QHereKidSF @ Tri-Life: I TRY – UMPH!? – to triumph, even if victory means to fall flimsy forward on high-wire shaky strings. Gladly, I would step sure-footed onto a straight wrought-iron rope to delight in ecstatic acrobatics... There! Where skyward heaven-sent, my mindflux, mayhem, and moribund monstrosity ne'er do not matter more – QHEREKIDSF.COM!
CHARLOTTE PONCE, a mature yet youthfully beautiful, self-assured, and giving twelve year-old adolescent American girl and would-be Makeup Artist/Beautician, intends to visit PARIS, FRANCE within her teenage years; only, after having received her newly reconstructed ear...
Perhaps, I could accompany her on a dream-like "tour de force théâtrale de la Cité de l'Amour," as a means to acquaint the young woman with the great past & present cultural history of esthetiques, stage and fashion makeup, and the 'artistic creation and application of face;" as I might, one should presume, know so very well...
Earlier this evening, I sent a random Google® Talk instant message to my dear, dear friend and former Shanti Project Social Support Volunteer, Wallace "Wes" Smith: my WALL•E!! His status icon displayed as idle, so I assumed that, perhaps by an off chance, he'd be free to join me for a spontaneous chat: a followup to the random instant messaged salutation he sent to me over the weekend. Little did I know that my spirited loquacity would suddenly seem to turn into a prosaically soliloquized epic ode to our friendship, of legendary mythic proportion.
I felt so inspired to lavish my friend with lips-puckered, ass-kissed licentious lauding that what he struggled to read of my tenaciously frenetic fervor in typing seemed so awfully awkward in the contrived sophistication of its aggressively astute and alliterative prosaism and sophistry; so much so that I feel obliged to commemorate this haphazardly sententious and Homeric confession of best-begotten brotherly love as a disastrously dimwitted, maniacally meandering monologue, rewritten and posted in its entirety, herein below.
Heya WALL•E!! You totally left me hanging the other day, after you IMed me and then ditched in 10 mins, never to return to chat that day... Are you gonna have any time today to chat it up with me a little? I "yearn" to talk with you!
VOLUNTEERISM : SOCIAL CO-DEPENDENCY & WITHDRAWAL
Adrienne asked about you today, when we were walking to collect my weekly income check from my payee at Lutheran Social Services... She started the conversation by asking me my thoughts on finding another Shanti Volunteer.
I told her in a straightforward, matter of fact tone, "Well, thing is, I'm not sure how I feel about investing so much of myself into what's presumably meant to be a very important relationship in my life, if its just gonna end all of a sudden, and I am forced to lose a friend... again. I just don't think I could do that, at this point in my life."
She responded by asking, "Is that what happened with Wes? I thought you two were supposed to have stayed connected. Wasn't that your intention?"
So, I answered, again in a stoic, almost careless voice, "Yes, it was. But, Wes kinda just stopped responding and pulled away."
Her reply: "Oh, I can see how that could have been frustrating... [pause] ...and disappointing."
What I failed to mention to her was that I too hadn't made such a concerted effort in pursuing a sustained friendship with you, so it may have come across as me shifting blame all on you, Wes, which I regret. So, I commit to clearing things up the next time I talk to her, this week.
I just want to apologize, and say that Adrienne reminded me today how much of a giant gaping hole was left in my life after we ended our "professional" relationship. I MISS YOU!
Now, go take care of that "not so minor" issue that you're dealing with at work.
PETTY CONTRIVANCES OF A PSYCHO-UNSTABLE MIND
IF YOU'RE SCROLLING, YOU CAN STOP HERE NOW AND START READING AGAIN...
While you're off addressing that "not so minor" work issue for the next few minutes; a moment or two well spent by you, but better left unspent by me, I'm sure... I'll just continue my garrulously loquacious, leave-nothing-left-unsaid, babbling banter 'bout all the bizarre and contrite contrivances of my psycho-unstable mind, which have me anxious and worried of late, so that you can or may have an intimate and long-over-due peek into my perilously perverse and pessimistic personality! Hmmmm... Where did I leave off RE: Adrienne? Oh yeah... somewhere along the lines of:
So, I will be clearing you of the blunt force of blame for our reprehensibly reciprocal responsibility and our mutual misgivings vis-à-vis our dually shared and accepted failure to sustain our friendship past the point of its "professional" end.
I just don't want Adrienne to think that you were a bad choice as a volunteer. Heck, Adrienne already knows (I presume – and, if she doesn't, then she damn well should!) what an integral role you have played in SAVING MY LIFE! I owe so much to Adrienne for having stuck to her gut at the get go by pairing us together as client and volunteer... as would-be, could-be, forever-and-always "friends!"
RESPLENDENCE : AS "TACKLE-ANY-THREAT" TRIUMPH
But, more so, I owe much of my present success – my "Thank God! I'm thriving,"tackle-any-threat, thwart-all-trials-&-traumas, tremendously triumphant and resplendent resilience, reborn amidst the tumultuously twisted travails of my recovery, rehabilitation, reconstruction and restitution of self – to you, my dear friend!
At the get-go, my joyous journey toward good health and happiness was gladly guided by the gentle and giving hand of a stranger turned beloved confidant, who courageously ventured well past reason, into a realm beyond responsibility where the rightfully righteous regalia and splendor of spirit dwell, to share his wisdom with a wounded, woebegone, godforsaken gay boy wanting of nothing more than exactly that which was delivered: LOVE!
I OWE ALL THIS FOR WHICH I HAVE TO BE THANKFUL TO YOU, MY DEAR FRIEND!
That is why I feel obliged now to persevere through the challenges of time and temerity, of entangled temperaments, of trials and tribulations brought 'bout by the blatantly bold, always bogus and unbecoming bastions of best-not-a-brick-wall-between-us "business."
To conquer – in a Sisyphean struggle steep & unsound enough to shake all shame, pride and courage from me – the cold, heartless and selfish demands of "convenience," in order finally to build the perfect pantheon to our still living, still thriving and resilient friendship, up atop the mythic mountains set between us
Let us together carefully carve, with courage & compassion, this megalithic monument to ME & MY WALL•E!! right from the Acherontic behemoth brimestone boulder that we together were once forced to push persistently past a presumed point of no return...
In a moment of inspiration, I lay claim to the rolling rock of our friendship as the necessary foundation of a forever extant and extraordinarily exultant temple, built to honor our two chance-selfless, yet yearning, souls. Thus, ad infinitum, we witness our two souls, serendipitously united by the unbreakable, ne'er tarnished bonds of brotherhood, made beautiful by perfectly platonic LOVE AND DEVOTION...
THE LACHRYMOSE, MOST LEFT SIDE OF MY MIND
LOVE AND DEVOTION duly deemed determined to destroy the could-be, would-be reckless and caustically corrosive contrivances of that aforementioned obstacle we've confirmed unspoken to speak of as "convenience." Agreed? And, don't worry, Wallace... I myself do not know what to make of all of this bombastic banter, either. It's all just "spewage" straight through the levies of the "last-ditch, last-chance, leftover" and lachrymose, most left side of my mind.
There, where my creative compass spins sporadically lost in all directions, a lasting light continues to shine. Despite the trifling trepidation and turpitude that has threatened to thwart the forever flamboyantly flagrant and fervid flame of our friendship, such incessant fear and intimidation still shall not stomp out our fire, nor even wash it away with waves of wearily woeful worry and doubt.
CONCEDING TO THE "CONTRIVANCES OF CONVENIENCE"
At very best, be it not 'bout time that we together concede to the "contrivances of convenience," admitting altogether that this could-be, would-be, whenever, wherever compelling of raucously chaotic commotion – preposterous pandemonium that continues to create a chasm of disordered discord straight through the center of our still quite celebrated and cherished friendship! – must be quenched, harnessed, muffled, exhausted, breached, and bridged before our bonds be beyond all possibility or chance of reconstruction, rehabilitation, recovery, and as well as – of course! – of redemptive restitution, in their own right?
My response to such discordance, as I hope would be yours as well in return, is this: THE TIME IS RIPE FOR US AT LEAST TO EXHAUST ALL OPTIONS!! The time is ripe for us to explore all earthly passages toward a point of position, where such a presumably implausible possibility of peace together might take its proper place ahead of all our pettily plebeian, yet boulder-like and burdensome, "CONTRIVANCES OF CONVENIENCE!!" Yes! The same phrase is refrained, as if for effect again, with emphatic force; of course!
I myself chose to remain courageously committed to the notion that naught near nothing aught keep us – Matt(e)o and his wholeheartedly happy-ever-after, astounding and amazing friend, WALL•E!! – from catapulting together the ungodly gargantuan boulder up atop the snow-capped cresting summit of a good-godly majestic mountain, there, where we have been meaning for a mighty long time to leave our lasting mark. Only this time, the behemoth rolling rock of our Sisyphean struggle should no longer conveniently contrive to create could-be, would-be impenetrable barriers and obstacles between us; instead, however, our mark shall be sculpted from that stone into the shape of a pantheonic monument, as previously described.
A SPLENDID TORCH : OUR STILL LIVING, THRIVING STORY
Tell me, dear, close friend and confidant – you, who once bravely buttressed the stumbling, fumbling, crumbling facade of my "fagged-out, ferocious, Fog City Freak Show," with naught near nothing more than mighty words of wisdom and a regular barrage of hugs...
Are you ready, willing and able now – dear friend! –to join in my cause courageously, compassionately, and without any cute and quaint "contrivances of convenience," to excavate, dust off, cleanse, polish and restore to its resilient shine the splendid torch of our still-to-be-told, living, thriving and triumphant story?
For, this story of ours, and ours alone, is the only chance we have together to inculcate our worse-off and ignorant brethren, by inspiring in them, as exemplars, an understanding and appreciation of the importance of our stolidly shared, striving, and thriving efforts to extend the life of brotherly bonds between friends well far past a few expectantly forgotten farewells, and all the way infinitely onward and upward, toward Everest or Olympia; there, where every man atop each his own majestic mountain may finally rest together, basking in the company of other likely heroes.
With this, our legendary tale of triumph through travail so quite unlike and contrary to others' staid or saturnine stories of dissolute dysphoria, we may finally and forthwith fill our heavenly hubristic hearts with the ne'er forsaken but full-force fuel of the forever-lasting flames of friendship: a fire from whose embers the diamond-crystalline core essence of our energetic enthusiasm, our exultant exuberance, and of our dutifully indestructible do-good-only devotion to and love for one another erupts as a miraculously mythical, flame-tailed fowl aflight.
A PHOENIX a'FIRE ... OF FRIENDSHIP!!
From the smouldering ashes of what could have been our failed, forgotten folly, "A PHOENIX a'FIRE ... OF FRIENDSHIP" shall burst forth in explosions of celestial brilliance and be reborn into so-white-hot-she's-red, resplendent glory.
This fiery immortal and all-knowing animal-prophet will take flight with unmet and outstanding wisdom,through the telling of our tale as an oracle of obligation and duty for those few who, wanting such to sustain the boundless and unbroken bonds of brotherhood, shall serve so many could-be, would-be countless, courageous others, as god-sent, spellbinding, and brilliantly living beacons of fire's light: the immaculately inextinguishable exemplars of faith in friendship and devotion to hope!
We must share with the as-of-yet ill-fated throngs of death-defyingly isolated, outright tormented and lonely others of the world our own unique unhampered hope in happiness, exponentially multiplied by the mutually endless and perfect power of our platonic love!
For, it is now, in writing and reading this quasi-Homeric epic enunciation of our shared story, that we bear witness to the very real possibility, the probability or perhaps even persistent truth which, pondered in properly mythic proportion, tells a time-willed and wistfully whimsical tale of the forever-lasting and eternal life of our fraternal love; such that is rightfully redeemed through the rapturous resilience of friendship's bond.
NEAR TO UTOPIA : DANCING UPWIND OF DOOMSDAY
Through reincarnate duet dancing, such brotherly bonds that we share do tenderly touch our flat-footed heels and toes to the dew-dropped golden petals and emerald green glowing grasses of heavenly Elysium.
In our loving embrace of a fraternal order, our spirits sprint a fervent and inflamed, mighty marathon heat: a mad, mad mercurial dash upwind of Doomsday! Together, we freely frolic forward – as desultorily dithyrambic dancers do! – to unfold the footprints of those propitious gods who unknowingly lead us ever more near to Utopia.
OUR WILDLY WOVEN & TENDERLY UNTANGLED STORY
It is this, our untold story – composed of a tightly wound, full-colored dreamcoat of woolen, silk and linen threads – which we must commit to continue telling, not only through its own wildly wondrous weaving, but also eventually through its tenderly touching but tough-knuckled untangling, as time doth pass.
We must commit to continuing our story, born of our passionately platonic and brotherly bonds of fraternal love and friendship. As long as there still remain even the most random and unreasonable threads of debauched, clashing hues to be woven into the coat of arms that sheaths and enshrines the time-worn epic corpus of our friendship against all brief abeyance and absconding of pages, we must never thread sparingly the spindle but only weave on with gusto, grace and gratitude.
Even now must our story continue, as – or, at last, until! – we stumble together surefooted, in our first few eager steps, high o'er the chaotically libidinous currents of the rivers Acheron and Styx. May we courageously coax ourselves onward, in our tumultuously trying trek, to conquer the Sisyphean mountains and the 'bout-to-be-bested boulders before us.
Let us gladly, gracefully, and with genuinely gregarious gratitude, thank gods for the heavenly happenstance and dear twist of luck that brought us together...
MS. ADRIENNE ELIAS : OUR SOLE HEROIC INTERMEDIARY
Or was it more, perhaps? Yes, indeed, I posit proudly and am pleased to say that we owe all for which we are thankful – which has made us far more fortunate than all but a few of our brave brethren esteemed and emboldened by love! – to the arguably naive and innocent, albeit wonderfully wise and bright-witted, instinct of our sole heroic intermediary: she, who carefully and cajolingly navigated us both each in the direction of the other... God bless Ms. Adrienne Elias! She, who brought us together!
Dear friend, I challenge we two to courageously commit as well to gratitude. Let us duly express our thanks to that "hip and happenin' queer grrl" from whose innate social instinct and stellar performance on the job was born serendipitously our most saliently stoic, solemn, and sometimes flat-out fervidly phlegmatic bond of brotherhood!
NOTE: Please, leave room for some "limp-wristed, fagolicious, and freaked-out," irreverently licentious PIZAZZ! Lest we forget to exaggerate such sibilant fricatives with our good, godawful "gay lisp!!" Hehehe! Even if I've added in an ounce of my own outrageously unrelenting and vulgarly splenetic sense of salacity...
In honor and respect of the immensely lasting impact of Ms. Elias's offhand, off-the-cuff, but consequently on-target decision to pair the two of us as Shanti client and volunteer, may we permit ourselves to be empowered, me and you: Matt(e)o and WALL•E!! (a.k.a., Wallace "Wes" Smith), to continue our journey together!!
PARADISE : LOST, FOUND & RIGHTLY RECLAIMED AGAIN
May we only pause to ponder past pitfalls and triumphs, as we resolutely commit still to climbing up skyward, toward the heavens, where at last we may leap together and dive dancing into the blissful beauty of the full-blooming and fruitful fields of our own emancipated Eden: Paradise Lost, Found, and Rightly Reclaimed Again!! by you, able-bodied and by me, with my "miscontoured" mouth and cane!!
THE INDOMITABLY STURDY STANCE OF OUR FRIENDSHIP
Dear friend, Mr. Wallace "Wes" Smith, won't you please take your place once again right next to me? Would you so kindly permit me please to pass my arm under yours, so as to lock us into an indomitably sturdy stance, poised shoulder to shoulder, heal to heal, ready and raring to risk all our "contrivances of convenience" and to step simultaneously a few feet forward, toward our best-begotten yet unfurled future of good fortune in friendship, as confidants and family, as brothers and ... best friends?
IN CLOSING : FRANTICALLY FUMBLING FOR WORDS
Eager to know all the thoughts which my epic prolix prosaism has left you to ponder, I now frantically fumble over a proper closing salutation, so that you may have the chance even to consider a reply!
Despite the tremendous chasm that has been carved between us by time, distance, and yes, even "convenience," I continue to cherish the profound loyalty and trust, which still – I hope! – defines our personal relationship, together.
Furthermore, with utmost confidence in the potential of genuine friendships, like ours, to remain resilient in their compassionate and caring capacity to reap reason from duly deserved recompense, restitutory requital, and redemption. Despite things gone a wry, I do very much happily hold you in the highest esteem.
SISYPHEAN MYTH : A REFRAINED MOTIF OF RESILIENCE
While I wish we could be closer and have more time to spend together in each other's company, I still am very much devoted to seeing this expansively epic, Sisyphean myth through to the end of our long and illustrious, sometimes challenging, but always courageously and compassionately careful, caring and, of course, carefree journey together through life.
Wherever the rock of our friendship may roll, I hope, plan, and pray to be by your side, as we toil over the physical, intellectual and emotional mechanics of putting that damned boulder back into motion against gravity, by pushing and prodding it to the zenith of life's myriad mountains. With honest and unhampered hubris enough to mimic Homeric myth, may we own for ourselves together the ferociously thunderous and omnipotent force of faith, courage and pride in humanity; in other words, let us proclaim our pride in the human kind: a kind in which the God of all gods so often dares to boast believing!
May we, like the God of all gods, one day boast, as unabashed and deep-bounded brothers do, of that piously peculiar Promethean fire, which has lit our flaming-feathered wings – where wax once was! – and which has lifted us into flight, skyward toward the heavens. There, settled contentedly into the soft, sumptuous comforts of Elysium, shall we have the untried and true contours of our still boyish busts carved out of alabaster marble stone, and beset – as if by birthright! – with perfectly pantheonic and divinely illustrious laurels dipped and gilded in gold.
Together, after a long life of shared stories – good or bad, iniquitously ignominious or spectacularly resplendent and successful – may we conquer all mythic challenges that good-natured guardians chose to cast o'er we two as shadows of sullen gloom, by holding tight to our godlike friendship with a powerful grip of fervent loyalty and trust, by climbing and cresting mountains with boulders before us, and by flying sky high toward the heavens as reborn birds of glory, with inflamed wings.
TRIUMPH : AS CROWNED LEGENDARY EXEMPLARS
Ultimately, together, we will triumph and be crowned legendary exemplars of bravely bold and beautiful brotherly bonds, as we gawk and goggle mockingly in the face of those fastidiously funereal and dolefully despondent, godawful, good-for-nothing naysayers who near as never relent in their efforts to foul our flight and drag us down from the skies into petulantly vile, outright opprobrium.
So, join me! Or not! Dare I fly, trek or climb this heroic journey alone? I pray to the all-present, all-knowing and all-powerful divine forces which guide us through life, with or without compliance, from birth to rebirth a thousand times fold, until finally we transcend all earthly contrivances and courageously trek through a frenetically fantastic phantasmagoria of all things transmundane.
Only then, once triumphed and transformed, may we yet be transeuntly transfigured into incomprehensibly perfect and indubitably divine demigod creatures meant to compliment the cosmically stellar, celestially surreal Olympian menagerie, where all other blessed, immortal chimeras eternally rest and reside. Join me? Lest I falter and fall, alone!
IN ANTICIPATION OF YOUR LOSS OF WORDS
As I anticipate your loss for words apropos of your likely quite surprised, yet delightfully honored and impressed reaction to my, as stated, ranting and railing "Homeric prosaism," I leave you with a poignantly simple and straightforward request: Please, respond if you would like, but only at your leisure!
The rest is better left unwritten, and shall stay that way, safely kept in the caressing arms of angels, at least until a time when the echoing voice of prophecy doth guide me (or you!) to give into garrulity once again and to wrench open our hearts with words of epic grandeur.
As one would say in French, my surrogate mother-tongue: À Très Bientôt, mon cher ami!! – Until So Very Soon, my dear friend!!
Inspired by the well-wishing of a college mentor: Adjunct Theater Arts Professor & Acting Coach, David Doersch, whose warmhearted wisdom woven into a few simple words beamed bright as day in my mind, I read his "Happy SPRING to All!" message on Facebook, while sitting blinded by the light of my computer monitor in the dark of well-past dusk.
Despite the dark and dreary evening that has befallen & befogged all of San Francisco, my heart & mind were filled with the warmth of the season by these, his welcoming words. And thus, such warmth, well-wishing & wisdom from such a distant friend & role model performance artisan or craftsman inspired in me a deep desire to express creatively exactly how I gladly envision the season to blossom into rebirth such beauty as romance in spite of ridicule, and love in light of sensually dew-dampened lust & longing.
What a beautifully bespoken first few lines of lyrical rhymes & reason have I set to poetry, as my poem is presented here poised below a quite provocatively romantic photograph, which I found via a Flickr® Photostream™ Key Word Search of "buttercups." I am pleased to recognize the talents of an anonymous artist: peace&love♥, and to thank the photographer for making available their significantly sophisticated & valuable works of photographic art for blogging direct from Flickr®.
I do hope that in posting Love Is Like A Flower, I will earn a right to download this particular image by permission of the photographer, him or herself, because I'd very much like to have this photo image at my disposal for future noncommercial & unaltered, shared-alike use. But, we'll just have to wait and see on the outcome of that such request. For now, I am still ever so proud at least to present the poem I wrote in response to David Doersch's Facebook® remarks and inspired by this photograph posted above.
SPRING! SPRING! What beauty this season brings
From slothful doted days to a few love-labored flings
That be right wondrous, yet ne'er more as pleasing,
As day’s blessed birth doth savor splendid seedling:
Few to many-petalled gorgeous golden blossoms
Of four-leafed clovers and buttercups so lithesome,
That doth glimmer, glow and shimmer as none before
Upon the tender-to-touch bosom in beauty’s open door
Of a fair merry-weathered, mischief-minded maiden
For whom the goodly fruits of spring be not forbidden.
Here upon doth the season's sweetly stunning affect
Forever bold and bravely full on forthwith reflect
The delightfully bright and brilliant sun’s fine speck
That doth in gleaming traces of sparkled beauty bedeck
Such sweet-nectar dew upon her delicately dimpled neck,
To be kissed off and caressed by a truly “très beau mec,"
As the only daring, dashing young dapper son "français"
Who doth so love, adore, long for and desire with to stay
The dewdrop damsel and her dazzling buttercup breasts,
As she, with toes dipped wet in water’s tiding crests,
Doth also long for and desire love — come what may!
Thus, so flowering, a fine romance is born this day!
Two lovers dance to life, in light of unending union,
The colorful reflections of romance's ripe new reason
Wound and woven, as a festive time-tinted silk ribbon,
Round the maypole, at the hands of all towns-children.
While the joking jester doth flagrantly flout Love’s luster,
His fickle halfhearted flaunter be echoed by such laughter.
Still yet two lovers dance ‘til lips tenderly touch as one,
Thus, their longed-for love doth live from dusk 'til dawn;
And be no more foolish, frolicsome, dumb nor dafter.
Than desire be that doth last still more ‘til then thereafter.
When U.S. Navy Musician First Class Bradley Blanchard was in his adolescence, he was a typically rambunctious deviant child who liked to disobey authority at every opportunity he could find and with all the force & fervor he could ever possibly muster. As his younger brother, with a fork scar slashed down my belly to prove it, I often was on the receiving end of the blunt blows of his teenage boyhood violent rage.
Call it angst or anxiety over never having amounted to much as a child, compared to his overachieving brown nose of a brother! Or else, call it simple recognition of & rebellion against the authorities' inability to control, confound or even cajole into question the genius of his intellectual & artistic talents!! Whatever possessed my brother to give up in school, act up at home, fall into miscreant criminal behaviors, or in the very least to joist a fork into me just above my bellybutton, we may never know! But, I do have my suspicions...
You see! It is my understanding (albeit naively biased and begrudged under boyhood battery) that my one-year older brother, Bradley, came across as an awkward, tubby, ill-tempered & tough-taught teenage trouble child by choice, as if simply to cover up his own quite coveted prodigal musical talents, as well as to scoff in the face of his younger brother's exhausting track record of academic excellence & extracurricular achievements from early elementary school through to high school graduation.
As I'd expect to hear from any critic on the matter, it would be inappropriate, pompous & self-conceited of me, that younger "better than, but best unbegotten" brother of his, to venture any conclusion which conceives to acknowledge and/or appraise (however lowly) the pantheonic pedestal upon which I was so uncomfortably perched by parents, teachers, and fellow pupils alike.
A comparison between the idolatrous accolades & aplomb that I received as an academically overachieving adolescent and the unfortunate reputation Brother Bradley earned for being a lower life do-dumb deviant denigrate who didn't know the a-squared from b-squared or c-squared of the Pythagorean Theorem, or else, who didn't care too much to make it known what he really knew for fear of risking his supposed illicit & ill-natured set of mores & morals revealed as quite the opposite, would serve a great injustice against my brother, while only reinforcing my naive bias as his battered, yet so long beloved, younger brother.
For, my big, bold, daring & now quite dapper do-good brother, was then during childhood (just as we all might witness him to be today) quite as prodigal in his musical talents, as I was in my scholastic, artistic & leadership-related achievements. Unlike his young brother, Matthew Blanchard, however, big brother Bradley didn't cringe and crave for the positive affirmations of attention & accolades as a child, adolescent or teenager. Bradley was kindly humble enough to recognize that recognition & a reputation of positively perfect accomplishment was all I lived for as a student; and, therefore, it seems to me that at an early age, Bradley relinquished any possibility of positive achievement to me, the younger of us two, out of mere kindness of heart and perhaps even in a awkwardly silent attempt to express love to his kindred spirit, his family, who forever so seemed his foe.
Nevertheless, true talent cannot (should not) forever go unnoticed or unappreciated by the masses. For my elder brother, Bradley, recognition & reputation for his prodigal musical gifts came only finally when he made what should have been a quite difficult decision between serving six-to-nine month stints underwater as a nuclear technician of a U.S. Naval submarine or traipsing around the globe on a better-than-average rock star salary as a U.S. Navy Musician First Class and lead vocals of numerous U.S. Navy Rock Ensembles throughout the World.
The decision between the substantially better pay-grade and advancement patterns of an enlisted submarine tech or the hyped up happiness and good humor incumbent upon a career in music for the Navy was instead quite simply a matter of greater-than & less-than logic for my brother, who valued his happiness (obviously) well over his pay rate or the terms of his possible rank advancement. Obviously, my very intelligent, very impassioned musical prodigy of a brother chose love over logic; such was the logic behind his decision to follow the passion which had dutifully & determinedly defined the unfathomably focused good fortune that befell him at every awkwardly successful instance of achievement during his young life, while in the arms of music.
In honor of my elder brother, Bradley D. Blanchard, I am privileged to offer this living testament to the tremendous talents possessed by this one damned terrific young man. Not only is Brad an extraordinary father and husband, much loved by his wife & son, but he is also an ungodly gifted musician, who could, should & will one day take the world by storm; what if not to the likes of America's next popular television talent search or else by the grace of one or two generous celebrity patrons of his art who might promote and make possible an on-air performance by my brother, as lead vocals of the U.S. Navy Commander, 7th Fleet Rock Band(Twitter® - @C7FBand / Facebook® 7th Fleet Band) : ORIENT EXPRESS.
It is with great pride that I post this video of my brother singing lead vocals to "I'm Yours," with the U.S. Navy Commander, Seventh Fleet Rock Band: ORIENT EXPRESS. I remember vividly the first time I heard my brother sing. It was on the occasion of my visit from Florence, Italy (where I was studying graphic design, at the time) to Naples, Italy (where my brother was stationed with the U.S. Navy Band, at the time).
We were both in our mid-twenties. I was reeling from a "GREAT DEPRESSION," brought on by my then relatively recent sero-conversion and diagnosis as HIV-positive, though I didn't muster up the courage to tell my brother this until after the trip down south. My brother on the other hand was glowing happily, unabashedly in his youth, and tried with all his might to share his happiness with me, to let it roll off his husky, well-built shoulders on to mine.
His manner of sharing was unique to me; I'll say that, in the least. Bradley invited me as a special guest to a gala performance showcase for his U.S. Navy Rock Band somewhere up the western coast of Italy, near about to Cinque Terre. The band set up amongst the lavish & luxurious decor of the sumptuous entertainment hall at a hanky-spanky swanky five-star Italian riviera hotel, and I was their surrogate helper or stagehand for the day...
Once the equipment was set up, the musicians (not the vocals, i.e., my brother & his female counterpart) began to rehearse. I settled in to a deeply intriguing discussion about my brother's soon no longer to be boyhood lifestyle contrivances with the wife of one of his military cohorts, but was to my astounding delight brashly interrupted by the sweet, melodic, perfect on pitch and in tone sounds of my brother's voice singing "Stand By Me!" That was the cover number with which he chose to open the show, and he honored me in singing it, "I dedicate this song to my only brother... God knows I love ya'Man!!" God knows, I love him, too!!
So, now that I've gone ahead and made this video available to my blogsphere of fans & followers, either via http://www.qherekidsf.com or else via my Facebook Profile Notes at http://facebook.com/mblanchard79, then I hope to receive comments & feedback from all y'all folks out there with opinions on the matter that I might maybe could share with my big Southern Puppy Brother, Bradley!! Please be courteous & kind; although, critical remarks are not uninvited!! I look forward to hearing back from some gentle, tasteful souls!! Cheers! Ciao & Namaste: I bow to the gods with you...
While researching the meaning and popularity of my given name: Matthew, in preparation & as subtext for a monologue that I'm preparing for my Sins InvalidArtists In Residence (A.I.R.) Showcase performance, I "stumbled upon" the website, CafeMom.com, which conveniently catalogs baby names by category, popularity, date and by other distinguishing factors; the website also provides a social networking platform for expectant and/or experienced mothers.
The following is the complete text, which was intended to serve as my profile discussion introducing my puppy dog, TANNER'baby, as my first and only child. I discovered only after a few good hours of creative writing, when I tried to confirm my profile on CafeMom.com, that the website prohibited any discernibly male-gendered persons from accessing their social network as a member.
Nonetheless, I feel it worthwhile for me to post what I had written for their website, for the simple fact this, my essay: ON MOTHERHOOD, indeed reveals some very pertinent & potent aspects of my psyche, as they be related to relations with my own mother. In fact, what was supposed to be a passage limited to 500 words, turned into a torturously contemptuous tirade against my own mother.
I'll be straight forward with my introduction here, for I admit frankly & freely that this essay against my mother can easily be interpreted as damned vehemently vicious, venomous and cruel, if read out of context and incompletely; however, MIND YOU! This is a happy story!
Truth be told! This is a story founded on a sincere desire to love and be loved, to restore a stable, healthy, worthwhile and meaningful relationship between mother and son. All the pejoratives and derogatory vocabulary I use to describe my mother come from a place of immense sympathy, empathy, and love.
True, it is inappropriate to call such deprecation empirical, however constative my utterances may seem; being that these words are mere manifestations of my own severely biased, negative judgments and opinions of my mother. Despite the harsh tone and timbre of my words, I freely, confidently & gratefully admit that my mother's love for me (and her other children) is truly immense!
In fact, I would even go as far as to argue that my mother's love of her children is so intensely, unfathomably immense that, just as the scope of Man's intellect is far too limited to contain and comprehend a truly complete understanding of the Sublime, the sublime love my mother has for her children fully exceeds the capacity of her imagination, emotions and intellect.
For this sad fact, my mother truly suffers, and I'd be damned if I didn't wish things different for her, for me, for us. Likewise, this sad fact defines and buttresses my own sympathy and love for my dear, dear mother, MOM!! God bless her, endlessly!! I pray.
Before I begin serving up pleasantly sycophantic praises of my oh so adorable, high-energy & affectionate amber-haired Terrier-mixed mutt, permit me please to describe the context within which a 30-something, single, San Francisco Fog City gay man, like myself, presumes to find new friends amongst CafeMom.com members.
As a young queer, but closeted, college-bound over-achiever of teenage years, I sadly suffered the wrath of dysfunction born of my own mother's unmonitored, unmitigated manic depressive alcoholic binging & blackouts. Thus, I forcibly distanced myself mentally, emotionally, and yes, even physically (i.e., geographically) from my seriously sick and psychologically frail single mom.
Coincidence smiled slack-jawed some thirteen or fourteen years ago, when I first mandated distance from & distrust of maternal wrath & reign in my life. Concurrent to the disappearance of my mother, my benevolently better-intentioned & bigger brained educators innocently indulged and thus cemented my caustically cautious contempt for the schizoaffective, severely alcoholic & codependent maternal forces of my absentee and/or aggressively antagonistic family.
My teachers, to whom I gratefully granted custody of my capriciously prodigal intellect, introduced to me through scholastic study the convincing conclusions (i.e., covertly complementary bio-psychosocial arguments) of Francis Galton's Darwinian-based theories & theses on "Nature vs. Nurture."
By analyzing the extensive empirical evidence acquired through the lifelong, cutting-edge biological studies of his cousin, Charles Darwin, Galton determined the unequivocally evolutionist role of the relationship, first interpreted as dichotomic binary, between "an individual's innate qualities ('nature,' i.e., nativism or innatism) versus personal experiences ('nurture,' i.e., empiricism or behaviorism) [...] in determining or causing individual differences in physical & behavioral traits."[1]
Modern psychologists have come to criticize Galton's distinction between nativism & behaviorism "for its binary simplification of two tightly interwoven parameters."[2]
Today, the empirically extant binary between "nature" & "nurture" is more commonly interpreted as involving a relatively DYADIC (i.e., linked, interactive, symbiotic) co-dependence, rather than a DICHOTOMIC (i.e., contrary, mutually exclusive, independent) opposition, between the influence & impact of:
A.) "NATURE" : the uniquely concretive genetic profile of individual progeny inherited directly from their biological progenitors, and...
B.) "NURTURE" : the subtly nuanced psychosocial behaviors, traits and/or characteristics learned [i.e., "gain[ed] (a habit, mannerism, etc.) by experience, exposure to example, or the like; acquire[d]") from those individuals serving or interpreted as role-models, guides, or teachers within one's sociocultural environment.[3]
Today, in my "eyes wide shut," there no longer seems to exist a valid argument, but rather an agreement, between the concepts of "nature" & "nurture." In this vein, I see myself the son of a manic depressive, schizoaffective, actively alcoholic mother, who in his own time has perpetuated the traits, traditions and inheritances of his maternal line through severely catastrophic "quarter-life" crises.
Such crises began cruelly crippling my confidences, as far back as the Second Grade -- How well I recall that ineffable moment, when I was first called, "FAGGOT!" I often bitterly & begrudgingly recall the ostensibly laughable fact that, at the innocent, naive age of only seven, I was belligerently lambasted with brutal, brutish teasing for having erroneously defined "blow job," as being: You know! Like, when you go to SuperCuts®, and after the lady cuts your hair, she "blow" dries it!
More recently, these crises have tangibly & tragically crippled my mind, my body & my health. Fast forward to (or remembering in retrospect) the most ineffable, ill-fated & unfortunate day of my sad, sorry life: October 7, 2007.
Sure! We are now many chapters further along from my early adolescence, but this single day in my turned 'round story of survival & redemption is equally (if not astoundingly more) unforgettable than the years upon years of persecutions I succumbed to as a very lousy, lonely, lachrymal school-aged lad.
In early October, just over three years ago, I was found alone & on the brink of death, after what doctors now believe must have been 10 to 12 days of comatose confinement, brought on by overdose-induced, HIV/AIDS-related PCP pneumonia and a poly-microbial bacterial infection of the face.
The San Francisco Fire Department busted down my doorto find me lying face-down & belly-upin my stark, unsterile studio apartment; painfully contorted and coiled up in the soiled, sickening sheets of my sullied, stained single bed. Blood streamed sanguine from my back-end, from my blackened necrotic nostrils and mouth, from the empty ethereality of my ears and eyes.
I was covered in my own vomit, urine and defecation, andall but nine of my teeth had fallen out "under the weight of my aching, dying brain." I had been forgotten, left alone, depraved & denigrated, deteriorating toward death; yet, by some ridiculously rare reversal of fate, I was rescued, redeemed & restored to life.
A rescue brigade – purportedly, a near dozen of emergency vehicles; all with lights emblazoned & flashing; sirens blaring in cacophonous mayhem and mercy – rushed me speedily & without delay, directly to the nearest hospital emergency care unit. After some quick and effective lifesaving maneuvers (i.e., blood transfusions, dialysis, wound care, heavy doses of generic antibiotics), my fading heart rate was stabilized; brain activity restarted.
Then, "a team of San Francisco’s leading diagnosticians, doctors & surgeons fought valiantly, yet failed so sorely to" curb, control and defeat the necrotizing bacteria which infected my face. Their only option, in order to ensure my survival, was the immediate debridement of all the necrotic, infected skin, flesh and bone of my once quite beautifully handsome visage.
For eight weeks, I remained in a drug-induced comatose state, with my entire head wrapped in white gauze bandages. After having amputated my entire upper jaw & palette, as well as deeply denigrate parts of my mouth, the left side of my nose, and my septum, a godsend group of most heavenly, heroic healers waited for the great gaping hole in the center of my face to heal.
Sadly, I cannot recall or recognize my selfless saviors, these "heavenly, heroic healers," as my mind's eyes were closed off to consciousness & seeing, while they worked their wonders on me.
However, you cannot conscientiously consider this lifelong continuumof crises after crises as mere counterfeit confabulations of my residual angst & anger, psychically preserved in the seemingly spurious spewing of my gad-awfully disgraceful, ungrateful gay boy guts.
For, however unrealistically severe sound my stories of sad, sad sufferance – both inherited & learned – the gad-damned destitution, destruction, deprivation, drug dependency, depression, disease and disfigurement, which have tortuously tormented me 'til present day, are terribly, entirely telling and TRUE!!
Still, such conspicuously catastrophic crises have, each intheir own turn, torn me from the bliss of my not entirely outlandish optimism, inspiration, aspiration, hope and faith in Self, only to catapult me cruelly and contemptuously toward all but indomitable death; as if, as retribution for the heartless, angry animosity I've held toward my mother for my entire young life!
In spite, despite, or perhaps even because of my madly miserable mother, I have learned to survive great sufferance & struggle. Finally, at the age of thirty, I have come to transcend the pain, the shame, the disgust and disgrace, the disappointments, dissatisfaction & contempt.
I have languished and labored in battle over the brutal bereavements & bombardments of the neuro-psychobiological symptoms and side-effects of my bipolar disorder, schizoid-delusional psychosis and substance abuse; indubitably, inherited from my mother.
I have also always often fought against my psychosocial behavioral impairments learned, gained or acquired by example, as the middle child of a hyper-dysfunctional threefold broken family, which manifest in my lonely life as parallels to my mother's last-ditch, last-chance, leftover life, as well.
Yet, instead of still so stupidly sustaining such suffering in my life, I have in turn tended to cultivate a feverishly Faith-focused and thankful fortitude of smile, spine, spirit and psyche.
This, I've learned or acquired, not from my weak and woebegone, miserably melancholic, mentally depraved & miscreant, degenerate mother, but rather from the countless coaches, counselors, providers, preachers, fans, friends and family who sit loudly lauding me court-side, during this furiously & ferociously fun game we call, "LIFE!"
My many loving laudators, whose encouragements, praise, counsel and commendations have rightfully and willfully replaced the disappointments of deprecation manifest by the damned near always drunken, depressed and indiscriminately desultory, dissatisfied, dreary but deadpan, stone-faced, icy, empty smiles of the mad, sad, sullen source of my genetic degeneracy (i.e., good ol' mother, MOM!!).
My many myriad advocates, supporters, defenders, patrons and providers stand tall, strong and sturdy as proud pillars of the wholly turned 'round reversal of my Fate.
Through a renewal of my Faith, a return to my roots (as opposed to my running away!), and my rightfully deserved Redemption, I've earned (as my mother would have, could have, and perhaps, still can!!) divine, sublime recompense for the determined, dutiful and devout good-doing and grasping toward greatness that I aim and am poised to achieve, through a careful, caring and conscientiously heralded sharing of my tall, tall telling tales of tempestuous turmoil and tragedy turned to triumph, after all.
These pillars of my survival and success have proven empirically, time and time again, through thoughts, words, sentiments, support, and – above all else – through past & present affection, admiration & ACTION, to be my guardians, my protectors, my heroes, my role models, my mentors, my teachers.
As I stand today so surefooted & secure in recognition of my Salvation through survival, I swear so surely to return to the origin, to the roots, of my Redemption, so that I may – God willing!! – give back to my guardian angels in gorgeous, gleaming, goliath grins of goodwill & gratitude. I’ve joined CafeMom.com, as a thirty-something diseased, depressed, disfigured codependent; because, in spite, despite, or perhaps even because of the madly, miserable mindflux & mayhem which define the dysfunctional distance separating me from my mother, I aspire to find new friends here.
I am looking neither for a new mother, a substitute, nor a replacement. However, I am looking for guidance from compassionate confidantes and role models, from whom I may learn how best to repair, restore, cultivate and nurture a stable, healthy, mutually beneficial, respectful and responsible, adult relationship with my own MOM – a wounded, weary woman who is oh so wanting of love; especially, from her estranged children.
For any future dialogues ON MOTHERHOOD,I will dutifully & discriminately describe the cripplingly corrupt manifestations of my own psychological frailty, social ineptitude & awkwardness, and substance abuse. A cataloging of my own many myriad imperfections, I presume, will prove them inherited and/or learned. But, from whom?
Does this question really remain altogether unanswered? If I have not at length provided a fully convincing & complete argument in favor of a DYADIC/CAUSAL/EMPIRICAL interpretation of the "Nature vs. Nurture" debate, as it relates to my life and to motherhood, then I briefly reiterate:
I argue adamantly that the utterly execrable, nefand, ne'er-do-well iniquities of my colossally corrupt character are ultimately my most reprehensible & reprobate inheritances: glaringly ungodly & grotesque gifts from my emotionally maladroit, compulsively codependent, maniacally defensive, nefariously perverse & irrationally self-repudiating mother.
While the "plentiful beatitude" of my blessedly blissful, infectiously intrepid, jovially just, fortunately fortitudinous, faithfully frank & fair, sacrosanct sense of survival, I've learned (i.e., gained or acquired) from the many "heavenly, heroic healers" who, hearts aligned in prayer, have held such a superhuman hand and played such a specially sublime role in sustaining my survival for so long, against such awful odds. THANK GOD!!
PERHAPS, some other mothers might find plausible, in my long, languorous tirade, the possibility for friendship & the turning of a page: a new leaf! For, while my tirade may have been told in a heated, contemptuous tone, I believe that therein lies loving, tender, telling TRUTH!!
PERHAPS, the love of mother & child might be restored here, starting with this still young, but no longer naive…; this still ridiculed & persecuted, but now more proud, tough-knuckled & thick-skinned…; this still mentally distorted, diseased & disfigured, but no longer depraved, dissolute, debased, degenerate, deteriorating invalid, now no longer deprived of love.
PERHAPS, this happily home-bodied, healthfully integrated & involved, ultimately indomitable and inspiring, safe, sane, sober thirty-something, solemn & blissful believer...; this no longer languishing, but still lauded lifelong learned laureate and lover of life...
PERHAPS, this “fagged-out ferocious Fog City freak show,” who is as delighted as he is grateful to have had so many successive second, third, and fourth choice chances to live again and again, may find it in himself here to restore trust and faith in family connections, in maternal instinct and love.
PERHAPS, this next chapter of my life might begin with innocently simple & patient, carefully & caringly cultivated conversations over my own compassionately p/maternal role as proud, proud papa of a vivaciously sweet, loving and affectionate two year old, gorgeous Terrier-mixed mutt, named Scruffy “TANNER” Thompson: my “PRIDE & JOY!!” We’ll see!!
OR ELSE, my words are wasted… And, what a shame that would be for me: the marauder of one mightily mammoth & megalomaniac monologue! WINK! Like I said, “We’ll see!!” Thanks for reading… Cheers! Ciao! NAMASTE…
Julio Diaz has a daily routine. Every night, the 31-year-old social worker ends his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early, just so he can eat at his favorite diner. But one night last month, as Diaz stepped off the No. 6 train and onto a nearly empty platform, his evening took an unexpected turn. He was walking toward the stairs when a teenage boy approached and pulled out a knife. "He wants my money, so I just gave him my wallet and told him, 'Here you go,'" Diaz says. As the teen began to walk away, Diaz told him, "Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you're going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm." The would-be robber looked at his would-be victim, "like what's going on here?" Diaz says. "He asked me, 'Why are you doing this?'" Diaz replied: "If you're willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner and if you really want to join me ... hey, you're more than welcome. "You know, I just felt maybe he really needs help," Diaz says. Diaz says he and the teen went into the diner and sat in a booth. "The manager comes by, the dishwashers come by, the waiters come by to say hi," Diaz says. "The kid was like, 'You know everybody here. Do you own this place?'" "No, I just eat here a lot," Diaz says he told the teen. "He says, 'But you're even nice to the dishwasher.'" Diaz replied, "Well, haven't you been taught you should be nice to everybody?" "Yea, but I didn't think people actually behaved that way," the teen said. Diaz asked him what he wanted out of life. "He just had almost a sad face," Diaz says. The teen couldn't answer Diaz — or he didn't want to. When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, "Look, I guess you're going to have to pay for this bill 'cause you have my money and I can't pay for this. So if you give me my wallet back, I'll gladly treat you." The teen "didn't even think about it" and returned the wallet, Diaz says. "I gave him $20 ... I figure maybe it'll help him. I don't know." Diaz says he asked for something in return — the teen's knife — "and he gave it to me." Afterward, when Diaz told his mother what happened, she said, "You're the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch." "I figure, you know, if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It's as simple as it gets in this complicated world."
As an aspiring Social Worker, who knows he's desperately got to work on treating people better (all people! all MANKIND!!), I am very moved by this story. Perhaps Diaz's faith in his fellowman, his uncommon generosity, empathy and understanding, could be misconstrued as a bit of 1/4-Life naivete, but I'd like to think that for as long as Diaz can and will cultivate, nurture, maintain, and grow his sense of altruism, then in fact all those possibly misconstrued character traits could be genuinely real and honest, and in fact, perhaps these traits could hang around for quite some time.
I've witnessed so much "BURN OUT" in the Social Services sector: MSW/LCSWs who just can no longer hack the pressure of daily on-the-job disappointments, letdowns and tragedy, and who have abandoned their careers after some 15 odd years, only to find themselves stranded.
Or, the other usual scenario, is that ground-zero in-the-trenches Social Service providers usually hack it for as long as they have to before a nice cushy desk-job comes their way, as Administrator of this, Coordinator of that, Manager of this, or Director of that. Then, that's when they lose sight of the human element that kept them so close to the streets at the beginning of their careers, and they grow cold and insensitive and money hungry, as most people do sooner or later.
I've known one or two people who have followed a different paradigm, and who have stuck to their guns in the trenches. Granted, these people could be painted in bizarrely radical and cacophonous timbres and hues, but they are REAL people, with REAL HONEST TO GOODNESS love for their fellowman. It's those type of people, 40 and 50 (and 60 or 70) year old men & women who still walk the streets looking to save a kid's life, that I find most heroic!! We'll have to see how Diaz turns out when he's a bout 20 years further into his career!!
Not cynical, but admiringly pleased...
Respectfully submitted,
Matt(e)o | QHereKidSF
Matthew D. Blanchard San Francisco, CA USA
[20100814T154013PST]
"Lost dreams awaken and new possibilities arise." [Basic Text, p. 91]
Most of us had dreams when we were young. Whether we dreamed of a dynamic career, a large and loving family, or travels abroad, our dreams died when our addiction took hold. anything we ever wanted for ourselves was cast away in our pursuit of drugs. Our dreams didn't go beyond the next drug and the euphoria we hoped it would bring.
Now in recovery, we find a reason to hope that our lost dreams could still come true. No matter how old we are, how much our addiction has taken from us, or how unlikely it may seem, our freedom from active addiction gives us the freedom to pursue our ambitions. We may discover that we're very talented at something, or find a hobby we love, or learn that continuing our education can bring remarkable rewards.
We used to put most of our energy into spinning excuses and rationalizations for our failures. Today, we go forward and make use of the many opportunities life presents to us. We may be amazed at what we're capable of. With our foundation of recovery, success, fulfillment, and satisfaction are within our reach at last.
Just for today: Starting today, I'll do whatever I can to realize my dreams.
My meditation on this entry from the Narcotics Anonymous book,Just For Today, will be ripe with a certain degree of trepidation and doubt, as I have in recent days been faced with the daunting, disagreeable decision to end the working relationship I've had for the last ten and a half months with my sponsor. But, beyond all the fear and loathing lies an even more potent sense of self-satisfaction, coupled with an ubiquitously enthralling desire at last to claim my God-given right to a happy, home-bodied, not-all-too hamstrung, but hopeful future free from drug dependency (YES! I'd defend against that above all else!), disease, depression, destruction, denigration, denial, even perhaps... perchance by some off-willed shot of better than lazy luck, free from the indomitable dilemma(s) of my disfigurement, defined as dignity & disgust... (OOPS! SEE! That's where the doubt returns).
No more! Behind the doubt, perched proudly smack-dab in front of it, or even surrounding it entirely, exists my desire for a future. Beyond the stark surreality of my sins and sufferance(s) where realism takes hold again of the pious, pompous pedantry and post-dramatic spectacle of my insanity, there thrives an elaborate, extant and evocative desire for me to realize my dreams. Yes, in fact, for sure! I damn near dutifully desire to realize my dreams: new and old, unkempt and coveted, clamorous or quiet...a calming cacophony! Dreams that mesmerize the mind with their miraculous magnitude and magnificence. Dreams defined and buttressed by second chances and serendipity, serenity, solemnity, solace, smiles, or sometimes even signified by the most astute sort of scholarly study. Dreams dignified or disgusting, determined, daring, but... DAMN! Don't say it: DASTARDLY!!
NO, Not dastardly!! In no right measure would or could my decent, dauntless day dreaming be defined as dastardly nor despicable, contemptible nor cowardly. No need to pause a single second to say this: MY DREAMS MAKE ME A HERO IN MY OWN RIGHT!! My dreams denounce damned near death-defied destruction, delay and/or deter me from dipping back down the drug-drenched drain of dependency, diminish the degree of my disfigurement to near null, nil, zilch, zero. I am a hero! Thank God for that! I am a hero, if even only to myself.
Upon commencing down this path of sobriety, I have harbored much concerted, conceited consternation and contempt for the camouflaged courtship of co-dependencies that curtails 12-Step Culture via its customarily candid confabulations which cheat their critics of a cause. Hence, I am a hero for saying, "NO!" when the time was ripe for change. I am a hero for crouching no longer to the crutch of cliches of cult-like mentality. I am a hero for taking a stand, as well as for dismissing myself of such contrivances in a calm, gentile, friendly fashion. I am a hero in so far as I have saved myself from the insufferable uncertainty, the doubt (as mentioned before, and so damned near always there!), and the guilt that goes with gaming it like the "good boys" do.
Why such unabashed bellowing forth of bombastic boomerang backlash boasting of my better-than-brethren beliefs? Admittedly, there is no need to exalt myself in these pages. I get enough exaltation from every new acquaintance I meet who may or may not be hearing my story for the first time, and then even more from friends and family. Perhaps, its too late now to veil myself in an air of modesty, and perchance never too soon to lament in lambasting myself for lethargy, lassitude and lackadaisicalness? Thus herein, I have willingly succumb to surreptitiously sullying my good name with self-aggrandizing, simply since I have been in such complete and utter awe — bewilderment, even! — of my circumstances and situation so far.
My life was spared by some Greater Power from the chance tragic misfortune of never waking from such insolence as that which destroyed me already once. Furthermore, in being spared, I have learned to reinvigorate my commitment to all the tempting, tempestuous, torrid and tantalizing tickle-me-pink pretty things in life that help me breathe and smile still, such as art (in all its myriad forms), altruism, fighting for a right(-eous) cause, the capricious cataloging of my contemplations (just 'cause there's nothing else better left to do!), creative expression, academic pursuits, professional development, even people whom I hold dear to my heart, or hearts I hold close to my mind... Not to mention, Faith, religion, practice, prayer and communion with the Lord. I have a special affinity for my Higher Power, just as (S)/He holds me in high esteem, and that is plenty good news to keep me moving in a right(-eous) direction. In closing, let me be a little less illusive with my tangled threads of thought, to speak conspicuously of the immense challenge that I faced until just recently. You see, I read this entry from Just For Today a week prior to its scheduled share, just because coincidentally, I was curious as to what my future held. When I read this entry for the first time, I found myself catapulted from a certain standstill stagnation of indecision and indecency toward a real awakening, or better yet toward a resolution. Immediately after first reading this entry a week ago, I sat down in calm, collected reserve, but with a certain sense of resolve and satisfaction, to draft a letter to my sponsor requesting that we terminate our relationship.
Why do such a thing? What on earth could have prompted such a move? Or better yet, what could have preempted it? I'll tell you what, squarely and straightforward, "Nothing!" What possessed me to even organize words on paper enough to fire my sponsor? I'll explain, briefly:
Ever since I entered into our sponsorship, I have been battling a resounding and resilient voice inside my head telling me that my sponsor was only holding me back. It got so bad early on, that it led to my acting out — not using, but buying a dog without his "permission" or joining the Board of Directors of a local Bay Area HIV/AIDS Youth Advocacy Nonprofit without first going to him for advice, not calling him at our scheduled times, lashing out when I felt mistook as nothing more than an anonymous client of sorts — not as a friend! Getting angry, sending exceedingly immature, melodramatic and hurtful text messages to him and another fellow when I was on the brink of quitting the program, and the list goes on... But all that outlandish behavior was ultimately rooted in a very real fear: I wasn't advancing through the program at a pace that I felt best suited my gifts and my potential...
Shall I put this into context for you? Let's just say that after tonight, when I slyly slipped my beautiful handcrafted stationery into my sponsor's pouch, it will have been a solid ten months and three and a half weeks since he and I began our fumbling foray through the fundamental tenants of 12-Step, and as of today, we hadn't even really breached Step Four. That averages out to be about four months per step!! So SLOW!! I mean, could we have gone any slower? I don't think so. I mean no offense to him however, for I know he only had the best of intentions for me at heart.
It's just that our pace wasn't in sync at all. And combine with that the disturbing suspicion that my sponsor was holding me back from realizing my calling: that is to say, prohibiting me from sharing at large speaker meetings, or from sponsoring a newcomer myself, or even just making simple and necessary life decisions, such as whether or not to apply for a job, or increase my commitment to my nonprofit, etc.
I know that everyone who reads this is going to have their own distinct and strident opinions about my choice to abandon my sponsor (especially if you are in the Fellowship!!), but let me tell you!! Since giving him that letter, I feel so damn free!! Focused!! Centered!! My sobriety has been reinforced and re-energized, justified even in my own head. Where once I had been shackled to my sponsor's own dogmatic determination to develop my sobriety at a snail's pace, unable and essentially prohibited from pursuing my dreams, now I have all my dreams spread out before me, beckoning me onward and upward toward accomplishment and contribution(s), toward learning and legacy...
See! I took this entry in the NA Meditation Book, Just For Today, very seriously. I told myself: "Just For Today, starting today, I will do whatever I can to realize my dreams." It's just too damn bad that I had to fire my sponsor for the sake of dreaming big, 'cause I sure as hell would have enjoyed having him at my side as I begin to conquer one new found challenge or obstacle after another, working ever so closer to some of the solid, surefire goals I've had a mind to accomplish for the past eight years... We'll see what happens, now!! God Bless You, JJ!!
Respectfully Submitted, Matt(e)o | QHereKidSF Matthew D. Blanchard [MDB2010.06.16@00:48]
Evidence of an enduring friendship. Remarks made to console and cajole into contemplation the otherwise tamed vacancies of intellect that bridal us with ignorance and loathing prejudices. This essay is not meant to proselytize about the potency of or the pandemonium in the Israeli State, but rather, this blog entry is meant to demonstrate the intense intimacy of my relationship with my next door neighbor and In-Home Supportive Services provider: my friend, Israel R. Toro.
The following is text of a letter I recently wrote to Israel, which he will not have yet read by the time this post is published. Maybe he'll get a hint that a letter's waiting for him, when he sees a notification of this blog entry post on my Facebook Profile. This would mean that he has access to the text of the letter without having the illustrated pages in his hands first, but that's okay. It'll still be something special for him to receive the hand-written four page letter in person when he returns from vacation in about a week. At least, that's my hope!
Dear Israel, Today, you left on a camping trip with your boyfriend to Washington State, where there's quick sand and where you're going to be soaked with rain. I'm home alone, listening to the silence through my walls, re-reading the hand-written note you posted to my oven fan and the text messages you sent me earlier in the day. I can't help but play back the conversation we had sitting at my kitchen table, recalling your anxiety at the thought that I possibly will no longer be your neighbor.
Frankly, I regret having been so caught up in my own excitement at the prospect of transitioning finally into independence and (hopefully!) better circumstances, that I didn't have forethought enough to anticipate your reaction or to consider your feelings. And, for that I am deeply sorry. On the other hand, I feel blessed by your reaction. Why? How? You might ask... It may seem insensitive of me to find satisfaction in your frustration and worry, but let me explain... Through the harrowing happenstance of disease, depression disfigurement, delusions, devastation, death -- but, then through survival, salvation, sanity, sobriety, sympathy, serendipity, solace, surety, safety, serenity and yes, even through some selfish satisfaction for it all! -- I have come to believe that only one thing can sustain me in life, onward from my fight with death, and that is... FRIENDSHIP!!
Friendship is essential to my life, and since I call you proudly and gratefully a friend -- you are absolutely essential to my life. Your unexpected reaction -- unexpected to me, at least -- to some unexpected news essentially demonstrated the deep, genuine sincerity of our relationship, making real and tangible to me the enormous significance and value you bring to my life.
Essentially, by reacting with such shock, fear, anxiety and very real sadness at the prospect of losing your proximity to me, you proved to me how essential -- how necessary -- you are to my life, to my survival, and to my happiness. Don't you see now why and how I could/did find some satisfaction in your suffering?
Your pain made me happy for a brief moment, but as soon as I realized that what I was feeling could very well be wrong (or at least totally inappropriate and shameful), I shifted my perspective and my focus onto you. My focus right now is not on this satisfaction of mine that I've defined here, but it's on abetting your worry, healing your anxiety and pain by reassuring yu that I will do whatever I can that is humanly possible to preserve the status, shape, sincerity, intimacy, growth and progress of our friendship, if I am no longer to be your neighbor.
You make me happy, Israel!! You make me laugh. You make me worry. You make me proud. You make me feel lucky, special, unique, grateful...as friends should do!! I guess really that's exactly just what I want to say, and I want to thank you for saying yes, when I asked you to be my IHSS worker. Thank you for hanging out with me when times were low. Thanks for supporting my sobriety, my health, my sanity. Thank you for taking suck great care of me and Tanner!! You deserve so much gratitude in return for all the generous gifts, sympathy and friendship that you have bestowed upon me in the past seven years as my neighbor, and especially for the sacrifices that you have recently made (and that I hope you will continue to make) as my in-home care provider.
The mutual reciprocity of our relationship (personal/professional, or otherwise!) is what gives us such trust, intimacy, potency, pride and strength when we're together; and for that, I hope never to lose you -- or our friendship. I WILL FIGHT TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH FOR YOU!! Because, in fighting to preserve our relationship, I fight also to keep my life on track, heading in the "right" direction.
NO! I don't mean to insinuate that I'm going to turn Republican on you , but I do in a way mean to say "CONSERVATIVE" -- in such a way that I'd like to conserve/preserve all the greatness, the grandeur, the bliss that has found its way into my life recently; thanks to you. BUT, I'M A TRUE PROGRESSIVE! I believe in PROGRESS.
As my priest would say: "We are all imperfect people reaching, aiming for perfection." I personally do not know if I will ever reach perfection before I die, or if it will instead come posthumously once I enter into the gardens of ELYSIUM, but I know that in the meantime, I will only act in God's graces, and I will only surround myself with people like you. People who are not "perfect" -- per se, but whose indomitable strength of spirit only supports, encourages, buttresses (and does not contend with contemptuously) my journey toward perfection. Those who join the journey with me, only to follow their own path in the same general direction.
That is why you are in my life. Because, in your support and through our friendship, we both come all that much clsoer to enlightenment, salvation, redemption and perfection. You sustain and nurture, cultivate and catalyze my shaping of self. And I can only dream of doing the same for you. In brotherhood, Israel, our love for one another endures... Know that I cherish you, and that there will always be a place for you in my life. Forever. THANKS!!
With Love, Matthew
I wanted to post this text prior to delivering the letter to Israel himself, because the simple act of writing these words has inspired in me a sense of urgency in recognizing and recording the significance of this very important relationship in my life.
What's true is that I enjoy writing (and illustrating) letters by hand to the people most important in my life; in small part, because I figure that if one day I reach infamy or celebrity or renown, then such hand-written souvenirs could be cherished as truly valuable objects. But, my immediate aim in not to reach renown. I'm not presumptuous, or even pompous enough to think that celebrity is a possibility for me in any way, so I'll settle for touching the hearts of those few and far between important people in my life who merit such gifts of graphic gab scribbled onto loose leaf paper. That's what I hope to do with this letter: touch Israel's heart!
Maybe he'll read my blog post via Facebook, and either comment there or access my blog's true URL: http://qherekidsf.blogspot.com, to leave a comment there. We'll see! Maybe, he'll just read the letter on loose leaf and give me one ginormous grateful, gentlemanly bear hug!! GRRRRRR. CHUB!! :) Peace Out, All! And Peace, especially to Israel! May he have a safe voyage home, and may our friendship survive the tempests and turmoil of time!! Truth be told, he's tamed me. My gratitude is immeasurable. THANKS, IZ!!
Respectfully Submitted, Matthew D. Blanchard Matt(e)o | QHereKidSF San Francisco, CA USA [2010.05.29@18:40PST]
