Mark and I have been relegated to being part of the "Bridge and Tunnel" crowd and an apartment complex called 'Avalon'. First off, naming a vertical trailer court after King Arthur's final home, or the Book, whichever it was, is ludicrous. Some of Mark's staff think this building is the coolest thing going and I have to laugh. My goodness, just because one can't afford Park Avenue doesn't mean one needs to be ignorant of what is of acceptable aesthetic quality and that which is most certainly not! I will say the park is rather pretty, but nothing else. And, yes, I'm a snob about it. I haven't lived with this lack of quality since I was broke in college. I miss my funiture, my cat and L.A. If we must live in New York than there is only one New York: Manhattan. Everyone knows that, everyone. Give me a falling down brownstone, just let me back across the river!
We have no friends in New York. I am terribly lonely here, and Mark is, too. Especially since he must live with an old sour thing like me! I can't quite believe I've become what I despise. A silly old Queen who's shuttered off alone and morosely grotesque in the process. I haven't even my own things to console my belief that in my cutting myself off from others I'm comtent. Maybe I better change! I read other gay and lesbian blogs and they all seem so full of talent and promise and life: even if they have nothing much and live in Astoria. Ah, well, my journey is my journey. Mark wants me to see a therapist. I told him I would. I owe him that. I should really like to be one of those heros one reads about in books. You know, the sort of intrepid never giving up adventurous sexy leading man type of guy who rescues everyone else with no thought to his own needs! Maybe the depression is due to my inherent belief that I really am supposed to be that man and I keep mucking it all up. Lately, I can't even seem to manage to cook a decent dinner! Ha Ha! So much for the CCA. 
>Peppermints death has really shaken me. I never deamed it could happen. Mom is dying, too. Dad is ill. Mark is pale and can't even get to Denver for the surgery to have the cancerous testicle removed and the implant put in - his employer is unwilling to sign the contracts and make everything (like the salary) she promised him legitimate. One cannot travel without money. I cannot find work of any decent salary that will help, fuck all I've been is a housewife for 17 years. (Sorry, Julia, it;'s the Truth). It was a great job, I loved it, but what do you do when it isn't needed anymore? Lisa sent me a lovely note about Pepper (and my dear Julia phoned immediately) and included a little stuffed Calico cat toy. I'm nearly fifty and that silly toy means the world to me. I guess I'm terribly lucky with my friends. I have no right to be loved so, but there it is, they do. And my dear Mark. Seventeen years of flying sparks and quarrels and hot sex and praying together; what more can I ask for in life. I have it all and I forget it quite regualarly. Such a stupid prick am I! (Though I miss my gilt bronze clocks, can't help it!)
Everyone says I have so much talent, they always have; it's just that I don't believe a frigging word of it - being gay what else can I be but a decorator anyhow. My artwork isn't good enough, I'll never be a profitable artist.
My design work is better, but there are plenty with the skills I have and they actually - as Mark points out - know how to be nice to people. I used to throw some decent parties - black tie, the works. I remember them vaguely through the haze of cocktails. Gorgeous tuxedos, gowns and cigars! It was fun. The bureau plat draped in antique bronze silk damask and the tubs of Veuve. The string quartet on the stair landing. Amsterdam was lovely, Cobbled streets and a seveteenth century house on the Keizersgracht. Fabulous neighbors and friends. I used to watch the local boat races from my loft(y) bedroom, papered and hung in tutqouise silk and toile. I smashed a parian figurine one day when Mark was yelling about the clutter! Ouch! I regret losing it far more than it made an impression on Mark. On Joy's birthday we filled the apartment with silver balloons floated to the ceiling and strung with trailing ribbon. The old French farmers table laden with gorgeous flowers and cakes and sandwiches - and lots of Veuve. Julia and Maarten came for their aniversary dinner one year while Mark was in the States and she brought a bottle of fake champagne in a bright pink bottle - it was great fun contrast with the Herend and Yeoward and Buccelati. Mint and Tig used to sit with me on the daybed in the living room and we'd watch the snow fall on the canal. Dusk was the lovliest, that particular deep blue just before the utter black, the candles lit and the lights begining to twinkle in the townhouses opposite. I think I miss San Francisco most of all. It was the only time Mark and I broke up really. I took a flat in the Castro for a while; but it was our grand apartment on Pacific Avenue that I loved the best! That's when Mark had the drapes made - that have now travelled around the world - Houles fringe and olive green silk! Yummy. The bureau plat sat on a leopard carpet and the white damask chairs and sofa looked brilliant against the faux boisery I painted. I bought a suite of what I though were 19th century Louis XVI dining chairs. I was ripped off! Mark was furious with me, and for years remarked on the chairs, which I still have if we ever get them out of storage in Los Angeles. Gilt stamped cognac leather on creamy white frames.
My favorite spot in San Francisco is Sutro Park. There is a statue of Diana left on one slope of what used to be formal flower gardens. It is in disrepair and the stag at her side has lost a leg. It was our 'mini honey-moon' to drive to the park after our wedding at City Hall. (Mayor Newsom's grand gesture!) When the fog comes into the park, amongst the great and towering cedars, I love to wander from the view of the crashing sea to Diana's statue and beg her to bring us home. Bring us home! San Diego, Paris, New York, Provence, England, San Francisco, Los Angeles - a great and glorious life has Mark given to me - I hope I've made it worthwhile for him, too. Josh Groban (glorious vocal range) sings a heartbreaking song that is on repeat while I type. "You're Still You"
We have no friends in New York. I am terribly lonely here, and Mark is, too. Especially since he must live with an old sour thing like me! I can't quite believe I've become what I despise. A silly old Queen who's shuttered off alone and morosely grotesque in the process. I haven't even my own things to console my belief that in my cutting myself off from others I'm comtent. Maybe I better change! I read other gay and lesbian blogs and they all seem so full of talent and promise and life: even if they have nothing much and live in Astoria. Ah, well, my journey is my journey. Mark wants me to see a therapist. I told him I would. I owe him that. I should really like to be one of those heros one reads about in books. You know, the sort of intrepid never giving up adventurous sexy leading man type of guy who rescues everyone else with no thought to his own needs! Maybe the depression is due to my inherent belief that I really am supposed to be that man and I keep mucking it all up. Lately, I can't even seem to manage to cook a decent dinner! Ha Ha! So much for the CCA. >Peppermints death has really shaken me. I never deamed it could happen. Mom is dying, too. Dad is ill. Mark is pale and can't even get to Denver for the surgery to have the cancerous testicle removed and the implant put in - his employer is unwilling to sign the contracts and make everything (like the salary) she promised him legitimate. One cannot travel without money. I cannot find work of any decent salary that will help, fuck all I've been is a housewife for 17 years. (Sorry, Julia, it;'s the Truth). It was a great job, I loved it, but what do you do when it isn't needed anymore? Lisa sent me a lovely note about Pepper (and my dear Julia phoned immediately) and included a little stuffed Calico cat toy. I'm nearly fifty and that silly toy means the world to me. I guess I'm terribly lucky with my friends. I have no right to be loved so, but there it is, they do. And my dear Mark. Seventeen years of flying sparks and quarrels and hot sex and praying together; what more can I ask for in life. I have it all and I forget it quite regualarly. Such a stupid prick am I! (Though I miss my gilt bronze clocks, can't help it!)
Everyone says I have so much talent, they always have; it's just that I don't believe a frigging word of it - being gay what else can I be but a decorator anyhow. My artwork isn't good enough, I'll never be a profitable artist.
My design work is better, but there are plenty with the skills I have and they actually - as Mark points out - know how to be nice to people. I used to throw some decent parties - black tie, the works. I remember them vaguely through the haze of cocktails. Gorgeous tuxedos, gowns and cigars! It was fun. The bureau plat draped in antique bronze silk damask and the tubs of Veuve. The string quartet on the stair landing. Amsterdam was lovely, Cobbled streets and a seveteenth century house on the Keizersgracht. Fabulous neighbors and friends. I used to watch the local boat races from my loft(y) bedroom, papered and hung in tutqouise silk and toile. I smashed a parian figurine one day when Mark was yelling about the clutter! Ouch! I regret losing it far more than it made an impression on Mark. On Joy's birthday we filled the apartment with silver balloons floated to the ceiling and strung with trailing ribbon. The old French farmers table laden with gorgeous flowers and cakes and sandwiches - and lots of Veuve. Julia and Maarten came for their aniversary dinner one year while Mark was in the States and she brought a bottle of fake champagne in a bright pink bottle - it was great fun contrast with the Herend and Yeoward and Buccelati. Mint and Tig used to sit with me on the daybed in the living room and we'd watch the snow fall on the canal. Dusk was the lovliest, that particular deep blue just before the utter black, the candles lit and the lights begining to twinkle in the townhouses opposite. I think I miss San Francisco most of all. It was the only time Mark and I broke up really. I took a flat in the Castro for a while; but it was our grand apartment on Pacific Avenue that I loved the best! That's when Mark had the drapes made - that have now travelled around the world - Houles fringe and olive green silk! Yummy. The bureau plat sat on a leopard carpet and the white damask chairs and sofa looked brilliant against the faux boisery I painted. I bought a suite of what I though were 19th century Louis XVI dining chairs. I was ripped off! Mark was furious with me, and for years remarked on the chairs, which I still have if we ever get them out of storage in Los Angeles. Gilt stamped cognac leather on creamy white frames.
My favorite spot in San Francisco is Sutro Park. There is a statue of Diana left on one slope of what used to be formal flower gardens. It is in disrepair and the stag at her side has lost a leg. It was our 'mini honey-moon' to drive to the park after our wedding at City Hall. (Mayor Newsom's grand gesture!) When the fog comes into the park, amongst the great and towering cedars, I love to wander from the view of the crashing sea to Diana's statue and beg her to bring us home. Bring us home! San Diego, Paris, New York, Provence, England, San Francisco, Los Angeles - a great and glorious life has Mark given to me - I hope I've made it worthwhile for him, too. Josh Groban (glorious vocal range) sings a heartbreaking song that is on repeat while I type. "You're Still You" Through the darkness, I can see your light. And you will always shine and I can feel your heart in mine. Your face I've memorized, I idolize just you.
I look up to... everything you are! In my eyes you do no wrong! I've loved you for so long, and after all is said and done - you're still you. After all. You're still you!
You walk past me.... I can feel your pain. Time changes everything! One truth always stays the same. You're still you, after all, you're still you!
I look up to... everything you are! In my eyes you do no wrong! And I believe in you although you never asked me to... I will remember you and what life put you through. And in this cruel and lonely world I found one love!
You're still you, after all, you're still you...
I look up to... everything you are! In my eyes you do no wrong! I've loved you for so long, and after all is said and done - you're still you. After all. You're still you!
You walk past me.... I can feel your pain. Time changes everything! One truth always stays the same. You're still you, after all, you're still you!
I look up to... everything you are! In my eyes you do no wrong! And I believe in you although you never asked me to... I will remember you and what life put you through. And in this cruel and lonely world I found one love!
You're still you, after all, you're still you...
I love you, Mark! Darling Mark.
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