Diary of an iLL Boy

Over the years there have been a handful of people, mostly friends, who read from this website regularly – mostly when the writing was more frequent – and at certain points the writing would be directed toward one of these readers. At one point there was this female writer, a friend of an acquaintance, who expressed wonderful appreciation for the writing and we corresponded for a little while.

At one point after reading this really awesome, classic novel called If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler, by Italo Calvino there was an entry written from the perspective of telling the reader what he or she was doing as she was reading the piece and it went in a really graphically sexual direction. Never heard from this female reader again and there’s this question of whether the writing of the piece was rude, intrusive or insensitive. There are different philosophies regarding the responsibility of the artist toward the viewers and the reality is that life itself is far more important than anything within life. In all likelihood this particular episode exists only in the ego of the writer, but there’s definitely plenty of misunderstanding and sexual egoism in this existence.

Sex is full of fucking contradictions. On the one hand it’s just innocent and simple, but at the same time completely mysterious. It’s the source of indescribable ecstasy and unforgettable frustration… getting lost in one the one hand, one the other hand land. It’s late.

There’s this farmer who used to be at the local awesome farmers market down here in Pensacola and he has this bizarre health problem where he can’t die. Haven’t seen him in a few years but last year he was like a hundred and eighty years old and couldn’t seem to die. And he really wanted to. He believes in Heaven, which of course is ridiculous, and is stuck on Earth. He’s not healthy and has had cancer a couple of times, still suffers from intermittent arthritis and incontinence and has mild emphysema but he can’t fucking die. A hundred and eighty years old. He sleeps like four hours a night and spends his days painting acrylics of old French and Spanish houses, of all things, and has outlived his great grandchildren. It’s just fucking weird. Haven’t seen him in a while. Hoping he’s figured it out.

Keeping bees in the backyard now. It’s getting more and more popular with the young metrosexual, hipster and progressives of this generation and of course this isn’t the standard beehive. It’s a Kenyan Topbar hive – the kind that’s really popular in Portland, Oregon – and this one has a fucking glass viewing window and it’s painted purple and white with multicolored Jackson Pollock silly-string all over it and an aluminum crown. Interesting side note – the guy, Bruce who did the silly-string painting is one of the many Pensacola children of military families and says that his family was so socially conservative that to paint a room off-white instead of white would have been unthinkably wild. Anyway the bees have been nothing but gentle, and the only sting, so far, has been one on the forehead while literally shaking the three pounds of bees out of the wood and wire-screen box they were mailed in. They are, of course, organic bees from an apiary in Tennessee (Wolf Creek), who supposedly breed them back toward their natural pre-honey-industry smaller size, making them more resistant to the mites that have begun ravaging bee population over the last twenty or thirty years.

Waking up really early tomorrow – 6:30 at the latest supposedly – to henna Rivka’s eight month pregnant belly as part of her magnificent baby shower outfit, complete with wedding tiara and colored ribbons over her freshly shaved head. She doesn’t know that there’s going to be an all-female Blessingway ceremony before the house party, facilitated by some of our very special local matriarchs and other humble tribe members. Rinah and her daddy will hang out at Open Books – the all volunteer Prison Books bookstore with Ryan the architect/trombone player and of course eternal student.

Thinking of calling our church the Temple of Wow.

Rinah! Are your pants wet?

Nohwwuh.

Rinah, they’re wet!

Dzus a lidow bi’. I’ nadah bid deeowh.

Ear and/or Throat infection lingers into week two. Lots of raw garlic munching and cayenne in the neti-pot. Also gargling with salt and clove oil. Also peroxide in the ear and some ear candling. Finally tired enough of it today to restrict diet to raw fruit and liquids (along with the above regiment). A friend also recommended tiger balm on the neck which certainly feels soothing.

Rinah sure doesn’t sleep much. This evening she explained that picking would be, “A bid waste.” and, “A mistate.” That you could “schlean deh floowah wis deh toyees ohn it”.

Was very excited about the local “Brownsville Mural Project”, which aimed to get local (it’s a low-income area) artists involved, only to discover that they are asking the artists to pay $25 non-refundable application fees for the opportunity to donate their work for consideration. Hmmmm.

Rivka’s pregnant belly is coming along nicely – very sexy shape – and the baby’s heartbeat sounded strong, the one time we were able to find it.

Rinah is currently singing, “B-I-N-Dzee-O, B-I-N-Dzee-O didin’t have a name.

“I’m dinnah pehtend tah do deh disses now.”

A fervent Pentecostal I occasionally run into in he neighborhood told me that she had wanted some assurance about life after death so she prayed to Yeshua and Yeshua answered and so now she worships Yeshua. Next time I see her I will tell her that I prayed to no one and no one answered to now I pray to no one. Daily and with great passion.

Rinah gets off the potty and runs down the hall announcing, “I Pedew Pumpkin-eatew’d.”

She pronounces the word partner with three syllables.

She has mastered the art of both loud and gentle random harmonica dancing.

When pooping alone in the bathroom, she occasionally calls out to one of us, “I law you so, so, so, so, so muts”. It’s that primal connection between the colon and the heart.

“Loo’ my leedoo baybee, daddee. I’n takin’ heaw to soool so I can weed heaw a boo’”.

She’ll run around with one boot on saying, “I loo’ lie’ an owed laydee”.

A couple of months ago she began reading – a little address book from Rivka’s days in school. Every page read, apparently, “Dea wazan owed laydee who had one soo’.”.

She makes her own variations of words like, “I’n tawkin’ on a telepowhbie! Eee he he he he. Hey He-Lenan Mawk. Wea’ doon pwiedy dood.”

Her relationship with the animals? “But I wahned to heuwt Wags!? Otay, I’we be nice to deh animews.”

“I peedin my pants. I not dun dewit a-den. Tan I please ha’ dzus won boobee?”

Having succeeded at failing is cause for celebration, especially after so many relatively inconsequential failures in the past. Making as many mistakes as possible is a path to wisdom and there is at least some variation in the manifestation, demonstrating that experience has been gained.

If we each stretch one leg, we can call it splitting a split.

Parents are dying. Liver disease. Heart disease. Cancer. Not today and maybe not this year. Maybe not even this decade, but ultimately the dying happens now. Now, and subsequently then, having conveyed a deeper capacity for compassion.Will you each, Momma and Papa, take your fifteen minutes of not being strong? Please feel free to. The courage to ask you what it’s like? Rude, imposing, entitled child?

A completion, having run course concurrent with a series of cosmic years. A nanosecond is the time it takes a particle of light to go about three feet. How many nanoseconds do you think you can hold that thought for?

Didn’t think so. Consider it a failure worth celebrating.

Homeboy Zef is on a bus tour with Goth Rock legend Peter Murphy, playing bass and violin. He had dinner in Seattle last night with two women we were friends (fuck buddies?) with twenty years ago. They’re still close, which Zef pointed out is amazing. They had been huge, ultra-cool-looking and musically informed supporters of Sweet Lizard Illtet, our cumbersomely-named industrial-funk-revolution-change-the-world path to heartbreak and disintegration.

Leading up to and performing solo at Head on the Door bar in Montgomery at the same time as their meeting and Zef’s subsequent performance was a bittersweet juxtaposition. Disappointing people personally and creatively seems to be a constant in the lives of many, if not all artists. And possibly people in general.

Especially when the work is so very personal, as opposed to purpose-based (based on a religion, market, style). How arrogant to not only offer ones self-indulgence up for public display, but to expect it to be praised and rewarded.

It was a slow night in Montgomery last night and $200 dollars today can buy a tank of gas (in a medium sized car), a hotel room and the monthly bill on a souped-up smart phone plan. But sleeping on a very cool stranger’s couch saves enough for about a bag and a half of groceries from the health food store.

Optimistic about the Occupy Wall Street movement, we were very involved with it’s local incarnation, Occupy Pensacola. The combination of the groups eventual dissolution into a homeless encampment, disdain for the input older, brilliant local activists, and the groups disregard for the idea of having a smoking section pretty much drove us away over the weeks.

Here’s a copy of the “minutes” from a final effort to have keep trans-sexual genius friend, Rebecca involved:

No Team Announcements
-work teams have been too busy doing everything else (washing dishes, cleaning up, etc)

Rebecah Heyer explains Consensus Process
-Collective Wisdom
-Group should define it’s purpose here

Purposes here are
1. Political Activism
2. Living Community

The Community needs a foundation in Common Goals and Values, which can be determined by consensus, within which co-existance will be sustainable.

Rebecah asks question, “Why are we all here?”. Three people speak;
1. Mike iLL: Having been angry about corruption and inequality and feeling optimistic about the Occupy Movement.
2. Get in the streets and Walk with signs
3. Freeing our children [from the Corporate and Banking system]
4. Casara Goodall: Peace, love, unity and respect. Standing up against the NWO. Free access to all God offers.

Rebecah suggests, in answering, “Why do others think we’re here?”, that some people think “we” are here for Free Food and Free Cigarettes.

Working towards Central Goad.
-story about a mason in the middle ages who was asked why he was working so much steadier than the rest who answered, “I’m making a Cathedral”. He saw the big picture.

A voter registration table is suggested. It is suggested (Michael from FNB) that this would net need to be addressed by consensus, along the cigarette table and chess table, as it does not affect the whole group. Rebecah disagrees, pointing out that the cigarette table does affect the whole group by attracting more smokers.

Joshua Kriwanek suggests that non-contentious proposals could be approved via Direct Consensus and contentious proposals could be addressed via Indirect Consensus.

Since there are no proposals on the agenda,  practice consensus process is run about whether or not to have a Voter Registration table.

We agree that two or three people will speak Pro and to or three Against. Nick takes over the Stack list.

Josh Kriwanek and Adam talk about the Cons and John, who (had suggested the idea) and someone else speak about the Pros.

Adam and Nick get up to express that this is a waste of time.

A vote is taken. There is a 90% consensus to have a Voter Registration table. The idea of a 90% consensus is explained and Joshua Kriwanek suggests that it might make sense to consider the 90% as long as nobody feels strongly enough to Block the proposal.

Gary Paul speaks to express his opinion that the Assembly is being hijacked. Then requests that O.P. not be treated like a big party.

Andy announces a Tuesday, Nov 1st March on Bank of America, meeting at 11:00AM at City Hall to march to B.ofA.

Nick speaks on the need for people to be Active.

Sunny announces that there will be proposals put forth at the Nov 1st G.A. addressing public intoxication and Drug use on the O.P. campus and invites input to be dropped off at the Information Tent.

Day Care Center is announced.

Michael and Nick request volunteers for the F ‘n’ Government Community Garden Working Team.

Jeffrey proclaims, “Freedom!” and “Do whatever you want!”

Father Nate has questions for Rebecah:
1. Would we re-address things that are already happening?
Rebecah: No. This is a new process for most people. It is already in progress and it will develop as it grows.

2. What about small issues/decisions?
Rebecah: (Editors note: I missed the answer to this part if there was one)

3. What about emergency decisions?
Rebecah: There can be a group, potentially called the Executive Committee, which would consist of one member of each Working Team and would make these decisions, which could then be ratified or repudiated by the G.A.

Alistair announces that this Assembly is a waste of time and that the Consensus process had already been worked out and meeting were going perfect last week. There is a Facilitators working team consisting of Michael Kimberl, Gary Paul, Nick Alford, Father Monk, Adrianne and Sara. Then reiterates that this is not a party and drinking and drug use should be done elsewhere.

Michael Kimberl announces that anyone is welcome to join the facilitation team.

Father Monk makes announcements on behalf of the safety team.
1. Dogs must be on a leash and cleaned up after
2. Hammocks have to come down from trees as there is a $10,000 fine for damaging historic trees
3. No cars should be driven onto the lawn
4. Drinking and Drugs are not allowed.

Someone mentions that Tarring and Feathering was brought up as a punishment for Drinking and Drug use, but was shot down. (a joke)

Happy Birthday, iLL boy. Year forty-three looks fine so far. Good weather. Most of the same challenges (a mature way of saying problems), but with a less anxious relationship with them. Writing my real feelings seems overly selfish and/or self absorbed. Still learning about how to deal with, develop and enjoy sexuality. Both alone and within this marriage. Friends still fucked up and frustrating. Family still supportive, distant and mostly residing in various states of denial.

A few months ago an aunt called Florida Department of Child Services on us to make sure we weren’t sexually abusing Rinah (see previous entry). We were recommended to hire a lawyer. Didn’t. It went away, luckily; “no signs of sexual abuse”. One source suggests that our telling them that we were hiring a lawyer is what made them go away, as it’s their job to keep a certain number of active “cases”, and poor, ignorant families make the easiest marks.

Like many artists, I have always thought that my output will some day be widely enjoyed. Still languishing between obscurity and non-existence, relatively speaking – so as not to devalue the many awesome friends and family who continue to support and believe in me – this becomes more and more of an optimistic outlook.

We performed a bunch of our new kids music at a toddler event yesterday and one of the parents mentioned that creative subjects are continually being cut from the school curriculum. Creativity is one of the most important things we can learn for a joyous and spirit-filled existence.

We’re excited about the Occupy Wall Street movement and hoping to see it develop into this generations Civil Rights Movement. More optimism.

An ex-girlfriend who broke my heart badly (returning the favor) years ago recently reached out to my best friend. I was an ass. If I could go back and shake myself I’d probably be too busy anyway and doubt it would do much good. There’s something soothing about old wounds.

This writing comes at the price of, among other things, earning a living today. So thanks to those who help pay for our food stamps.

Much love and a thousand blessings to all readers.

Is there any place where the state of prematurity is desirable? Possibly in plants, when you’re not ready to pick them. But more likely those plants will be described as immature, unless they are harvested while still immature, in which case the harvesting will have been premature.

Premature ejaculation is, beyond a certain level of maturity, at least, something a man succumbs to. No pun intended. It happens when focus is either on the penis, her potential orgasm, or both. And concentration is most likely diffused. A humbling reminder that sexuality and it’s spiritual rulers are the boss, and you are not. You may respectfully study the art, but do not attempt to control it or you will be flogged.

Nothing to do but laugh and study the kundalini rainbow methods of transmitting that powerful root energy beyond it’s limiting lusty swamps and up through the heart and beyond, cultivating infinite spirals of wordless communication. And always, always eluding the traps of our tricky intellect.