What's in it?
"you know, they say that tchaikovsky was insane... and he's your favorite musician?"
I suppose that's the way things work out. I have a tendency to be drawn towards the more eccentric persons in society; in art specifically. There being no greater writer than Hemmingway in my opinion, nor any man more venerable or wise (that I have met) than my good friend Bob (along side my dad). Bob, being a 65 year old man who pays late teenage boys to perform sexual services for him. He's a brilliant man in the field of psychiatry and has taught me a great deal, even if I have never fulfilled his desires, much to his chagrin. We have a very father and son type of relationship. It's strange to some, but not to me. I have spent a lifetime collecting father figures, trying to find some older male that I can connect to, whom I am similar to, whom I see myself in. Trying to learn lessons, trying to collect wisdom. Trying to find that connection I miss from jealousy in my own foolishness. I have that connection at home, when I stop to see it. There was Johnny, God rest his soul. Then there was Mark Sharock, God rest as well. Then came Jason, and Bob. Jason, being only a few years older, didn't really fit. Still I learned a great deal about myself through him. Bob though, especially since December, has become a more central figure in my day to day existence, as I near completing the shedding of childhood insecurities.
I have been wondering, once again, as I do once a year or so, about my real father, and my anonymous sisters. Those people I will probably never meet. It's been a year and a half since I last spoke to him. A ten minute conversation that we have every five years or so. I do not regret never knowing him. I used to though. I used to pine away every day, fooling myself into the belief that if only he had manned up, I would never need to suffer, or feel any pain. That somehow, if things worked out differently, there would be no memories of Scott that awaken me screaming, or make me fear sleep all together. Being a year now since any of those night terrors, I no longer blame my real father for them. I am slowly coming to accept my lot, and truly be thankful for Ed. I have always called him Dad. I knew he was not by blood many years before he knew that I knew. I felt the difference as a small child, often pondering if he was in fact not my father, long before my mother told me out of spite or concern (I have never figured out which). I have always loved him, despite my oft inability to show it. I have often felt like an ingrate to this amazing man who treats me as his own. I have often felt indebted, when I shouldn't.
At any rate, that is one of the things on my mind of late.
There's also this chick I know, but don't, thanks to social connection sites, and family connections. She's pretty awesome. idk, we talk A LOT. I'm enjoying the vent time, the five hour long conversations we have every night, etc. She's a very special young woman. Hope she sees this. YOU ROCK BABE!!! :D
I suppose that's the way things work out. I have a tendency to be drawn towards the more eccentric persons in society; in art specifically. There being no greater writer than Hemmingway in my opinion, nor any man more venerable or wise (that I have met) than my good friend Bob (along side my dad). Bob, being a 65 year old man who pays late teenage boys to perform sexual services for him. He's a brilliant man in the field of psychiatry and has taught me a great deal, even if I have never fulfilled his desires, much to his chagrin. We have a very father and son type of relationship. It's strange to some, but not to me. I have spent a lifetime collecting father figures, trying to find some older male that I can connect to, whom I am similar to, whom I see myself in. Trying to learn lessons, trying to collect wisdom. Trying to find that connection I miss from jealousy in my own foolishness. I have that connection at home, when I stop to see it. There was Johnny, God rest his soul. Then there was Mark Sharock, God rest as well. Then came Jason, and Bob. Jason, being only a few years older, didn't really fit. Still I learned a great deal about myself through him. Bob though, especially since December, has become a more central figure in my day to day existence, as I near completing the shedding of childhood insecurities.
I have been wondering, once again, as I do once a year or so, about my real father, and my anonymous sisters. Those people I will probably never meet. It's been a year and a half since I last spoke to him. A ten minute conversation that we have every five years or so. I do not regret never knowing him. I used to though. I used to pine away every day, fooling myself into the belief that if only he had manned up, I would never need to suffer, or feel any pain. That somehow, if things worked out differently, there would be no memories of Scott that awaken me screaming, or make me fear sleep all together. Being a year now since any of those night terrors, I no longer blame my real father for them. I am slowly coming to accept my lot, and truly be thankful for Ed. I have always called him Dad. I knew he was not by blood many years before he knew that I knew. I felt the difference as a small child, often pondering if he was in fact not my father, long before my mother told me out of spite or concern (I have never figured out which). I have always loved him, despite my oft inability to show it. I have often felt like an ingrate to this amazing man who treats me as his own. I have often felt indebted, when I shouldn't.
At any rate, that is one of the things on my mind of late.
There's also this chick I know, but don't, thanks to social connection sites, and family connections. She's pretty awesome. idk, we talk A LOT. I'm enjoying the vent time, the five hour long conversations we have every night, etc. She's a very special young woman. Hope she sees this. YOU ROCK BABE!!! :D