaphone isn't right just because the megaphone is loud.