September 13, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 29 – Always Gold

I do not care what anyone says, Pandora has the best selection of music. The algorithm works to the advantage of the listener, creating a playlist that is at least in the same vein of what you’re interested in. Without it I wouldn’t have found as many artists. Radical Face being one of them. Where is this even played? How would I have heard it, without a friend recommending them? I am not one to actively seek out new artists. I’ve been burned too many times in the past that I refuse to do it.

The only real memory this song has for me is helping to drown out the shrill, irritating voice of the one super opinionated JW woman at my previous place of employ. Listening to music was the only way I could cope with that horrible job. Other than it being a saving grace it has no other meaning. The only reason I use it here now is because of the message sort of applies to my topic.

The song is about a brother’s love and how no matter what paths were chosen they would always be there for the other. It’s a beautiful sentiment and the voice/music is super haunting. In a good way, though.

These past few weeks I have been on an Alaskan cruise with my polycule. And everywhere we went, we were asked by countless women, “Are you brothers?” I lacked any energy to explain the intricacies of our relationship, so instead I would simply answer, “no.” The brother-husband would lay it out there without context or explanation because he likes the shock value. (I do too, but we were trapped on a boat with these people.)

I know they meant nothing in their inquiry, but it opens up a whole other path of questioning. One that for me is centered around the way in which we care for my husband. It is here where I feel these queries are born. Since, it would only be because of our “bond of blood or brotherhood” would we nurture our wheelchair-bound companion. Why must we be brother’s to dote and care for a loved one? It’s truly odd.

It was ALWAYS women who asked. I think because they’ve only seen the disengaged, disinterested demeanor most men carry for anyone. Somewhere in their lives, men are forced into a life of apathetic detachment. Which is horrible and also confusing. Were they not raised by their mothers? Do they continue this irrational tradition of making boys “men?” That’s one point I cannot get over.

Men need permission to be affectionate, compassionate, and caretakers. Whenever they do show any sign of vulnerability they are immediately marked as “gay.” By both hetero and homosexual strangers. And because our society, in general, is anti-gay, men will do whatever to distance themselves from being seen as anything else. It’s super dumb. And that also applies for those in the gay community. The myth of “masculinity” is prized above all else.

Anyway… Fuck masculinity. Fuck the binary. I am me. I will allow myself to be, feel, think however the fuck I want. What someone else perceives you to be should not dictate your happiness or your ability to care for someone. If you love them, do it. Regardless of blood.

The next time someone asks us if we’re brothers I’m just going to say: “Yeah, brothers who fuck.”

August 24, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 28 – Somethin’ Stupid

I don’t know if other teenage boys had a “50’s” obsession, but I sure as shit did. It didn’t even start with Sinatra, Dean, or Sammy Davis. It began with a swing album Robbie Williams released when I was in my sophomore year. I was ENTRANCED. There was a bizarre familiarity to the songs that I could not shake. It brought me immense joy and changed my sense of style and identity.

Today, when I took a shower, I felt the urge to listen to some Robbie. (My husband was in the living-room with the brother-husband watching a show at ear-splitting levels which made me chuckle.) In the shuffle that came out of the speaker one of the songs was one I had simply forgotten existed. “Something Stupid” was a duet that Robbie Williams performed with Nicole Kidman. Like some magical key this song unlocked a forgotten box in my brain and I was transported.

I remember obsessing over swing music. I would sing it up and down the hall of our home (the acoustics were the best there) and in the car. My mother was excited because, for once, she could enjoy the music I was forcing her to listen to. Mirroring my mother in her shock and appreciation, was my grandmother. She got the biggest kick out of listening to me sing along to the songs. One time it even made her cry.

To which I responded by stopping my backseat singing.

This all occurred the same year I joined the chamber choir at school. They placed me in with the tenors, and my grandma was confused. “You’re a baritone! Why did they do that?”

I think my grandmother was “tickled” over my 50’s transformation. She gave me all kinds of tips from her experience, having lived through that period. “All the boys put brill cream in their hair and slicked it back.” Brill cream… Her midwestern colloquialisms still make me smile. (Pop, billfold, warsh…)

It is from this time of my life where my belief in reincarnation took root. The sense of familiarity I felt over the music and clothing of the 50’s was eerily strong. A sensation I can’t quite explain, other than a longing or a sense of loss. Listening to the music and donning clothes similar to the era, felt as if I slipped into a bed, perfectly molded to my body. Perhaps I’m romanticizing it to fit some narrative, or… Perhaps… I am correct.

(If my grandmother heard me talk about reincarnation she would be mortified. She was such a devout Christian…)

On the way into work, I listened to “Something Stupid” once more and I was overcome with the image of my grandmother sitting next to me, in the passenger seat. (That was her seat by the way.) I looked over at her and sang “…I love you…” and in my head I could hear her singing it along with me. It felt so real that I cried.

She was the most wonderful woman. I haven’t missed her as much as I did in that moment. This is the first time I have “felt” her presence in a long time. Maybe I’m just more open to it, or it’s just all in my head.

I am certain most people feel that way about their grandparents. Especially grandmothers. In my polycule, our shared experienced is that these women acted as our “third parent” in our formative years. The first time I ever saw my husband cry over any kind of loss was for his. She passed a few weeks before my father. She was also a wonderful woman. I already loved her because of how she treated me and my mom (her and my mother went to the Native casinos together). But the moment that made my heart melt was when she was in the ER (shortly before she passed) and she introduced my husband and me to the nurse as her “grandsons.”

August 22, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 27 – Heaven From Here

Good lawd, I am so far behind on this project. If I didn’t state it in the last one, life has gotten in the way. More specifically my own sadness and malaise keeps me from writing. Try as I might I cannot escape it. Regardless, I set out to complete a task and I shall stand triumphant in the end. I just have to double up my efforts to get back on track. Which, I know I can do.

In addition to my general lack of disinterest, I have had a hard time coming up with new and exciting tracks that bring about vivid memories. That could be due to my inability to listen to music. Lately all I prefer to have in the car has been silence. Just the thought of putting on something makes me anxious. What do I listen to? What will be brought up in the listening? When one has a habit of attaching memories and emotions to songs, it becomes a dangerous game of Musical Russian Roulette when starting a playlist.

On Saturday I was feeling calm enough to listen to something, other than my own thoughts. The song that drifted lazily out of my car speakers was Robbie Williams’ “Heaven From Here.”

I have been a huge fan of his since his first release in the U.S. “Millennium.” I went to my local target and picked up a copy of “The Ego Has Landed” and I have not stopped listening to it since. Robbie was my teen idol, my muse, my obsession so many times in my life. For a brief moment, one entire wall of my bedroom was COVERED in his posters.

Again, I have no idea how my parents did not know I was gay.

I will assure you, I am not attracted to Robbie. I love his song writing. His lyrics are just fun, and coupled with Guy Chambers music… ecstasy. Every album the two collaborated on are my absolute faves. Every track is a banger and I couldn’t pick a favorite if a gun was held to my head. The stuff since the two parted… It’s hit and miss. As I’ve gotten older, I have grown to appreciate the later stuff more than before. However, nothing can beat his early stuff.

I attempted to share this love with my husband throughout our time together but… He hates him. I have to accept that. And it is a consistent hate. Whenever I have had my phone iPod on shuffle, I will tense up the moment I hear the opening notes of a Robbie song. I sit taut, waiting for the moment my husband turns to me with disgust in his face and says, “This is terrible. Who is this?”

I cannot stress this enough, every time. Without fail. And he can’t see who the artist is on the stereo screen. So, he’s not doing a “bit.”

Regardless of my husband’s ultimate feelings about Robbie, the first song I ever gave him to listen to, because it held a “secret message” from me to him was this song. (And I hope you remember my initial post where I explain the implications this action brings.) At the time, he was indifferent about it and did not respond near the way I wanted him to. I was hoping for a: “who is this guy? he’s amazing!” or “this song is fantastic. I feel the same way.” None of that. But that’s my husband. He never reacts the way one expects. Ever. Even now, I know him better than anyone, and he still surprises me.

The one thing I remember, more than any other, was his: “I don’t like the line about our shelf life being short.”

In hindsight, I know he was speaking about our relationship “shelf-life” but with how everything has since played out… It stings. As a result, I go into a weird metaphysical headspace where I begin to believe that I somehow made his diagnosis happen by sending this song to him. Like I inadvertently cast a spell using music.

Even the title “Heaven From Here” contains a new double meaning. One that makes me very sad and I cannot bring myself to type. But I know, dear reader, that you understand what I reference.

I’ll shelter you, I’ll make it alright to cry
And you’ll help too cause the faith in myself has run dry.
We are love and I just wanna hold you near.
Know no fear we will see heaven from here.

All of this is gut wrenching for me. I think of everything I have done, thought, said, and believed over these 19 years and I feel nothing but anger toward myself. I am furious that I took so long to realize how wonderful my husband was and how I doubted what I wanted. I was so caught up in the bullshit of the whirlwind of previous relationships and it made me question possibility.

One thing I have learned is, let yourself feel these emotions. Don’t question what you want. Pick a path and go. If it doesn’t work out… It will be rough but you will survive. And you will come out stronger on the other side. Life is meant to be lived. The good and the bad. Because without the other, it would not give the significance the other deserves.

August 3, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 26 – Honey, Honey

It’s time to get back on my bullshit.

The whole point of this project was to work through my trauma and rekindle the memories in my head, before they were lost in the fires of emotional scarring. Much like the infernos of California, the flames relit and blazed through thousands of acres in my head. All that is left are scorched thoughts and smoke.

Sorry to sound so bleak. It’s just part of my self analysis. Through all of this I have watched with interest to see how I respond and what effect it will have on me. What I have seen thus far is that it is undeniably morphing the way I do anything. While I am someone who will lean into change, this one is decimating my former self. And while I like to envision myself as a phoenix, rising from the ashes, I would prefer not to lose every aspect of myself.

This is, of course, not the first time. I have gone through many transitions in my short little life. Most of which were unexpected, like most things.

Sometimes, though, they were due to my own selfish actions.

Long before I realized I was not built for monogamy, I was a cheater. I found myself in precarious situations often and ended up acting on impulses that didn’t represent how I felt. Yet I did it anyway. As a result I hurt my husband countless times. But he would always stay with me.

There was one point in our lives where we had just grown apart emotionally. Why, I don’t know. I think he was working out of town or he was just sick of my bullshit. (I sure was.) So, we decided to “break up” for a little while so I could work on myself. Is that what happened? Not at all. We continued to share bills, a bed, and a life together. At the time I didn’t know that what we had created was an “open relationship” without calling it that. We were so hung up on “labels” and what they reflected onto us that we would rather be “broken up” than be stereotypical gay men.

As we have seen from past posts, I don’t do life “alone.” I immediately found myself with someone new. (And as did he, for the record.) This song is connected to one of the strangest and most beautiful times of my life.

It’s mind-bending that this happened 14 years ago. It feels as if it was yesterday. I still remember my husband and I going to see “Capote” with Philip Seymour Hoffman and the box office clerk who gave us our tickets was so gorgeous. It’s strange how taken I was, and when I found him on Myspace (yes, myspace) it didn’t even occur to me that these two men were the same person.

It was Aaron.

Aaron was my shadow self. We held so many shared experiences: raised deeply religious, only children, and born to women in their 40’s, and both recently out of long term relationships. However while I had parted from the church some time ago, he was doubling down and fully intended on becoming an Episcopal priest even being a homosexual.

At the time he worked for United Artists and one of our first dates was to see the movie Mamma Mia. Afterwards, I fell in love with the song “honey, honey.”. Every time I heard it, it made me think of him. So, I dubbed him “honey, honey.”

I have this weird quirk where I designate a nickname to someone. If you are lucky enough to receive one that means I really like you. (My husband is “punkin” and Josh is “sunshine.”)

For the longest time I hung onto this relationship, even though I was the one that let it go. Regardless of this fact I would continue to check in on and virtually stalk him. What I have realized now is that what I did was cruel. I should have left him alone. I think it made the act of getting over me more difficult, because just when he may have moved on I would pop in with a text or a vague Xanga entry.

Aaron is the only person I have ever felt like I knew in a previous life. Being in his presence felt so familiar. Inexplicably comfortable. It was like we had done this all once before.

I find this entry difficult to write, because for a very brief moment I debated leaving Charlie and going with Aaron. And in that, I feel so much guilt and shame. What if I had and I wasn’t here to care for him? Who would have done it? What would have happened?

I also feel terrible because he told me he was falling in love with me and I could not say it back. In that moment I didn’t feel the same. Even now, when I ruminate over this exchange and how I felt over the entire relationship I felt something of love, but not a romantic one. But at the same time, I did. Maybe I just never allowed myself to really feel it and risk losing Charlie.

Despite that deeply rooted guilt, I do look back on the relationship with deep fondness and joy. Aaron became the ultimate muse. I wrote our brief relationship into my first finished novel length work of fiction. In it I got to tell the cute wonderful moments that burned like hot coals, only to have me ruin them by ending it. Even in the narrative I got to make myself the villain.

One day I hope to polish this bitch up and share it with the world. Share Aaron/Oren with the world.