Today marks the first super moon of the year – usually the Hunter’s Moon but this time it’s the Harvest Moon – and this Virgo will attempt to lay low while embracing and harnessing whatever positive energy may be released. At times of tumultuous astrological events, it’s usually best to go with the flow rather than fight or resist the chaos. Framing the day in that light is generally a good way to deal with whatever disruptions erupt. Expectation leads manifestation, whether we realize it or not.
At this point in the year, every swim could be the last swim, so I celebrate each one with that in mind. Looking at the next few days of weather, it is quite likely that yesterday marked that final swim of the season, and while my body laughed at the idea of skinny-dipping (skinny?!) I went ahead and doffed my pesky clothes for one last pool dunk. Summer lives in the heart – and yesterday it lived in the sun and warmth – on with the weekly blog recap because technically it’s already fall…
A door to a memory corridor has opened. Allowing in just a little light, it is enough to navigate the first few feet of space, the first few memories. Dusty and musty, with cobwebs to tickle the ears, the place is dim, but if I concentrate enough and focus, I can find my way along the darkened hall, reaching portals to more distinct memory planes. Excavating such passages is sometimes dangerous work ~ there is something to be said for leaving things in the past. How does the saying go? When you dig up the past, all you get is dirty…
Twisted all my limbs for you Two of them in knots and two of them in loops Ribbons tied around like a noose Wonder if I’ll ever get it loose
Sometimes one needs to get down in the dirt, to play with the past so as to make sense of present predicaments. This is the year for nostalgia too, as we celebrate milestone birthdays and anniversaries, including the 30th anniversary of when I found the Boston condo and convinced my parents to invest in it (which turned into the most lucrative investment of their lives). Fall brings Boston back to mind, and with it countless memories of decades ago, when living there alone made a warrior out of me.
Bones are crushing, bones are crushing (pushin’ me) Bodies touching, bodies touching (lovin’ me) Blood is pumping, blood is pumping (pullin’ me) Feeling nothing, feeling nothing (fuckin’ me) Bones are crushing, bones are crushing (crushin’ me) Bodies touching, bodies touching (touchin’ me)
Being a single gay guy in Boston in the 90’s was very different from what it must be like today. There were no social media or online hookup apps, so connecting with other gay men on the prowl was a game of hunting and gathering, with the high-stakes pay-off of not having to spend a night on your own. Back then the only way we had to connect was to pick up on a knowing glance, a look held just a little longer than normal, a smile and the crinkle of a kind pair of eyes. A dance of desire would ensue, usually ending up in someone’s apartment, an awkward introduction and quick dismissal of roommates, and the frantic frenzy of a desperate act of sex in the search for love. I wish I’d known then that sometimes the chase and the sexual act were a means and an end all of their own.
I’m done, I’m done, done doin’ back bends, I break and I snap It’s no fun, no fun, pushed myself into a box while you held Out a gun, I’m done, ooh-ah, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ah I’m done, I’m done, oh-ah, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ah
Twisting all my bones like screws Stretching my self-worth, just like you usually do Caught you like the cold or a flu Praying that I’ll someday be immune
Got me like a bad tattoo (ooh-ooh-ooh) Always under skin, even when it gets removed (ooh) Never get a chance to undo (ooh-ooh-ooh) Positions that you forced my way into (ooh)
On rare occasions I did understand this, and on those evenings I could let down my persistent guard, give in to the sheer abandon of the night, and indulge in a primal release that would rival the tentative steps to love I was usually so careful to make. The body would give in to its pleasure, sensations falling around us like the petals of a peony that let go all at once ~ a cascade of orgiastic ecstasy, sending ripples deeper and deeper into the night. Come the morning, the only danger was in risking an emotional connection by sharing something raw and tender, something easily prevented by a hasty exit and utterances of empty promise.
Bones are crushing, bones are crushing (pushin’ me) Bodies touching, bodies touching (lovin’ me) Blood is pumping, blood is pumping (pullin’ me) Feeling nothing, feeling nothing (fuckin’ me) Bones are crushing, bones are crushing (crushin’ me) Bodies touching, bodies touching (touchin’ me)
More often I was alone then, it being against my nature to be forward enough to invite anyone over with any regularity. I’d twist my internal justifications around in my head, contorting my feelings into something manageable, and almost convincing myself that it didn’t matter. There was a difference between being alone and being lonely, and I determined and insisted that I was only indulging in the former. To admit loneliness would have been to admit defeat. Ever the contortionist, even then, the mind led the body, and the body followed – undefeated.
I’m done, I’m done, done doin’ back bends, I break and I snap It’s no fun, no fun, pushed myself into a box while you held out A gun, I’m done, ooh-ah, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ah I’m done, I’m done, ooh-ah, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ah
Our squirrels and birds and chipmunks have been feasting on the bountiful dogwood fruit harvest this year, and by feasting I mean going bonkers and cuckoo for the pretty red fruits dangling in the sky. The squirrels especially have become contortionists and acrobats in order to secure their mealy meals, balancing on precious perches and somehow never falling or losing their footing (pawing?) – they are little circus performers and whenever Andy and I catch their act we pause in our day to watch for a bit.
This is crunch time for these creatures – saving up for what is typically a long and lean winter. While it’s a circus act for the eyes, it’s life or death for them: the dangerous life of a squirrel, where if the flying danger from an airborne hawk doesn’t get you, an extended winter without access to sustenance might. Fall casts a deceptively comfortable spell if you lose your focus.
Oceans away, a man of mystery has shifted shape and time. Backed by rocks cut by the sea and buffed by the wind, a black cloak swirls about him, obscuring form and figure, while a wispy hood of dark gray hair simultaneously frames and conceals his face. Is this the mysterious Mr. Oud, so recently introduced and still so out of focus? The wind is too strong to discern his tell-tale fragrance and namesake.
He appears as if walking on water, but we know it better to be desert, and the mirrored surface is some combination of heat and optical illusion ~ a sleight of sight Mr. Oud would very much enjoy. Or so we would assume; assumptions are all we have when it comes to the mystery of Mr. Oud. While every person is their own mystery, some insist on revealing far more of themselves than was ever asked. (Ahem.) Mr. Oud was never forthcoming that way, and perhaps thatís why we follow him a little more closely. What fun is there in chasing after what has already been thrown in your face? Gazing upon a pair of pasties will always be more scintillating than gazing upon a pair of nipples. Gypsy Rose Lee understood this, and so should you.
Mr. Oud is above such crude analogies, and his black cloak has billowed into a beige trench coat lined with Burberry plaid, his hair suddenly swept into a manicured coif, and his surroundings a sea of concrete sidewalks backed by buildings that soar out of sight. Mr. Oud is on the move.
Certain songs arrive later in life than we would like have liked, long after the fact and the situations where they might have helped with some resonant emotional advice, or some carved out nook of musical catharsis or healing.
And now this beautiful gem, ‘You’re Here That’s The Thing’ – which I really needed several decades ago, when my heart would stir at the turn of every cute guy come every autumn…
… Catch the rain Even on a sunny day I swear I’m not excusing, I’ll cross my heart to prove it But she seems tired ’cause we’ve been through this
These days part of me years for that stomach of butterflies again, that state of fevered bliss and catastrophe, when you’re not sure if you want to cry or vomit or laugh; the rollercoaster of emotional mayhem was a ride I always took, even if there was a line. Inhabiting those spaces from a safe vantage point is an interesting exercise in regaining one’s idea of youth.
… And I know you said that we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
… When the lights go down, don’t say I didn’t warn ya I don’t think that’s legal in the state of California
This song feels more innocent and lovely than the questionable shit I pulled in those heady days. Thinking back to my younger and more foolish moments (though some would argue less and have a fair point) I wonder if hearing this would have calmed or quelled my racing heart. In all likelihood, it would have only added fuel to the desire fire, giving my over-stimulated brain some scrap of hope that should have never been there in the first place.
… I’ve got you wrapped around my finger like a piece of ribbon You just won’t admit it that you’re smitten Hold on a minute, please, won’t you listen? ‘Cause I’m not sure… if you’re into me like I’m into you
… I said a lot of stupid things in the winter Once the ice got thinner But somehow, we managed through the fall So I guess it’s not that bad at all
Like the little white daisies pictured here – not daisies at all but asters, and I’m not even sure of the difference and distinction – I’m keeping life as light as possible. Like this song – it could be saying a lot, it could be saying everything – or it could just be something to fill the background of your Instagram reel with a vibe and an atmosphere – no more, and possibly even less.
… That we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
… When the lights go down, don’t say I didn’t warn ya I don’t think that’s legal in the state of California
Never let it be said that there is an issue I cannot overcomplicate, overthink, overanalyze, or over-anything – my head knows no rest, my brain knows no way to stop. Meditation has helped, as has therapy, and great strides have indeed been made, but I’m just at the start of those journeys, even if it’s been years. The great undoing has only just begun.
… I’m going away Did I forget to mention how long I’d stay? Is that a question for another day? But while we’re away
… And I know you said that we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
Our weather has been super-fine this fall, but rain is undoubtedly on the way, as is an entire winter, so this is a reminder to get out and enjoy while it’s nice, and prepare to enjoy when it’s not. So much of our happiness is about perspective, and being able to shift that is one of the key components to a happy life.
We’ve been here before – and there is some semblance of comfort in that. At least, it’s what I’m telling myself to get through this next month of fall. When I look back at the past decade of posts for all the October firsts that came before, it does feel similar. There’s usually a few dogwood fruit posts, a transition to colder weather, the last of the precious garden flowers in deeper shades from the more tender time of year – in all, the same shit, different year. Cases in point to follow…
Does anyone actually read the words of a text anymore, or do they just see letters, not formulate anything, and just respond with gibberish? Asking for a friend. All the friends.
What glorious autumn weather we have had so far – a kiss of sunshine for all the rainy weekends and slow sputtering starts we had earlier. It’s never too late for a sunny day, and I step gratefully into the light to pocket some of its warmth for the winter to come. There’s my mind again, working overtime before it even clocks in, and for once I stop myself, willing the present moment to exist as it is, without thought or worry or concern for some future day.
I can’t wait to memorize this day Oh, a picture could not contain the way it feels You say, “Live in the present“ I’m already dreaming of how it begins And trying to savor the moment But I know the feeling will come to an end
So I crave, crave to do it again, all again Crave, crave, to do it again, I Just for a second it all felt simple I’m already missing it So I crave, crave to do it again, all again
There will be slower and rainier days to fret and worry ourselves, darker and more somber events to jolt us into focus – but for now, for today, I just want to exist in this moment – to put a flower in my mouth and point it upwards to the sky. Giving in to the beauty of the day.
There used to be something shameful in giving in to feel-good mainstream moments, as if greater depth and meaning were to be found in pain and pathos – when really that doesn’t automatically translate to character – it just translates to strength, and one’s own reserve of it. No more, no less. The braver and perhaps more vulnerable thing to do is show off your joy, your unabashed love for a song, a painting, a sunny day… we let our guards down when we are at our happiest.
Now I crave, crave to do it again, all again Crave, crave to do it again Just for a second, it all felt simple I’m already missing it So I crave, crave to do it again, all again
And so I choose the joy, the fun, the laughter – I choose the surprise dalliance with summer, which we all thought had already departed, but here she comes again, pool-ready and sun-worthy. I choose to crave too, to proudly name my desire for more – to want, to want, to want – and indulge in the profoundly human need to merge the happiness of the past with the happiness of the future.
Any second, feel the present Future and the past connecting (Past connecting, past connecting)
Mr. Oud is a man of many hats. He’s hard to pin down and impossible to track. When you think you have him cornered, he’s already doubled back. My Oud is a man of many hats. Mr. Oud is a mystery demanding to be solved. For the questioning, the curious, and those waiting to evolve. He’ll be your silver fox or your golden silver Daddy, the one to make you cry out in ecstasy or exhaustion. Elusive, enigmatic, and ever-ready to eviscerate, Mr. Oud knows how to tease and tantalize, knows the power of leaving less, knows the heartbreaking tricks of desire – because he was their first victim. This doesn’t excuse his own behavior, it merely explains his transfixing predicament. Wanting and being wanted – and never the two shall mix. Mr. Oud leaves a presence more powerful than his actual physicality; proof of a power to thrill with ideas and mind-fucks. Unfathomably, his presence is often felt more when he is not around than when he is on the scene. It is then that memory and suggestion bring him into being – the only thing that remains is a hint of that tell-tale smoky scent, a resinous fragrance that follows in his every wake, the perfumed trail of his namesake, his signature, his essence ~ the lingering enchantment of Oud.
