The Sanctity of Marriage

When I was growing up, weddings did not occur in my family. My uncles, or aunts dated, they would move in with the person they were dating, and before I knew, I had a new aunt or uncle. One of my aunts dated a lot, therefore, I had a LOT of uncles!

I don't know if this was due to being latin or just a peculiarity in my specific family. As far as I know, only one of my relatives was legally married.

Regardless of whether the lack of belief in marriage was due to my family, I have always felt that weddings were more of a public declaration, to your family and friends, that the person beside you was "The One." That was the person you were planning on spending the rest of your life with.

But that to me is not marriage.

Marriage, to me, is more a sense of duty, obligation, love and honor. You bestow these things upon the person you love and want to grow old with. It is a personal vow between you, the person you love, and the universe, that you will be loyal to that person. That you will devote your life, moving forward, to living as one. That come hell or high water, no matter what, you will not abandon one another. That you would die for them.

Of course, everyone's definition will vary, but that's mine. And I see myself as married. After 13 years with Niko, we're about as married as married is going to get; he's seen me at my worst, at my best, and he still has not left me. Nor I, him. I don't need a piece of paper to tell me how married I am.

But I need it for protection.

As it stands now, if my partner should die before me, I'm screwed if his family wants to come in and be nasty. Nothing is in my name except some joint accounts.

We can have will drawn up, Power of Attorney, etc. But I can't get married.

After 13 years, no matter what we've been through, no matter how much I love my partner, if one of us should die, the other party is screwed. And it's not just us. We know plenty of other gay couples in the same predicament. In fact, some of the couples have been together even longer than we have. We understand the tradition of marriage, the supposed sanctity.

And yet we cannot marry.

Mind you, I don't believe in marriage per se, but I'd like to know that I could marry, if I had the option.

When Prop 8 in California was defeated the first time, I was pissed. Not for us, but for all the gay and lesbian couples out there who want the traditional wedding.

We protested in Fort Lauderdale and I wrote to the ACLU. I signed petitions and wrote to our politicians, thanks to the organized directives of the ACLU.

And then Prop 8 came up once more and, once more, it was defeated.

That's inexcusable. First, because as gay people we are being treated like second class citizens. And I tired. I will no longer settle. And no, I don't want a "separate but equal" law, either! This is not the 60s and I will drink from the same water fountain as others; straight, gay, black, white, or where ever  and whomever you identify with. One planet, one country, one government, one law to protect us all.

How dare the government tell me, "I can take your tax money but I will not give you Civil Rights." This is basically what California has just said. People, wake up!

Personally, although I am outraged that California once again refused to pass Prop 8, I am also baffled. A state which has been at the forefront of the "Going Green" campaign. A state where almost anything went. A state from where almost anything new and weird originated.

A state that is now, apparently, dangerously close to being bankrupt.

Denying people the right to marry is, in my opinion, morally wrong. For California it is also economically unsound.

Just imagine the cost of your average wedding. Now imagine how many gay couples there are in California, let alone the world. Quiet, normal, every day, run of the mill gay couples, coming and going, working, living, spending money just like everyone else.

Now imagine how much money gay marriages would dump into their economy, let alone our nations', if we were allowed to marry in all states. We're talking marriage license, banquet halls, ball rooms, limos, tailors, flower shops, caterers, bartenders, D.J.s, hotels, the airlines.

I mean, for crying outloud, if Disney has recognized the power of the gay dollar, I would think that for that alone, California would have passed Prop 8.

In the end, we all get what we deserve and, sometimes, we get what we create. California, if that is the bed you made, I hope you enjoy sleeping in it. For all other states who have passed laws to legally recognize gay marriages, I applaud you!

For all others homophobes who are against gay marriage, please click on the link below so you can see what the future holds for you. It is the youth of the world. And one day they will rebel.

For supporters of gay marriage, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Please forward if you feel as I do.

Wild Thing: May 1996 - May 15, 2009

There are many sad things in the world. However, none -- in my opinion -- can compare with the loss of a loved one. Be it a break-up, the death of a friend or family member. Or almost as bad, the passing of a pet.

13 years ago, when I first met my partner, I didn't know that things would last this long. However, I won't bore you with how I feel about him; you can click here and read it for yourself later if you like. As with many couples, both gay and straight, there were and are still, things that drive me crazy, as there are with him; we laugh about these things.

However, the one thing I thought might have been a deal breaker were his kittens: Max and Wild Thing. Not because I don't like cats. But at the time I had a very old cat I knew I would soon have to put down and a few years prior, had put my first one down.

Except that Max and Wild Thing were SOOOOOOOOOO cute! And so tiny! With their little hisses and frantic fits of energy, they were little balls of fur with legs.

Niko had gotten them from a woman he knew in his apartment building in Victoria Park. They apparently kept falling into the pool and she was worried that one day she might not be there to fish them out. So into Niko's apartment they came.

I couldn't say no to them either; especially when it came time for all 4 of us to move-in together. There were no dogs in our lives then.

Plus I have this rule in life. I don't have many but the ones I do I feel pretty passionate about. When an animal comes into your home, you have made a silent oath with the universe to take care of that creature until one of you passes on.

And that's just the way it is. Til death do you part. Yeah, kinda like marriage. I know. But it kind is when you think about it. You might not be exchanging vows or anything like that; but the fierce determination of seeing a relationship through to the end, through thick and thin, demands a certain loyalty and respect of the other that is almost is like marriage.

As time went by, we always joked that their names, from Maurice Sendak's "Where The Wild Things Are," were ironic. Max's personality sort of grew into his name. Wild Thing's did not.

Wild Thing had a temper. He was Alpha which meant he always fought to be first for his food, for water, even to be petted. He loved rubbing himself all over our legs at feeding times (something that always rattled my nerves for some reason). He insisted on supervising you to make sure you gave him enough food and would Meow-Bitch you if you didn't. Plus, he would toss you really dirty looks at times.

He and Emma, our black pug, who is the Alpha of the dogs, never met eye to eye. In fact, I hate to admit, when Wild Thing was particularly ornery this one time, we said, "Get the Kitty!" And for whatever reason, it was Wild Thing Emma went for. She never hurt him; she just chased him around. Sometimes he'd be hiding somewhere and she'd walked by. You'd see a paw pop out of nowhere and bop her, then disappear. We always got a good laugh to see the look on HER face!

At other times, they'd simply have staring matches. The winner usually stood their ground and got to watch the loser slink away.

There were other moments that drove me crazy as well, like the time he looked down at Emma, looked at his food dish, then pushed it over the edge. She stepped out just in time but it shattered to bits on the tile floor. Then there were the times I just KNOW he muttered things under his breath at me when I said no to more food.

And I feel guilty for the very rare times he came to me and I just wasn't in the mood to play with him. Or didn't want to.

Wild Thing was all these things but he was many more, too. He could, at times, be very sweet -- to the point of almost being innocent and kitten-like, even late in life. He was extremely shy; in fact, some people doubted we truly had a second cat at all.

He was a Champion for his brother, though in all fairness, Max was rarely, if ever, chased after by any of the dogs. But they, at least, stuck together; most times. It was heart-warming to see Max & Wild Thing sleeping together. It was also saddening at times that he wouldn't join us in bed, or on the sofa, while watching a movie and all 3 pugs snoring lazily between us, along with Max; while Wild Thing looked on with something like loathing in his eyes. We always invited him, but he just never took to Emma; and held it.

Then one day Niko noticed was wrong. He took Wild Thing to the vet, where they discovered Wild Thing was diabetic and would need insulin shots for the rest of his life. I said, okay, how do we do this? And we did it.

For a while he seemed fine. Wild Thing ate a lot more, drank a lot more, peed a lot more. The litter was changed far more frequently than it ever was or it would stink to high heaven. But otherwise, Wild Thing seemed fine.

Then he started gaining weight. A lot of weight. But he was still fine. Or so we thought.

He seemed to be a lot less social than ever; and he wasn't all that much of a butterfly to begin with. He had more trouble jumping onto things. His eyes seemed to grow cloudy; something I noticed before I left for NYC a few weeks ago.

Subtle things. And still I thought nothing of it.

Then, last Thursday night, when I called Niko before going to bed, I asked about the babies and Wild Thing came up. Apparently he had diarrhea and it had been everywhere as he, apparently, tried to make it to the litter box. He wasn't eating anymore and when the sound of the kibble hitting the bowl didn't pull him out of where ever Wild Thing was hiding, Niko realized something was definitely wrong.

So Niko took Wild Thing to work with him last Friday, May 15. The vets checked him out and . . . well, to make a long story short 'cause I'm having a hard time holding back my tears, he was put down at the Vet's recommendation.

At first, I was upset more for Niko, because I wasn't here for him and he had to go through this alone. Wild Thing was definitely Niko's baby. He had bonded with Niko more than he ever did with me. I guess, like Emma, I just didn't get him and he merely tolerated me because I was part of the package.

But now, the first full day after I've come home, we are down one family member. Although he rarely joined us for group or family stuff (for us gays our pets are our babies since we are not allowed to adopt), there is definitely a very huge void. Strangely, there is also a silence. A very loud silence that actually hurts. The dynamics have all changed.

I guess it will take a little time.

I held Niko last night when I came home. He cried in my arms. And I wanted him to so badly. I need him to. I needed to feel his sorrow. And I will always want him in my arms whether he's crying or not.

But this morning was really difficult.

I got up out of bed and went to feed all the critters. I went to reach for his bowl and it wasn't there. I filled one. Only one cat jumped up on the trunk we have in the kitchen that stores towels and keeps them safe from the dogs eating their food as well. And I broke down for a cat I lived with, fed, changed his litter, for 13 years, yet never really took the time to get to know.

I find myself wishing I had spent more time with Wild Thing, getting to know him better; appreciate him. Listening to his meows (Max rarely meows) and laughing when he got stoned off cat nip. Even petting him and learning how to get over that rubbing thing.

It makes me feel sad for all the Wild Things of the world that people don't get to know because the cats are too shy, or too sensitive, or just too demanding or too vocal.

But one thing does console me. It happened early May, though, when something transpired mentally between us. I remember picking him up and found myself just as startled as he looked. But he let me hold him in my arms, like a baby, and pet his belly.

He was, in my opinion, striking and beautiful. I just wish I had told him more. I think I got it. In the end it's still all about love, acceptance and forgiveness; even with animals.

Wild Thing is survived by his brother, Max, and begrudgingly, sister Emma. Also Trinket and Googie and his still stunned Dads.

Good night, sweet Wild Thing. We will miss you.

The Surreal Life

It's Saturday night. 10:25 p.m.

And I'm already in bed.

There was a time when I would just be leaving the house at this hour. Instead, I've just popped a Percocet and I'm awaiting the warm fuzzies that will soon approach so I can feel a bit more comfortable and get more rest after what has been a very surreal week; MTV's got nothing on me!

I'm actually improving on a daily basis. In fact, there was even one point when I thought, "Was I really in the hospital? Did I really have surgery? But then my belly itches and I look down and see the half-shaved area. I stand in front of the mirror and look at my still swollen belly (some of it's just fat) and I look at my belly button, and the two other scars they made, one just to the left, the other just below . . . and I think . . . yeah, it really happened. I didn't dream it.

It's amazing how a part of the mind just wants me to forget. And yet, deep down inside I know better.

Things like this, unexpected things, things that could have escalated into something more serious if I hadn't listened to my body, followed my hunch, really make you sit back and take notice.

Life is too short. Waaaaaaaaaay too fucking short. And I started thinking, what if I had not survived? What if I had died? What if I hadn't opened my eyes and simply, just gone away?

Who would get rid of my things? Who would tell my family? My friends? How would my partner have reacted? How would his parents? And what about the rest of his family? Who would take care of the dogs? The cats? Who would help my partner with the bills?

On a good note, we have no children other than the dogs so that's a good thing. But would all these things, including the dogs, then just serve as a reminder of what once was?

These things have been on my mind since that night at the hospital I spent alone, when I kept waking up every few hours for heart monitoring, blood pressure and whatever that thing is they stick on the end of your finger that looks like a metal clothespin.

And then tonight, on the way home from Target . . . yeah, I know what you're thinking; Target on a Saturday night -- woo-hoo . . . two songs played back-to-back on the radio that kinda slammed it all home.

I'm 46. I'm not as young as I used to be. I know it's not old, but it's not young. It just is. And I started wondering about the things I've done, mistakes I've made, things I've yet to experience that I have always wanted to do.

And then I thought, can I change my life? Do I have the power to become something other than what I already am? Do I have the power to bring to fruition, the things I need to make a truly wonderful life for my partner and myself? To share with family and friends experiences we only dream about or talk about?

I mean, the only thing stopping me is me, right? It's not just about money, though it's definitely an insurmountable issue; but is it really?

So I thought about. And though at first I thought, I'll stop this blog and start another. A more positive one, more upbeat. One that, hopefully, will help inspire others to do what they want . . . not with religion or by what I call "churchspeak" . . . but with positive thinking. By making a choice to live more positively. Then I thought, why change it? After all, this is a journal. It's about the path of my life, the detours I've taken, both on my own and with others, some by choice, some not.

And so, hopefully, what will follow, is an evolution of mind just as I feel my heart changing.

Going forward, I hope to bring a more positive outlook to life, my loves, my passions. Oh, I'm sure the soap box will still be there somewhere. I suppose it's inevitable that it stay away forever.

I guess I simply want to bring more peace, love and harmony into my life. Yeah. I know. Sounds like some dippy, hippie shit, doesn't it? Maybe it is. But it's an experiment I'm going to try. Not just for myself, but for my partner and our relationship as two individuals who have formed a family and forged a home; perhaps not the type of family that middle America conceives of as a family, but a family nonetheless.

Ironically, a few days ago I asked Niko about a book that I thought he had. It wasn't the one that I thought I wanted to read but I took it as a sign that perhaps it was the book I NEEDED to read; despite the fact that I've already got 12 other books on my side of the bed, all in various stages of involvement!

The book I'm reading? "It's Not Easy Being Green And Other Things to Consider" by Jim Henson, The Muppets and Friends. Not the kind of book you just sit and read from cover to cover. It's more the kind of book that you absorb as you go.

Some of the messages contained within are very simply and somewhat esoteric, but they've grabbed me. Strangely, I understand that it's about the simple things that make life worth living and experiencing. I will share some as I go in this "variance" from the things I have written about in the past.

Hopefully they will help keep me, and others, inspired to continue on this journey of the surreal life. No. Strike that. My quest for a more peaceful living, a more complete and balanced life.

Yeah. I think I like that better.

P.S. The songs I heard were Toby Keith's "As Good As I Once Was" and Tim McGraw's "Live Like You Were Dying."

Livin' La Vida Extreme

Livin' La Via Extreme. No, I'm not talking about Ricky Martin shaking his bon bon in my direction; though that would be nice. Nor am I talking about extreme sports, fitness or challenges.

I'm talking extreme living of the roller coaster kind. High peaks and low valleys punctuated by the daily grind. Yes, life this past year has been anything but boring and bland. It's been a study in extremes.

Sure, there have been tedious moments or the routine of getting up in the morning, stumbling down the stairs to feed the dogs and cats and pour my coffee all without killing them or myself in the process. Of course, there's the usual bill paying stuff and grocery shopping, but it's all been a bit more tweaked, more fine-tuned; as if a filter of higher sensitivity has been placed in our living module, thus affording us a bit more awareness.

Unlike life before November of last year, life now has simply been . . . well, more lived, more deeply felt. Not sure if it's the state of the economy, the way I've been perceiving life in general, getting older, or a combination of those things plus other things I'm not yet seeing.

Example: Just a few short days ago I was battling the feelings of riding high from having completed a project, while at the same time, also dealing with the shortsightedness of time and other technical issues. Then, when I was getting ready to write about the things I'd learned this past year, something happened that will help me illustrate the sharp contrast of extremes which has been life as of late.

Tuesday morning about 3 or 4 a.m., I woke up to go to the bathroom and became aware of a dull stabbing in my right side; just under my ribcage. I thought nothing of it. I figured I either had not drank enough water, was constipated, or I ate something that didn't agree with me.

But when I got up several hours later and the feeling had not intensified, but spread to the left side, I began to wonder. I thought I would call in sick but didn't feel right doing it since I was off two days just last week. I talked to Niko about the symptoms and we both agreed I was probably just constipated; it had happened once before and the feelings had been similar.

So, off to work I went; it was about 8:30.

I mentioned it to my Boss when I got to the office a few minutes later. He asked if I still had my appendix. Which I did.

As I tried settling into the day, the sensation grew progressively worse; in fact, it felt as if my insides were on fire. Portions of my intestines felt as if someone were playing a wild Moroccan tune, undulating and bubbling.

Somehow, I managed to walk home after dismissing myself for the day at just after 9 a.m.

Reduced to near tears, with a low fever, and feeling as if I was going to pass out, I realized, this was no ordinary sensation. Something was wrong. I just didn't know what. I tried to calm myself down by focusing only on the moment; but guess what? Focusing on the present, the right here and how is NOT a good idea when what you are experiencing is pain.

Armed with my heating pad, my cell phone, and our three pugs to help keep me warm, I made my way upstairs where I collapsed, with my clothes on, to see if the sensation would subside.

But the heating pad didn't help. In fact it only made matters worse. I called my doctor's office to see if they had any answers to my questions. The voice on the phone . . . MJ? DJ? PJ? . . . said he was no doctor but it sounded as if I needed to go to the hospital. However, he had an opening at 11:30 with my PA, if I wanted it. And a part of me did.

But by the time Niko got home, just after 10:00, I knew that I would not be seeing Dan Brown or anyone else at the Doctor's Office. It was the Hospital ER for me and I knew it. There was no point in fighting it.

My awareness continued to slip from there, due to the pain I was in. I barely remember us getting to the hospital. Somehow I lasted the wait in ER but didn't last 5 minutes in Triage when I threw up after drinking Crystal Light with contrast; the nurse and doctor on duty wanted me to drink the stuff since they thought a Cat Scan was in order.

I won't bore you with the rest because, frankly, I'm not sure I remember much about it. Somewhere along the line I was given morphine for the pain. And some time around 4:00 in the afternoon, or thereafter, after two doses of morphine, two bottles of Crystal Light with contrast, kept down with some anti-naseua stuff (Klonopin maybe?), I had the Cat Scan and was dutifully informed that I was going to be prepped for a laprascopic appendectomy.

By that point, I was riding the morphine drip. He could have told me I was about to be gored by a rhino; I wouldn't have cared.

I was rushed through surgery and before long, found myself waking in a hospital room as if no time had passed.

And now, here I am, at home, released from Broward General yesterday about 4:30 p.m. I have an incision in my belly button, one to the left of it, another to the right. I'm uncomfortable, but nothing compared to what I felt Tuesday. In fact, I'm quite fine if I don't feel anything extreme for a few more days at least!

The light in the room is waning, the ceiling fan is whirring softly and outside I think rain has begun to patter on the leaves in the trees. The dogs are surrounding me and the effect of a Percoset is still trying to claim me so I think I'll leave now and coast for a few hours. Yes. I will be content laying in the valley of a low moment while somewhere outside, I'm sure, another extreme moment awaits me.

A World Wide Plea

In my life, music, movies and theatre play a very key role. In fact, when someone says almost anything, I am frequently reminded of a line from a song, a quote from a movie, or a character’s expletive from a Broadway show. Perhaps it is because these forms of entertainment were instrumental in allowing me to escape, mentally, the realities of my childhood, growing up on food stamps and welfare; even if only for a little while.

Because of my penchant to escape through music, movies and theatre, especially when times are difficult, is probably the reason why I am hearing Shirley Bassey in my head, with The Propellerheads, singing “History Repeating.”

And I can’t help but think that it is because of what is happening now, in our lives, in our collective moment in time.

I am no historian. In fact, as a child, I never even liked history. I found it dull and rather boring. Once, in elementary school, I even asked our teacher why we needed to learn history. Wasn’t it more important to learn about the present and think about the future?

A very shocked Ms. Wynn looked at me, her eyes got a bit buggy at the audacity of my question and she responded.

“The reason why we must learn history is so that we NEVER repeat it.”

Perhaps she was just boring at teaching what had already passed. Looking back, though, I cannot imagine that was the case as she was one of the most passionate teachers I had in elementary school. So I’m thinking perhaps it was just the mind of child that couldn’t be preoccupied with things that happened prior to my birth. After all, they didn’t really affect me, why should I learn about it?

As I’ve grown older, I find history actually quite fascinating; especially if taught by someone who has a passion for it. They can make you relive it, feel it, embrace it. A professor in college made me feel as if I was there, on a slave ship, hearing the clank of iron and feel the shackles at my wrists and feet when teaching us about one of the most luridly disgusting times in our country’s infancy.

If a writer is good at turning his phrases and using words, he can make you feel it as well.

And, of course, movies can also transport you into an entirely different realm just by the sheer imagination and talent of the director, actors, writers and editors.

But here’s the tricky thing about history; and here is also where another song comes to mind. This time from the Broadway show Wicked, when the Wizard says to Elpheba, “Where I’m from, we believe all sorts of things that aren’t true. We call it – history.”

Regardless of whether history repeats itself or if it is a matter of perspective, there is no doubt that we are living in very dangerous times. Times, I might add, that are repeating themselves.

In October of 1929, only 79 years ago, the Wall Street stock market collapsed. It sent not only our country into a depression, but the entire world. One of the more vulnerable countries was Germany, due to their large amounts of loans and dependency on foreign trade.

Out of the rubble rose Hitler.

Hitler told the people what they wanted to hear. But first, he went to the German President and asked him to invoke Article 48 of the German constitution. This gave emergency powers to the president to rule by decree.

Is this starting to sound familiar?

The Germans, tired of the political haggling in Berlin; tired of misery, tired of suffering, tired of weakness, were willing to listen to anyone.

But of course, there had to be an enemy. Someone to blame for the horrible things that had happened to Hitler's beloved country.

And guess what happened next?

Over 6 million Jews, supporters of Jews, the physically and mentally disabled, along with the uncounted amounts of homosexuals fell victim to the atrocities we now know of as "The Holocaust."

I believe these events are happening again. Only this time, here in our country. Our investment firms and banks are failing or have failed while the CEOs of the huge corporation reap the rewards of the thousands, if not millions, of laborers across our great, sad nation. They are walking away scott free, while our government condones it. If any of you lost money because of Enron, you know what I'm talking about.

And yet we sit idly by.

Now the government, OUR government, wants to buy and invest in American banks. Bail out investment firms. Some will tell you that this will help save the economy. It may.

But I have a fear.

My fear is that when you leave the door to your house unlocked, a thief could come in. And I'm afraid the thieves have not only come in, they are taking everything they can; including our souls. No one is safe.

First the American government will take control of the banks. And then, we had best watch our step because the media will be next. Newspapers and television states will be broadcasting only those things the government WANTS us to hear!

And then, only whatever semblance of God or human decency remains is the only thing that will save us.

But all is not lost.

As a registered Democrat with strong Socialist tendencies, I am now making a plea to you. For everything that you hold near and dear to your hearts, do not let the Republican party take over for a 3rd term. I beseech you. I beg of you. Please.

McCain is a walking zombie. There is virtually no expression in his beady little eyes. I believe him to be a puppet of the Bush administration. And Palin, who knows next to nothing, is Eliza Doolittle; Pygmalion. She is simply the Republican party's carrot, thrust unto the American people while the current administration continues their policies and strip us bare of all that has made this incredible nation what it once was.

Now, I don't know much about politics, but I can see patterns; and the ones that I see here are not only frightening, they make my blood turn cold.

And just what do I see before me? The road to perdition.

I see a world where we will all live in fear. A great nation, once made strong by the many differences within it, including the paradoxes and contrasts, both beautiful and sometimes ugly, all come crumbling and crashing around us. Terrorism will not be squashed. It will never be eradicated in any way, shape or form. In fact, the only thing that we can count on, is that acts of terrorism will continue to occur. Atrocites from within our very own government, will rear their ugly head and by then it will be too late. We will be living a replica of the movie, "Vendetta."

Our country is in desperate need of a revolution, in desperate need of a new leader. And of course, now I'm hearing the Beatles in my head sing "Revolution."

Because desperate times call for desperate measures, I implore you to drop the blinders, drop the trivial, and see what is before you. Force yourself to truly see with your heart, and not the words that someone else has fed you and still continues to feed you.

If you're as pissed off as I am, make a stand. Let others know. We MUST take back control of our politics and our country. Let it be, once again, a government of the people, by the people, for the people. Organize. Protest. Write letters, sing songs, hold hands. Hell, march if you have to!

Invoke the spirit of our forefathers, rebel against the establishment in your own way. Let's all meet at the Mall; and I don't mean for shopping! I'm talking about the one in Washington, D.C. Let's meet there and just drop out. Where are the Leary's of the Woodstock era? Where is Bob Dylan? Where are the singers? The song writers? The ones who organized us and led us through the 60s?

I do not see a bright, sunny future for all of us unless we act now. Do . . . SOMEthing. Anything. Don't just sit there. Make your voice be heard. Let the politicians know how you feel. Join the ACLU and other organizations who can help us rally and topple the current administration so that we may face, together, a better and brighter future and start, "Walking On Sunshine." Yes. Like Katrina and The Waves.

And for those who are just coming of age, those in their 20s who are into partying and drinking beer and screwing anything that moves or think that there are easy, fast ways to make money and that it is best to simply roll over, remember what Professor Dumbledore said to Harry Potter. "The time has come to choose between what is right, and what is easy."

May whatever universal power you believe in protect us all.

$135.74

My partner and I went grocery shopping today after work. We didn't buy a lot of things as we have just started the South Beach Diet. It's worked well for us before and since we've both put on a little weight we decided to try it again.

For those of you who haven't been on the South Beach diet or don't know about it, it's a bit of a challenge. The first two weeks you're mostly allowed only proteins. No carbs at all, such as rice and bread. Juice and fruit are out, as are carrots, sweet potatoes and even tomatoes. You have to retrain your mindset on the things you can eat and you force yourself to focus on that rather than the things that you can't.

So we're in Publix, our local chain supermarket. We bought some salad greens, sugar free Jell-o, sugar free puddings, cheeses, soy milk, beans, some Crystal Light and lots of frozen veggies. We picked up a few cans of tuna, dog food, Splenda, Pledge, some protein bars, mushrooms and several types of meat and fish. All in all, not a lot of food or anything extraneous. If we're lucky, the amount of food we bought will last us one week. Let me repeat that. One week. And we spent $135.74.

I never thought I would see the day when I, like my mother and grandmother before her, would be standing at the cash register saying, "I remember when." I swore I would never become that. Things change! Everything goes up.

But CHRISTALMIGHTY!!!! THIS much? And we're two people with no kids! What about the parents with children? For that matter, what about single parents? And what of the elderly who are on even more of a fixed income than WE are???

I'm incensed and appalled that our nation has gotten to the point that it has. It is absolutely revolting and disgusting. The political leaders in this country should all be strung up, lined up, and FORCED to work for minimum wage. They should be FORCED to live on a budget. They should be FORCED to work for a corporation and have to kow-tow to the bosses and stuck in a job that they don't like simply because they are working for medical insurance. They should be FORCED to live just like everybody else.

I'm sick and tired of all these filthy politicians making rules for the masses, living like parasites off the taxes WE pay, and lieing through their fucking teeth about . . . well, EVERYTHING!

Starting with the most local of commissioners, although they are probably closest to mainstream America and the aches and pains we feel, then continuing all the way up to the son-of-a-bitch who calls himself the "P" word; the man who stole office not once but TWICE! The idiot moron who has driven our country so far down the fucking toilet it'll take a hell of a lot more than Roto-Rooter, a plumber's snake and the entire Drano factory.

I can't wait for the madness of King George to end. The fascist dictator pig should be strung up by his balls. I pray to a God I'm not sure exists anymore, that we never honor Bush in any way shape or form, the way we have with Nixon, Reagan and other dead former "P" people who all of a sudden, just because they have died, are instant saints and everyone wants to canonize.

How stupid do they think we are? Exactly how bad IS our short-term memory as a nation? As a people?

Well, apparently quite stupid if they are feeding us McCain and Palin. Even dumber if we allow the Republican party to continue to destroy what I was always taught to believe was the greatest nation on Earth.

I'd like to see, not just Palin and McCain, but all the other politicians on BOTH sides, fighting to pay bills and struggling to put food on the table. I would really love to force them to look at our nation's poor, the civil rights they are stripping us of, yet touting Democracy in other countries we have no right to be in.

The problem is, that kind of change will never happen. The kind of change I want to see will be nothing short of a revolution.

I truly hope people wake up soon. I hope we realize that words don't pay the rent. Words, as important as they may be, don't put food on the table, they don't feed your kids, they don't pay your doctor bills, your medication. They don't pay for your gas. They don't put gifts under the tree at Christmas. YOU do.

So if you want to continue struggling, barely scraping enough money to get buy, let alone get ahead, go ahead, keep believing the false prophets and their false words. Frankly, with all that we have allowed and put up with . . . considering the state of our country, our economy, our great nation . . . our planet . . . I'm surprised that anyone can sleep comfortably at night.

Especially the politicians and lawmakers that have led us to where we are now.

Pissed off? You bet. Disgusted? Absolutely!

Aren't you?

Seriously. What else has to happen before you stand up and say "I've had enough and I'm not going to take it anymore?" How many more jobs have to be lost? How many more people have to die because they have no insurance and we have a tired, overburdened bureacracy that just doesn't care? How many hurricanes have to blow before the privileged few are FORCED to look at the poverty that exists in our own backyards and start fixing the things that broken and no longer work?

Wake up people! We are not battling these things as one single ethnic group, as men or women, as straight or gay, as one religion pitted against the other. We are ALL fighting these things TOGETHER. As one planet.

We must stand up and say something because if we don't, as Ben Franklin said, "We shall surely hang together." And personally, I can already feel the noose tightening ever more.

All of this just because my partner and I spend $135.74 for barely one week worth of groceries.

Signs

I know what you’re going to think as you read this. At first you’ll think, why do I want to read this? But curiosity will get the better of you.

And then you’ll think I’m crazy. You’re probably right. Even I am doubting my own sanity and whether what I see truly happened, or if it was a hallucination as my partner says it was.

And now you'll think, "AHA! So there are drugs involved!" Well, there was a brownie involved. A rather large chunk of special brownie I might add.

So then you’ll keep reading because you might just be curious enough to find out what happens next. And when this is all over, you’ll have one of several reactions. You’ll either believe me or you won’t. You’ll think it was a hallucination and so what?

If you believe me, and I hope you do, then you just might find yourself here with me, understanding what I’m talking about. However, if you don’t and move on, that’s okay, too. What will happen will happen regardless of what you do. That's dangerous.

More dangerous still is this: what if you believe me and then decide that I’m dangerous? That I should be locked up? That for the better of humanity and all that is supposedly "American" and "Patriotic" and "for the right of the people" that I should simply not speak? Not be heard?

And that this should not be seen or read?

All I ask is that you keep an open mind. Try and put whatever you were taught, by your parents, your teachers, your neighbors, away in a box, just . . . brush it aside. Everything you’ve ever known about religion or God or the afterlife and what might be beyond. Don't think with your mind, but with your heart, the very core of your soul that is embedded in your very DNA; that part of you that is still very much connected to the Earth we come from but that you have buried and chosen not to look at.

Now, before I take the next step, there is something you must know, I am not a religious man. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I believe there is . . . something. I believe something keeps watch, but not for judgement. That, we do ourselves.

What is "out there" exists only to keep watch, so that we can continue in the way we are supposed to; interfering only when they absolutely must. To bring us back and align us to what our original goals were before we came here to this world. Before we were born. When we agreed.

Yeah. I know. Crazy. Totally. Like the Mad Hatter.

But let's suppose, for just a moment, that there are signs all around us; some subtle, easy to miss, some a bit more palpable, such as a message in the song you're listening to, the movie you watched last night, or your favorite television show, where you stopped channel surfing because something caught your attention and spoke to your heart. Or maybe there's a sign in the book you're reading.

Sometimes even these little signs, barely noticeable, are easy to dismiss as coincidences. But what if they're not?

What if the signs are there to show us the way, point us in the right direction? What if these signs are here to remind us of what we are here to do with our lives. What if these signs were real and you stopped to observe them? Would you take them seriously?

“What if,” like Joan Osborne sings in that song, “God was one of us?”

Remember. I told you. I’m not a religious man.

The signs are there. They have always been there. The trouble is, you either cannot see them, choose not to see them, or disbelief and go against your hunch.

You're not alone. We've all been there. We've all ignored the signs and paid for it dearly afterward. And we just say to ourselves, "If only . . ."

By now you’re asking yourself, “Where the hell is this going? What is up with this guy? Why am I even bothering to read this shit?” But you know the answer to that.

You’ve been just as troubled as I have been.

The signs increase in urgency if we ignore them for too long. And that is what we have done. We've ignored everything we have ever seen or felt, and believe the lies which we have been fed. Now, the signs are too obvious to overlook.

Our climate.
The state of our nation.
Our economy.
Our freedoms.
Our ability to choose and be freethinkers.
The earthquakes and other natural disasters.

We have been poisoned and continue to be poisoned. And we continue to allow it.

Sounds like a conspiracy theory, doesn't it? Sounds like one of those fantastical Hollywood movies where death and destruction bring about the fall of our nations, the fall of man, and animal, kind.

Life, as we know it, will all come to a crashing, cataclysmic, grinding halt.

That’s right. Everything will be gone and destroyed.

But what if you could stop all that? Would you do it? What if all you had to do for life to continue, was to do one simple thing that your loved one told you to do? Something they either hallucinated or perhaps -- remember you must keep an open mind -- perhaps they really channeled a message to you?

Now you’re thinking I’m crazy. Or that I’ve been watching too much television. Reading too many books, sitting in the dark watching too many movies.

Maybe I have. But the signs . . . they're all there. The time's come and we must do something. We can't just pretend that what we do has no consequence to the next person, nature, the world. The Universe.

Again I know what you're thinking. Even as they scream at their most urgent, the signs are still easy to push aside as insanity or the result of a hallucinogenic. But what it it isn't? What if there are some of us who can really feel what is at hand?

And what if I were to tell you there is an answer? A simple one.

Now here is where it gets really tricky. Here is where I will either lose you entirely and you’ll decide to click on that porno link or TMZ or Perez Hilton or some other tripe with absolutely no substance because like everyone else, you've been brainwashed to believe that the lives of those you read is far more important than you're own.

But if you believe that this "bullshit" is actually going somewhere, then please, read on. I need you to come with me even further.

What if a loved one, someone whom you have lived with for, say, nearly 13 years; someone who, hopefully, you love just as much as you love life. Or as you love yourself. Someone you would take a bullet for.

What if that person told you what you needed to do to save not only them, but yourself, your relationship and, in short, save the future of the entire planet and thus the entire universe with all it’s many layers?

Just by following a few simple rules that may or may not have been a hallucination.

Exactly what the rules are do not matter right now. I cannot tell you what they are anyway. Not at the moment. They were meant for one person and one person only. But he does not believe me. The future of our world rests in his hands and I don't think he believes me or will do anything about it.

You see, just like Dumbledore said to Harry Potter at the end of book 5, "Soon we must decide between what is right, and what is easy."

And I just need to know that I’m not crazy.

I really believe that what this one person chooses to do or not do, will alter the course of not just our planet, but the entire universe with it's billions of life forms and entities of all kinds.

I need to know how to persuade him, or the world WILL cease to exist. It's already near the brink. But it's not too late.

There is no, “That depends on what you want me to do.”

There is no, “What are you talking about?”

You either believe me or you don’t. You either understand or you don’t. You will either do it . . .

. . . or you won’t.

And then the world will end. Sooner than you think.

No. This is not fiction. It truly isn't. So please . . . come with me in the next installment. I really need someone to believe me. This was not a hallucination. I felt it, saw it. It was quite clear. There were too many specifics. Too many comments from entities all saying the same thing over and over and over. There were too many of them and they took great pains in getting here to warn him. Through me.

They risked much to tell one person what needed to be done. And that person is not listening. He does not believe me. I think . . . no, I know, he thinks I’m crazy. But he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

So I must tell someone else.

Again . . . I need someone to believe me. And better still, explain it to me when this retelling of my experience is over and I might understand what it's about.

I know you’re out there. I can hear you.

And I can feel you.