Dammit - I have three more pages to get through today, and yet.....

I don't actually have three more pages to get through. I busted quite a bit out while I was writing this. And what I busted out on my addiction paper was pretty awesome.

The last few days have been kind of stressful. The issue of great importance, which I occasionally allude to but of which I cannot speak is kicking my ass right now. I've pretty much been thinking about addiction, my pain and little else. When I wrote that post a couple days ago, I really hadn't intended it to go the direction it did. I think it was the result of having a great therapist and being in the midst of a situation that hurts so very much that I simply can't ignore it. That and all the comments admiring my openness.

I realized that I haven't really been nearly as open as people would think. And as I thought about it, I realized that my pain has been a sort of special, secret place that was all my own - so secret I had trouble realizing it exists at all. Yet thinking about it, it's been my retreat for so many years. My pain and the shame I hardly knew existed. And my fear.

I couldn't very well expose any of these. I was almost convinced I didn't have them. But here I am and here they are. My ugliest addictions. The first step to recovering is admitting you have a problem.

My name is DuWayne and I am ugly inside. I'm not ugly because of what I've done or who I've been. I'm ugly inside, because inside is where I've hidden away my shame, my fear - and my pain. I'm ugly inside because I am addicted to my shame, my fear and my pain, holding it tightly, my brutal comfort - my bed of ice and nails, my blanket of broken glass.

But it's ok. I'm not afraid of my addictions. Addiction is an integral part of the human condition. I've gotten a handle on my addictions before - I can get a handle on this. Changing the ugly I can and accepting the ugly left behind - for now.

Really, it's ok. Because no matter how ugly I am inside, I am also beautiful inside. I love so much it hurts sometimes - a lot of the time. I love my neighbor. I love asshole who cut me off on my way to coffee. I love the little boy, who'll never be a little boy, because he's a boy soldier in Congo. And I love you. Yes you, not someone else you think this was meant for - I Love You.

And this is why I embrace the language of addiction. Because it is embracing humanity, mainstream humanity. Because like every other aspect of the human condition, addiction isn't inherently good, bad or indifferent. It's its expression that places it on the spectrum. And more intense than any other addiction of mine, I am addicted to loving. And loving until it hurts and beyond is pain that is greater than any other pleasure possible.

It's easy now, to understand why I'm addicted to my pain.

Taking A Break......

This is your brain. This is your brain on research paper. (found the second image at a really spiffy science blog I love how google makes that sort of thing happen)

I am tentatively excited about Obama's pick for drug czar, but won't have time to write a substantive post for a week or so. In the meantime, DrugMonkey has a post about him. I will try to throw up more links about Kerlikowske, as I notice them - which won't be often for the next few days.

I also wanted to mention Pandora. A friend showed it to me quite a while ago and I promptly forgot all about it, until yesterday, when my dad was asking me about listening to streaming music online and working on the computer at the same time (he's seventy-three, give him a break). I did a google search and Pandora came up, which jogged my memory. It's pretty much been on since. If you register, let me know - I'd love to find out about your musical tastes and would be happy to share my own. My bookmarked artists are either artists that are new to me, or ones I've heard but didn't know.

And if anyone knows how the hell to pin a post to the top in blogger, please let me know. I hate having to screw around with time-stamps to keep the addiction question on top.

Did I mention I love Pandora? Because I do.

And I also love this blog I just discovered while procrastinating with JLK's blogroll. You all say I'm open. At least Crystal is open about her pain. I think I can learn a thing or two....

And I really, really love that Natalie Merchant's "My Skin" is playing right now. On Pandora, which if I forgot to mention, I love.

Why I am pursuing a education for a career dealing with addiction

I am now busy as all hell. I have a lot of writing to do in the next week and posting may get sparse, though I may throw some more up as I get into the nuts and bolts of my paper. For now, I just wanted to mention the abysmally poor record of the dominant substance abuse paradigm.

There is very little information available about recidivism, but what there is is chilling. I suspect that the figures we have, strongly contribute to why we don't have more. This is a link to Comments On AA's Triennial Survey, from 1989. This is analysis of survey compilations performed by AA. Of particular interest, is the graph on page twelve, showing that of those who start attending AA, only five percent are there after a year. Other studies (scroll up a couple pages) have shown a slightly better picture, but there is little question that twelve step programs are not for everyone.

Meanwhile, American taxpayers are pumping out two hundred billion a year for substance abuse issues. Add to that the loss of production and other factors, substance abuse costs us more than five hundred billion every damned year.

Wide Open: Why I Expose Myself

This is who and what I am, naked on the stage
Doing the best I can, to grow a little
Thrust out in the world, driven by my rage
Every time I turn, I see and feel others pain

I Am, DuWayne Brayton & Alec Steele 1993

The very first secular song I ever wrote, set the stage for who I shaped out to be. Over the years, the notion of exposure, standing naked has woven itself throughout my music, poetry and prose. As have the concepts of anger and pain, almost exclusively the pain of others. Which really gives lie to my openness, because from early on my path has been largely defined, guided by my pain.

I suspect that this focus on the pain of others, was a coping mechanism that allowed me to ignore my own, even convince myself that it didn't exist. Too, I suspect that it was founded in the idea that focusing on my own pain is selfish, contrary to my internalized interpretation of the biblical principal of selflessness. I have always had a pathological concern for others, often to my detriment. But it has also fueled my openness about who I am - good and bad.

More...
Because, as I mentioned, I am angry - quite often really fucking pissed. And ultimately, the target of my rage isn't small minded bigotry. It isn't assholes who think that for whatever reason, they're more important than everyone else and therefor above petty notions such as courtesy. It's not even psychotic fucknuts who get off on damaging their fellow humans. Honestly, I feel sad for people like that, though not a little angry at particular instances in which they express their pathos.

I rage at the inhumanity of human nature. I rage at it more, because being human, I fall prey to it myself at times. I am open, because I want to be accountable for who and what I am.

I am also open because one of the most profoundly formative experiences, was being cast out of what was supposed to be a safe, loving family. For years after, I lived on the outside, the fringes - the very periphery of society. And I never got back - may never really have been there. It's ok though, because I love the company. I adore my fellow outcasts and even better, they have loved me and accepted me for who and what I am - no strings attached, no expectations or molds to conform to. Queers and trannies, addicts and others who are broken wide open, just like me. We prop each other up and hold each other together.

The vulnerable.

I'm open, because I am and always have been, sick and fucking tired of the weakminded, weakspirited, who feel the need to prop themselves up by preying on the vulnerable. Even as I hurt for them, and hurt for them I do, as I hurt for anyone weaker than myself - I also feel the need to fight them. Because while I am vulnerable, there's vulnerable and there's vulnerable. I open myself up and make myself more vulnerable - I do it every day in a variety of contexts. And I goddamn well fucking dare weakspirited, pathetic fucking fools to prey on me. Because while I am vulnerable, I am anything but weak. Prey on me and I will break you, teach you what it is to be vulnerable and to make it infinitely worse, I will love you.

I'm open, because I love more than any others, the lost, broken vulnerable. Don't get me wrong, I'm alone. No matter how open I am, no one really knows me - least of all me (and there are those who know me better than me). But I am loved. I am accepted. I have family everyfuckingwhere I go. And I want others to know that no matter how alone they are, no matter how broken, no matter how vulnerable - they are not alone and that there is a great deal of strength in being broken and vulnerable.

I'm open because I'm a narcissistic exhibitionist. I'm a little boy seeking the approval of the adults around me, sadly discovering that most adults are just pretending.

But mostly I am open, because in my openness I discover who and what I am. And I am open because it helps me hide from the pain that largely defines me.

So here I am and here I will be, naked before you...

No, I'm really not dropping hints.....

I put up a Amazon wish list, because I find it interesting to see what others are reading, or want to read. Although, if anyone actually does buy me a book I won't complain. Mostly it's just there to show the world what a dork I truly am.

And in case you were wondering, yes, I have a very good reason for putting all the histories on the list. The Cambridge Illustrated is just something I have desperately wanted for years. But I am planning on retiring someday, to write a history of Imperialism, from the Greeks, through the fall of the Ottoman Empire. Can't say for sure that I'll ever get around to writing it, but I sure would like to do something with all the reading I've done and will continue to do.

And while I hope that it will have drawn itself back quite a bit and become something much greater than it is now, I sincerely hope that the empire in which I live won't have reached it's own demise by then. Though given the examples that history has to offer, simple inertia should keep us gliding along for some time to come.

Damn, I wish I had time for a band

I am just a little boy, crying in the dark
I am just a child whose lost his mom
I am just a man, who thinks he understands
I am just alone, wondering what went wrong

It's so easy to say, just give it all away
The foolishness, hypocrisy and vice
Why can't you understand, this is everything I am
Everything I ever wanted to be - crumbles into dust

I'm wandering the corridors, searching for a truth
Spun from the end of a life of absolutes
I knew it all before, now it's shattered on the floor
Alone, with my universe of pain

It's so easy to say, just give it all away
The foolishness, hypocrisy and vice
Why can't you understand, this is everything I am
Everything I ever wanted to be - has crumbled into dust

I've been walking along, the journeys been so long
I am so weary of the fight
Desperate to hold on, how could I be so wrong
even now, I'd love to find a sign
In the end this is all I am, I am just a man
At the end it's the beginning of my life
Trying to comprehend, the whole universe ahead
Condemning everything I've done and said

It's so easy to say, just give it all away
The foolishness, hypocrisy and vice
Why can't you understand, this is everything I am
Everything I ever wanted to be
Here I am at the end, my life has just began
Knowing what I am is what I am
The sacred's all around, in every sight and smell and sound
Knowledge here, and knowledge yet to come

That will never, crumble into dust

Taking the rest of the evening off....

I am wiped out. I did more physical work today, than I have in a long while. The posting lately (here and at Pieces of Me) has been pretty intense and emotionally draining. These are issues that I have thoroughly invested myself in over the years. And I have some personal issues that I really wish I could discuss but can't - suffice to say that I am pretty depressed at the moment.

So I am going to take a xanax and enjoy some brain candy and kickass sugar cookies. I may throw some verse at a page too, depending how I'm feeling. Probably won't post any of the though - but who knows, maybe I will.

Male Gender: Ripping People Out of Their Comfort Zones

Addendum; Focusing on the memories of this experience was a rather intense experience and things became rather convoluted at the end. Writing at two in the morning probably contributed. So I have cleaned up the end of the post.

Ok. I just couldn't really fit this into a comment. JLK has been writing a series on gender, that will encompass several parts. She's on men, chapter three now and my response to this in particular, is a very good introduction to how DuWayne became interested in gender issues. The whole sub-series on men (part one) has been fantastic and fostered some really interesting discussions. I feel kind of bad dragging my butt back here, but I realized that one, I had more than can reasonably be shoved into a comment on someone else's blog and two, it really does describe my first awareness of gender, outside the context of physiology.

Be forewarned, this post is a very frank discussion of sexuality and contains rather graphic descriptives.

But manhood is not something that, once reached, is permanent. It can be taken away at any point - through the loss of a job or income, lack of a significant other (or one who leaves), loss of hair, sexual impotence or infertility, expressing emotion in public. and myriad other things. A "real man" is always in control of himself, his family, and his emotions. A "real man" doesn't have those problems.

More...The first time I wore a skirt, I was bumming about, having just come back into town after a year on the road. I was hanging out with a bi-women, who was definitely inclined towards the "prefers girls" end of the spectrum. Having since met the other three men she had ever been with at that point since, I was struck by the fact that we were all rather pretty boys. So I'm hanging out with this women, Kaylee (she was "less than" thirty, I was nineteen) about thirty hours after I wandered into town and she was washing all my clothes (I had been in the woods for a week or so before I took four days to hitch home - basically on a whim). We were hanging out in her living room naked, after she had spent a good forty minutes scrubbing off the road grime in the shower. She lived very close to the coffee shop and we were both really in the mood for a coffee, but of course my clothes were all in the laundry. She got this almost menacing grin on her face and said she could probably find something for me to put on (keeping in mind I was a sight bigger than she). She ran upstairs for a few minutes and came back down with clothes on, carrying a fucking hippie shirt and a bright yellow, long and light hippie skirt - also wearing a massive, shit-eating grin.

I shrugged, put it on and was forever hooked. It was the most comfortable thing I had ever worn. And when we strutted into the coffee shop, there wasn't a single person in the place that failed to look. At least half the people there knew me and many of them weren't even subtle about their disbelief (more than the skirt, most of them hadn't seen me in over a year). To make matters more shocking, one of my closest friends ran up and gave me a hug, lifting me off the ground in the process. Then, a spur of the moment thing, he kissed me full on the lips - even slipped some tongue. We all sat down, Kaylee sitting close and doing naughty things under the table, when she whispered in my ear that I was causing her to get a lot of dirty looks from some of the women around us. Long story short, when we headed back to her place, a couple of girls went with us, along with my rather voraciously welcoming friend Chris. Fun was had by all.

Now seeing a guy in a skirt walk into a coffee shop with a hot woman and get kissed by a guy friend, was fairly shocking in Kalamazoo, MI, midwest U.S. in 1995 - don't get me wrong. But to explain the extreme of that shock to many who witnessed it, I have to backtrack by several years.

I was such a boy growing up.

I loved playing with toy guns, watching westerns, reading adventure novels - I was bent on the idea of becoming a bounty hunter/private detective until I was eight. With severe ADHD, I had the impulse control of shark in bloody water. I was a boys boy. Because of the attention of a couple of awesome men in my life, I learned to become intimate with nature. I learned about the plants and bugs that would keep me alive if necessary. I also learned to read tracks. I managed my first kill at eleven, taking a 'coon out of a tree with my fucking BB gun, dogs finishing it for me. I carried a buck knife with me everywhere, when I wasn't in school (sometimes when I was). And as most of my friends were the "losers," because they made the most loyal friends, I was extremely introverted and utterly clueless to the notion I was pretty hot - I had to kick some ass on occasion. I did not like people picking on my friends.

I bought my first shotgun when I was twelve, after making top score in marksmanship and weapon safety in the hunter's safety course. I bagged my first buck that winter. After tracking it for an hour and slitting it's throat with my knife - tears in my eyes, I decided to never concern myself with the fucking trophy head again. I never had to track a deer I shot again - if I couldn't get a clean kill, I didn't shoot.

And then there was sex. After I became dejected by the intense hypocrisy of my church, other concerns really got me.

Thinking there was something wrong with me, when all the guys were bragging about sexing their gals, I started sexing some of their gals - though mostly girls I met at the college library, researching for debate (that was my "sport," along with solo and ensemble). I developed a reputation as the goto guy for first timers. (girls who really didn't like me, would recommend me to their virgin friends - like me or not, I was rather fond of them:) I was decidedly not into relationships (probably why some of the girls really didn't like me), preferring to stay open and free to play with a variety of girls. And while I was generally pretty low key about my adventures, the girls weren't always - excepting the ones who had BF's.

So now you have some grasp of why DuWayne walking into the coffee shop wearing a skirt and being kissed by a boy was extra-especially shocking. I didn't exactly have a reputation for being effeminate. Rather the opposite, according to some old school friend/acquaintances, for some I was one of the measures they used for their own masculinity - an ideal as it were. And most of my friends knew that I had been gone for over a year, hitchhiking around the U.S.

What the Fuck!?!

About a month to six weeks after the infamous yellow skirt, kissing boy incident (I have friends who still bring it up) I was on a whole lot of acid, having a more sensual, than sexual encounter with a few friends, when it suddenly clicked. I was a fucking outlaw. I had broken sacred, fundamental rules of masculinity and worse, social labeling.

I won't lie and say that I didn't derive a great deal of pleasure from the shock value. I most certainly did. I was (and in some ways am) a radical. But for the most part I liked wearing these skirts because they were really comfortable. Also, I had discovered that if the person you're with is also wearing a skirt and no unders, you can easily get away with public sex, as long as no one gets too loud. I hadn't begun to consider the social implications of a man's man like myself breaking the conventions I was breaking. Mostly I just figured it kind of fucked with the older folks (most anyone over thirty) and close minded neanderthals.

Suddenly, as I was laying there, my head against the breasts of one friend, my fingers tracing the contours of another friend's torso, it blasted me like trainwreck (this was not an uncommon occurrence when I was on lots of LSD). I am a man. Yet I was doing things that men just don't do. And I wasn't being sneaky about it, hiding in my bedroom (not that I had a bedroom, or a home per say). I wasn't ashamed and really and truly didn't give a fuck what anyone else thought about it. My masculinity wasn't defined by the clothes I wore, my compassion and empathy or my exceedingly rare, but cold rage and even more rarely expressed ability for righteous, unflinching violence. My sexuality wasn't defined by the pleasure I took from the bodies of many girls and a few women, nor was it defined by my complete comfort with the notion of sucking the cock of another boy who might be a part of a particular sexual encounter.

My manhood was not defined by my cock and lack of uterus, nor by any social conditioning.

My manhood is simply - me. My sexuality is mine and mine alone.

This experience set the foundation for the first interaction I had with a male born women. While it was certainly a new concept for me, it was easy to extrapolate my own experience with gender identity onto that of someone else.

A Writing Assignment.....

I have several other posts to try to get up, but this one takes a little precedence at the moment. I have to come up with a really good excuse for turning in a paper late. In the meantime, I would love to have you check out the great discussions over at Pieces of Me. In one, JLK talks about WTF she does, sparking a really interesting discussion in comments. In the other, she gives us part one of a series on gender, which if you read the comments from the first, you will discover is an issue that I am very enthusiastic about. I am ignoring part one, chapter 2 until I get this damned excuse written.

I will be writing the third part of my harm reduction series next, because I really really, need to stay focused on my research paper. But then I am going to write about gender (a hint, having a penis doesn't inherently make one's gender male and having a vagina, doesn't inherently make one's gender female). And if I have time, I am going to respond to someone who had the temerity to disagree with my views on pornography. Damn her, damn her to teh seven hells!!! (not really, dissent is not only welcome, but encouraged - I am just as fond of having my mind changed by compelling arguments and evidence, as I am of changing the minds of others)

But for now, please do me a favor. I want you to pretend you're a professor who has very strict rules about getting papers in on time (for some of you, pretending won't be necessary, I'm sure). Pretend also that I am your student and am committing the cardinal sin, normally deserving of a good flogging and public humiliation in the stocks - of trying to turn my paper in late. Would you accept this excuse?

Please be warned, naughty words in this post and hiding them has failed for the moment

Scenario:

DuWayne comes wandering into Dr. Whatzitz office, three days after the final paper was due. He is looking very shellshocked, recoiling in fear at every sudden, unexpected noise - no matter how mundane. His terror is palpable, almost contagious - Dr. Whatzitz finds herself glancing behind her, though she has no idea why.

Dr. Whatzitz: (too garbled to understand)

DuWayne: I'm s-s-sorry, b-b-but m-my ears are--I m-mean I c-c-can't hear so well....

Dr. Whatzitz: I said, what the hell are you doing here!?! Your paper is late and I don't accept late papers or lame damned excuses!!!

DuWayne (weeping): B-b-but.....

Dr. Whatzitz: But nothing dammit! I'm sure you think you have a perfectly reasonable excuse. But I've heard every damned one of them. Unless the bloody damned world was coming to an end, and only your pathetic, sniveling little ass could save it - shut the hell up and....

DuWayne (getting hysterical): AAARRRGGGHHH!!! (smashing his fists down on her desk and jumping up and down in primal rage/terror - smacks his head on her desk a couple times for good measure)

Dr. Whatzitz (backing up slowly, wishing to the god she wished existed at that particular moment, that she had a fucking panic button, like people who work in banks get - she puts her hands up in a gesture of surrender): Erg. Uh. But - I - think I could hear you out......

DuWayne (looking slightly dazed, a trickle of blood running down his face, from where his head smashed into a sharp bit of random floatsam on the desk - that had just been waiting for the moment someone had a nasty accident while smashing their head into the desk):Wheooh. (suddenly clarity falls across his face) Right. Sorry about that. It's just that I recently lost half my mind.

Dr. Whatzitz: You what!

DuWayne: Lost half my mind...Look, if you'll just let me explain...

Dr. Whatzitz (starting to look rather shellshocked herself):Ermm, go on...

DuWayne: Well apparently my gran was actually a prostitute once upon a time and..

Dr. Whatzitz: The hell?!?

DuWayne: Just let me explain dammit.

Dr. Whatzitz: Erg...

DuWayne: So as I was saying - gran used to be a prostitute and it turns out that gramps, well, gramps wasn't actually my grandad. Apparently, Winston Churchill was my biological grandfather. Amazing really, the things you discover when you're kidnapped by space Nazis.

Dr. Whatzitz: Space Nazis!!!

DuWayne (frantically looking around, whimpering and shaking - stops, shakes his head - smacks his head against a bookshelf a few times - couple of deep breaths): Yes, space Nazis. You see, when defeat was inevitable, a cohort of the third Reich implemented the super, extra-especially secret plan. They prepared the ships for departure, while a ninja SS officer made a daring run into The bunker and scraped up some cells from Hitler's remains. He barely made it in time. With Germany's surrender, the Allies were closing in rather quickly. But make it he did and the rockets blasted them off and up to their secret base on the dark side of the moon.

Once there, they got to work rebuilding the Reich [insert inappropriate representation of producing a new generation of Nazis] and creating a clone of das Fuhrer. Their first attempt at cloning apparently was a failure, as was their second - but finally, they made it work.

Dr. Wahtzitz: This is all very interesting, but I fail to see what the hell it has to do with your paper being late.

DuWayne: (getting agitated, picks up a red paperweight and smashes it on the floor) Dammit Dr. I'm Fuckingwell getting there. (Dr. Whatzitz really wishing for that damned panic button again)

Sorry. (calming down) I - just....I'm sorry.

Like I said, gran was a whore - I mean - shit. Winston Churchill was my biological grandfather. That means that I carry his DNA. And those damned space Nazis believe some prophecy that seems to say that either I'll thwart their plans or become the greatest flamenco dancer who ever lived - apparently the details of the prophecy are a little vague. But when they learned that I can't dance, they knew they had to stop me. Also according to their prophecy, if they kill me they're doomed.

So last week they kidnapped me, took me to their base in the moon and began sucking my mind out with this weird machine. But in the middle, the process was interrupted when I was rescued. I got some help getting some of my mind back, but the machine was damaged during the rescue and counterattack.

Dr. Whatzitz: Counterattack?!?

DuWayne: Yeah. Funny thing that. Apparently when the Nazis started sucking my mind out, something clicked in my head and the Rabbis knew it was time to attack, that victory was at hand.

Dr. Whatzitz: Rabbis?!?

DuWayne: Oh shit. Yeah. The guys that rescued me? They were the most remarkably technologically advanced Jewish sect. They claim they saw the writing on the wall way back, more than two thousand years ago. They claim that when Moses brought down the ten commandments, he brought with him the plans for the most remarkable fucking space crafts. Then just a few years before that Jesus character was born, their god told them to build according to those plans. They've been living on a moon of Jupiter ever since - just waiting for me to come along and get kidnapped by the fucking space Nazis.

Then they saved me and whatever was locked in my Winston Churchill DNA made this special weapon they had actually turn on. It was kind of like... Look, have you ever seen Stargate Alantis?

Dr. Whatzitz (looking rather uncomfortable): Umm. No, of course not. I don't watch silly sciencefiction about other galaxies and, umm. No, nope, never seen it.

DuWayne: Ok, well basically, when I walked up to this machine, it just turned on. The Rabbis think that maybe Winston Churchill's anscestors, and mine, were actually aliens. They figure these aliens could see the future - or maybe they just assumed that somewhere along the line it would be necessary. So they decided to use the Jews, because they figured the Jews were pretty hardcore - determined. That they would be the perfect folks to put in charge of this weapon.

So, umm, anywho.... I finally managed to finish the paper. It was really tough, what with the problems with my mind and all. But dammit. I mean come on, it turns out that I really was out there saving the world and all that shit. Can I please, possibly turn it in a little late. I mean I really had no control over it. It's not my fault that gran was a.... I mean Winston Churchill was my biological grandad.

Dr. Whatzitz:.....

What say you? Leave a comment, letting me know if my excuse would sway even your hardened heart.

Wherein DuWayne Talks About Something He Firmly Believed But Came to Doubt

And here is my introductory essay..Uncorrected from it's return by the venerable research/writing instructor. Tragically, I managed to lose the long version written before I realized that google docs doesn't format page sizes like normal word processors. Originally, I just thought that my three pages has been magically imbued with the ability to say everything I was trying to get across.

I was raised as an evangelical Christian. At first, my mother took my brothers and I to a rather moderate, United Methodist church. When I was seven we made the shift to a pentecostal church and I began my journey to becoming a fundamentalist golden child. I went to a parochial school and was part of a scout group through the church, called the Royal Rangers. During the school year I was in church every week day, every Sunday and often times on Saturdays for special events. I became very solid in my faith, I was an absolute Believer. We eventually left that church and I went back to the public schools, for a while we returned to the Methodist church. I didn't know it at the time, but it was because of some horrifying acts of hypocrisy that my mom was rather keen on hiding from me. It was at this point that I began to get serious about studying theology - I was eleven years old. It was also at this point that I began writing music, with a deep seated desire to bring glory to my god and help others worship him.

During the year we spent at the Methodist church I worked my way through most of the works of John Wesley, the pentecostal founder of the Methodist church. I realized that the Methodist church had gone far afield from the teachings of it's founder and began to really push to find us a church that fit our beliefs. I also began to study other theologians, both old and modern. I read Martin Luther, Aquinas and Augustine. I read C.S. Lewis, Frederick Beuchner and Francis Schaeffer. I read the works of theologians who supported my beliefs and the works of theologians who's reasoning I believed to be flawed. I wanted to understand the thinking of men who read and understood the Christian Bible and of men who had misinterpreted it. Throughout all of this, I read through multiple translations of the bible, because most of all, I wanted to understand it all for myself.

A couple of years before we moved to Agape, my dad (an atheist) took me to see Carl Sagan. I was very excited about going to see him, because my family had watched Cosmos a couple of times and I found astronomy quite fascinating. I was even more excited when after I asked a couple of good questions during the Q&A, someone from UoM came up and said that Prof. Sagan would like to meet me. I then took the opportunity to ask him if he believed we might someday discover god in the cosmos. He very graciously replied that he sincerely doubted that there is a god to discover, but that I should not take his word for it - that it was important that I learn as much as I can about the world and universe around me and draw my own conclusions. He emphasized the importance of thinking for myself and never just taking someone else's word as a functional truth. He also expressed an interest in hearing from me in a few years to see where I was at. I walked away from that exchange energized, believing that my drive to learn more about my faith and what drove it was of critical importance. In essence, I took this recommendation from an atheist and applied it to Belief. But to draw a Christian parallel, a seed was planted

Then we found the church that would change my life. We moved to a non-denominational pentecostal church, Agape Christian Fellowship. It was here that my musical abilities flourished, under the tutelage of the music minister. It is also where I became a part of a church's leadership, becoming a part of the worship team and occasionally filling the role of primary worship leader. I was even able to sell some of the music I wrote. At this point in my life, I had an absolute Faith that is no different than the Faith which causes people of other religions to strap bombs to themselves and kill in the name of their god. The only difference is in what I believed that my god wanted me to do with that faith. For me, it was a compulsion to witness to others in an attempt to help them realize the need for salvation through Jesus Christ. And a significant, near pathological compulsion it was, because I believed absolutely that anyone who didn't receive such salvation would be condemned to eternal damnation and suffering. As I mentioned, my dad is an atheist - so are some of my siblings, so this was a particularly terrifying notion to me. On top of that, I also took very strongly to heart the notion of loving others and believed that I was commended to do so with no strings attached, so I took my responsibility to be a good witness very seriously.

I didn't receive my first inkling of doubt, until I watched The Power of Myth, in which Bill Moyers interviews Joseph Campbell. It was not a sudden transition, it really didn't strongly affect me at all at first. Again a seed was planted. At the same time, I became heavily involved with working at a thrift shop my uncle had opened, to support a house he had started to house persons infected with AIDS. For the first time in my life, I was spending a lot of time around gays. And I discovered something – homosexuals are human beings too. But the major event that blew me out of the water, happened with my church.

A young women in the youth group committed the cardinal sin – she got pregnant. And instead of doing what I absolutely believed the bible was quite clear on and surrounding her in loving support, she was made a pariah. I was soon to follow. After talking with some of the leadership of the church, I decided to take matters into my own hands. The Sunday following the unsatisfactory discussion with the youth pastor and pastor, I used the time I was supposed to sing a new song, to make my feelings on the matter known, quoting scripture to back me up. Not too far into it the mic was cut off and shortly after that I was escorted off the platform and out of the building. It helped, but the fact that I didn't leave alone that day was little enough comfort.

I was devastated by the rank hypocrisy. I understood that such hypocrisy existed, even that it was somewhat common. What I didn't realize, was that it was alive and well in my own church. This, combined with some rather unsatisfactory discussions about geology, evolution and gay rights put me over the edge. I didn't set foot in another church for several years. Unfortunately, I was not done with my faith, though from then on it was to take on a very strange shape.

Shortly after this experience, I lost my virginity. I was smoking cigarettes and decided to try marijuana too. I soon came to the conclusion that this was all ok, mainly because it was so easy to manage all of these “sins.” I honestly came to believe that my god must approve, because when I saw someone I really, really wanted to have sex with, it ended up working out. Never occurred to me at the time that (at the time) I was a pretty boy. I also got to where if I wanted to get stoned, one of my friends would have weed. Never occurred to me that was because all the friends I had at that point were stoners. Nope. To me it was just evidence that my god wanted me to be happy and have all these things in my life.

I went through years of trying to reconcile the bible with my acceptance of evidence based geology, evolution and gay rights. I performed remarkable feats of mental gymnastics, I bought into outright lies. I decided that the bible was not actually the literal word of god, rather it was a collection of stories that formed the backbone of the Christian faith – to be accepted only to a certain point. But I finally crumbled when I was finally unable to justify worshiping a god that advocated rape, fratricide and genocide. Nor could I manage to fool myself into thinking that the god described in the Christian bible was anything but. But the final spike in the coffin, was the understanding that not all religions could be valid, but if one religion is valid, then all of them must be valid. At that, the hold out vestiges of my faith crumbled into dust.

Throughout all of this, I did manage to hold onto one final notion. I didn't become an atheist, except in the very broadest sense of the word. I don't discount the idea that there is a god, nor do I discount the idea that such a god might intervene in human affairs. For several years I was a very enthusiastic user of LSD and other hallucinogens, or as I prefer to refer to them, entheogens. I would even go as far as to say that I have addiction problems with hallucinogens, especially LSD – though I have thankfully been clean of them for eight years this summer. Throughout my experience with them, I found reason to hold onto something that, until now, I never believed I could question.

I have always believed in a spiritual/physical duality. I never questioned it – not once in all my years of searching for my faith and my god. Even when I completely rejected revealed religion, I didn't question that basic tenet. It may be that I have just been desperate to hold onto something of a faith that I had committed my entire life to – and have no doubt, I was committed for life. I can't even say how this doubt crept in or mark it's beginning. Nor can I say that I don't believe in this duality, only that my absolute certainty it exists is no longer a certainty. The most remarkable thing about it is, I'm comfortable with my doubt. I am at peace with it and have even found peace in it.

Human Sexuality: Puritanical Feminism and the Religious Right

Be forewarned, the following post contains adult content, a very frank discussion about sexuality and probably TMI about yours truly. Though remarkably, I managed to keep the naughty language to a minimum.

I also wish to clarify that while I firmly embrace sex positivity, I also embrace personal choices. Just as I abhor sexual repression, I also abhor the pressure that is applied to people who have made a choice to abstain. Human sexuality is a beautiful, wonderful expression. But it is all too often made ugly and painful by the choices people allow others to make for them. People should never feel that there is something wrong with them because they happen to want to wait or forgo the sexual experience altogether. Just as I believe there is nothing wrong with casual sex, there is nothing at all wrong with no sex.More...

I like Teh Sex. Back when I was a little younger, a whole lot prettier and had a band, I proved it by having a whole lot of it. Casual sex managed the balance between using a whole lot of drugs and playing music all the time. Not one for romantic entanglements, I rarely delved into the world of significant others. Like who I'd play music with, I had standards when it came to sexual partners, but they were really more of a loose set of guidelines, than a firm set of rules. Basically I wanted to sex people who were fairly literate and interesting conversationalists. I preferred women who met certain aesthetic standards as well, though mine have always been rather wide ranging aesthetic standards. And I preferred to have sex with women, as I just don't find men sexually stimulating. But ultimately, none of those standards were fast and solid. If a women was particularly intellectually stimulating, I could look past potential failures to meet my aesthetic standards. Likewise, if a women managed to hit my aesthetic idealism, I might look past her inability to meet my intellectual standards. And if a boy met a certain aesthetic ideal, coupled with an emotional/intellectual attraction, I could enjoy time spent providing them sexual pleasure - not to say that I wouldn't get some enjoyment as well, but as I said, it's really never been my thing.

I wish that I could say that I never played women, never lied to them for sex. But unfortunately I have. My only defense is that I never lied to a women about my feelings, when I wasn't also lying to myself. For the most part, I sought women who wanted the very same thing I was after - casual sex. And on a couple of occasions, I even got burned by women who were playing me. One of them, I believe was deluding herself as much as she was deluding me. The other was just straight up lying to me. But I figure it's all ok, because in neither case was I doing anything but lying to myself about my own feelings. The fact is that hurting others and being hurt is part of growing up. Trying to minimize the damage is about all anyone can ever do.

For a few months, when I was eighteen, I worked as a stripper. The club I worked was mainly a female audience two nights a week and a mainly male audience three nights. I absolutely hated the ladies nights. They were really obnoxious and didn't tip nearly as well as the horny, greasy old men. The men had their drawbacks, one being that many of them expected something more after the show, but they tipped well (often with large bills that had phone numbers written on) and the worse any of them might do is play with themselves while they watched. I can honestly say that getting a bunch of cash from people watching me dance rather poorly, but in the buff, fed my narcissism in a big way. I would even go as far as to say it was somewhat empowering. But mostly, it was just a fairly easy way to make good money, something I just didn't manage very well at that time of my life.

I also managed a fairly short stint as a gigolo. I mainly did it for the experience of it, to have the opportunity to live in pretty extreme luxury and hob-knob with people of pornographic levels of wealth. Being young, sexy, highly literate and very well spoken, I was well received when I worked as an escort for a very wealthy, very attractive women more than twice my age. I fulfilled her need to satiate social expectations, fulfilled other, more personal needs and was absolutely discreet about fulfilling my own more personal needs. In turn she took very good care of me, providing an apartment that was luxury I understood existed, but never knew existed.

According to the religious right, I am an abomination on a great many levels. Even though I am pretty tame, here in my early thirties, abstaining from sex and drugs, I make no apologies for who I have been. Not only making no apologies, but embracing who I was, taking ownership of it. Though I am abstinent, I still identify myself as a philanderer, a whore. The years that separate me from that lifestyle, do not change the basic fact: There is nothing inherently wrong with casual sex, selling one's sex or otherwise profiting from one's sexuality. So to the religious right, I'm downright evile.

But that's not where the persecution of people who, like me, embrace their sexuality ends. Oh no. Because there is a fairly sizable contingent of feminists who embrace the same puritanical repression of the religious right. Only instead of believing that open sexuality is a sin against their gods, puritanical feminists believe that pornography and profiting from one's sexuality inherently supports the patriarchy. Porn and sex work, by their very nature are inherently oppressive to women - both those directly involved and by extension, all women.

I grew up in the church. Mostly in pretty right wing churches. I was preached to about sexuality for many years. I heard it from Promise Keepers and many other evangelical organizations. The truly frightening thing in all this, is that the message that puritanical feminism pushes, is almost identical to that of the religious right. People who firmly believe themselves to be progressive, to be sticking it to the patriarchy are instead embracing the fundamental idealism of the patriarchy.Hardline repression is hardline repression, no matter who's pushing it. And there is little that more firmly represents the very worse abuses of the patriarchy, than the sexual repression and oppression.

Like I put it on a very old thread at Renegade Evolution;

Puritanical bullshit that sounds little different than something the American Family Ass, or Concerned Women for America would come out with seems more like sucking patriarchal cock, than getting paid to blow a rich white guy is.

Listen to Your Doctor.....

I finally got through the hell of trying to get into a doctor and went to the one I grew up with yesterday. I am now on regular old methylphenidate (Ritalin), which will allow me to exert a great deal of control over my dosing. So on days when I need to go to class, I can take two 10MG in the morning, one at lunch and generally call it good. On days when I need more time to study, I can take two in the morning, one at lunch and one mid-late afternoon, while on weekends I can minimize, unless I am studying.

Though I have to admit that I really would love to try Vyvanse. Unfortunately, at ten dollars a dose, it's just not feasible, as it's a total out of pocket cost. Basically, Vyvanse is a prodrug equivalent for Adderall. It is theoretically superior to Adderall and Ritalin, because instead of being an extended release because the pill is made a particular way, it's release is extended through metabolizing. This apparently reduces many of the side effects found especially in Ritalin, but which are also occasionally found in Adderall.

We also discussed the possibility of a close generic equivalent to Adderall, dextroamphetimine which is the actual generic for Dexedrine. The thought was that this might decrease or eliminate the headaches I often get when I take methylphenidate. The problem with that being that the script is twenty some dollars to fill, as apposed to six for methylphenidate. Unfortunately, cost is a significant factor, so for the time being, I am taking methylphenidate.

I was also prescribed Alprazolam, which is the generic for Xanax. I am not going to take it often, as I really only need it for certain, specific cycles. I am starting out with the ability to get a refill before I see the doctor next, because he felt that it might help me getting used to the methylphenidate. Mostly I am keen on having it to help me nip off the cycles that got me diagnosed with bipolar. Though it was nice to see my old family doctor again, as he agreed with my assessment that it is more likely that the symptoms are a result of a lifetime with far less sleep than most people should get. The other reason I was interested in Alprazolam, is to help me through therapy. Last Friday's session was really intense and left me pretty shell-shocked.

So now we get to listening to the doctor.....

I have a really tough time remembering to take my meds, when I am on meds. Even worse, is if I have to take more than one, at different times. It is much easier if I can just take them all at once. So my doc explained that I should probably not take the Alprazolam, until I am getting towards lunch time, or unless I really felt the need for it before then. But he wanted me to take my first dose of methylphenidate without it, figuring that if I really was going to have trouble, it would be with the second dose of the day. He also warned me that I probably would do better to offset the mythylphenidate and the Alprazolam by at least forty minutes to an hour. I asked him if taking them at the same time was dangerous, which he said it really isn't, it just causes a lot of people to get a little buzzed.

So what do I do? Screw that, I say to myself. I'm going to forget the Ritalin if I don't take them together. Then came my remedial algebra (yes, I am math inept - failed pre-algebra in high school, twice). I had no trouble focusing on class. I was able to pick up the concepts we were learning today. I could not however, ask either of the questions I had, to save my life. I was actually afraid if I tried to talk that gibberish would come out. Thank the gods for email and a instructor who is happy to answer them.

Amusingly, when I was out having a smoke after class, I mentioned it to the smoking clan. One of them explained that he had experienced the exact same thing. He said that the offset in taking them really makes a difference. Of course he also mentioned his fondness for taking them together on weekends. I have to admit, that while not at all conducive to full functionality in class, it did feel pretty good. Thankfully, I have years of memories of getting high and don't feel the least urge to abuse the drugs that are here to help me function. I did seem to have an easier time in humanities, which follows the math.

No problems contributing to the discussion - though that may be because we were talking about the Roman Empire, a topic that really gets me excited. Though I should admit that I did have to leave class early, but that was because we were watching a documentary I've seen twice and really hated. There's a twit who makes the assertion that the Romans built Hadrien's wall and never went north, because they felt it was a wasteland. That was just their excuse. The reality is that the naked blue warriors had the invulnerable Roman Legions pissing themselves in terror. So by building Hadrien's wall, the Romans saved face and the Picts were left alone again. Watching the video might have worked anyways, but the sound was kind of warped in my head and was making me very uncomfortable.

Harm Reduction Part 2: How do we Define Success?

The dominant addiction paradigm makes some very strong assumptions about the nature of addiction. It assumes a one size fits all approach, stating categorically that the only measure of successful treatment is complete abstinence from psychoactive drugs. And it assumes that the best method for achieving abstinence is a confrontational model that forces the addict to accept that they are powerless to deal with their addiction. That only through dependence on a higher power, can their addiction be brought under control. This is the basis for the twelve step program for treatment of addictions.

What is truly remarkable about this paradigm, is that it encompasses over ninety percent of addiction treatment in the United States today. It is a multi-billion dollar industry and firmly entrenched in our educational system. Go to med school and you're quite likely to be taught that this is pretty much the end all of addiction treatment. Public policy is based firmly on these ideas. This is remarkable to me, because not only is there no evidence to support this confront/depend on higher power paradigm, there is a lot of evidence that it simply doesn't work for the vast majority of people. Because of the lack of reporting on the part of most twelve step programs, it's hard to come up with very definitive figures, but the estimates range anywheres from a five to thirty percent success rate. Most science based research tends to assume the low end of the spectrum.

This is absolutely insane. At the high end estimates, this means we are failing seventy percent of the addicts who seek treatment. And yet this is the treatment paradigm that we allow to dominate our society and public policy. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe there's some vast conspiracy out there, propping up a failed system for profit. There's very little profit to be had in all this. At it's heart, I think it has to do with the Us/Them dichotomy that makes non-addicts, and especially addicts who haven't accepted what they are, feel better at night. This dichotomy is also very conducive to reinforcing addicts who are sober, because they've beat tremendous odds and manage to stay clean. This makes it really easy to just say; "Screw the other seventy to ninety-five percent."

"They're weak." "They just don't really want it." "They just haven't hit bottom yet." And underlying it all; "I'm better than them." Which isn't to say there isn't a lot of "we failed them," intermixed in all that. But which is more likely to keep this failed system propped up, "I'm better than them," or "we're failing them?"

At the core of this are some important questions to be asked. The same sort of stark, realistic assessments, very much like the self assessments that are an integral part of any addicts quest for control over their own lives. For this post, I am going to focus on one of them; How should we define success in one's battle with addiction? To try to answer this, I am going to ask you to try for a moment to ignore that nagging voice in the back of your mind that insists that success can only be defined as abstinence. Please, just try to pretend you've never heard of AA and other twelve step programs. Open your mind to the understanding that black and white is a flawed, simplistic dichotomy - that life exists in the shades of gray.

Meet Steve. Steve is an alcoholic who drinks from the time he gets out of bed, until he passes out, later in the day. Catch Steve in a rare moment of lucidity and you'll discover that the man is absolutely brilliant, rife with penetrating insight into human nature and it's interplay with the people around him. Steve first got high when he was eight years old. His drinking was out of control by the time he was thirteen years old. Not surprisingly, he never graduated high school, though he did manage a GED. He managed to stay sober in the Marines, at least when he was on duty. Steve spent several years in LA as a gangster, existing in a very ugly frame of reference. When I met him, he had left LA to get away from it all - but the memories of what he had seen, the things that he's done, drove him into the absolute depths of alcohol abuse.

Now meet Allen. Allen is an alcoholic who drinks in the evenings. Allen has, over the years, built a great business. He's also raised one of the very least dysfunctional families I've ever met. He has four fantastic kids, who absolutely adore their parents and who all have the foundation for great success in life. Allen has wonderful friends and is a very well respected, highly regarded member of his community. Not that he or his business are perfect, but his failings are the human failings that everyone can fall victim to, rather than being the result of his drinking. And make no mistake, Allen can drink. He proves that nearly every day of his life. As often as not, he proves it by getting fairly drunk. And it is quite likely that ultimately, Allen's drinking is going to foreshorten his life, though probably by very little.

So lets explore these two people, both men addicted to alcohol, but with very different lives, very different relationships to their drug of choice. According to the dominant paradigm, the only measure by which either of them can be successful, is for them both to abstain from the use of alcohol and other psychoactive drugs. But I would argue that success is in the eye of the beholder, that rather than searching for absolutes, success is very much a relative concept.

If Allen stopped drinking altogether, stayed absolutely clean and sober, what benefit would he gain? Certainly, his health would be positively impacted, though I should be clear that his health is very reasonable for a man his age. As such, this can really be counted as a minor benefit. It won't improve his family life, which is already quite rich and fulfilling. It isn't going to do anything for business, which while less than perfect, is that way because of the economy, not because of Allen's substance abuse. It certainly wouldn't improve his social life, which is largely focused around his brewing of great beers and appreciation for the. To be sure, he does have more to his social life than these, but a lot of his social activities are centered on his appreciation of fine drink.

Ultimately, we need to take into account Allen's relationship with alcoholic beverages. Why he drinks, what he drinks and the circumstances in which he drinks. Allen is a beer hobbyist. He belongs to beer a couple of beer clubs and has even taken classes for judging beer. He and his wife both take part in these activities together. He's taught his son to brew beer, along with a number of friends. He doesn't drink alcoholic beverages that aren't pretty much top of the line. And he never seems to drink alone. For Allen to quit drinking altogether, would require a major shift in how he lives and how he interacts with his friends and family. Since his drinking causes minimal harm to himself and no harm to others, I would argue that there is simply no reason for him to change.

Now lets look more closely at Steve. At first glance, Steve seems to be the typical, at the bottom alcoholic. It would be easy to make the assumption that Steve simply must either quit drinking altogether, or die an alcoholic. Honestly, that may well be the reality of things. The question becomes; Is abstinence from any psychoactive drugs the only measure of success we can use on Steve? What if Steve quit the destructive drinking, but took up smoking pot in the evenings and on weekends? How about if Steve was able to get help from a therapist and get a handle on the problems that have pushed him to drink to such destructive excess and started drinking only in the evenings? Could it not be said that some level of success has been achieved, if Steve is able to functionally work and take care of his family - even if he isn't completely abstinent from alcohol?

While I think it is safe to assume that in Steve's case, abstinence is the underlying ideal, helping him reduce his drinking and become more functional can be considered a success. This is not to say that when he's reduced his drinking and become more functional, that the work is done. Steve has goals that will ultimately require he quit drinking altogether at some point. Taking the step of reducing the drinking would be huge for him and more importantly, his family. Being able to hold down a job and support his family would also make a major difference. But ultimately, Steve wants to be in a position to ensure that he never gets this bad again.

Steve runs into a few problems with our dominant paradigm. One, it requires that he get sober now, instead of letting him take steps to get there. With the exception of his stint in the Marines, Steve hasn't managed to get to sleep without alcohol in almost twenty seven years, since he was thirteen years old. And even in the Marines, it was tough for him to sleep without it. After busting ass all day in training and maneuvers, he was still having trouble with sleeping. And the haunting memories of being a gang banger are still there, even if he gets the drinking to settle into a more functional pattern. But if he can manage to reduce his drinking and work with his therapist to deal with the underlying issues that push the hard drinking, it is likely that he will get there in the end. The other problem that Steve faces in the current paradigm, is that he simply cannot contend with the notion of a higher power. He believes that either god doesn't exist, of if he does, hes "one evil motherfucker," as he put it to me.

It is really easy to stick with the status quo. It doesn't take any work to assume that people who use drugs are out of control and simply cannot get through it on there own. To paint addicts as powerless to deal with their addictions. It's also very easy to create an us/them dichotomy. To assume that "us" are somehow better people, even as we recognize that addiction is a disease and not necessarily the fault of the addict. We all have a mix of feelings about addiction and addicts that just make it really easy to denigrate substance abusers. From equating the worse of substance abuse behaviors, such as driving while intoxicated, or destroying one's family, with everyone who has substance use issues.

Harm reduction, on the other hand, is a good way to get past the black and white and embrace the gray areas. Because most addicts and people with substance use issues live in the gray. Simplistic dichotomies rarely apply. But even harm reduction isn't the end all that some would assume, or at least hope it would be. There is balance that must be struck and there needs to be a tacit understanding that while it fails most people, the current paradigm has it's place as well. In the next post, I will be exploring this, as well as the shortcomings that I see in the harm reduction approach to substance use and abuse. I will be trying to get back into this and posting links to various sources of information, but I am mostly using these posts to try to lay down the information I want to put into my paper. That way I will have all the information in front of me and ready to organize.

I am also thinking on discussing some of my other friends with substance abuse issues, from time to time. Having been a very voracious abuser of substances, I spent a lot of time around abusers of substances and there are several I want to write about. In every case, I am renaming the people involved and trying to change as many details as possible to protect their identities. I am more than happy to post stories with the actual name of the person and more pertinent details about their situations, but will only be doing so with their permission. The thing about harm reduction, as I mentioned in my last post on this topic, is that it is very natural for some people to engage in it. The problem is that the current paradigm assumes that if they don't abstain, they are just deluding themselves. More to go in; Harm Reduction Part 3: Where I Digress or Harm Reduction Falls Short

I think the other blog Phsyio listed deserved a special mention

The Screaming Lemur......Who describes herself as a Sabertoothed Screaming Lemur and thusly;

But this is what I am, and why. I talk, think, worry, argue, debate, and when I'm not doin' that it's cause I'm having teh sex. No, really. I'm a kinky, purple haired, bitchy, proudly bisexual femme feminist with a butch partner. I like lip gloss, knives, and books.

This alone is worth reading her for. I absolutely adore asskicking women, especially literate ones.
Not that a fondness for arguing and sex aren't a big plus.

Blogrolling: A day late and a dollar short

So apparently yesterday was a good day to add blogs to one's blogroles. Comrade PhysioProf decided that mine was a pretty kick ass blog to link to - thanks. But he also linked to some other pretty great blogs......

First up, I'll mention Renegade Evolution, a sex worker's rights blogger. I will probably blog about this on occasion, but I'm not very oriented on politics here, except as it relates specifically to addiction and substance use issues. I usually save the political discussions for comment threads on other people's blogs.

I will however state categorically that I am very much a believer in sex worker's rights. I believe that what a person does with their own body is there own damned business. If you want to go out and have Teh Sex for money, that damn well should be your right and I absolutely support it.

For those who participate in currently legal sex trades, I offer my support as well. I don't believe that you're doing anything immoral, sinful or disgusting. Human beings are very sexual creatures and the notion of dispareging anyone for profiting from that is hypocritical to the extreme.

Methinks I may really have to do a post on sex work. Dammit. So much to write, so little damned time.

Then we come to The Barefoot Bum, who gets into political philosophy. I really, really wish that I hadn't discovered this blog, because I can foresee spending way too much time there. I am certainly not on BB's page when it comes to political philosophical preferences, but I really like his level of discourse. And I already dove in headfirst, into a discussion on lefty politics, versus communist politics - our venerable host there is a communist.

And of course there's Juniper Shoemaker, who is already greatly appreciated here. Not to mention being the subject of a bit of a crush on my part. I mean she's got it all. She's got a very sexy intellect, she swoons over guys who can't help being just a little too stuffy sometimes, she's a geek as well as a nerd, she loves Edwardian tea gowns and to top it all off, she's really hot. A win all around in my book.

As well, we have discovered Behind the Stick.....A felt hat hater with a blog. (who also tends bar and writes interesting posts about it) This has all the markings of being a big fun blog, if you can get past the anti-felt hat bigotry.

There were some others listed at Physio-profs and I highly recommend checking them out. I will probably get around to it, if I can get some of the school type work I'm supposed to be doing done.