“…burn, burn, burn…” – 2011 in Review

I wish I had the mindset to write again. It’s been a while. In the meantime, there are still straggling visitors to my blog, as well as my half-dozen subscribers. You guys are hanging in there, and I appreciate it. I’ll have something new soon, there’s been a lot floating around my head. In the meantime…

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for “…burn, burn, burn…”

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 3,200 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 53 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

 

I Will Not Cry This Day

I know today is an important day. No matter where you were, what you were doing, how you felt, or what you did in response, September 11^th, 2001 affected you. In some way, it affected you. Some of us were horrified. Some enraged. Some utterly confused. Some, even, at peace. Somewhere in us, though, a tear was shed that day.

I shed tears that day.

It was the first full week of seventh grade. The school bus full of murmurs started that Tuesday morning on an odd note. The crying driver added oddness. My first class was typing. Mrs. Woods was not at her desk. My close friend at the time, upon double-clicking the Mavis Beacon icon, nonchalantly mentioned that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I didn’t believe him, and the conversation ended, and we teacherlessly practiced our typing. I passed 30 words a minute that day.

The buzzer signaled us to head to our next class, which for me was US History. Ms. Rogers was present, but she decided to forego role and current events for a box of Kleenex for herself and a television for us. We all sat quietly, staring as our internal questions of “What’s happening?”, “What does this mean?”, “Are those people in New York City okay?” grew heavier in our young minds.

The CNN feed gave no comfort as a repeating cycle engrained the questions further into our minds. Plane into the North Tower. Plane into the Second tower. Cut scene to the Pentagon. Jump back to businessmen falling from 80^th Floor windows. First tower falls. Second tower falls. Repeat.

The day continued in this fashion – the buzzer herded us to the next period, where a missing or crying teacher was replaced with the another television. We went home with the same questions, and no one could or would answer them. When my little sister, Alyssa, asked me what was happening, as her after-school cartoons were replaced by reporters and the traumatic cycle. I couldn’t answer the 8-year-old. Our parents came home that night, silent, with no answer.

 It has been ten years now. I am certain that since that day, I have not shed a single tear, despite all that has happened as a result. At the risk of sounding calloused and insensitive, I have one thing to say to mark this occasion: I will not shed a tear today until the tears shed a decade ago, the tears of my teachers, the tears of my sister, and the tears of my parents, all of which, to this day, have gone unanswered, are accounted for and understood.

 What have we learned since that day? What have we accomplished? Two wars? 8 years of a weak president hiding behind the now-hallowed “9/11”? Thousands of soldiers dead fighting in ravaged nations against their fellow man? When has having hope meant gaining retribution? When has peace ever been won by the fear, suffering, and hate of war? When will the lies end and the comfort begin? When will equality again be won with the voices of the few instead of shot down by the anger and intolerance of the many? When will the fearful seventh graders inside us all finally have an answer?

Video reading of this post, along with some other words.

 

Obama For America

I found this on my old BarackObama.com profile. This is my About Me section that I wrote in 2008 as I was getting involved in the election. It so hopeful and energetic (albeit eerily ironic), and I only hope that flame can be stoked.

“I’m 19, I live on the Central Oregon Coast. We’re hardworking, small-town people, with a lot of heart. In growing up here, I learned and understood the power of community, the meaning of helping each other out, and the greatness in a common goal. Being openly gay, my knowledge of strength, love, and balance has helped me overcome obstacles, and help bring unity to wherever I am. I have hope for this country, and I love it with all my heart.

“Growing up in grade school, we would say the Pledge of Allegiance every morning. ‘I pledge Allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation, under God, with Liberty and Justice for All.’ Our teachers would always tell us the power of those words, and they instilled the meaning of them in our hearts. Myself, and my friends who will be voting for the first time this election, have been looking forward to this as long as we can remember. And there is no better time than now to have our say in the direction our country takes.

“We’ve always been told by those much older than us ‘You’re going to take care of us someday.’ and we all feel that responsibility. I feel a great power moving through my generation, something very real, and very poignant. But because none of us can run for President, it’s so great that we have a candidate that understands our struggles and our dreams. From college tuition, to moving out into the world, to civil equalities, to plain and simple well-being, we have someone looking out for us. That’s why I support Barack Obama in our campaign.”

 

Dear Mr. President

Dear Mr. President,

It has been over a year since I last wrote to you, and many things in my life and the world have occurred since that time. As I was with my first letter, I’m very aware of your precious time; you’re a very busy man. I received a typed message from your staff, on fancy White House stationary with your Auto-Pen’d signature, which I keep with much gratitude and humility. I only hope these words make it to your desk and that it’s not too much trouble for you to read a young man’s dreams. In addition to vast changes and events, my views and outlook have also been altered, which I will share here. But first, some thanks are in order.

First of all, for your tremendous efforts in bringing the withdrawal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell to fruition. This massive step in the queer rights fight, a fight I’m a part of everyday, has brought us closer to the equal rights we’ve had all along, but that haven’t been respected or put in stone. This is the true “agenda” the fear-minded people are worried about – equality, happiness, and opportunity for a group of people they don’t fully understand. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, and its repeal, for us was not only a step toward individual freedom, but a step toward understanding at home as well as the battlefield. If soldiers of all creeds and character begin seeing eye to eye, perhaps the supposed enemies will be seen as what they truly are – coexisting human beings trying to get along in the world. Who knows unless we give it a try? And you’ve definitely helped that process along with your support, which I hope will continue to grow throughout your term and (hopefully!) your next term.

Along those lines, I’d also like to thank you for you determination to get our forces and interests out of Iraq and Afghanistan. In regard to the finding and killing of Osama bin Laden, I don’t agree. He may have been an enemy to many in the world, and perhaps the world is better off without him. I simply don’t agree. I believe in an America where one is tried in a court of law, where fate is decided, though I’m sure the same fate would have come for him, be it gallows, the chair, or a round of bullets. But after seven and a half years, hundreds of thousands dead or injured (civilians, soldiers, American, Iraqi, Afghani – all blood is the same…), millions of families affected – is the search and killing of one man worth the while? I don’t agree, but what’s done is done, and you are making every effort to end this bloody war for the sake of peace, which I can’t help but agree with. A shared inspiration, Martin Luther King, Jr., once eloquently said, “Wars are poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows.”

Lastly, I’d like to thank you for the health reform. In my previous letter, I had many questions for you, as you had just signed it and I didn’t fully understand it. Now that I’ve started college and my mother gets insurance from work, I’ll be eligible through her program in November with no added cost to anyone, and I can only be grateful for that.

On to the nitty gritty. As I mentioned, I recently started school, at Lane Community College in Eugene, Oregon. I originally inquired about getting my G.E.D. through their program, but upon inquiry, I was asked “As far as you’re concerned, did you get your high school diploma?” I won’t trouble you with the story behind my answer, but I responded with a simple “Yes.” “We won’t look for it. Financial aid won’t look for it. Come to college!” I was elated, and in March, I started down that fresh path. In two years, I will have an Associate of Arts, focused on music theory and production.

I have vast dreams for my future. I was always taught to have big dreams and to want them with all my heart. As a child, no one ever laughed at me or told me it wasn’t possible, and I always believed it was. But as I matured, moved throughout the workforce after high school, lived on my own, I realized this world has become a place of shattered dreams. I saw headlines of layoffs, foreclosures, oppression, poverty, war… Where was the talk of dreams? Was there room for them anymore? Had people sacrificed a chance at personal fulfillment for a chance to squeak by? Even as I started school, I wondered if what I was fascinated by and had absorbed my whole life was even worth it. I don’t want the picket fence, the two-car garage, the desk job, the six-figure income… That’s not my version of the American Dream. I am led to agree with George Carlin – “It’s called the American Dream, because you have to be asleep to believe it.” It’s a sad, unfortunate truth, and the dream needs to be what its namesake implies: a dream. The system must nurture dreams, it must encourage them, and it must allow them. These days, it’s just not there. I wish so badly I could have hope for my future. My boyfriend, Austin’s future. My friends’ futures. My little sister, Alyssa’s future. My parents’, Dale and Yvette’s futures. I want all of their dreams to come true, and I can’t help but feel they too will succumb to utter defeat.

This is not a letter of a youth trying to upset the ideals of his country. These are not the words of an American naysayer. I love this country, but not for what it is. I love the United States for what it once was. For what it was meant to be. And for what it could be. Over three hundred million people are here for no other reason than to live in the freest, safest, most prosperous country in the world. But they’re finding the dream isn’t here. Immigrants used to flood our shores for the opportunity at an education, a good job, and a thriving family. Now, they trickle in for the jobs no one wants, and are pushed away.

If America is ever going be the beacon for hope it once was, it cannot be hope backed by a strong economy or a strong military. It must once again have a strong people. It must encourage dreams, not stifle them with the trials of oil wars, banks becoming the robbers, and unequal rights. We have based our economy on a finite resource, oil, when an infinite resource, human creativity, has been put aside in exchange for a quick buck. This isn’t a blaming game; this is a cry. No need to point fingers, humanity does enough of that.

During your campaign, you inspired we downtrodden youth. You were the first person I ever voted for; I campaigned in my little hometown. “He’s going to change everything!” And I believed you would. You haven’t changed everything (too much for one man), but you’ve changed a lot, and you’ve shaken things up. Your story is a mirror of the American Dream as it was intended to be. I encourage you to continue your changes, to stick to your guns (figuratively, not literally), and to disregard the media and pundits: The People are behind you, Sir, no matter what the polls say, and I for one support you greatly.

When I was a kid, I had music class in school everyday. We would sit cross-legged, playing conga drums, xylophones, toy pianos, marimbas, castanets… Whatever we could get our hands on. The teacher would simply show us every instrument, play songs for us, let us make our own. That was how my interest started. Growing up, my dad would always have the radio going in the garage, in the car, everywhere. I’d ask “Who are the Beatles?” and he’d tell me about “Love Me Do” and “Let It Be”, and everything in between. I loved it all, and would bounce along in the car seat singing “We all live in a yellow submarine!” (You can imagine my excitement when you awarded Sir Paul McCartney the Gershwin award. Tell me, were you as enthralled as I was that he sang “Michelle”?)

At ten, I started taking piano lessons for $40 a month from the most brilliant woman I ever met. She had Masters and Doctorates covering her wall. Her resume included Stanford, UCLA – Berkeley, and Juilliard. She once led choirs that performed for the Pope. In the Vatican. Twice. She’d composed a symphony performed by the London Philharmonic at the New York MET, for which she was called up to conduct. Then she spent six years filling my head with Lydian modes and arpeggios. I combined all the music I’d ever listened to and loved from my dad’s garage with the scales and Bach preludes I’d learned in her beach house music room, and decided I wanted to help others make music. Now I’m 22 years old, living with my boyfriend of nearly two years, on loans and food stamps, making love, making music, making friends, and making waves. I only hope I can spread that inspiration and dream with like-minded people who are only in it to do it, not to make a buck. I don’t care about my loans, I don’t care about how much it costs me. I’m going to get good grades, graduate, and do what I love. That, to me, is what America is all about.

My favorite author, Jack Kerouac, wrote many books of his visions of hitchhiking across America in the 1940’s, visions that I still see lingering shards of everyday in my life and the people in it. The closing passage of his most famous work, On the Road, gives a marvelous image of what America is truly at its heart, and really, what this whole world is – a beautiful, vast, inspiring place where lofty dreams and ideals are free to wander and land wherever they please.

“So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, and all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars’ll be out, and don’t you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all the rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old.”

Not unlike any American’s heritage, my ancestors came here a hundred years before old Jack stuck his thumb out for Denver. To get away from the frigid fjords, they took a steamer from Oslo, Norway to New York City. They passed the Statue of Liberty, calling out for the tired, hungry, and poor, and upon landing, boarded a train for those Great Plains beneath the sparkler dims to make something of themselves. Each generation has worked hard, raised a family, and passed into memory with a dream or two still left on the back burner. Our family has good blood, of longevity and joy, and I intend to spend all that time and energy living not “the Dream”, but MY dream, sharing it with the people I love, hoping they’ll do the same, and perhaps fulfilling my ancestors wishes. I only ask for a little help to make it a possibility. I have a wonderful support circle of people that see eye to eye, but if there’s someone that knows what I’m talking about, who knows what it feels like to live their dreams out to fruition, you are such a person, Mr. President. I simply hope you see the same dream in all of our eyes.

Sincerely,

Zachery Quale

P.S. As a stressed student, I’m finding myself struggling to quit smoking. I’m not sure if you’ve quit or not, but given our individual circumstances, perhaps we’ll allow each other the quiet grace of indulging our thoughts for a spell on our patios.

 

Trust

Taken from a website I found. Mind you, it’s 5:30 in the morning.

Trust is a dangerous thing. And it is such a great responsibility. Trust does not only mean being true to someone even when the whole world is against them. It is not only the belief that the other person will be there for you and catch you when you fall. It is not the faith in them or knowing they won’t betray or lie or cheat. It is more than just that. Trust involves all your thoughts and emotions being given to that someone else so that they could have it and keep it safe for you.

Trusting the other person means you are comfortable with gifting them the truth about yourself, showing them the vulnerable “you” and believing they will handle everything with utmost care. Trusting someone involves you being comfortable with the truth and what they feel and think.

Trust is a great power. But at the same time, it is one of the most fragile things. Once you put your trust into someone and they drop it and shatter on the ground, it is hard to be replaced. And sometimes to shatter it, you even don’t need proof, just a hint, a suspicion, one word. And the world is not the same anymore. Because it lost something it was based on – the trust.

When you first realize that promises of forever love were broken, that you are being told lies, that the one you care and love the most was cheating you, your small world crashes and you think life is an illusion. People are not real, feelings are made up. You are lost. You trusted them to keep your heart in one piece and now they broke it into million of pieces which you even don’t want to collect.

But what hurts more: the broken heart or the broken trust? The fact that you trusted your life, your feelings, your emotions to someone who didn’t know what to do with them, and found no better way other than crashing all hopes and breaking all promises? One moment, will they say they will love you always and forever, and the next second, will you understand it as all a big lie? Always and forever don’t exist to you anymore. And you learn to accept the truth, to hide the pain and to smile with tears in your eyes. And you try hard to collect finally the pieces of that poor heart and bring them together.

But can you bring back the capability of trust? Especially when that one person regrets their mistake and asks for forgiveness? What do you do? Just pretend they don’t exist, or let them into your life again? What do you do when that one person who was meant to be the love of your life, your best friend, your soulmate; the one you could always share your dreams and desires with… what do you do when they want to come back? When they smile at you and your heart melts? When they say they love you and you want so much to believe? When they ask for permission to be there always and forever? What do you do? When they ask for the second chance, when deep down, you know you love them? When you think about them all the time, in the mornings, during days and before you fall asleep, too? When they say things and you want to believe they mean it?

But trust is gone. You want to believe, but you don’t know how. And everyone around tells you not to go for it again, because they don’t want you to get hurt anymore.

Don’t believe in those who say “If there is no trust, there is no love.” Sometimes you love them, but you just can’t trust them, and that sucks.

Of course they, too, realize they need to work on getting that trust back, but it doesn’t make things easier for you. You are confused and scared. Confused because you don’t know what to believe – your heart or your experience. Scared to be hurt again.

But you still remember that one person knows you better than anyone else. That’s someone who knew you and accepted you, before anyone else did. Or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, you will always love them. Always and forever.

You just have to learn to trust again. And the best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them. And then the trust is either there, or it’s not. And you know it is not that simple, and it can take a lot of time to get it back, and a lot of effort, and you might be mistaken, too. But maybe sometimes, we should be able to take our chances; some things are worth risking. You just have to try, because every second chance begins with a first step. And maybe one day you will be the person who needs this second chance.

Some people say “Never trust someone who lies to you.” I would say “Never lie to someone who trusts you”. But in the end it is up to you who to give your trust to, just sometimes you can build it up for the second time and maybe it is worth a try.

 

Gutter

For so long, I was in a city of grey concrete. Just grey. Nothing spectacular, just melancholy and grit. I yearned for that twilight of orange and purple among the high-rises, with ribbons of white on the left and red on the right, winding up the cardinals. A city of gold and silver, with twinkling windows above the alleys and sidewalks. Something thrilling yet soft and careful. I always envisioned it, but never thought I’d find it.

Then you.

I saw a future. I could breathe that crisp, quiet air. I heard the music. I thought you could hear it, too. And we danced. The colors grew deep and settled, and we climbed higher rooftops with each passing evening in each other’s arms. We made our own music up there, above the unrest. The days disappeared, and it was nothing but peaceful bliss of twilight.

Orange and purple.

There was no need to hope for more. There was nothing more to strive for, nothing to fight for. We just soared. It was going to last. It would have endured. But gravity set in, and I crumbled under the weight. The higher you go, the longer the fall. It took one slip from the precarious ledge, and we both landed in separate gutters.

There’s nothing here in the refuse of storm drains and manhole covers. Just dirt and dust and grime. It’s all I deserve, but not you. I should have been the only one to fall. I was the only one to slip, and I selfishly grabbed your hand and fell, you with me. It wasn’t fair.

I deserve to be left here in this filth. You deserve the golden city. I made promises, promises I intended to keep. I broke them all in one fell swoop. I can’t win you back. I’m lower than that. If there’s any winning at all, it’s winning you like I did when the concrete grey became twilight gold. I strain in the dark to recall what it was that started that blaze, and wonder if there’s a chance in heaven or hell of finding that again.

You hope I learn something from this for the future. I’ve lost my future; it had nothing to do with me from our starting point on. It had to do with us. The very us I purged in my daft, meaningless self-centered mistake. I lament, I plead, I cry, but to what avail? I deserve this, but I won’t accept it. Not while this flickering flame alights my soul.

You trusted me. You loved me. You believed in me. You had faith in what I could bring your life, and you made it ours as well. You never tarnished it. You never went against the grain. Everything you ever did was for us. 100 percent, 1 percent more than I gave. That small, menial 1 percent that I failed to deliver overpowered the other 99% that I held so aloft. That 1 percent was such a burden, and I stuffed it way, way down because I knew that it would destroy every hope and desire we had for us. But in my selfish attempt at preventing turmoil and sadness, I forgot what honesty means. And what can I do now? I can only try.

Try.

Try.

Please believe me when I say that I truly want this. Us. More than anything in me. Call it cliché, call it a selfish plea; it’s the truth. You will not be hurt by me again. Whether that means every inch of me will henceforth be for us if you allow me back in, or that us will no longer be, you will not be hurt on my account. I won’t have it. I’ve seen what it’s done, the damage, the pain, and I can’t bear to live with that possibility. I have learned something from this: The meaning.

The meaning of love. The meaning of compassion. The meaning of honesty. The meaning of trust. The meaning of fragility. The meaning of giving everything and anything to make each day and night together something more beautiful than the last. I admit my frailties. I own up to my mistakes. I only pray for your forgiveness, your love, your compassion, your honesty, your trust, and your one last chance. If offered, I will not lead you to regret it.

I cannot deny that there is something here above the mess of it all, in our own little world. I feel it in my soul, my mind, my heart, my body, and my spirit, though I’ve failed to show that fully. It’s something that will never shake, no matter how hard the quake. If I sound desperate, pleading, or fleeting, please forgive me; it’s only my heart. Truly. Point out my flaws. Call out my mistakes. “It’s just me.” I can’t give you everything. I can’t promise it’s all going to be okay. I can only assure you, again and again, to whatever end, that it all will not be in vain. It’s cold. It’s lonely, and God only knows, it’s what I deserve. I only ask for the chance to be what I should have been.

I don’t expect anything above what you’ve already supplied. I only want to balance it out the way it should be. 50-50. Nobody said it was easy; it’s just such a shame that we should part. I want to be everything you’ve been to me, and more. The security blanket. The go-to guy. Not the wet blanket. Not “that guy”. I don’t want to linger as a memory of what to avoid, what to be wary of, what to look out for. I want to remain as the one that went through thick and thin with you. I want to be the one that endured. I want to be the one worthwhile. I know I haven’t been that, but God… I want to be. I know I can be. I just need this chance. I don’t deserve it, my actions don’t warrant it, and I certainly don’t expect it. I only ask for it. Please.

Don’t throw me aside. Yes, I broke your heart, that tender heart. Give me a chance to mend it. If that means releasing it, so be it. But if you want to offer one last fighting chance to fulfill my promise, to achieve that dream of ours, above the noise, above the trials and and shattered hopes, I only ask for that one fighting chance.

Remember that day by the ocean? You took my hand as I lead you down that sordid path along the roaring cliff, and we stared out at the immense blue emptiness. That was the moment I knew. That was when I shivered with the prospect that of all the little sparks floating in the world, yours was the one that lit my soul ablaze. I only ever wanted it to burn, though I snuffed it with the tribulations of a out-of-mind evening, leaving you to wonder where I was, and me knowing I wasn’t where I should be. A smoldering ember can be lit again. It’s on my shoulders to find the spark again. Find what you fell in love with, and remain that, as you have for me all this time together.

I hold you very close to my heart, and I hope you hold me in the same regard, at the end of all things. I pray I leave this as a passing thought and not a parting one.

 

And All That Road Going

What to do, what to do, what to do… React or retract? So many people, so many loves, so many stories, so many miles. I hear the road calling – it’s begging for my return. I wonder what’s out there, and what I missed. I feel, like so many feel, as if life continues without me, moving forward while I stay behind, continuing from wherever I am not. I can’t help but feel that it is not complete, the journey to knowing my soul, yet know it never will be.

I’m not the only one: so many tell me stories of release. Of breaking free. Of flying. They either have the all important desire or the ever precious memory. I have both. Yet, my realistic mind moves in for the kill, tries to overpower my idealistic mind. A civil war in my cerebral cortex, beyond my (apparent) control. Do I fight? Do I provoke? Do I tend the kindling, or snuff the flame?

We all know of paths. There a billions of them, spurred by billions more. They all lead us to each other, in some crazy scheme of the Earth. Not all on this great green gem mingle, mind you – but everyone in our circle, our eternal family, our ever-expanding beds, and, in the end, our overflowing hearts. Road blocks do no good. Neither do shortcuts. The meandering paths criss-cross and merge, splinter and dead-end. They simply are. You only have to go along for the ride.

That’s why I can’t shake the road from my senses. I can’t ignore the call. I rationalize; I disregard my senses for something more logical. It makes no sense, and it’s to no avail. I will return to the road, to the wild unknown that is fabled and foretold by those of a greater generation. I only wonder if I’ll go alone.

 

PUBLIC NOTICE

On the topic of the voiced grievances that have been confided in (and shared by) a number of people in my close personal circle, this shall stand as my public notice should any legal proceedings occur in the future. Also, this shall stand on behalf of others that have been bothered and disturbed by this or a similar situation. I will only use this inconvenience’s username, so as those who know the situation will know who I’m talking about, and those who don’t will still have a good story to read.

For many months now, I have been badgered and harassed by one “RyanTee82″ of Corvallis, Oregon. This started as a simple correspondence via Twitter.com, on which he started “following” my profile under the username RyanTee82. He would respond to my posts, and an occasional correspondence would come about, all in a friendly atmosphere. Given that he was local, and that he knew a few people I did, I felt safe and secure that he was trustworthy, as my countless other contacts always had been.

Soon, however, he started inappropriately contacting me via other social networking sites, such as Facebook.com and Formspring.me. Particularly on Formspring, a site where users ask each other questions, he would constantly ask about my personal life, mostly regarding my boyfriend, Austin, and our sexual relationship. I often would tell him off, thinking he would get the notion that I was not about to disclose any information that was not his or anyone’s business.

After many instances of my skirting the subjects of his questions and comments, and his pressuring me, it became confrontational. He would often accuse me of “not being real”, suggesting that my online life is the same as my personal life, and that if I’m “real” in my private life, so I should be publicly. I would consistently disagree, stating that my online and personal lives are very different. I project certain aspects of myself honestly and openly, through my thoughts, comments, and posts, but they should not be an indication of my true character, nor my status as a human being. I questioned his motives, and he would elude some sort of friendship between us, to the point where I became uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as an unwelcome advance or suggestive connotation. He would even go so far as skirt around me, contacting Austin with similar questions, as if he was involved. His contact would be anonymous on Formspring. Tweets, posts, and chats from him on Twitter and Facebook would not be.

Upon learning of suspicious behavior on his behalf from other trusted friends, as well as simply having grown increasingly weary and angered by his ignorance, persistence, and delusion, I began blocking him from all social networking sites on which we had contact. Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, etc. Contact ceased, and I was satisfied. However, Formspring allows for anonymous questions to be asked by anyone, and questions very similar in style and nature appeared in my inbox not long ago. The identity was disclosed, only to be RyanTee82. I quickly disregarded the question, answering with two quotes. “It is annoying to be honest to no purpose.” and “Only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity. And I’m not sure about the former.” I subsequently blocked him from Formspring.

A few days later, I noticed a curious spike in my views on WordPress.com, centered around one day. I investigated, and found that all the views came from a single search for my personal email address, which connected to my blog. Numerous clicks were made to my other networks, including the stream of my Twitter updates which are posted on WordPress, as well as other social networks that I rarely use. There were no clicks to the usual clicks I get, to my MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter accounts; they were all to sites that I rarely use and haven’t blocked RyanTee82 from, based on never having contact with him through those accounts. I can only assume it was RyanTee82, in an attempt to peer into my life.

Given this long stream of inconvenience and disruption, as well as these recent developments, I fear I have two choices. One: to make my open dialogues online closed off, something I would not like to do given my morals and character, yet fear I must do to protect myself and those I love from further “creepers” such as RyanTee82. Two: Keep the open dialogue with the countless others who have not interfered, have not abused, and have not tormented. I choose that latter, and my final statement on the subject follows.

NOTICE TO RYANTEE82 (and any others who think they can screw with me and get away with it): Any further attempts to contact me in any way, or to involve yourself in my life or with the people I keep close to me, shall be swiftly followed by either my consultation with a lawyer, or with a restraining order, or both. Do not contact me, my friends, my boyfriend Austin, or anyone remotely related to me in any way. Do not access my profiles, do not email me, do not contact any of my friends in an attempt to find out where I am, what I’m doing, or what I have to say. If you have any bookmarks, contact list or address book entries,, or the like mentioning my name or any form of communication with me, I suggest you delete them all immediately. It is unfair that I have to adjust the way I communicate with hundreds of respectful, intelligent, meaningful people through various venues as a result of one bad egg that had to ruin it for me.

 

“…burn, burn, burn…” – 2010 in Review

Thanks, everyone, for making 2010 a fantastic year for me and for “…burn, burn, burn…” It started out so meek and meager, and it really blossomed this year, thanks to your support and curiosity. I look forward to bringing you more in the coming year.

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how my blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health, emailed to me this morning:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Fresher than ever.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 1,800 times in 2010. That’s about 4 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 31 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 48 posts.

The busiest day of the year was July 18th with 69 views. The most popular post that day was Artistry.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, twitter.com, formspring.me, and mail.yahoo.com.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

Artistry February 2010

2

Speech: “You Cannot Live on Hope Alone” – Harvey Milk April 2010

3

Speech: “Instant Disbelief” – Glenn W. Turner August 2010

4

Letter: Jack Kerouac to Neal Cassady August 2010
2 comments

5

The Mad Ones (“The Vision”) September 2009

 

For the Taking

At first, I thought it was depression. However, I’m in wonder of the world. Of the people, and the conversations you have with those people. Today, I realized we’re not so different, you and I. We’re both floating through this ecosphere, wondering what will happen next, where the next bend in the road will lead. I realized even more how much importance I hold for you, and how much I’ve missed it.

It’s time I step it up. It’s time I take initiative. Whatever that entails, it’s worth it, as hard as it may be. I don’t know if it’s a change within me that needs to happen, or if it’s simple audacity and determination. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. But I do know this. I will wake up next to you. You’ll grab my hand, and instead of leading me somewhere, you’ll only show the door. You won’t force me to cross the threshold, but rather walk ahead, look behind, and hope that I’m running to catch you. I’m sure you feel light years ahead of me at times, but somehow I feel you’re just as scared. The only thing was have to do is to be terrified together, and hope our individual strengths meld together into one continuous power, and that our individual weaknesses are left behind, barred from becoming a mutual weakness.

The conversation I had today that sparked this regarded a dear friend of mine and the only boy to truly open a door to him. Take it or leave it. He wasn’t going to chase my friend, he wasn’t going to egg him on, badger his weaknesses, or tear him down, only to then extend a hand to pull him from the gutter. This boy a world away was just going to be, and my friend will have to make a decision, a decision he’s never had to make. A decision everyone has to make, whether they’re ready to or not, whether they’ve made that decision at any point in their lives, or had any knowledge or knowhow of. And it’s that same decision that I had to and will continually have to make.

This acquaintance, my friend’s muse, a total stranger, really, was as real as anyone’s lover should be. He was as real as you are, and was doing exactly what you’ve done. You’re so firm and grounded with how you feel about me, with what you want us to be, that you don’t pander or wish-wash or plead. You stand, strong, collected, and true. You don’t knock me down, you don’t belittle me. You love me. Period. You’re a lover and a friend. You’re a rare find, and I don’t know if I make that clear, but I’m going to start.

This supposed ripening depression was blamed on winter, the cold, my missing of the sun and all that jazz. In reality, it’s an epiphany, the feeling that something I’ve known all along, deep down, has finally been fully realized. That frightens the hell out of me. You show me so many things: patience, understanding, honesty, and compassion. A true sense of a friend. A true sense of a lover. A true sense of what I’ve made sense of, completely and fully. I apologize for what I’ve put you through in coming to this point, and I thank you for no casting me aside.

This last year has been incredible for me. The last two years, the last three even. You’re the only one who really knows the dirty little details of my life, even details I wouldn’t admit to myself. I’ve always been an honest person, but your firm yet loving stance has opened the doors of honesty. You won’t take anything but. That’s admirable and valorous.

As for my friend, a friend whom, for a long time, I regarded as just a few steps behind me, is really a mirror, in an astounding way. With his own life experiences and lessons, of course, but someone who, through others’ upset, is doing the same thing I have. I of course hope the very best for him and his, but ultimately, I am learning from him, learning not to go down that road any further. I always waited for the day he would say “You told me so…” But now, I get to say it. To my own advice. I wasn’t being hypocritical, but slightly naive and gravely ignorant.

No more. Time to turn the page and write the next chapter. I love you.