Though it’s Tuesday it certainly feels like a Monday, and having just returned from a wonderful vacation in Maine, I’m feeling lazy enough for a recap. Since today is National Coming Out Day, why don’t we do a big gay recap?
Author Archives: Alan Ilagan
October
2016
October
2016
Nothing Hostile Here
Focus on the host portion of this hosta, and forget any similarity to hostility. Words are tricky that way. Deceitful little things. Unlike this beautiful hosta, whose enchantment is magnified in the second photo, thanks to the droplet-adorned accoutrement of falling rain. If it seems like I’m hanging fruitlessly onto a summer that long ago departed, it’s because that’s exactly what I’m doing. No shame in my Wilson Phillips game. Sing it Carnie!
October
2016
Traditional Thieving Recap
The sins of Christopher Columbus are being celebrated today, but since you can’t discover what someone has already discovered, I’m going to take the day and dismiss the honor as we move forward by looking back. Our typical Monday recap begins now.
It started with this glorious bit of pornography.
An impromptu visit to New York City illustrated how much wonder there can be in a single night.
It also showed what happens when there is no sleep.
There are naughty books in this world. (Or are there?)
Though limited, there were Hunks of the Day, and they included Jason Morgan and Ed Harbourne.
October
2016
OGT Beauty
Here is a glimpse of the glory that is Ogunquit, as our real lives intersect with my online adventures. We are scheduled to depart this lovely town tomorrow, as our annual fall visit comes to a close, and we do so with our usual tinge of sadness. Still, there is something of comfort in such beauty, and we always leave a little richer than when we arrived.
At the edge of land, the light is magical. Where the sea greets us, whether in peaceful slumber or tumultuous rage, there is the crux of life.
We will be back when things awake again… in the spring.
October
2016
The DG Tour: Flower Bomb Balm ~ Part 2
Across the street from my childhood home, there was a rose garden. My parents did not grow such exotic beauties – content with their vegetable plots and swaths of impatiens – so I’d sneak over and spend hours walking the stone paths among the plants, bending down to inhale the intoxicating fragrance, doing my part in plucking off the Japanese beetles, and basically having the time of my life.
I enjoyed the solitude as much as the beauty, and though my heart wanted to burst for all the wonder and prettiness around me, I didn’t feel the compelling need to share it with anyone.
That would come later.
Back then, it was enough to experience the garden on my own, this secret space where I could be entirely at ease, luxuriating in my solitude, the sun and the sky as my only quasi-companions. On a summer day, when other boys would be playing ball or rambunctiously bandying about, I found safety and solace here.
Behind a gate, a patch of mint ran wildly into the shade beside a stand of arborvitae. It formed a living wall of green, like some formal maze at a grand estate, and I thrilled at such secluded secrecy within secrecy. Slipping into the space, I felt relief from the midday sun. I brushed some of the mint with my hand, allowing the aroma to rise and refresh.
This was where I would find home.
October
2016
The DG Tour: Flower Bomb Balm ~ Part 1
The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star begins its final leg today. I feel like there should be some grand dramatic gesture here, but most of the drama has already occurred. This is sort of the calm aftermath, like the receding waves of a retreating tide. When you see the final pages, the absence of a full-on finale may make more sense. I’ve found that the most powerful revelations usually do not come about with a bang or a big event – they happen slowly, over time, and any deep-seeded change or transformation, such as what happens to the very land we walk upon, takes years and years to find full fruition.
That is very much the case as the last chapter of The Delusional Grandeur Tour is presented in the next few weeks. You’ll find here a return to my childhood passion – flowers – and within that a return to what I’ve always held sacred. The last two decades have found me on numerous journeys, each rife with the intent to find myself, or in some instances to completely escape from myself. I’ve created an image and a persona that was my way of dealing with pain and hurt, suffering and angst, giddiness and joy, pleasure and desire, longing and desperation, loneliness and love in ways that weren’t always healthy, or even rooted in reality. Not that it was all a dream, nor was it all very real.
My ‘tours’ were escapades that amounted to little more than traveling to see friends in different places, to lift the mundane and reach a higher level of entertainment. Mostly, they were done to deal with a world that grows dimmer by the day, to try to attain enough delusions to disguise the fact that we are all not superstars.
Perhaps I went a little too far…
But what purpose does a flower have other than to show off?
October
2016
Floral Sanctuary
What is it about a flower that so soothes us?
Its beauty, its fragrance, its perfect form?
The wonder of its growth, of how it all began and how it came to such a point of prettiness?
It is all of these things, but it is also something more.
No flower lasts forever.
The very notion of its fleeting and ephemeral existence is a lesson in grace and humility.
It is also a lesson in bombast, and how to put on a show.
Flowers don’t have time to do anything but shine and entice.
Their purpose is to make an impression, a lasting impression that secures the propagation of their species.
Because of that, they are made more beautiful.
Just like the best moments in life.
The very shortness of their duration is why we love them so.
There is something soothing in such a finite experience… and something sad too.
October
2016
Round & Round Just Like A Circle
Following the lime-green petals of a zinnia, we go around the circle of life.
Whorls of spinning repetition, repeated rows of endless segments – they all lead back to before.
Somehow, though, we have never been here.
The cycle of a year is a similar journey.
Here is the spring, followed by the summer.
Here is the fall, coming before the winter.
And here we arrive at the spring again.
It’s the same but somehow different, and it always feels new, no matter how many times we go around.
October
2016
FBB
More on that mysterious titular acronym in a few posts… for now this is a tease for the next installment of The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star. As we near the end, the trajectory has come around not just to the beginning of this particular tour, but back to the start of that which originally inspired and thrilled me. In this case, a love of nature and flowers.
A scene of simplicity and beauty.
The magic of transformation.
Our delusions have one final chapter in which to resolve themselves, but before we lose ourselves on this last road, let’s look back at where we’ve been…
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
01) Intro/Curtain – Part One, Part Two, Part Three
02) Sunset Pool – Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
03) On The Road Hotel – Part One, Part Two, Part Three
04) Rock Star Addict – Part One, Part Two, Part Three
05) Animal Demons – Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
06) Steam Punk Birdcage – Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four
07) Red Riding Wood - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
08) Winter Top Hat - Part One, Part Two
09) Warrior Retribution - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight
10) Cologne Glamour Fashion - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
11) Samsara Healing Water - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
12) Spring Thaw Salvation - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
October
2016
October
2016
October
2016
Pom-Poms of Petals
Along the meandering Southwest Corridor Park of the South End, pockets of pulchritude lie hidden in wait for any unsuspecting passers-by to happen upon them. Little jewels, like this mound of white flowers, flutter in the fall breeze, a visual foreshadowing of a snow-laced winter to come. That elicits a slight shudder. How dare I mention the W-word at this early stage of the game. No one wants to hear that just yet.
But snow blossoms, they’re another story. I’ll always have room for a white flower. A sign of innocence, a pretend vow of purity, even if no flower is ever truly innocent. They want for nothing more than to procreate like everyone else, and devise the most ingenious ways of doing so. We’ll leave that for another post, however, for on this day, on this morning, we want only to take in the virtuous beauty.
October
2016
Ominous Remnants
A puff of fur.
A scattering of hairs.
A bone stripped bare, still pink from blood.
The ominous signs of a meal.
And someone is missing.
October
2016
For the Love of a Faggot
I’ve never been called the f-word as much as I have this year, and across the board it’s been by Donald Trump supporters trolling my Twitter account. Up until now, I’ve been puzzled as to how best to deal with them. Reason and logic and truth got me nowhere. Witty and intelligent counter-arguments only confused them. Reciprocal vitriol engaged them on their homegrown turf. Blocking, reporting and ignoring them worked, but still left things unresolved. Not until today did I figure out the best way to deal with them, and it’s the simplest but sometimes most difficult thing to do. I fought against it for so long because it seemed too cliched and trite, too weak and wimpy, but it turns out it takes more guts and courage and grace than anything else I’ve ever done. The most powerful way to shut down someone who hates is to love them.
I’m not talking romantic love or physical love or even friendly love – I’m talking the simple love we all can, and should, feel towards another human being, if only because they are human too. As prickly as I pretend to be, as ornery as I behave, and as annoying as I can act, I’ve always held a certain modicum of love for my fellow human beings. I respect life too much to devalue it with hate, even for people who don’t agree, or who don’t believe I deserve the same rights as they do.
This was not an easy shift to make. I had just been called a faggot by someone on Twitter who goes by the name Canadian Lucifer (@ConCanadian) in response to one of my Donald Trump comments (on Trump’s own page, not Lucifer’s). I started by calmly replying, “You only perpetuate negative stereotypes of Donald Trump supporters by calling me a faggot.”
Lucifer quickly replied: “I don’t care about stereotypes. I only care that I know you are a faggot.”
It was then that I realized this person had no interest in engaging in a reasonable discussion, or even simple human decency. I surrendered, but in so doing issued the ultimate challenge. With one Tweet, I made it impossible for this person to win: ‘All you need is love.’
Far more than any angry diatribe or cutting insult could have done, it hit a nerve more sensitive than those accustomed to receiving hate from hate. Lucifer retorted immediately: ‘Not from faggots, I don’t.’
Normally, this would raise my ire. I’d lash out, cut this person down, or report and block them. Instead, I wrote this: “I love you anyway, as a fellow human being. You may not like it but you cannot stop it.”
Lucifer did not take kindly to that. When hate is confronted with love, it rarely responds in kind. “Sick fuck” was Lucifer’s succinct response.
“Why do you think it’s sick to love?” I asked without guile or pretense.
Lucifer replied, “Because it is a ridiculous emotion in light of human nature. Hate is far, far stronger.”
“And yet you’re not strong enough to stop me from loving you as my fellow human being,” I wrote.
There it was. The underlying heart of the matter. The one thing that they cannot and will not ever be able to take away: our love.
Even if Donald Trump wins this election, and if he and Mike Pence strike down marriage-equality and implement gay conversion therapy as they have written specifically into the Republican Platform, they still won’t be able to touch the one thing they really want to stop: our love.
We will love, and we will love, and we will love – and no one can outlaw or regulate or stop that.
It’s not an easy thing.
You can’t fake it.
You have to mean it.
It must be genuine. It must be earnest. It must be given without expectation or want of anything in return. That makes it hard to do.
It also makes it the most rewarding.
It extinguishes the burning rage of anger.
It heals the residual hurt of sadness.
It relieves the stubborn ache of pride.
And suddenly, just like that, Lucifer was gone, and the sting of the word ‘faggot’ dissipated.
Love really does trump hate, and it always will.
October
2016
The Naughty Books
Would that I were a child again so I could go back and read these classics for the very first time! Alas, one can never go back and do the same thing twice, no matter how fierce. Deeper and deeper my ass.












































