This is actually taking a lot longer than I expected it to. I don't know why I'm surprised. With so much going on, lately, it's a wonder I have time to ponder the essentials, much less the aesthetics. But aesthetics are part of what my world is about, these days, so it's become something of a convoluted Catch 22. Whatever. Good things happening all around us. The new season at the Rio Grande Theatre has been launched and the word is spreading rapidly. Been getting a lot of ink in local newspapers and magazines. People are starting to take notice. My job, though it has really only begun, is accomplished. Hell, I just got a nice hefty raise, after only three months on the job. That's got to count for something, if only that the 16 hour days I've been putting in haven't been for nothing.

And still, despite the long hours, I find myself deliriously happy. The time I get to spend with Donny are still choice. He still lifts me up and, wonder of wonders, doesn't nag me about being a workaholic. He understands that it's part of the job and necessary to accomplish what I need to. He supports me one hundred percent, rather than whining about the fact that I'm never home. I'm damn lucky to have him and I work hard never to forget that. Even the little moments he's unaware of send me. Like when I wake up in the morning and, before rolling out of bed, I kiss him on the neck just to listen to him giggle in his sleep. Or the extreme pleasure I feel when I go about my duties down at the theatre and can hear him playing the piano tucked back on the stage, like a musical phantom. So many little things.

Which, interestingly enough, brings me to the next "word" in Melissa's assigned series. Or, "words" as the case may be. This would be one of the hardest for me to verbalize, simply because my responses are more emotional than logical. I guess that's the fun part. The exercise, as it were. Formulate those gooey, squishy feelings and give them substance. Sure, why not? I've already done so a little above. And it's just a word, right? Right. Take a deep breath and plunghe. That third "word" is "Donny Prosise" and Donny Prosise...

“…is a weird kid.” That’s how I would have referred to him had I met him, ten years earlier. Of course, he would have been 17 or 18 at the time. A high school dropout, living on his own with his boyfriend. I would have been 37 or 38, sliding into my 40s and just finishing up my tenure with Paramount Studios. I would just have been starting work on Blue Food, while he would have been experimenting with nailpolish and wild hair colors. Flamboyantly flashing his big gay colors. There would, I think, have been very little attraction.

So, you see, though there are times when the 20-year age difference makes itself irritatingly apparent, I’m honestly glad that we met when we did. He was just the tonic I needed to jumpstart a tired, jaded outlook and put me back on the path of creative living. Emphasis on the “living,” I think. I’m still not exactly sure how it happened. We’d met before and though I’d thought him adorable, there had been no spark. It took a three-month immersion in community theatre to bring us together. Psycho Beach Party. He was my Starcat. I was his Kanaka. History was made on that stage.

Sharing the stage with Donny was, easily, one of the best experiences I’ve ever had in theatre. And there have been a lot of those. The chemistry between our two characters bled off into our personal lives and, before we knew it, we had become fast friends. Despite words of warning from our significant others, we couldn’t stop spending time with one another. Talking, laughing, dorking out. It was never dull. Which is probably why the friendship withstood the end of the play, the rocky relationship he was in and the dissolution of my own 13-year debacle. We sort of helped each other limp through our respective battlefields together and became even closer in the process.

Even so, I still marvel at the fact that this beautiful, talented and charmingly twisted young man is here. With me. He’s an amazing musician. His fascination with words and languages is refreshing in this text-happy, truncated and mostly illiterate world. He’s outspoken and proudly marches to his own drum. His sex drive surpasses even my own, which is saying something, because, quite frankly, it’s good to finally be with someone who can keep up with me. He’s funny and sharp. He’s a dork in the best possible way. It’s rare that I can leave his presence without at least a smile on my face, no matter how bad the day has been. His touch thrills me. His smell excites me. And he’s here. With me.

He followed me close to 400 miles to happily create a new life. Here. With me. I don’t even know what to say about that last part. This is a man with deep friendships and strong family ties. He had a good job, with great benefits and a nice paycheck. He could have made a very nice life for himself in Phoenix. But he put it all aside, rearranged his life, loaded up his belongings and said “see ya later,” to his peeps. Just to be with me. I don’t think I’ll ever really understand that. And despite my predilection for morbid shoe gazing, especially the airborne variety, I can honestly say nobody has ever made me happier. In every way possible, he’s become the man of my dreams.

He’s also become the only person I’ve ever had a relationship with who holds the power to really and truly break my heart. It’s a very scary feeling to discover, this late in life. It’s a fear that surpasses what was, up until now, my greatest terror; dying alone. In the world of Tarot, he would be my Knight of Cups. A card I’ve never pulled before. I can’t help but think that this latest spread was designed to keep me on my toes. And to make me appreciate the more mercurial aspects of this rollercoaster ride we call life. If I have to be on this ride, I can’t think of a partner I’d rather experience it with.

In two days it will be exactly 25 years since my first real love took his own life. There’s been a lot of water under that particular bridge, since then. Almost seems like another lifetime ago. 15 years ago I was still haunted by that dark event in my young life. Ten years ago I exorcised those demons by writing a play about the incident. Five years ago, I decided to stage it and a year later, Rain Damage made it’s premiere at Soul Invictus, in Phoenix.

It all seems so remote now. I face this anniversary with much less angst than previous milestones. There’s a tiny bit of melancholy at the thought, but nothing debilitating. I went through all that anger and recrimination years ago. I realize now that I am no more responsible for his actions than I am for the movement of the clouds across the arched windows before me. It took a while to get here. I’m glad I didn’t follow him into that dark place. Just think of all that I would have missed. ‘Nuff said on that topic.

Life continues to be challenging in a very good way, down at the theatre. Still putting in long days and even longer weeks. Making a lot of headway. The rewards are subtle, but hardly insignificant. The new season is coming along beautifully. My dreams of having a real green room, instead of the half-assed storeroom/holding pen the theatre now has, are beginning to come to fruition. The new partnership with the local community college will be adding much-needed support staff in just weeks. It’s all good.

I suppose it comes along with the territory, but somehow, in the process of trying to find two minutes of relaxation time, I’ve managed to re-immerse myself in the world of music. First, I was thrilled to discover that The Cliks have finally released their sophomore album, Dirty King, which I promptly ordered from Amazon and put into heavy rotation the minute it arrived via U.S. post. I have a fantasy about luring them down from Canada for a show at the RGT. Long shot, but we’ll see…

I also discovered, quite by accident, a group from Germany that has been around for twenty years, called Corvus Corax. Never heard of them until I stumbled upon one of their albums in a box of cds at the theatre. These guys are HOT! And though their music isn’t necessarily for every taste, I’m completely smitten. Who knew bagpipes could be so damned sexy? Seriously. This video was included on the cd I found, which cinched the deal for me.



Still salivating at the prospect of picking up the latest from Namoli Brennet, who will be playing the RGT next month. It’ll be good to spend time with her again. Haven’t actually seen her since moving from Phoenix. She’ll be playing songs from the new album and I’ll score a copy at the same time. Life will be good. Very, very good. Add to that the possibility of bringing Daniel Cartier to town in the Fall and Matt Alber in the Spring it just keeps getting better and better.

My recent phone conversation with Daniel made it sound very promising. His new album should be completed in October and he really wants to get out of Nashville for a while. Fingers are crossed. Matt has been e-mailing with Donny and it sounds like he’s very interested, too. That’s a WHOLE lot of Queer Music for this little town. They’ll never know what hit ‘em. Literally, if I play my cards right. It’s shaping up to be a very interesting season.

Now, if I can just find a little time to catch up on much-needed rest. That, in and of itself, would be fantastic.

There are times when nothing says it better than a song. I hadn’t really heard this one in a while. Years actually. It seems wholly appropriate, now. Funny how things like that come back around. The clip is exceptionally good for concert footage, too. If, that is, you ignore the Darth Maul wannabe in the audience, or the dumbass crowd surfers/moshers. Gads, I’m glad that craze is finally going the way of the dodo…

So, yeah… only nine more days, then I’ll be…

Moving, just keep moving
‘til I don’t know what I’m saying
I’ve been moving so long
The days all feel the same

Moving, just keep moving
Well I don’t know why to stay
No ties to bind me
No reasons to remain

Got a low, low feeling around me
And a stone cold feeling inside
And I just can’t stop messing my mind up
Or wasting my time

There’s a mow low feeling around me
And a stone cold feeling inside
I’ve got to find somebody to help me
I’ll keep you in mind

So I’ll keep moving just keep moving
Well I don’t know who I am
No need to follow
There’s no way back again

Moving, keep on moving
Where I feel I’m home again
And when it’s over
I’ll see you again

Got a low, low feeling around me
And a stone cold feeling inside
And I just can’t stop messing my mind up
Or wasting my time

There’s a mow low feeling around me
And a stone cold feeling inside
I’ve got to find somebody to help me
I’ll keep you in mind