Rotting Pomegranates

Satyr Amongst the Naiads, French School, 17th century

There is a ripe and heavily scented sadness, which permeates all of life. It is not the fear of death, or the consequences of having lived, well or otherwise, but rather the longing of the soul’s search which leads to the discovery of oneself, possibly having been in vain. The absence of self. A nightmare from which one is never to be awakened. The seeking for the meaning of life: the Golden Fleece, the laurel crown, the collection of knowledge, a knowledge of God, the scramble to love and to be loved, to absorb the events which bring boons and those which bring pain. The highway upon which one travels to acquire knowledge and the ability to use ones mind to refine it, discarding superfluous elements and incorporating treasures all in order to find a way of living which embodies nobility and honor… and yet allowing oneself to have knowledge of those things which contrast with the light and good in order to see, just SEE. If life were a two dimensional work of art in whatever medium, the light is known because one knows how to manipulate the shadows. Ones life is necessarily the same as this canvas or print on paper or even a three dimensionally a sculpture, it all depends on high-lighting the darkness. Without the shadow there is nothing to SEE.

The exploration, however, of the darkness, this absence of light, the negative space, the lull in the music before the crescendo, the illness of ones mind and ones body is without a doubt a perilous journey. To choose the hunt and become aware of the absence of good, of a lack of honor and the abscence of light without doubt allows the temptation of these black, dim, sick, malformed and self destructive entities to grasp at ones protective garments, to pull and slash and shred the genuine protections of the spirit – for while the knowledge achieved grants above all devices an otherwise impossible depth in the appreciation of good and bestows the strongest desire for the beauty and the light of all things; whether the tenor’s high clear note, the artists masterpiece or the glorious soul of another man, this same acquisition challenges the purity of ones own spirit and the ability to love ones body and admire ones own mind without a hovering winged doubt that one has in the end only found that the night gives for a moment rest from the struggle.

Why does one search, how does this travel along these many shadowed paths begin? Is it in childhood the abrupt unchosen awakening of ones sexual being? Is it determined in part by the rigid stringent philosophies of religion, of politics which most often neglect to present themselves with love, understanding and compassion for those of us whom are different, those of us who find ourselves - without choice - to be beyond the expectations of ‘normality’? Absolutely,yes. Yet, as one becomes an adult, one must still make a choice to search for self determination or alternatively unwittingly abide by precepts simply handed down without reason, not with faith but in fear. One must eat of the fruit or wander aimlessly in a garden for which one has no appreciation of its cultivation. One is either sentient as a being or not. The precepts, the beliefs, the faith that one is advised wholeheartedly to follow and obey will hold no value if not deliberately chosen. What value in a choice, in truth is there a choice?, if understanding is absent?

This then will be paradise to me: to leave behind the shadow and the night and live deliciously and profoundly in the light. Heaven will be when the light has so encompassed one that no contrast with the shadow is necessary to See.

Et in Arcadia Ego

O cruel Alexis, carest thou naught for my songs? hast no pity on us? thou wilt be my death at the last. Now even the cattle woo the shade and coolness, now even the green lizards hide in the thorn brakes; and Thestylis is bruising garlic and wild thyme, strong-smelling herbs for the mowers wearied with the fierce heat: but for all my company, as I trace thy footsteps, the copses ring with crickets jarring under the blazing sun. Was it not better to bear Amaryllis with all her sour displeasures and haughty scorns? or Menalcas, though he were dark, though thou wert white? O fair boy, trust not overmuch to colour; creamy privet-blossoms fall, dark hyacinths are gathered. I am scorned of thee, nor dost thou ask what I am, Alexis, how rich in flocks, how abounding in snowy milk. A thousand lambs of mine wander on Sicilian hills: fresh milk fails me not at midsummer nor in the frost. I sing as he was wont when he called his oxen home, Amphion of Dirce in Actaean Aracynthus. Neither am I so foul to view: of late I saw myself on the shore, when the sea stood in windless calm; I will not fear Daphnis in thy judgment, if the mirror cannot lie. Ah that thou wouldst but care to be with me in the rough country, to dwell in low cots, to shoot the deer, or drive a flock of kids to the green mallow bed. With me in the woods together thou shalt copy Pan in singing; Pan first taught to join with wax the row of reeds: Pan is guardian if the sheep and of the shepherds. Nor let it repent thee to run thy tender lip along the reeds: to know this same art that did Amyntas leave undone? I have a pipe joined of seven unequal hemlock-stalks, a gift that Damoetas once gave me, and said as he died: Now hath it thee for second master. Damoetas said it: stupid Amyntas was jealous. Furthermore two fawns, and in a perilous ravine I found them, with skin even yet white-dappled, drain a ewe's udders twice a day; and I keep them for thee. This long time Thestylis begs them to take away from me, and she shall, since our gifts are graceless in thine eyes. Come hither, O fair boy; for thee lo! the Nymphs bring baskets full of lilies; for thee the white Naiad plucks pale violets and poppy heads, and adds the narcissus and the fragrant anise-flower, and entwining them with casia and other sweet-scented herbs, spangles soft hyacinth-posies with yellow marigold. Myself will gather quinces with delicate silvery bloom, and the chestnuts that my Amaryllis loved, and waxen plums withal: this fruit likewise shall have his honour: and you will I pluck, O laurels, and thee, bordering myrtle, since so set you mingle your fragrant sweets. Thou art a country boor, O Corydon! nor does Alexis heed thy gifts: nor if the contest be of gifts may Iollas yield to thee. Alas, alas, what have I brought on my luckless head? I have loosed the tempest on my blossoms, woe's me, and the wild boars on my crystal springs. From whom fliest thou, ah infatuate? Gods likewise have dwelt in the woodland, and Paris of Dardania. Pallas may keep by herself the fortresses that she built: us before all else let the woodland satisfy. The grim lioness pursues the wolf, the wolf in turn the she-goat; the wanton she-goat pursues the flowering cytisus; as Corydon does thee, O Alexis, each drawn by his own delight. See, the bullocks return with the ploughs tilted from the yoke, and the sinking sun doubles the lengthening shadows: yet me love burns; for what bound may be set to love? Ah Corydon, Corydon, what madness has caught thee? thy vine hangs half unpruned on her leaf-laden elm. Nay but rather at least something of all that daily work needs, set thou to weave of osiers or soft rushes: if he disdains thee, thou wilt find another Alexis.

Virgil, Eclogues II, Alexis, translated from the Latin by J.W. McKail, 1934

Decorative Painting

Donald W. F. Larson, 2000
After a door panel, Chateau Vaux le Vicomte, Oil and gold leaf on canvas and wood, 28"x34"

I executed this piece as a 'sample' for my clients to illustrate the type and quality of the work I do.

Deep Blue, Violet Grey and a Blue Rhinoceros

Donald W. F. Larson, Blue Rhinoceros, 2003, oil on canvas
after a woodcut by Albrecht Dureer, 16"x22"

I've been in a deep blue state for three days now. Deep blue usually only lasts one day. The one who has to deal with it more than myself of course is, Mark, poor chap. He does his best to be helpful because he of course wants me to snap out of it quickly, yesterday is not soon enough. But, I don't choose its arrival, just like a Blue Rhinoceros bulldozes in and who is going to stop him at forty tons? Nor do I choose when the deep blue leaves. Rhino sets his own departure time, too. What I do do is keep to my routine, however much I don't want to do so, because it keeps me from the next stage which is black. Jet black. When the deep blue becomes this horrible it's difficult to cope. I feel as though I do all within my means to prevent the visits. I see my doctors, take the prescribed medicines, I exercise three time weekly at least, I have changed my diet - lost eighty pounds over the last year and a half - and am actually building muscles. It seem like I should be gung-ho, just like Rhino, for all the good things that have happened. And more and more I am, the deep blue comes twice a month or so now, not three or four or five. That's a help, but overall the blueness is present constantly. But, even when we're not deep blue we're almost always a shade of grey, with tinges of violet. I haven't seen a spring green morning or a daffodil yellow day for as long as I can remember. Not the sight of a Loved One or the contemplation of Art or Design, or Nature. Not even Gilt Bronze lures me with pleasure! It's fucked, just fucked. Yet, I'm heading out of deep blue and into violet gray, at this moment, or I wouldn't even have had the drive to type this ridiculous self-absorbed babble. Maybe tomorrow it'll be a silvery grey! Here's to hope. In the meantime my friend Blue Rhinoceros will keep me company for a little time.

Separation of Church and State

Bill Frist has apparently agreed publicly with President Bush that Creationism (also known as Intelligent Design) should be taught in America's classrooms as an alternative to Evolution. Hogwash.

America is founded on the freedom of religion and the separation of Church and State. Creationism is a religious belief which, Catholics at least, are not obligated to believe. Every Catholic has the right believe or to not believe that God created the world in six days - that alone should be enough argument to keep it from being taught in a science class! I do believe in God, but I do not believe in the Biblical story of Creation and Adam and Eve. I believe in the messages that were taught when using these parables. These are stories which are told to express a belief in God at a time when science was unable to offer an explanation of our beginnings. Now we are able to offer the theory of Evolution.

If you believe in God, as I do, than you surely know that many Christians believe God to be Omnipotent. (Though if God can do no evil than explain to me how he is omnipotent.) Nevertheless, let's assume God is all powerful. Is He not able to have created a world, a universe which is based upon the principals of Evolution, the signs of which we are discovering all around us? Could God not allow the development of species and allow their demise as part of His plan? If you believe he is Omnipotent, than you must believe that He certainly CAN do just that. The history of our world (in whichever branch of science you may choose: biological, physics, astronomy, medicine, etc) which we know and understand all support evolution as the manner in which species change, evolve, adapt - usually predicated on the need to survive! This is also true of man as the only cognizant and rational species - we still seek new ways to understand our universe and our origins. We work through our sciences in part to achieve many great things for the continuation of our species. We are evolving! It's a marvelous thing, but it can also be frightening. New views demand a change of a belief - whether it is a faith based belief or a scientific belief. Change always has the possibility to challenge us to grow. Move forward. Evolve. All compatible with an omnipotent God, yes? Yes. In the end "the unknown is unknowable." I choose Evolution as the greater work of God, in which he gives this wonderful ability to adapt to even the lower creatures and plants. And so much more to us. Science, if God is about, is his gift to man as well - for we are HIs creation, as are our minds! I believe He wants us to discover a great deal and use this knowledge for the good of man, and our planet.



The dire and harmful step we are embracing if the country decides to allow Creationism to be taught as a science when it is not a science is profoundly disturbing. You cannot teach Faiths' beliefs in a science class. These beliefs are founded on trust in God alone from a text, the Bible, which has been pointed out as being full of stories - parables - and for which there is no scientific discipline which can provide any sort of an answer. Why? Because a belief is an intangible thing of the heart. A belief is a glorious gift to receive, but use it wisely, support those members of your Church, Temple or other house of worship and understand your Faith's rich heritage and explain the texts as you would in any class: words with different meanings being pulled apart, texts examined to discover which is the most likely meaning when this parchment comes from this time and this word means this, but also this and this too. There is a marvelous place for Science and Religion to interact together which should be worthwhile to both. But not in Science class, please! In World Religion, please! Give the honor due Religion - for it is a driving force of man as long as we know man has existed - it does have a place, even a scientific place. But that place is not in the science lecture our children will attend about Evolution.

Jesus Christ said "Give unto Caesar what is Caesar's and give unto God what is God's." If my memory serves me for the quote. Here is another way of stating the same good advice. Give your children a marvelous Faith, in which Love is the greatest act you can give or receive in honoring God and His people, study all the wonderful and comforting texts of your Church and do so proudly. Then send your children to classes where they may be educated in Science, Mathematics, History, Arts, Literature, World Cultures, Religions and all the great studies of men. Let them embrace the magnificent knowledge that men have accumulated over millenniums which gives us all the lives we are priveligied to have today. When our children have both Faith and Science I think they will be a strong and happy people.

And for those of our children and adults who do not have a Religion or Faith, speak in the religion class about what Agnostic and Atheist mean. And PLEASE, teach our children and adults of the prevalent Catholic and Protestant Christian groups that the Buddist, Islamic and Jewish peoples all have something which we may learn from, let us in an appreciation of a world of many cultural beliefs take our brothers and sisters to heart, as friends, with whom we must learn to live in order to survive.

I Am What I Am

Opinions founded on prejudice are always sustained with the greatest of violence.
Francis Jeffrey (1773 - 1850)

It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.
Andre Gide (1869 - 1951)

It is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong.
Voltaire (1694 - 1778)

The fundamentalist right, whether Christian, Muslim, Jew or Catholic will find their voices hoarse soon from raging against those of us who are gay and seeking civil equality. When their voices die, it is their hands which will be raised against us. I believe with the current administration of this country, and the intolerant speak of the Vatican and other religious organizations, that day is near at hand in America.

Paradiso, Paradiso

There are so many disturbing things going on in the world everyday one wonders how our minds can process even a small part of the tragedies. I'm not going to list them here, just run your mind back over this first half of the week's news and remember horror after horror. It is incredibly difficult to be involved in just a minor way: reading and listening. Then it grows complex. You throw in the letters you need to write to politicians, businesses, pro-groups and anti-groups, then friends and family who may also write a letter... Add in phone calls, to all the same on the list. The regular shit doesn't take time off - the doctors and more fuckin' doctors to stay alive - it's a job on its own. Throw in follow up and then finally sit and write a little about it, which is the catharsis moment, the second all your work makes sense and you find you're too pooped to write about it, to pull out your notes and list of sources. In fact you're feeling shitty enough just to begin to...............really not care. Not even an exclamation point. That's how this week is making me feel. So, having been down these Everyman's dark and friendless roads many times before I am prepared. I will have a nice smoke, just for the utter pleasure of it, watching the lovely heavy scented smoke curl away as I breathe it slowly out. I will listen to Josh Groban sing 'Cinema Paradiso', headsets on - the nice Bose ones which block ambient noise - and lastly, as I finish this blog to lush swells and sweet scented smoke, think of my dearest husband, sitting in the kitchen watching a program about ghosts. I smile to myself, think of scratching his ears and hair gently and saying "bedtime, Doodles? Come an' cuddle, need you...". He'll say "I want to see the SciFi channel." Fine. Absolutely fine. I'll crawl in beside the man, tap his arm, which he opens wide for me and I rest my head on his strong muscular shoulder as his arm curls 'bout me. His scent is familiar andabout love. Deep sigh. Peace. He'll drowse before I do, and snore, his own sweet snore, and I'll reach up and place my hand on his brow and bless him, beg God as I know Him, to comfort and hold Mark tight, clear his mind of thoughts of worry and allow him to rest, weariness set aside for this night-time together. I am then for a nano-second-eon joyful and quiet in my heart. His is there, too, just there, beating. Another night of life, with him. Thanks God.

La Vie en Rose?

Oath of The Horatii, Jacques-Louis David, Musee du Louvre

Professor Alan Hyde's paper, 'Our Homosocial Constitution: Some Sexual and Political Themes in Paintings Admired by the Founding Fathers', is a fascinating journey into the heads of some of the authors of our Constitution. The premiss asks us to see the Constitution as, primarily, Thomas Jefferson would have when helping to write our nation's primary document. Hyde speaks of a 'visual culture' which for all of us is a unique perspective. No person may actually view anything viewed by another, we must instead depend on our explanation of what we see, and are therefore limited to words, whether oral or written. We are asked then to attempt to 'see' how Jefferson was influenced and promoted the ideals set forth in late eighteenth century French paintings, often inspired by the neoclassical views of Greece and Rome, and perhaps viewed at the time not for their artistic value but for the political ideals set-forth in the image. Jacques-Louis david was the master of this historical genre and influenced much of Europe and the foundling America. We are introduced to the paintings which Jefferson had copies made for Monticello. The inventory, according to Hyde, is telling. What did Jefferson's view bring to our Constitutional society? A new social order in which a primarily male aesthetic blossomed and in which women played only a supporting role. Hyde points out that this was the first break from a long tradition of elevating women with "...an objectifying male gaze that often placed a woman as the central object of desire." Consequently, the Constitution came to represent a view of the world in which a fraternity between men replaced the family as a model for society at large.

The Death of Socrates, Jacques-Louis David, Musee du Louvre

This may sound an ideal to the average gay man. I assure you it is not! David and his like must now be viewed for their artistic merit and, perhaps, an appreciation of their political views of the past but with a clear realization of the huge limitations such a moral and ethical code would now impose. If we attempt to live with the Constitution as (possibly? probably?) envisioned by Jefferson our GLBT communities will be as replaceable and as defunct as women were in his eighteenth century Enlightenment thought. The Constitution becomes a static document capable of relevance only to those who see the world in this most conservative and rigidly prejudicial manner, the best contemporary maxim for which is simply: 'the Good Ol' Boys' Club'. Don't underestimate the devotion still held by many for this model of government, it is enshrined in the fundamentalist hierarchy of the current Republican party. Our living, progressive document transcending era and speaking still to successive generations of Americans, interpreting modern societal experience, is essentially threatened to all our detriment, with swift erosion if not utter annihilation. The 'New' Supreme Court, fast approaching, will greatly determine how our Constitution comes to be viewed. The importance of which type of document we consider our Constitution to be is now telling and it will become increasingly fundamental to our liberty - or lack thereof.

Professor Hyde's essay, fully annotated, may be found at: http://www.andromeda.rutgers.edu/~hyde/homo.htm#N_1_

OR, click the title of this article above (La Vie en Rose) to take you directly to Hyde's page.

Leonidas at the Thermopylae Pass

Musee du Louvre
Jacques-Louis David's magnificent painting of the last moments of the great Greek general after he is betrayed to the Persians. This homoerotic work is a magnificent testament to the skills of the artist.

Expunged History

School of Caravaggio, Private Collection
Many of the great Greek myths have been seriously eroded of their same sex relationships, according to Andrew Calimach the author of "Lover's Legends, The Gay Greek Myths. Calimach states: "Nine previously suppressed Greek myths about Hercules, Narcissus, Zeus and others reveal a new side to characters we thought familiar, and reflect a nuanced morality integrating spirituality and male love. " You may find his book at www.haidukpress.com. The Christian Church has suppressed much of the artwork and writings of the classical world as it attempts to eradicate the historical context of same sex relationships because of it's views of what is moral. The Vatican Museum reportedly has a large collection of these works which are hidden from view not only from the general public but from scholarly research as well. Just within the last few years a newly discovered fresco at Pompeii showing women together in same sex acts was strongly discouraged from being made public by the Vatican. This pressure upon the secular scientific community is an act of censorship that wrongfully attempts to prohibit archaeological discovery from being documented for the public.. Why censor this material? The suppression of same sex history supports the current notion of the far right that the homosexual community is without 'tradition'. Tradition is only slightly less significant as an authority for their anti-gay views than dogma. In fact the Vatican holds up tradition in its argument that marriage may only be between a man and a woman. It is rather like the eighteenth century notion which sought to place erotic literature and art into private collections to be viewed and accessed only by those who were deemed suitably educated. Suitably educated meaning adherence to the Christian norms of condemnation of overt sexuality, whether heterosexual or homosexual. Our historical context, unsuppressed, is then even more dangerous to the neo-conservative. The the notion that their is a tradition, a tradition supported more and more by historical research, that homosexuals have had loving, committed and long term relationships every bit as passionate and complex as any opposite sex commitments, for as long a time as opposite sex commitments, is to crush a central driving force of the neo-cons rational for depriving us of marriage and of social and political equality.


"Or they might watch the quoit-pitchers, intent
On either side, pitying the sad death
Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath
Of Zephyr slew him; Zephyr penitent,
Who now ere Phoebus mounts the firmament,
Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain."

from Endymion, Keats

Fete Galante!

This mural was created in Los Angeles. It is to be found inside a turret, containing the main entrance stair for the home, and sweeps along the wall in a great arc from bottom to top. My inspiration came from eighteenth century French artists, who delight us with their asymmetrical rococo charms,
like Jean-Baptiste Pillement and Jean-Antoine Watteau, (his minor decorative work). This large work gives a bright, cheerful presentation of a parade of various animals costumed in human dress in revelry. The work interacts with more serious architectural renderings upon the walls of the main landing, and was intended to give the feeling of entering the interiors of the house from the garden. The painting style is loose and swiftly done in reminiscence of Fragonard's 'minute' portraits. This 'rushed' quality infuses the work with a feeling of movement & lighthearted charm. The revelers include two main characters, a handsome goat, subtlety alluding to Pan, with a saddle upon his back, as if ready to give rides - perhaps to the host's guests, in need of being whisked away from the outside world for a little time. The other a monkey in gentleman's mid-eighteenth century costume, piping, referencing again the idea of a merry company. Near to the upper landing a second monkey has scrambled upon the 'architecture' and attempts to





lure a bird closer with his gesturing. A great red and white banner has been erected on spears, forcing them to serve the revelers as simply posts and indicating that at this pleasant gathering at which there is no need to brandish weaponry for peace reigns here. The background is accomplished with shrubs and trees, greatly softened and convincing the viewer that there is some expanse away and beyond, perhaps filled with yet more revelers moving onwards and upwards to the fete, staged just above and still out of reach... The overall intent of the work is to remind the homeowners guests that they may leave behind the outside worlds cares and burdens and, upon admittance to this special place, embark upon pleasant diversions while they remain guests. You may contact me, Don Larson, for your own decorative needs through Daedalus Fine Arts & Decoration, dwflarson@mac.com or 310.435.9433. I'll be happy to help you plan a design which reflects your image!

Cindy Sheehan

This mother is a gem - not just because she wants the boys home and the war to end, but because she is making it impossible for the president - and the country - to ignore the body count. That small town in Ohio, for instance, which lost some 20 men at nearly one time a week or so ago was a place any true Commander in Chief would have sought out to comfort and to support his citizens and rally them in his belief that they did not die in vain. No show. Why? I think it's because Bush probably doesn't believe himself that they died for anything other than oil. Remember when the Queen of England refused to come back to London when Diana was killed? And then refused to show any respect at the funeral? Well, she wound up being forced to do both because the English public demanded this gesture. That's what I think Cindy Sheehan's actions are like. Elizabeth II was smart enough to maintain the royal family with a little humility - will Bush be smart enough to do the same? In some ways I wish he would do it - for the sake of the brave men who have died and their families. On the other hand I hope he sticks to charcater and does not - because it seems to me that should tell America and the world just what his character truly is: without morals or ethics, without compassion, without scruples and without sincerity. Bravo Mrs. Sheehan!

Cerveaux de Veau aux Poires Noir

Summer is fleeting past and I have not had a holiday! The truth is we, Mark and I, haven't had a holiday in years, though I suppose our living in Amsterdam for several years may count by some peoples standards! The last genuine pleasure trip that we took was to Paris in 2001 - while we were in residence in Holland. We took the TGV, the high-speed train, from Amsterdam to Brussels (this leg was NOT high-speed at the time as the tracks were not yet upgraded) and then from Brussels to Paris at an astounding clip whistling us through the French countryside in splendor. I cannot recommend enough traveling by train in Europe. The experience rarely exceeds the time involved in flying, when one includes the check-in and disembarkment delays at either end of your flight. Additionally, the train is comfortable. Truly comfortable. You have generous leg space in First Class, (a pittance more than Second), and the ability to move about the coach almost without interruption, the food and beverage cart being wheeled through and the embarkation of passengers in Brussels were the sole exceptions.


When we arrived in Paris we simply acquired a luggage cart, just like those at the airport, and made our way to the street where we hailed a driver with a luxurious black Mercedes. We were whisked to our hotel via the newly renovated Opera, its newly regilded statues flaming in the late afternoon light. Our accommodation, the Hotel Saint Regis, was very comfortable if a tad overdone. The guest room interiors had a look of American French design with an overtly Provençal scheme of brightly colored toiles. These seemed out of place in the cool northern light of Paris. The lobby, dining room and bar were supplied with an English mix of damasks, plaids and chintzes which most of the clientele surely found comfortable but which I thought lacked the cool elegance of Parisian interiors. Nevertheless, the hospitality of the staff and the marvelous breakfast and dinner fare more than compensated.

We arrived in the spring. My previous visits had been in the autumn and winter and I was prepared for the cliches of "Paris in the Springtime" to be only hype and exaggeration. I was incredibly wrong. I have never seen the city more beautiful. The fresh colors and the feeling of walking through one large park, trees in leaf and flower everywhere, was incredible. We were enchanted!

Our intent was to meet up with our friends, Dr. Timothy Marten and Ms. Mary Heylin, who had arrived a few days earlier from San Francisco. Tim and Mary are ardent supporters of the San Francisco Ballet and were in Paris in conjunction with the troupe's visit. We had several wonderful outings with them, two of which come immediately to mind.
Mary was keen on acquiring china for their new home. She'd been looking among the shops without success. I was delighted to be able to acquaint her with the Bernadaud Limoges shop on the Rue Royal between Place de la Concorde and the Madeleine. After enjoying the marvelous array of patterns Mary opted for the 'Decor a la Reine', a historical pattern produced under the auspices of Ancienne Manufacture Royale Limoges. The pattern was originally produced by the Sevres manufactory for the Compte d'Artois in 1774. Her choice was to my delight the same pattern which I'd been given as a gift by Mark on our previous visit. Great fun!


The second memory I hold is of our joint visit to the Musee Nissim de Camondo off the Boulevard Malesherbes on the Rue Camondo near Parc de Monceau. This once private home was built in the Louis XVI style and fitted with what is now considered to be one of the finest collections of eighteenth century French furniture, painting, porcelain and objets d'arts. It was a great pleasure to see these beautiful objects arranged as they might have been in a home (when your home is your palace) setting. The collection looks as though it was acquired over time, with beautiful objects of both the rococo and the neoclassical taste deftly mingled with affection.
Afterwards Mary led us on a merry chase in search of the 'prefect' restaurant for the 'perfect' lunch, wishing to create a memory. She succeeded hugely! Mary is the person to be with if you wish to gain entrance to the latest and most chic spots in any town. She simply whips out her Blackberry and stylus and in a moment or two one is granted access to those places you and I can barely acquire a reservation! The charming place she found for us that day we elegant and sophisticated, but also very accessible. The staff took us to a small dining room on the second floor of the period building. Light and airy and homelike with pictures on the wall and an amazing bar containing a large wine collection displayed dramatically. The menus offered us incredible choice of delicacies from which we chose some marvelous dishes, but I warn those of you who may have the spattering of French that I do to be clear about your menu choice. I was very aware that 'veau' meant veal, and 'poires noir' indicated that the sauce was made of blackened pears, but I was slightly dismayed to have overlooked that 'cerveau' indicated calf brains! It was a challenging lunch for I would not insult our hosts who were most anxious to please, and I must attest to the cookery being the finest I'd had to date in Paris. The rich sauce of caramelized pears is what I'd focused on when choosing the dish; now, again, I concentrated on the this magnificently prepared sauce and attempted to minimize the the fact that each bite of my entrée was from a perfectly presented mound of calf brain lobes... which I found to be of a chewy texture...!!

To Have and To Hold In Sickness and In Health

I should write about sex, I guess. If you're gay that's what everyone expects, isn't it? (An assumption that I find off-base and disturbing, since I don't believe sex in the gay community is any more superficial or casual than in the straight. Hedonistic sex is not a gay monopoly!) Anyway, here's my take on sex tonight - while I'm awake and can't sleep. I've been with my partner, Mark, for almost eighteen years. We are monogamous. We haven't always been, but we are now. It is the best choice we've made because it preserves and builds trust in our relationship and that gives room for intimacy to grow. Intimacy is the purpose of a long-term relationship, a marriage. The gift of marriage to each other is the committed and loving companionship of one other human soul who knows you as completely as you know yourself. This knowledge combined with earnest love, love which is not selfish but rather open and giving, creates a gentle harbor for the windswept, wave tossed bark we call our life. It is the greatest blessing of being together: the constant and true nurturing of you by one who loves you, and in return your true and constant nurturing of he (or she). This prime relationship, when tended and cherished, creates a stable foundation which will weather the storms of illness, financial changes, loss of loved ones, the responsibilities of parenting and those times when sex is NOT what you want. Yes! I said that. It is true. There are times when you or your spouse may not want sex and it's usually when you're partner most especially does. Until your relationship is visited with this difficulty you may laugh thinking it cannot be possible to ever not want sex. I'm going to tell you I think it will happen to every couple. What can cause it? Nearly anything. The list of marriage challenges I stated a few sentences back have, each one, the potential to provide a loss of sexual desire. My experience has been to see my sexual desire plummet when I was confronted with several major challenges in our life together. We have been confronted with several serious health issues all at once: HIV/AIDS treated with a broad spectrum of anti-virals daily (the meds can interfere with sexual desire), Mark's broken back requiring a disc fusion and my necrosis of both femur heads requiring a bilateral hip replacement, and lastly the onset for me of serious depressive illness which requires more medications and therapy - medications again inhibiting sexual drive. These serious health issues have also contributed substantially to the loss of work and primary income. So let me break that down a little. Statistics show that ONE of the major problems I've listed can strain a marriage to the point of divorce. Mark and I have had five. FIVE. Four major health conditions. Financial devastation. The loss of our home due to same. No employment prospects. Coitus Interuptus? Big Time! Who can't understand why?! One has to laugh, for the humor may save us... Seriously, I have to believe two things keep Mark and I going at this point. One. We both believe in God and His power to intervene because of His love for us. Two. A strong, intimate, nurturing foundation brought about by TRUST which is established, at least in part, through sexual fidelity. So, there it is in a brief superficial overview. This is the way I see sexual monogamy being integral to our lives. I think it's normal, healthy and not any different from a heterosexual relationship. Monogamous sex affirms for us that we are a better as a couple, and stronger, knowing the partner will be there for us, committed, not intent on escaping from reality, however painful, through the heady pleasures of hedonism. The most basic expression of our love and commitment for each other is able to be transformed from having sex to making love. This choice stabilizes us as a couple, providing the room for emotional trust and spiritual growth: two individuals who have chosen to be together, exclusive of all others physically, so that together we may know that we have the strength, with God's help, to not merely survive the trials of life, but perhaps even because of them, to thrive .

Proper Attributions!

My Dear Spouse, Mark, has informed me that it was his original comment regarding the importance of gay and lesbian, transgendered and bisexual persons being unable to marry and therefore being bereft of the ability to easily leave traceable documentation of their existence as a family which led me to contemplate the paragraph on 'Our Gay Tradition' (below). So, here it is, the attribution. I also must endeavor to relay to my dear husband that it was indeed his comment BUT in concert with having recently found the site Androphile.org which actually gave me enough pause to make the decision to WRITE it down! Love you, sweetie!

Our Documented Tradition

The gay community has a long history and it is documented culturally worldwide. In fact, as long as we have had a record of men, we have a record of homosexual men. While political and religious institutions attempt to eradicate our legacy and deny our constant and consistent presence we remain firmly entrenched. Literature, sculpture, painting, drawing, music, philosophy, drama, comedy, science and religion have all drawn upon the enormous talents and resources of our small but persistent community. The site, Androphile.org, The World History of Male Love, which I have linked to mine,(see Links sidebar) is a marvel of riches and documents our numerous contributions to the recorded societies of some three thousand years. This is a vastly important and fundamental exemplar of tradition, for it is tradition, as viewed by some, that supposedly limits our inclusion and equality in society legitimately.

Apple of My Eye

This is a charming image. They are as fresh as the day they were painted. One wishes to know how long the infatuation has lasted and at what moment the fruit of the tree of knowledge was plucked.



Crispin van den Broeck
Two young men.
Oil on panel, circa 1542 before 1591
Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

The Wedgwood Vase

The Wedgwood Vase

There stands upon my case of books
A Wedgwood vase
In Wedgwood blue.
Across it stray the Greek bearers bearing what offering I do not know.
To what altar they go I do not know yet
I suspect it is to Love.

The altars of Minerva and Diana have few offerings,
The wisdom of the hunt is doubted,
Apollo’s bright light, his melodies have no heat
Aphrodite’s graceful foam slakes no thirst
No, oh no, no incense or perfume or flower to them is carried thus

So quietly, so skillfully, around and round again upon
The Wedgwood vase
In Wedgwood blue
The Greek bearers bear their offering, yes I am sure, to a child
Fond of piercing games.
Always to Love.

D. Larson

Vin du Coucher Nuptial Wine Eros is Afoot!

Interiors and their design have been a keen interest since I was young. I constantly moved and rearranged my parents furniture, always to my father's consternation and dismay. I always was eager to try to improve the looks and feeling of a room. My own room was kindly given over to me to do with as I liked and it saw many incarnations. At one point I had a giant mural of my cat on one wall, another saw beautifully printed sheets in a classic eighteenth century tree of life pattern used to create a baldachin above the bed.

My first apartment allowed a greater range of choice and the first serious debt I ever incurred was to purchase a chic small sofa and a lovely Louis XVI style oval cane back chair. The rust color of the chair's suede seat and the over-scale magnolia pattern of the couch inspired the colors of cinnamon, navy and cream for the entire flat.

When Mark and I finally arrived in San Diego as a couple we took a great colonnaded house on Arista Drive. There I met again my first obstacle to design - another person's likes and dislikes! Through our years together, though, Mark, has taught me the value of comfort and the need for it to be integral to a home. I think I've managed to persuade him that proportion, elegance and style are the balance of the equation. I've had the good fortune, in one sense, to have moved frequently, thereby forcing me to use a budget, reuse many items in a new space and lastly selling and buying other pieces as dictated by the new floor-plan.

The house now has a look which is eclectic, though a strong neoclassical influence throughout adds masculinity and a sense of order to the disparate collection of furnishings. Mahogany and cherry woods add a subtle understatement to the bright and effusive exuberance of baroque objets d'arts and rococo mirrors, gilt bronze, zebra and cow hides, and bright silks and woven carpets. Various shades of green from leaf to olive and lusty wine reds are balanced by many subtle shades of ochre, gold and cream. Into this traditional mix accents of orange, lime and violet lend unexpected daring sophistication. A Tibetan altar, still smelling richly of the smoke of years of candles and incense burning is carved with bright orange and vermillion dragons.
It bears a large Portuguese or Italian majolica leopard, almost vulgar but not quite! It is accentuated by a gilt and carved wood French Louis XVI style mirror, a pair of Charles X candelabra. Porcelains in pale yellow, azure and lavender and bright gold gleam. This vignette is balanced by a large imposing provincial First Empire armoire in walnut, rubbed to a soft glow with years of waxing. This same half of the room is centered with a large glass-topped table, it's rich cherry wood hidden under yards of Italian striped gold silk, trimmed in bouillon fringe from Houles. Atop the table rests a French circa 1790 mahogany gentleman's toilet mirror, severe in its simple classical pediment and bronze Corinthian capital topped pilasters. It holds it's original key, blackened with time, in it's single drawer. Before it stands a late First Empire silk thread pendulum clock of gilt and patinated bronze, the figure of a windswept woman (Hiver?) so clearly derived from the style books of Percier et Fontaine. Louis XV and Louis XVI gilt bronze candlesticks and small gilt-pewter objects and a grand bronze copy of Pan with his pipes complete the display. The table is encircled with fine Louis XVI style armless fauteuils upholstered in a rich cognac and gilt stamped leather, cracking with age. The creamy white painted frames are also chipped with time. This feeling of the antique in gentle decline opens the whole space to the sentiment of place and permanence - two cherished notions so often lost in our frantic moving society.

The main seating area bounds the fireplace. The mantle is a simple cream painted wood. The color is echoed in the Barbara Barry divan, upholstered surprisingly in cream linen twill printed with various leaves and flower tubers. This fabric's motifs in golds, yellow greens, leaf greens, olive greens and ochre add more movement to the swirl of patterns we've established. The floor beneath is carpeted by a heavy wool woven check in wine and cream and ochre bounded by a wide four inch border of solid deep red in a heavily textured canvas. The coffee table has been usurped by a four foot square Vincent Wolfe ottoman, originally in a dove gray leather but which we had stained cognac. The leather is deeply tufted and the English feeling is unmistakable in its simply carved frame and rosette over double ring legs - quintessentially adorned with brass wheels. It is deliberately disarrayed with some of my most cherished art books, as well as a bronze wrapped black marble tray upon which rest a delightful, if smallish, pair of bronze and marble copies of the Marly Gate Horses, ever rearing as their nude Nubian footmen do their best to harness fiery spirits. Contemporary plates sit beside, their wax removal technique leaves crisscrossed lines of raised white porcelain swishing through the matte black china - echoing the zebra skin rug.

Facing the ottoman a late, circa 1860, round mahogany Biedermeier hall table stands. The table is fortunate to have fine companions including a pair of First Empire style mahogany fauteils with the seats and fronts amusingly upholstered in a fine soft brindle cowhide of white and brown. The backs in ruby silk play off the carpet. The contrast between rough hair hides and polished mahogany formal chairs is delightful. The pattern in the hides lends yet another element of movement and in its way is representative of the thought behind the entire scheme of the home. A steer horn legged stool covered again in the cowhide lends rest for my feet and a twinkle for the eye in it's silly charm. The table is topped by a hand thrown Asian ginger-jar shaped ceramic lamp in the deepest and glossiest shade of chocolate and is topped by a 'ball gown' of a shade in lime green silk, the shade being gathered and ruched on the bias, the frame reminiscent of the straw hats of Asian rice gatherers. The cord is silk wrapped. The finesse of small details reap the largest of rewards!

Upon my table I keep a charming pair of terracottas: a medallion of Petrarca, a doctor of the early Church. I hardly new of his historical status of dreadful religious conservatism, think Inquisition, when I bought him; but he is now adequately subdued by an exuberant Italian rococo terracotta figurine, eighteenth century, which we deduce to be the allegory of summer. He's scantily dressed and must surely be holding a half of a large scallop shell. Naked at the beach!

Upon all these surfaces are also to be found the drawings and designs and letters of my work, amongst alabaster jars of pens, inks and pencils, chalks, brushes and pastel crayons, my easel and case of oils and a few black crows feathers for luck. Mahogany tea caddies, circa 1780, hide treasures of smoking apparatus and bits of silk ribbon tied to clock keys. These rest next to ornate Victorian and contemporary enameled and crystal studded photograph frames which guard beneath their pomp photos of myself with my darling husband and precious daughter.

Pale cream sheers and voluminous olive silk drapes on gilt and carved wood rods with pompous finials complete the atelier, although you may stand and walk around finding little treasures all about. Two more French clocks, one made for the 1900 Paris Exhibition keep no time. The busts and torsos of Antinous and Eros, of Bacchus and Zeus gaze at you. A contemporary but very charming bouillotte lamp of gilt bronze and red painted tole bestows soft light. Glorious Chinese Fu Dogs, upon which swarm tiny milk-white toddlers each with a small top-knot of black hair on their otherwise bald heads. A small Japanese altar shimmers in it's thousand layers coat of deep and mysterious lacquer - the lacquer gathered from the beetles of Japan. It has been deliciously piled with Wedgwood basalt ware in the form of a engine turned creamer and six espresso sized cups and saucers. Each is emboldened with classical motifs of raised black jasper decorations, once again after Percier et Fontaine (The great design consultants to the Napoleon I and his family and courtiers. Above hangs a painting by Richard Titlebaum which subject warns us of those who would challenge the gods; his representation of the Flaying of Marsyas. Lastly, an oaken carved pillar, probably from a seventeenth century Dutch church, supports on its Ionic capital a charming marble torso of his 'mischievousness' self, the boy-god Eros. Or as he is more humbly known these days, Cupid.

He is a fine ending to this piece of writing for it is surely the arrow shot from the mischief maker's charming bow which has smote me hard with the love of excellent form in all my surroundings: the simplest tea cup to the greatest artwork of all - man himself. And in this regard I direct you to my own spouse most particularly. He has most beautifully, one may say exquisitely, exceeded the proverbial bar in excellence and beauty; for his face shines like Apollo, his brow like a crown of wisdom topped with the golden locks of pleasure, his sinewy limbs recall the athletes of Greece and his manly chest, his fattened rump, his strong steel legs all carry him with utter grace, and give proper housing for his kind heart and gentle soul. Yet he is a man of battle when battle is called forth, and a man of exceedingly fine pillage when he spills his 'treasure' into my loins in our bed. (A fine classical four-post bed, designed for Baker, Knapp & Tubbs by Parrish-Hadley, in soft black lacquer and gilt edging, crowned with patinated and gilt palm sprays. The headboard is surmounted by a very fine oval carved and gilt wood Swedish mirror, circa 1790, in the form of a pair of facing eagles' heads which terminate in very fine scrolls of acanthus leaves. Upon the hardwood floor a Persian woven carpet of vibrant colour: violet, cream and wine is surmounted by a red lacquer Chinese armoire holding media equipment. The walls have various classical and mythological copperplate prints of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.) We shall expound upon the bedroom more in days to come, but I feel it, the bed, AND, Mark, my spouse, calling to me at this moment and I will oblige them!

Allen Ginsberg "Old Love Story"

OLD LOVE STORY

Some think the love of boys is wicked in the world, forlorn

Character corrupting, worthy mankind's scorn

Or eyes that weep and breasts that ache for lovely youth

Have no mouth to speak for mankind's general truth

Nor hands to work manhood's fullest delight

Nor hearts to make old women smile day and night

Nor arms to warm young girls to dream of love

Nor thighs to satisfy thighs, nor breath men can approve --

Yet think back to the time our epic world was new

When Gilgamesh followed the shade of his friend Enkidu

Into Limbo's dust to talk love man to man

So younger David enamored of young Jonathan

Wrote songs that women and men still chant for calm

Century after century under evergreen or palm

A love writ so sacred on our bible leaf

That heartfire warms cold milennial grief.

Same time Akilleos won the war at Troy

Grieving Patroklos' body, his dead warrior boy

(One nation won the world by reading Greek for this

And fell when Wilde was gaoled for his Bellboy's kiss)

Marvellous Zeus himself took lightning eagle shape

Down-cheeked Ganymede enjoyed God's thick-winged rape

And lived a youth forever, forever as can be,

Serving his nectar to the bearded deity

The whole world knew the story, the whole world laughed in awe

That such love could be the Thunder of immortal Law.

When Socrates climbed his ladder of love's degrees

He put his foot in silence on rough Alcibiades

Wise men still read Plato, whoever they are,

Plato whose love-lad Aster was his morning star

Plato whose love-lad was in death his star of Night

Which Shelly once witnessed as eternal light.

Catullus and tough Horace were slaves to glad young men

Loved them, cursed them, always fell in love again

Caesar conquered the world, top Emperor Power

Lay soft on the breast of his soldier of the hour

Even Jesus Christ loved his young John most

Later he showed him the whole Heavenly Host

Old Rome approved a beautiful bodied youth

Antinus Hadrian worshipped with Imperial Truth

Told in the calm gaze of his hundred stone

Statues standing fig-lefed in the Vatican.

Michelangelo lifted his young hand to smooth

The belly of his Bacchus, a sixteen-year youth

Whose prick stands up he's drunk, his eyes gaze side-

Ways to his right hand held up shoulder high

Waving a cup of grape, smart kid, his nose is sharp,

His lips are new, slightly opened as if parted to take a sip of purple nakedness,

Taste Michelangelo's mortal-bearded kiss,

Or if a hair-hooved horny Satyr happens to pass

Fall to the ground on his strong litle marble ass.

Michelangelo loved him! What young stud

Stood without trousers or shirt, maybe even did

What the creator wanted him to in bed

Lay still with the sculptor's hand cupped on his head

Feeling up his muscles, feeling down his bones

Palm down his back and thighs, touching his soft stones --

What kind of men were the Slaves he tied to his bed?

And who stood still for David naked foot to head?

But men love the muscles of David's abdomen

And come with their women to see him again and again.

Enough, I've stayed up all night with these boys

And all my life enjoyed their handsome joys

I came with many companions to this Dawn

Now I am tired and must set my pen down

Reader, Hearer, this time Understand

How kind it is for man to love a man,

Old love and Present, future love the same

Hear and Read what love is without shame.

I want people to understand! They can! They can! They can!

So open your ears and hear the voice of the classical Band.

Allen Ginsberg "Old Love Story",
White Shroud, Harper and Row, 1986.

Published!

Just a quick note today. I've been published in the letters section of the very fine English arts periodical, Apollo Magazine, The International Fine Arts Publication. The August 2005 issue contains my letter. The letter regards bats - yes, bats - which have been nesting and damaging historical art and architecture in England. They cannot be irradicated because of the endangered species act. The URL for the magazine is below. Happy Reading!

http://www.apollo-magazine.com/diary.php?issue=current&month=12&year=2004&id=usa

Dieux des Meubles - Les Ebenistes!

I am a devotee of eighteenth century French fine and decorative arts. It's been a consumming passion since I opened a library book when I was aged nine in my ol' hometown. I gasped when I saw the sensuous curve of a cabriole leg on a small Louis XV fauteuil, and I fell in love for the first time. Many years later I found a copy of that book - for sentimental reasons - and added it to my now fairly notable library on the subject. If I had money, I would have about triple the volumes I now possess I suppose. I've had for years a relatively good memory of where each particular item that has excited me is located in this reference world, and it is only now that I begin to wish I were better organized and had indexed my collection. As I attempt the feat now I find it very slow progress. Mais, c'est la vie!

Mark and I have assembled a small collection of furniture and objets d'arts over the years. Much has been reproduction, but of good proportion and line. That which is genuine is simple and pure for the most part. And there are those few mystery pieces which I wonder about - might it be the real thing? Possibly not, but it's fun to imagine having acquired that 'find' which is so much more valuable than your investment!

I practice reading French, avec difficile certain moi, in my monthly 'bible' of the French Arts: L'Objet D'Arts. This gem of a publication is all clarity and depth on these subjects. The French have a pride in their artistic heritage which is unprecedented. I've purchased children's books in France on the important stylistic changes of each period of furniture. Imagine American children being taught routinely about their decorative and fine arts history. We barely manage any art programs. We simply don't value the arts in this country, at least not in a manner which imparts their genuine baseline importance to society. Instead of being a foundation for broad intellectual achievement they are viewed as a superfluous luxury of the elite. But back to L'Objet d'Arts. I delight in each sweet tidbit. This month we have these articles: Masterpieces of French Painting exhibited at the Grand Palais, Two Centuries of Italian drawings in French Museums, the master works of the ebeniste, Pierre Gaston Brion, who worked for the first Empire through the reign of Charles X. Brion's work is fascinating to me, for he seems, to my eye, to be less skilled than his predecessors. The carving seems heavy and unaccomplished, in sharp contrast to the likes of Riesener, Weisweiler, Carlin, Levasseur or René DuBois - a favorite of mine for his whimsical concoctions of his 'secretaire abattant' and 'armoire secretaire', lavished with Chinoiserie decoration and Grecian motifs, mixed together on single pieces which should therefore not be a success - but they are!. Delightful fantasies indeed.

However, in my estimation, la creme de la creme is Jacques Dubois. Oh, Heavens! What an artist he is - I believe his soul surely lives on in each piece he laid a hand upon, and when you see them you may well sense his presence. It is potent. He loved this furniture with all his heart. It is exquisite, refined, tempting us to sin somehow in its delirious obsession with beauty. Ne'er a veneer of Japanese lacquer or slice of kingswood marquetry or twisted leaf of gilded bronze becomes heavy or cloying, no, never, not for a moment. The grace of the rococo is here portrayed as it was meant to be; light and airy and a reminderto me of a beautiful noble garden gone wild from neglect. A garden, slowly being brought back to it's formal glory. It is that moment when, ah-ha, you see the last of the wild ivy scrolling about asymmetrically, but thinned and trimmed and through it, now the gilt bronze, one peers into the hidden order of the formal garden, represented either with imported Japanese lacquer work or beautifully conjoined fine French marquetry, waxed to a gloss with layers of French polish, the sleek, smooth glow of the aged finish sparkles. The rich plateau resting above is of cool sleek and fabulously expensive marble (many of the great marbles were mined out at this time), as if it were the escallier d'honneur to the great house of this, this imaginary garden, oh, no - this commode. My heart swoons even from the photograph, and when I'm present before one of these temples to the high and holy arts of men I have sometimes wept from sheer delight, and quivered as if Mark were making love to me at that very moment. All becomes damp and moist! Should I touch a piece I shall surely be accused of an indecent public act...

There are others! Each strike a chord of their own, and when at a holy place of residence for a fine collection of these artworks, one sees, no hears the sumptuous harmonious concerto that has been captured, held at its utter-most virtuoso up-swell of strings and voices and cast in place for all time. This gives me goose-bumps!

There are so many more. Cressent, Gaudreaus, Latz - pour les pendules! Migeon, Boudin, Baumhauer... too many fine poets of the joinery of the finest woods. I will soon add photographs, in particular a set I shot at the Getty showing the construction of a fine Louis XV/XVI transitional writing table, petitely scaled for a lady. Magnifique!

I hear the voices - enough, enough. Twit boy, its your passion and few others... let the weary world be...

So, for tonight, I shall do just that. For tonight...

Barbarous Civility

The Air france disaster in Toronto today had a happy ending - as of this writing all the passengers and crew have escaped without serious harm. Such a relief! If we'd had a terror attack so close to home I'm sure Bush would have used it to edit out more of our civil rights as quickly as possible. Isn't it odd that one worries more about ones own government that the terrorists? My chance of being in a terrorist attack according to statistics, is less less likely than being struck by lightning. And that statistic is quite true for most of us in America who go about our daily lives. I do not make light of these horrible and unjustified murders of innocent civilians - all of them Fathers and Mothers, Sons and Daughters, friends and families. These barbarous acts are despicable and cowardly. However, I find it to be just as cowardly for Mr. Bush to force through political agendas and new laws allowing spying and search and seizure, not to mention the threat of being detained without access to your family or an attorney, and being held in limbo. However barbaric these Islamic stinkers become it will behoove us to always take the higher ground. We must not give up the free society we have built since 1776, nor must we cower in fear. Rather, lead our daily lives. And fight to get a Blue Bloody MAN back in the White House!

Thus the Moniker

Well, I've missed two days. No good excuse. Just difficult to make myself put down my thoughts. They all seem personal and private. Guess I should keep a diary instead.

Eros Binding the Hands of the Aged Centaur, After the Antique Greek Sculpture,
Donald W. Larson, oil on linen, 2001

Let's see. News. The daily battle with meds goes on. I mix the Fuzeon for two days at a time - four bottles for four injections. Plus about a dozen or more pills every night. Plus Mark's medicines. It seems completely overwhelming at times, and at the same time I know I'm one of the very lucky ones to have had the privilege of receiving these life saving drugs. I sound completely self-absorbed to complain about it at all. The downside of the medications is real, though. Witness the double necrosis of my femur heads and the two new titanium replacements. Almost assuredly a result of nearly sixteen years of anti-viral intake. Marks osteoporosis, his collapsed discs and surgery are due to the anti-virals as well. He's opted temporarily to go off the medication until his t-cells and viral load reach danger levels. When I lost my access to Fuzeon for four weeks - the cost of the co-pay is approximately $500.00 and was out of our reach - we watched my t-cells plummet. Much more than was expected for the short break. It was unnerving and a another good reason to stop complaining. The good people at Roche Pharmaceuticals helped me access their patient assistance program and the T20 flows again. I'll have a check-up this week to see if my immune system is bouncing back.

If I had been taught that I was worthwhile as a gay man and if I had learned about condoms would I still be in this predicament? It is a question I will never be able to answer. I do know that I taught my daughter that she is valuable as a person as she is created and that her health is worth protecting. Use a condom if you have sex before marriage. Period. It does not offer a guarantee, as refraining form sexual activity would, but it has a good record in preventing disease. That is what's important. I firmly believe knowledge of one's body and how to protect it are vital to living fully. I wish I had been taught that and reassured that I was important enough in the scheme of things to take care of all those years ago. I do think it would have made a difference.

As the religious right works to destroy my rights for equality under the law, and the rights of my family to exist as a legal entity, I wonder how many of their children will die because of the forced repression of the sexuality God gave them? Homosexuality is not an abhorration or a deviance from nature or God's handiwork. Rather, we have existed throughout the history of men in approximately the same percentages as far as can be told from historical records. It stands to reason for me that we are a normal divergence from the heterosexual which must exist as a stabilizing element of our joint humanity. We have a purpose to fulfill. Perhaps it allows us to focus on the arts, religion and the sciences without the distraction of maintaining a family - a task which I know from firsthand experience requires ones complete catalog of resources to provide and maintain to the detriment of all other pursuits. Perhaps, in our own way, we contribute to the advancement of our species by engaging in these higher pursuits and leave procreation to those for whom it is most suited. Or perhaps not. I will ask God one day why? Why be visited with a sexuality which is reviled, outlawed and spat upon by so many. What is the purpose of this gift - for it is I firmly believe a gift - if one is formally charged with burying, disowning, repenting and reviling this intrinsic part of ones being? I cannot believe God intends us to hate that part of us which He has made in His likeness. So, what is it for then? Is it simply the 'cross' I am given? I cannot think that a significant portion of the central core of my humanity is presented to me to be only a mortification. One rejoices in a gift for it celebrates the giver, in this case God, to do so.

Celibacy? It is taught that celibacy is also a gift. It is not a gift that I received. I could not have become who I am in life without my helpmate, Mark. He is my spouse in every true sense of the word. Companion. Comfort. Intimate. These are good and right things for which few, very few men and women are invested with the nobility to forbear.


The centaur, and particularly the centaur Chiron, are representative to me of the internal struggle for becoming a right and noble Christ centered man. You will find it interesting to visit http://ww2.netnitco.net/users/legend01/centaur.htm to see a discussion on the Christian metamorphous of the Greek being, and the dichotomy of spirit versus nature.

And, thus the moniker.