Convenience and control

And today I sit inside in the rain in the early morning remembering little of my dream in which I watched it raining inside.  Why does it not rain inside?  What are we trying to protect ourselves from?  Every day is the same inside.  I have complete control over the environment, so I am able to stabilise, micromanage, confidently predict the outcome of every day.  It's convenient.  I know what to expect.  Because only the right people are allowed inside I know exactly who will be in my life each day, no intrusion by unwanted strangers who may challenge or disturb me in some way; who may move me to do something out of my plans, something unexpected.  If I want to surprise myself or move out of my comfort zone, I of course need to plan it first; otherwise I won't be ready and then who knows what could happen.  It is very important to me that this all stays nice and calm and that I am not challenged by anything that is too real for television.  Television is a good companion because I know that everything on it stays safely below a certain level and I need not worry about being surprised by it.  If I want something else I am free at any moment to walk out into the unknown, into the rain even; though why would anyone walk out into the rain, they would only get wet, and noone wants to get wet.  I want to stay in here where it is dry and I have internet access and television and all my food preserved in the fridge and the freezer.  I live in the 21st century and so have everything I need to survive.  I have convenience and I have control, what more is there?  What more is there?

My new friends everywhere

I don't care what people think of me; usually.  I don't need their love; until I find myself alone.  I don't want to be dependent on other people who may or may not resent my vulnerability.  Some people open up to me and I allow them to expose the beauty of their soul for as long as they desire, all I can promise is that I will witness and protect their perfection.  And then it is time for me to go; practicality takes over and I must leave my favourite beautiful person to go somewhere I am alone and have no purpose.  I do not understand sometimes why I make the decisions I do in life, leaving behind those souls who are most open and most beautiful to me.  I seem to have a profound effect on those willing few who I then go and dessert at their time of most sensitive exposure.  I call it necessity but suspect the problem is in my ability to commit to these people who are conveniently all over the world and therefore I leave behind for long periods one lot to be with the other.  The contradiction of my life is that I spend my life searching, to be close to others while in the process taking myself away from those I am closest to.  I have visions of a future in which I own a holy hilltop home where there is land for all my angels from all over the world to come and stay with me as long as they want.  This land will home us all and sustain us with its fruit and vegetables and seafood.  We will live together as we see fit, free from the cultural baggage of our heritage.  Until then I can only work and dream of returning to those I feel are currently most in love with me and holding them in whatever form presents itself.  Sometimes I want to hold my friend in bed all night long, sometimes I want to look my friend in the eye and see their everything, sometimes I want to use our shared language to penetrate the insanity of each others' psyche and hopefully diffuse the seriousness of a world that doesn't really exist and is certainly not as real as the beautiful intensity of this moment we are sharing silently.

Three nights as a Stockholm hobo for Leonard Cohen

Chris Kirk spent three nights on the street of Stockholm in order to enjoy a free Leonard Cohen concert.  The concert was free because he held up a bi-lingual sign: "Gratis biljett tack free ticket please" and got laughed at by many people and a finally a free ticket from two lovely old ladies who were delighted to have a young man from New Zealand sitting next to them.  The accomodation was free because he slept in the park by a wise old tree that promised to protect him and did protect him.  However Leonard Cohen, promising that him and his band would give it everything they have, played for 3,5 hours and Chris's bag and tent were therefore trapped in Cityterminalen and he had to wander around the public transport centre all night.  It was worth it for a perspective on Stockholm that most people never get.  However, after so many beautiful open people in and around the European Rainbow Gathering in Finland it was rather hard to find himself without a friend in the capital of Scandinavia.  He spent one night wandering around in the rain and crying for the companions who love him and the homes that they have shared in the past and will share again in the future.  Sometimes even a beautiful old tree in a tiny park can be company, and Chris claims he never got lonely when he was with that tree.  Wandering around a city for three days with no friends and no money offers some delightful small pleasures, like finding a beautiful young man playing the accordion at 03.30 as the Cityterminalen reopens and ones bags again become available; like almost crying at the tragedy of modern civilisation at a free photography exhibition at Kulturhuset by Jens Assur; like leaving the park after a wonderful hobo sleep to be treated like a VIP at the beautiful underground Cafe Mineur; and the sad and beautiful reminder that so many beautiful people who love me open and share their homes with me and most nights I am allowed to reside in warmth and companionship in these shared homes.

Relationships and shit

I am in love with someone who does not seem to be in love with me, so I attempting to transfer my love to another beautiful person in the vicinity. This so far has not been successful. This person has told me that he loves me too, but that he is not "in" love with me; therefore, it seems, he feels the need to treat me like I don't exist. Perhaps this is something to do with the presence of his girlfriend, who he loves but always seems miserable with. This situation of awkward desperation and pathetic desire is, I expect, rather normal. I hoped that I could tell the person lying beside me in bed that you are beautiful and I expect nothing from you that you are not willing to offer me, but this is not enough because there is expectation and hope everywhere; even in a love that appears to be airtight, this gas will seep in. I don't yet know why love must be so painful. I do however know that pure love really is unconditional and the object must really be accepted completely and nothing can be expected or desired of them. They must simply be loved.

The lover of my life

• I have created an identity that I am bound by, to a certain extent, and my task in life has become to make sure everyone understands this identity. The extent to which I identify with this entity changes. I often feel unable to masturbate frequently enough. Sometimes I just want to wank again and again all day, but there's not enough time in a day, nor enough stimulation to excite me. Sometimes I go outside and want to pull down all the boys' pants and see their bums. There are moments when all I want to do is bum-fuck every beautiful boy I meet, one after another; and other moments when I'd rather penetrate someone's soul. I'm not sure what a soul is but there's definitely another level of communion where neither person is using the other for anything, like sexual satisfaction disguised as intimacy. How is it I spend so much time satisfying the most superficial and banal perceptions of others when the best of them are waiting, like me, for the slightest cue of the acceptability of profound communication; because we are brothers or sisters, as we have always known. But how embarrassing to suggest the vulnerable beautiful prospect that we are all family.
• I am scared of who I will become when I remove the veils and the masks. I know I won't be as weak and inconsequential as I currently appear. I will be forced to accept my power and deal with my dharma. I currently cannot so who am I behind the veils and the masks because there doesn't seem to be anything there, except perhaps existence. Perhaps not who I am but who I will become is a good question. As I continue to shed my superfluous skins I become more powerful and more present. I find it increasingly difficult to engage with certain aspects of dominant culture but increasingly easy to relate to diverse persons of various species. I have a strong urge to head out into the world alone, to find my destiny and in the process allow myself the freedom of completely recreating my identity to fit whatever strange and wonderful circumstance I find myself in. In this way my identity becomes fluid and travel prevents any fixed people expecting certain modes of behaviour from me; however friendships come and go, never staying longer than I can sustain a personality.
• It seems odd to me when I walk the city streets and feel a familiar stiffness of self-consciousness move through my body, a hangover from adolescence, to feel completely at ease and comfortable with this awkward embarrassment. I have no shame of my body nor of pissing in front of other men and yet when I stand there in front of the toilet with my penis in my hand nothing comes out until he turns away from me. I don't mind so much that I may be shy or awkward in certain situations because I am rather fond of myself in general. I have been living with this self for over 25 years now and much of the development that has resulted in my present reality has been deliberate. I love now to take off my clothes in front of people or to discourse openly, and will take any opportunity for either. However I live in a society where expression of self is severely restricted and even the basic, natural and inoffensive act of taking off your clothes is not allowed. There is only so much of yourself you can accept when much of it cannot be shared.
• The manner in which I feel like I love myself reflects upon two truths. One is the nature of reality. I love myself because I exist. If the only reality I can experience is the one in which I am present then what possible reason could I have for not completely accepting and loving my whole self? Can there be any benefit in opposing reality? The second truth is about the nature of love. Love, by definition, cannot exclude because exclusion is not love. Love by its very nature is inherently unconditional. I cannot love myself if I do not love all of myself and I cannot love myself without by extension loving the environment I find myself in and all the beings in that environment who I share my life with. With a precise understanding of words and a deeply felt idea of what we use the word "love" to refer to I assert that love surely extends to all life and everything that is in existence. How is it possible to love yourself and not the neighbour you must share a moment of each day with? How is it possible to love an aspect while denying the whole of your person? How is it possible to experience love at all if you don't love reality, what actually is?

The king of my life

• I feel like a king sometimes when I know I have achieved something valuable. When I've used my gift of language to touch someone deeply. When I speak my compositions to a crowd and feel the inaudible gasp. I feel like a humble king, like Jesus Christ. I feel, maybe, like the embodiment of God; or maybe the embodiment of myself, finally. At these moments my world brightens, opens like a camera lens letting in more light until I feel the flares of bliss and the over-exposure of abundance. At these moments everything makes sense, simply because I have something to do, I know my purpose in life, and I'm doing it. I charge home to tell my friends. I am met with warm smiles and apathy. One is happy for me; another has always known his purpose; another doesn't know what I'm talking about. I get up in the morning and have the same breakfast and wonder what to do with the rest of my day - the whole world is open to me! I know why I'm here! The light fades as a cloud obscures the sun.
• I have felt from a young age that one day I will wear the crown of success. My vision of what this crown will look like has changed and really I don't know what success is or how to get it. Maybe every mother tells her son he's special, but I believed her; despite the pessimism of the world I have accrued evidence to support her assertion, my desperate hope that my internal specialness will become manifest in the world, evident for all to see. I believe I will wear this crown proudly, with integrity and humility. The day I find myself crowned by a bastardised post-apocalyptic human race I will undoubtedly be ready to accept my humble leadership with vivacity. In the meantime I find myself in a society that prefers leaders that cannot be liked and cannot be trusted. I struggle to find my place in a society that is largely deaf to my possible futile, possibly profound mutterings. I have two memories, one from the past, one unsubstantiated from the future, in which I am amongst people who listen and understand; today I merely jot words in a notebook.
• Despite my attempts to blur the borders and escape definition, I consider myself a writer and a performer. This is where I have found my strength, this is where I feel I have achieved. In 2004, at the age of 20, I published a short poem in my university magazine. Thinking I was making a revealing joke I was surprised to find I did not merely touch, but bit down on an unexamined nerve. A growing immigrant minority in our society faced secret silent resentment until my poem blatantly stated the banal ignorance of PC-coated racism. What reaction could the university perform but a united opposition to discrimination? Some achievements are more subtle than others and I will never forget the fourth and final performance of my most precious play. With the laughter diminished and the actors calmer I silently cried at the beauty of successfully communicating my vision to my collaborators and my audience. Right now the past and past achievements aren't good enough. I sit here wondering how to explain the hope invested in my third achievement, that which drives me with excitement into the future.
• I'll admit my crown sits on the mantelpiece in the symbolic living room I usually refer to as "my life". One day I know it'll be time to wear it but presently I only try it on occasionally when no one's looking, to make sure it still fits. Often I don't even bother packing it when I leave the house, cynically doubting I'm likely to come across anyone who would not scoff or mock my glory. I don't often feel glorious enough to wear it. But the more I see what this crown doesn't represent the closer I get to the me that will wear this crown any day, before any audience or companion. I explore the space I share with those I love and question who will or will not break my legs when they see me in my naked crowned erect glory; who will marvel at my unexplainable ability to get taller and who will hoist me to the place I know is mine to occupy. Some people expect of me behaviour I'm not aggressive enough to contradict. These people will fade from my life inevitably. Some accept every incarnation and will share each one with me.

The hero of my life

• I dreamed of being an actor, being famous, making an impact on the world. As I've grown older I've changed my thoughts about how I could best impact the world. Somewhere along the way I lost the lot. I lost that burden, the expectation and hope, the pain and the confidence, that drive for success and the certainty of belief. I lost everything but the memory of my dream and the abstract idea that perhaps the unfulfillment of this remembered dream is an indication of failure. But I'm 25 years old, how can I be a failure? I haven't hurt too many people; I'm happy. There's a gap where my ambition grew for years. There's a translucent, ethereal form in its place, more of a potentiality than a passion. It looks a little different and as I said it isn't quite manifest, but maybe it could be. Can I be bothered pursuing this dream, now that I've got all this peace and happiness? Perhaps I've got to do something with my life; I'm likely to last another 60 years with all this new-found healthiness. What do I do with it?

• Some believe the world will end on 2012-12-21, some believe Jesus Christ Himself could emerge from the clouds at any moment, specifically when no one's looking. Some believe we'll destroy the world ourselves with aggression or carbon. Some think China will shoot all our satellites out of the sky or the computers won't know what day it is and thus our complex network of technology will collapse, leading to chaos and desolation. Some believe reptilian aliens have already taken over our planet and imprisoned us mentally into a routine of production and consumption. Whatever happens, however the world may or may not or has ended, I don't mind. I won't regret anything, I won't feel fear any more than my body requires to protect me. I won't hide from the potential of a change that will revolutionise life as we know it and may unlock the power I hold in reserve within the depths of my illusory individuality. I don't regret life, nor do I resent reality. I am prepared for anything, even that which I may not be strong enough to survive.

• I've found desire to be very painful. What is more palpable and present than another human being? What is more beautiful and intense than desire for the entirety of another person? How can any achievement or possession compare to the desire for profound communion with that one specific other human being for whom your desire is focused? And when the desired person is finally in your arms, what comes after that? Perhaps this desired other human being must become an achievement or a possession. Perhaps there is some way of merging these two entities into a single organism. Perhaps it's too painful to stare into the eyes of the other and not coalesce. Perhaps separation is the only subsequent possibility. This suggests that perhaps there was another less painful way of accepting, incorporating and releasing this desire, a way without so much confusion and frustration, without banging heads into walls or collapsing in inebriation. Perhaps we're contained within the structure of our bodies until the next life, and then anything could happen.

• I have found a place from which anything is possible and anywhere is accessible. It is a new feeling, to know that the world is reachable, that no more than a day off the ground would take us anywhere. What do you do when you get to the point where you realise that internally and externally you are capable of anything you desire? With the simple requirement of actually wanting to do it, you can. There's no way of failing in this sense, because the achievement and the benefit is bound merely in the first step, in the attempt. Surely there can be no fear or apprehension beyond that first step; surely regret or failure are illusory once the foot has stepped, despite uncertainty and apathy. Surely the only worthwhile action in life is to risk. How can there be anything that's not worth the risk when we all know for certain that at any moment we could die, at some moment we will, and that we can't take anything with us into the complete unknown? I won't linger on the risks I face every day merely stepping outside.

A dream forgotten

Sometimes I wake up with so many little dreams that I almost remember. Sometimes I dream that I wake up and am about to get out of bed when my boyfriend wakes up also and I tell him what I dreamed and so am able to safely forget it and then I wake up again, this time, I assume, for real, and I remember the last time I woke up and that it obviously must have been a dream, and I remember telling my boyfriend about my more interesting dream that I now cannot remember and so cannot write down in my notebook to remember for all time. I feel rather rested, so it's not a night's sleep wasted, but all those dreams I have spent the last eight hours going through 90 minute sleep cycles to get through no longer seem to be stored in an accessible area of my brain. What a fucking waste.

What I do

I am constantly being asked what it is that I "do". I struggle for an answer and usually revert to some old label I'm still comfortable with, something I don't really believe in. I guess it would be easy if I had a job. I could tell people that what I "do" is sit at a reception desk for eight hours at a time so somebody's hotel business can run relatively smoothly. I could tell people that every Friday and Saturday night I go to a building with a high density of drinkers and I pick up and wash the glasses and bottles that accrue at an alarming rate. For these thankless tasks that do not enrich my life I am compensated with $12 an hour. But sadly I don't perform these tasks anymore and am again confused about how I should answer this question about what I "do". It is my policy to engage with people who engage with me and attempt to answer honest questions honestly, but usually I answer this question with "I'm a writer". Yes, I write, but honestly I prefer to perform my writing or share my writing or talk to people. I believe it is an extension of my writing when I talk to people. Some conversations can be merely polite or perfunctory, but some conversations are what I "do". I drink a lot of water. Some people claim they don't like the taste of water, but to me water is very important. Drinking water results in me constantly needing to sweat and urinate. Particularly when I feel sick I simply stop eating and start drinking a lot more. Often I just piss out all the toxins in my body. Similarly I am constantly receiving so much information and experience from other people, from my environment and my thoughts that I constantly need to expel some words from my system. When I get too full of words I sit down and let some out. Sometimes these are worth sharing. I do a lot of things, but this is one of the things I do that seems to be of most value to others. I don't often get paid for it, but then again I am provided everything I need for a rich and diverse life. I may be unemployed but I most definitely do not live in poverty. The world is a rich and abundant place and as much as I love it I am not a container. It must come out. Sometimes it's through writing, sometimes conversation. Sometimes I'm so frustrated with some problematic object I have to swear. Sometimes I feel a familiar feeling in my belly and I know it's time to take a shit.