Nerves

I find myself fretting about the future. I find my mind doubting the course of action I have plotted...not doubt because of anything, but doubt for doubt's sake.

The Killer

Last night I held a killer in my arms. I heard him beg for forgiveness that was not mine to give. I heard his story, and wept that I was the cause.

Last night I walked a killer home. I walked him to his door and embraced him as friend. He is wounded and I hope that he finds solace.

Last night a killer told his story to me. I listened not knowing what to say. The gurgled screams and tears of his victims now haunt me.

Last night a killer touched my soul. I am now affected by his misery. I am now accustom to his darkness.

28 years down

There is a sadness that corresponds with today: an ache that cannot be satiated. I can't help but miss the people I have lost to icy earth, and time's unfeeling influence. I miss them, these makers of memory. I miss them so.

To the Father I Never Knew...

Thank you for not laying your emotional baggage on me late in life. Thank you for not stifling my emotions or telling me to "be a man." Your absence lead me to be a real man: taking responsibility for my actions, being secure in my manhood to the point of showing emotion, etc. Thank you for not instilling any blue-collar machismo into my brain. Thank you for showing me exactly the type of man, and Father, I want to be.

Judy

Sweet void of sensation washes over me.
Numb tingles let me know the time is right.
The euphoria of the moment...
The moment lasting hours...
The hours stretching on.
Moonbeam giggle lifts from my lips,
and the Memory lives on.

Valhalla

I read today of a woman who died in New York state. She was 82, which is young by some standards. As I read I was consumed with envy that her death, too soon and tragic, happened where it did. She died in a place called Valhalla, NY. The poetry of place moved me to write a little verse.

When I die...in the far, FAR, future...I want this read:

Bare my ashes to Valhalla.
Build the pyre strong, and true.
Purge all moisture from my body,
That I may fall with Midnight's dew.
Remember me, oh dearest ones,
In prose, and deed, and song.
But bare my ashes to Valhalla,
When 'ere life's breath has gone.

What should I feel?

Today a piece of my childhood died. Slowly languishing for years, it was an attack of the heart that claimed him. The man, the myth, the legend...his life so scary. His death an all to human one for his persona.

Nightly Prayer

I saw her on the bus tonight. Silently searching for a moment of peace, weary from the day. Tomorrow she will rest, hopefully. The night air circles 'round her hair. Golden, un-natural against the ebony blackness of her skin. Stiff, straight, tamed as her life cannot be. The tide is constantly against her: this island in a sea of tumult. She reads from Isaiah. Words float in her mind, and respite comes, heralded by he who cried in wilderness. The night air circles and her eyes close silently in Prayer.

We all return to our roots

The world of Fabulous Debauchery is the brain child of Rebbecca Pittenger ’04, and Kelly Ridener ’05. Their topics have included “Top 10 Fashion Icons of the Hiram College Faculty” and “Gifts for Gender Warriors.” They were usually drunk when they have written the previous articles…With that being said, the authors invite you into their world. A world of owning one’s baggage, and laughing at the mundane and ridiculous. A world chock full of Fabulous Debauchery.

Fabulous:

Funny how the mundane interactions one has will influence the mind to creative (right?) exposition. I have just returned from my weekly outlet of Fabulous Debauchery (the ancient Japanese art of karaoke), and let me tell you, I am rejuvenated. I sang, drank, and lived as if the consequences of tomorrow would amount to just a hill of beans. My life was full of life tonight, and though that may be an experiment in redundancy, you know of what I speak. I have tried, without success, over the past few days to recapture the essence of what it was to be 21, a Hiram College upper-class man, and without real consequence in my life. I have tried to recapture this, and been frustrated to tears with the results, for try as I might, I could not distill my thoughts into that of the person, the OH so fabulous personage of that day, that I was. I had been forgetting to keep my mind in the tense. I was that person. I am not him now.

So the mournful, and eternal question, remains…what is fabulous in my life? Now that I have accepted the fullness of time, now that I have traded haute-couture for off the rack, now that I have abandoned the Paris and Milan fashion buying extravaganzas of my youth, what am I to celebrate?

Shall I retreat into the bosom of Whitman and only sing the body electric?

Screw that.

I want to sing the body on electric avenue (big ups to the Class of 84 if they get the references).

I will admit that I have found (with ever increasing frequency) that there are areas of my life that are entirely bereft of fabulous debauchery…at least on the surface. After one has rubbed shoulders with Donatella and Madge in London, it is difficult to cram on to the over-crowded COTA bus with the lumpen prols. But c’est la vie. If you don’t get the reference, I ride public transportation; however, often I find the most exciting and shocking things going on around me.

There is the Hamilton Avenue Thumb Sucker who obsessively and obscenely sucks her thumb. She works her jaw for all it is worth. It reminds me of that fabled night I spent with Kate Moss…that girl did so many 8-balls we started calling her 64 and her teeth chattered so much that we finally had to duct tape a two inch dowel into he mouth, but I digress. So the bus isn’t really all that bad. I tweet about it all the time. If only I had a seersucker suit and a fine hanky, I could be the contemporary, bus riding, equivalent of Truman Capote…well his less talented cousin at least. I also find myself composing verse while riding through the streets of my fair city…I’m not sure you’re ready for that yet.

There are also the eccentrics. They are truly fabulous, although at times they can be a bit much. There is the Prophetess of the North High Street #2. Have you ever seen the Ken Burns documentary on Shakers? They bend and sway during their worship. They are also abstinent, but that’s another article. The Prophetess begins her incantations by rocking gently back and forth in her seat. Then the “Grand Dip” as I call it happens. Her wooly, strawberry lochs flip over her head into the aisle, and then her hands shake with the spirit. She pops up and delivers her divine inspiration. There was a day when she actually pointed at me. I had my ipod on, but I did read the word sodomite on her lips. It was very entertaining to have her preach at me whilst the dulcet tones of The Scissor Sisters rocked into my ears…” She's my man, don't be too sad sonny
'Cause she'll never be your woman no more…” Oh wise woman, how I am gladden in heart and spirit that you have picked my sins to point out.

These are but two examples of how I find myself continually embroiled in the world of Fabulous Debauchery: a world that has created so much joy for me and my compadres. A world that is ever expanding, and represents what my Hiram Experience really taught me. To restate the obvious, that life is utterly, exasperatingly, and unapologetically ridiculous. I was worried that I had forgotten to look around the world and revel in what I see. I guess I have been worried for nothing really. I have forgotten that the true values of Fabulous Debauchery are intrinsic. And intrinsically…I’m better than you.

Debauchery

Iranian Resolve

I am listening to a crowd of people cry out. I am listening to words that to my ears have no meaning, yet tug on the core of my being. I am listening to the people who have marched silently through the crowded streets of Tehran. I hear their chants of "Allahu Akbar!"

Truly God is Great (the translation of Allahu Akbar. This phrase is powerful, apparently, in the Islamic world, and indeed it resonates in my heart right now. I who have known little in the way of suffering.

I chant with you tonight, brothers and sisters. I chant with you in solidarity. I chant into my night...

Allahu Akbar!

Forgotten Inspirations

Over the past few days, inspiration has been around me, and in an instant it has vanished. The muses are in a flighty, gaming mood. I sit and see beauty in the way light bounces off a semi-gloss wall, and it moves a portion of my soul; however, in the next moment the reasoning is gone. A coldness, and emptiness remains. A memory and shade of glory remain, but the mind's eye cannot conjure the original context. The madding effect of it all is corpulent in its simplicity.

Sunday's Ritual

Part of my Sunday was a success. I spoke with my dear friend, and felt the longing that accompanies our weekly chats. I long for days of wine al fresco. I long for the feeling of home that can only accompany the sound of dear friends laughing as they revel in youth filled gaiety. I long for the passionate intimacy of our collegiate journey. I long for the guiltless, esoteric, excess of soul-searching melodrama.

Part of my Sunday was failure. I chose my Saturday night over His Sunday morning. I let myself down there.

Are you out there, God? It's me, Kelly...

I wonder if God really has a plan for all of us.

I am listening to This American Life and there is a woman talking through tears about how she really wants to believe in God again.

I know her pain. The feeling of want, desire, and emptiness.

Just believe, child. Believe.

4am

It's nearing 4am, and the sounds of the house amplify. I can hear that raspy breaths of my roommate, and the tick tick tick of the clock. The dog stirs and I am aware that life occurs on multiple levels. The bracken laced whir of the refrigerator ceases, and I wonder, truly wonder, if it is keeping the eggs cool enough. These are the thoughts of my insomniac brain. I weigh the world against the angels on the pinhead. I see them so clearly at times. They frolic and dance as we do. We who exist on this speck of dust neath a giant's thumbnail.

Shut up!

Oh just stop whining, already! The economy is in freefall because everyone is looking for someone to rescue it. Here's an idea: RESCUE IT YOUR DAMN SELF! Stop waiting for someone else to give you an answer, and do something! Tighten your belt. Pull yourself up by the boot straps. Move toward producing something...take pride in your work. Develop your entrepreneurial spirit! Times are tough, but people need to stop wallowing in the mire and DO SOMETHING ABOUT THEIR SITUATION!

A Note to Ellen Degeneres

I sit battered and angry at California. I hate the entire state, and more I hate the attention Prop 8 has drawn toward gay rights. I hate, I loathe, I wish death upon all those California queers who are crying over spilled milk. I am angry that because THEIR rights were stripped, the rest of the country suddenly cares about gay marriage.

Years ago my rage was kindled against my sisters and brothers in the buckeye state of Ohio, my home. I sat on an election night and watched as OVER 2/3 of Ohio voters said that my love was not worthy of recognition. I let the self-loathing seep into my blood. For the first time, I felt hated for whom I was.

It is a pity that the situation exists. It is abhorrent that "liberty and justice for all" does not extend beyond the sight line of a flag post. But I have no more support to give, Ellen. I have nothing to offer you now...the same way you had nothing to offer me then.

Reverse Sexism

Can a man be a victim of sexism? Is this not the case in the very way we ascribe certain behaviors? Are not men expected to plan romantic evenings for their significant others (I guess this applies mostly to heterosexual men since homosexual couples present a paradox)? I say this, Dear Reader, it is time that women start taking the reigns and doing some of the leg work...other than pointing them toward the ceiling and thinking of hand bags.

10 Ways to Beat the Blues

Recently I've been feeling a little run down, tired of people, and in general like a lump. These feelings are nothing new to me, but they do become a bit tiring after a while. Thus the reason I'm doing a little research into how to banish the winter blahs from my life.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Fabulous Debauchery PROUDLY presents:

The Top 10 ways to beat the Winter Blahs with Style!

(10) Home Remodeling: Basically this is the very last thing that should be done, unless you want to throw a fabulous soiree and invite your best frenemies. Make bitches jealous with your oh-so-fabulous pied a terre, and get the bastards you know to stock your bar at the same time. The savings in premium alcohol with help off set any remod costs you incur along the way. Remember, the rule to a stock your bar party is ONE bottle to share with everyone at the party, and ONE to leave behind as a gift.

(9) Take Up a Winter Sport: Personally I have a winter sport...it's called Bitching. Maybe you have heard of it. I find that the peak season for bitching often falls in winter (With important matches falling on the fourth of July, and Thanksgiving...but that's more of a last minute warm up, really). Practice your art on those around you, and unsuspecting innocents. I find that being particularly rude to clergy members (YAY Nuns!) is a great way to bolster points.

(8) Watch What You Eat: Next.

(7) Simplify, Simplify, Simplify: Thank you, Thoreau. This is actually a very therapeutic thing to do in winter. Get rid of excess people and baggage. Donate that horrid Fendi purse from 3 years ago to the bag lady at Superior and Euclid. She will look particularly smart, and be the envy of the soup kitchen. Also get rid of tired, depressing, and worn out relationships. C'mon...you know you'd rather have a purse!

(6) Soak up Some Rays: YES, YES, YES! But I swear on everything holy, you CANNOT substitute those god-awful spray on tans for this. Go somewhere fabulous for a weekend. Fly to the Yucatan, and then take a day-trip to Cuba. Have mojitos, and get screwed by the hottest Commie in the district! But for God's sake,please get some sun! You're so pale you've become translucent!

(5) Color You Home With Flowers: Where the fuck does this shit come from? (By the way, I"m totally yanking these from somewhere else and writing my own thoughts about them...quite possibly this could be construed as plagiarism, but do I care? No.)

(4) Socialize: That is what the party was for...These people need to have a glass of bourbon and get laid every once and a while...then they might not be so lame.

(3) Find a New Hobby: I think this is fantastic. You could find new and interesting people to screw, or perfect masturbation. Also you could start brewing your own beer, or making your own wine. There is always knitting...but really, why put all those child-sweatshop workers out of a job?

(2) Read Some Good Books: Yes...and keep checking this blog!

AND THE NUMBER 1 WAY TO BEAT THE WINTER BLAHS IS..................

(1) Exercise: I know, I know...it's a bit of a let down; however, think about it like this. You need to be physically able to have a ton of sex, do illicit drugs, party, and still look fabulous while doing it. Stay hydrated, eat balanced meals, and for Christ's sake...go out and get laid!

More thoughts on the New President

So I have been continually thinking about why I haven't had elation over the election of President Obama. I thought, perhaps, it was caused by my utter disgust at the government of W; in that I truly believed that the situation could not become worse. But now I believe it is because I have moved past any prejudice I may have had against people of color. I believe that any man deserves that for which he has striven his entire life, so since I believe that President Obama has worked hard, put shoulder to mill-stone, and paid his dues, I have no problem or wonderment that he has won.

This all stems from the fact that in all honesty I was expecting something phantasmagorical to happen once President Obama took the oath of office. I'm not really sure what I was expecting...perhaps some lightning, foreign invasion, or for his head to split open and a alien to step out...you know, something out of the ordinary. I have heard people marvelling at how peaceful the transition has been, and this worries me. Do people believe that there has been an UNpeaceful transition of power in U.S. History? Y'all know better, right? The civil war wasn't between rival factions who wanted their guy in the White House. It was about the sanctity of states' rights, discontent between Southern Conservatives, and Northern Liberals, and slavery (in that order). I think that this coded language means that the people saying it are surprised that Barak Obama has had no attempt made on his life, or the lives of his family members. For this I am VERY happy; however, there is a part of me that prays continually for the safety of his daughters.

Obama Nation Day 1

I admit I would have rather watched the event live; however, I was slinging coffee at Starbucks (quite UNfabulous, I agree). I have watched video and read the complete text of President Obama's Inaugural Address. The man can give a speech! I'm still processing what I have read, and heard, and believe might come of it.

I like that President Obama said (in essence) that no one deserves what he has not earned. This strokes my Randian ideals.

I still fear that President Obama may be the Anti-Christ. Only time will tell.

That being said...I'm still glad I voted for him.

Dionysian Splendor

From hookah bars, to fine dining, the past week has lent itself to epicurean wandering. Perhaps it was the extremely cold weather, but I have felt a nomadic pull to venture out into our fair city and discover where the people are hanging out, living life, being fabulous, and wasting time. This task is not really a new calling; however, I have rarely felt the need to put pen to page (or in our world of cyber-living, fingers to keyboard) to share my thoughts with others. Perhaps the time has come.

What follows is a review of three different establishments along the High Street Corridor. To some I will return...to others...well...maybe not so much.

Shi-Sha Lounge
Location: North High Street & Patterson (North Campus)
Faire: Flavored Tobacco, stoner yummies, coffee, tea, etc.
Thoughts: It wasn't the first time I had gone to the Shi-Sha lounge. It was the first time I spent any length of time there. I felt, at first, that I was reliving my glory days of undergrad years when friends and I would gather in a smoke filled cafe, play endless hours of cards, and fly through what should have been productive hours. We would write bad poetry, converse openly about the intertwining of sex, art, philosophy, politics, and somehow we still all graduated college. Any critique I have of the Shi-Sha is one that they cannot improve upon, for how can they make a 27 year old man into a 19 year old boy? The staff is attentive even in their post-adolescent, ennui engulfed, waifish, quasi-queer, "life is so pointless," malaise. Good for people watching, and perhaps picking up some Arabic or Somali. Will I return? Doubtless, for I have a sado-masochistic stream that makes me want to yearn for yester-year, and inflict bad poetry upon my friends.

Gypsy Cafe
Location: North High Street & Price (Short North)
Faire: Flavored Tobacco, Hot Dogs, Bad Coffee
Thoughts: The crowd at this hookah bar is a bit older...think grad school not under grad. Smaller and cramped. I was served a cup of cold coffee. Overall not a great experience. The decor is nice enough, but not really enough to save it. There was a hottie working there, but even that is not enough to necessitate another visit.

Black Olive
Location: North High Street and Buttles (Short North)
Faire: New American Fusion
Thoughts: Does anyone else remember The Coffee Table? That quirky little bohemian cafe that used to be the gathering point for summer people watching, before Pride coffee, and lazy Sunday afternoons? Well fear not, for even though that charming cafe is no more, remnants remain 'neath the glitz and glamor of Black Olive. The scene at Black Olive seems to be one of urban sophistication meets pomo chic. Whimsical touches abound (see bubble chandelier, and fake plants in windows), which add a lightening element to what could become an oppressive, dreary, all to stuffy atmosphere; however, after you get past the chic finishes, and reflective surfaces, you will no doubt notice that some of what made the Coffee Table charming, now serves as a great detriment to an establishment trying so desperately to lure away neighborhood clientele from more established restaurants. Perhaps some of the decorating budget should have been spent installing new windows so that if one is seated by the window his red wine doesn't chill to an undrinkable, and flavor stifling, temperature. Also, and this one just slays me, the restaurant is in an old building, the foundation has settles, and the floor is uneven. This was quirky when I paid $2 bucks for my Hylander Grogg...It's not charming when my glass of wine shows me the unevenness of the floor. The floors are concrete...they should have been re-poured.
With all that being said, the food was SPECTACULAR! I had the Spit-fire Duck, and it was delicious. The meat tender, non-greasy, and just the right amount of kick to make the palate dance with joy. Portions of duck breast roasted in high heat served over a melange of sauteed peppers, onions, and mushrooms, served over a bed of crispy red potatoes. The sauce contained a smoky heat that complimented the sweetness of the peppers, and the robust quality of the duck. I paired the meal with a glass of shiraz. Quite a good pairing if I do say so. The portion was opulent for the price, and the staff were attentive, friendly, and knowledgeable. I shall be returning to Black Olive whenever the occasion arises.