I wouldn’t know him
or the men in this room
if it wasn’t for you.

[And yet, you're not here.]

Holding his head
between my hands
speaking softly if at all.

Eyes fixed upon eyes.

“I’m starting the injection” she said
calmly, squeezing the
syringe into his
femoral vein.

He felt no pain.

Eyes fixed upon eyes,
my soul attached to him.
Connected, then wafting away.

Both of us entranced,
unable to blink,
unable to miss the moment.
As a sweet dog’s life
[and you]
ebb away.

Missing the sensation of
washing your hands under
running water.

I took my time washing.
I savored every sudsy second,
imagining it for you.

submerging
sponging
rinse
repeat

I have the certain sense,
you’ll be all-right.

When you’re back at the sink
with running water
running water
running water

Going with the flow.
This riptide of knowing,
so deep,
invisible from shore.
Alternating between fighting or
letting it have its way with me.

“Help! – HELP!!”
No one hears me anymore.
I’ve rafted too far out.
Maybe if I shout…
or just let it carry me.

I don’t control the current.
I merely place myself in it.
And I’m not sure where
it will carry me.

Now I’m further than ever
from those firm, familiar sands.
Riding this riptide,
so I can see.

Hunched over in a wheelchair.
With your new boyfriend,
standing at the sterile gates of hell.

He’s the one you ran to,
burning the bridges that carried you.

And for what — Love?
I’ve done crazy things for love.
I’ve packed up and left,
only to leave again.

Nothing lasts.
Not even this connection:
so natural,
so destined,
so preordained.

It was a real tragedy.
You saw things differently.

A few weeks ago
I saw you for the first time
in a long while,
and you didn’t look good.

I wanted to help.
What else could I do?

I wanted to take you away,
I wanted to heal you forever,
to erase your pain once and for all.

Just by sitting next to you.

This piece came to mind while I was thinking of my neighbor attending a funeral for a family member who suddenly died. I was especially moved by the ending, which appeared suddenly and sweetly after an angry beginning.

Outside, it’s raining.
Beeswax candles burn inside.
Honey fills my nose
Lifting me up!
On this dark and cloudy day.

Recorded Sunday 2011.0515 and Tuesday 2011.0517. Edited using Logic Pro. © 2011 Eric C Forbes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this phrase. “Be the change” seems to be so different, worlds apart from “change the world” which is how I normally think of approaching life.

One step further, for me, is to replace the word change with the word man so that I would:

Be the man I want to see in the world.

Being the change is broad. How does one become the change exactly? In attempting to answer that question, I overlaid my current dilemma – how do I find a man, a partner, a soul-brother who’s walking his path, becoming all that he can be?

Be the change + Find the man = Be the man.

Simple, right? I think so. It’s radical for me to spend time investing in my own well-being first. I have felt more comfortable being there for another person, and being gay, this generally simplifies to another man, gay or straight. That part never matters. I would do most anything for a man I care about long before I’d think of doing the same for me. The idea of giving and being devoted came naturally. I never questioned putting the needs of others – as I saw them – first.

Until lately. I read his books, have lost 15 lbs on his “slow carb diet” – Tim Ferris is on to something. Perhaps there is something profound in the idea of taking care of yourself first: mind, body, sex, lifestyle. Before doing it for someone else. What’s wrong with that. Too self-centered? If I’m sensitive to criticism, I’ll do things to make people love me. They’ll love me until they resent me for doing things for them! Amazing, yet true!

When launching out on my own path, seeking my own rewards and excitement, there’s been some tension and fear. What if I do something and fail? Fail better. What if someone rejects me or my offer? Ask again. Or better, make a proposition. Making proposals instead of asking for permission is a refinement that makes my spine tingle with excitement. I’ll run experiments on myself, and let the results speak for themselves. Or try to change someone else for the better (as I see it) and watch the fireworks light up your romantic night sky. No thanks! [Let's get scattered for awhile...]

Romance is terrific, don’t get me wrong.
I’d trade these lonely nights for red wine and song.
Looking back, a sensual strand of moments,
once bound together on a string,
Now squirreling across the floor.

Hemmed-together-yet-shifting,
each time I visit them.
Mocking my observations.
Shifting, fading, dramatically flaring into view.

Was it the act of penetration,
the silky softness of your skin
the manly husk of your voice?
I’m grazing your chest, after a long night’s rest?

In the end, none of it matters.
It happened and just that fast, it’s gone.
These moments have passed.
And before long, another moment arrives.

Can you see me now? That’s the question.

//

While I’m officially not looking for a partner, a boyfriend, my long lost gay brother, in so many ways, I’ve already met several men who fit these needs, regardless of the fact that they are not bedding down with me now. Perhaps the idea of keeping a man to myself, even in a modern open relationship consumes so much energy, and the rewards for the endeavor are so minimal lately.  My heart remains open to certain things, but not to the idea of giving another man control over my destiny. No [other] man needs that much control. So I’m doing what I always do between relationships: throwing myself back into my work, discovering new ways of being, and resuming some things I put to the side when a wild stallion came to run with me for awhile.

It was a nice break. I happened so quickly, so effortlessly. I miss how easy it used to be. He taught me to slow down. And for those that know me, that’s not easy to do. There’s no doubt I loved him, love him still. And yet, I take from it the spell he cast on me, and bring it into my waking hours. I take the concept of slowing down and hold it, embody it, breathe and relax into it, and sense myself changing, becoming larger, stronger and more expansive.

To write that relationship off the books as a loss would be cruel, and inaccurate. I revise my ledger. I put it back in the assets column, and realize the futility of tallying a romance. It’s not easy. Nor should it be.

But becoming my own man is something I can do. I can use the men in the world I look up to as examples, mentors and guides to doing something better in my own body right now. Instead of hoping to be in a relationship with Channing Tatum (for example) I can sense my desire to dance and do an unsupported handstand like he does. These are simple things. Vain perhaps. But inside me, I sense a close kinship with these men, some I may never meet, and my imagination grasps something tangible and real. Not the idea of having them in a relationship, per se – that is clearly out of my immediate control. But becoming a man like the man I see in them. Taking on parts of their character, of their abilities, of their grace and demeanor, and mixing it with my own flesh and soul. Maintaining control.

Growing and becoming – the man I want to see in the world.

An improvisation of and old piece I’ve been playing with. Recorded 2011.0218 @ 11:50 PST.

I press RECORD
red flashing lights
capturing these moments
losing myself, remembering you

e-minor descending
melodic and melancholy
music wells up from within
just as love once did

it sounds romantic (by glitteringsootonhereyelashes)

morir:
it sounds romantic,
rose petals scattered on a bed, or floor,
before
you ravish me
or before i ravish you.

y parece me muero
with your fingers running through my hair.
i wouldn’t have it any other way.
si: eso es.

I had to brush up on some Spanish, but once I did, the piece lit up for me. “Rose petals scattered… you ravish me” coupled with the foreign sense of death and dying. Such a romantic scenario, consuming the ever-present moment until it too, changes tense and dies.

And such is romantic love. I can be consumed by it, obsessed and taken over by it. I lose myself and my center. I become horizontal, ellipted, reaching too far over to one side, compromising the core of my being. As I see this from the outside, looking in, re-presenting what I thought I experienced then, again, and sometimes again, I initially get hooked on the drug I didn’t know I was taking.

I get so used to the feeling of being wanted, loved, and needed that I lose myself in the world when this outer relating changes shape or comes to an end. So there has to be a better way. While I will always cherish romance, it can’t be my sole focus, my everything. That’s out of balance, and inherently unstable. It’s like a cam, a wheel with one side chopped off, spinning and yet throwing everything out of alignment. It vibrates. Just as romantic, sexual love vibrates through me when it’s turning.

And when it’s not? I’m wanting for the maligned vibrations. I want them more than I ever did. Once the numbness wears off, I realize how much I counted on it being there, turning, burning, shimmying and shaking itself and me. How I smiled the whole time! How I knew this was the one! And yet, I’ve been through this before, haven’t I? I’ve loved so hard it hurts and still keep loving, with idle periods in between best reserved for tending to my emotional wounds. Heartache? Screw heartache. My whole being aches when it ends, and yet, I don’t exactly die.

##

Changing tense,
not making sense.
What seemed so durable,
is now moot, unspeakable.

Just saying this makes me
tremble with fear.
My emotional idiocy,
my blind faith in you.

I crumble when I
think of you.

I used to think of you
every time I breathed.

At least, I used to.

You abandoned me
You left me, unfinished
No sign of your return.

No one got this close.
No one saw what you saw.

And yet:
It’s easier to run from it
and try to forget.

To be there, for real
was not part of the deal.
••
I woke up early today
A voice spoke decidedly:
“I am your father.”
The man concerned with
concepts, logic, getting things done.

That child left dangling,
waiting for your return,
has always been protected.

Another lesson learned.