adult male rape, Selfportraits, trauma, Uncategorized

THE MOST DANGEROUS THING

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Unfiltered, here I am, naked, no decorative words, no room for flounce, not now, not within the womb of this cool circumstance. Raw and writing, it is we, it is he, Fernando along with the others which equal the new entirety of me.

I’ve decided no longer does it matter if there is an audience for my words or images. I now write because I need to write, I create my art because it is not only an essential part of my creative expression. It is a necessary segment of the healing equation, I still fall back on these words “art saved my life”.  Now I write with a slant on the unfiltered, just me and my selves. If another is helped as I stagger on my current path of wonder and stumble all the more glorious. Perhaps the flow of these writings will read more organically without the hindrance of self-criticism of thought, word, art and tongue.

I am afraid I am finally facing the raw fact that my trauma has become one bitch of a battle. It is increasing in bite and fervor. Sobriety has been a song and one I don’t give much of a shake about, even with all my trauma bullshit I have not thought once about drugs to deal with it. The trauma however is rupturing, ripping, splitting and soaring through the roof of my being. I am not sure who is winning in this wrestling match of wills. I do know I am not happy with the feelings beating me up each day, leaving me exhausted, bruised and raw.

Most days my thoughts are so tangled that I make no sense speaking. When I do manage to speak I often trip up my vocals. I mutilate simple sentences for example, ga-ga-ga-goo-goood goood morning. For a normally fairly grounded intelligent sounding person it becomes a bit humiliating. I often rock back and forth when I am alone typing, channeling my never existent autistic youth.

Yesterday, despite my gut intuition, I met with a therapist for the second time. It took me almost five years to reach a point where I was capable of receiving “professional” help. I understand fully that he has not been trained in trauma recovery, and may not even be queer sensitive. But surely he has a degree, and I assume based on his appearance he is of the human species. I also hope he had entered this field with an empathic heart, he does not seem old enough to be jaded and over his profession, or is he?

Aside from him being late for the second appointment in a row (note both appointments). Cutting me off, not hearing my needs then telling me to ignore my feelings. He then instructed to “Move on” “get over my past” to “get my old job back full time” please note I can barley function in my current part time position. I was instructed to “change my thoughts”  again. I explained this is something I do all day through many spiritual and personal teachings, meditations and techniques I have even developed along my personal journey.  I explain what someone in trauma goes through. I explained that I/we need tools to move forward and heal, I explained that I/we would like to learn how to cope with the subconscious thoughts that strike in the middle of night. Example: when I/we wake tossed on the floor in the middle of the night. Living out a rape, how do I/we move past that… I am enraged right now simply thinking of this session… yet I am moving forward I can not even finish this paragraph. _ RAW WRITING.

A bad therapist is the next worst thing to the actual traumatic event itself. I can not imagine anyone speaking these same words to someone who has just comeback from a tour of duty or lost their family to some horrific action of violence. I suppose a gang rape to faggot is just another disposable crime even in the eyes of a therapist. (please note the wrong therapist I know the majority are absolutely brilliant)

An average day for me, requires about 3 hours of meditation just to make out the door. Before I can go to my humble semi-stress free part time job. About once or twice a week I have at least one severe flash back during my waking hours. Two weeks ago, while walking down my block I hallucinated a full on rape, asshole ripping open, choking, suffocation, blood, restrained arms up against a fence the full nine yards. That was a pretty average scenario as of late. The week after the same situation took place while I was writing while sitting on a bench in the local park looking at trees. Boom out of the blue, restrained, suffocation, notebook on ground etc…. but this is my current unreality. “don’t think about it” he says. Again I say… seriously?

Last night three nightmares woke me up, usually I do not much of them, only the fighting, sweats, screams etc. But they are becoming more vivid as of late. Today I had to leave a simple task job after only an hour, because I freaked the F*@K out. My 10 minute walk home took about an hour, I was in a trance state the entire time. I crashed from exhaustion upon my arrival home (rather where I stay). More daymares, physical fighting and screaming and kicking. And he tells me “change your thoughts” “move on” I think to my self again, sarcastically, seriously?…I sorry I just forget to come out of trance states and nightmares to say “get happy” “get over it” Move On”….

Yes “change your thoughts” I agree completely, I do it all day everyday, minute by minute. This roller coster practice is enough to drive any normal person insane. I gently participate in many meditation techniques and lovingly embrace every fricking letting go method there is. But I can not delete reality, when something has never been dealt with it has to come out somewhere. Fact? or Fiction?

The most dangerous thing to a person in trauma recovery is… and I will say this again and again. Is having an unqualified person sitting opposite them on the other side of a desk when you are in therapy. This is not only dangerous it is negligent and can even be lethal. Last evening I felt so hopeless, lower than I have been, and closer to ending my life than and period in recent history. But I am as stubborn man, I will make it through this. Salt stains and all, I may not have much say during this period of my life that is up lifting. My core self is still in here somewhere, and it will come to the surface again. Until then, however long that takes be well be kind and be loving the best you can.

Thank you-

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Images, Selfportraits

EXPERIENCE of LIGHT

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ROCKETS & NESTS 4J *soft/complicated, mixed media

Thursday mornings tend to be my standard errand day, also a day when my mind and eye are most engaged with the world around me. I am 100% in love all things at the same time inspired by everything, it is almost to much to handle and nearly impossible to get anything accomplished. Between photo snaps, note breaks and formal writing stops I am lucky if I hit the market, library or dry cleaners at all.

My mid week enthusiasm may be in part due to my minimal excursions from block number 11 where I reside. Back home in New York, I walked everywhere most days, never to tire always inspired. I breathed a carnival of sensory happiness, often coming home only to spin back out for a deeper emersion. Since my return to the mid-coast of Chicago in autumn of 2013 I have become somewhat of a recluse. Thursdays are my great adventure day, where backyard tree-houses and front yard detail strike a temporary fascination streak, at times it is enough to fire up enough artistic and spiritual fuel to feed my creative need for another week.

Now that I am in my middle years, I am fascinated with the organic curves, knots, and often wicked grace of trees. Cloud formations always impress, dressed and set with back drop skies of shifting seasonal shades mystify. All of mother earths creatures, plant life, water and air retain my interest unlike dismissal of younger years. For the time being my alter of appreciation falls upon suburban lawns rather than the magnificent parks and gritty squares of the island of Manhattan where I belong. A place where structures, graffiti, art, pedestrians, clatter, filth hold me strong.

MORNING THOUGHT:
I had a funny idea one Thursday morning, as I often do. Story board visions ran through my head as I saw myself “ghosting” in the after life. Not “trapped” and suffering as in a Learning Channel ghost hunter hype series. You know, all miserable… moan, moan thud. Just the opposite, very happy, and madly in love with this globe and it’s living occupants. I, dead without regret, refusing to leave this bubbled existence without assistance from an invisible supernatural ejector seat.

From the great unknown my almighty light keepers where summoning me, like a collective of spiritual mothers with a toddler at meal time, gentle and prodding. Coaxing with sensitive yet firm vibrational ease, the messages that pulsed may be impossible to describe here. The general transmission delivered was the usual. “The time has arrived for you to ascend to new dimensions, unimagined in any book, meditation or vision within your understandings, a greater purpose is part of your spiritual evolution now, your earth journey has been completed. The time has come to leave…” None of this was spoken in global tongues, all by sensation, heat and other understanding, many of you know what I am talking about. Stubborn, as I often can be, I am prone to get in my own human way. Naturally I insisted on staying right where I was, in some strange suburban yard up a tree translucent to most determined to haunt on my own terms.

My morning, inspiration hit as my feet stepped and my mind wandered back. I remembered how I have always been fascinated by cultures, sociology, interactions between groups of all people, individual behavior, the human experience. As I passed each home between the hours of 10a.m. and noon I envisioned the expansion of life within these cabinets of brick, wood, and stone. Each home called out with it’s own language. The exterior structure and grounds sang descriptive tales of it’s cultures, families, individuals, lifestyles and critters. I became intrigued by the care and lack of that each dwelling reflected.

That is when it struck me, I want to shadow and haunt when I exit the realm of the living. Not an individual home, rather entire neighborhoods. Fluttering about while watching in silent bliss, hovering while people garden and built those humble tree-houses, perform mundane task like cleaning garages, taking out the trash or repainting shutters on luxury 3 day weekends. Oversee grounds like a mystical landscape architect with a quarter of a mile view, as trees bow in winter and spring forth in mid months of warmth.

As I stood under a great Oak Tree on the corners of Lombard and Madison Streets, with eyes shut, feet planted on cool cement and lungs filled with fresh damp air. I felt with every vessel in my heart that I wanted to experience a little bit of every life. To me this is not haunting at all, this is loving in a different dimension and nothing could be more life affirming. This is loving in the ultimate parental form, the greatest honor, not to die for ones country but to live for ones world.

To experience without the confines of human timelines, health or worry. To watch as each bud burst forth in spring from plant and tree. To bare witness to the birth of new borns, be present with birds eye view as drops of rain cascade down blades of grass during an August sun-shower. Offer comfort during moments of human duress and celebration, to whole heartedly be apart of these experiences, to learn love and wrap one in light. I don’t understand why these feelings struck me so strong or lingered as they do. Perhaps I should nurture them while I am  among the living, maybe that is all this experience of thought has been about. Funny how the mind works as we click keys and write, hammering out the spiritual subconscious through key strokes is another form of the language of light..

Ah! It just hit me wrapped up this page, should you believe as I do, this to some degree is what our Angels and Protectors experience. How wonderfully awesome this is not a story about ghosting at all, it is a story about living.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

 

 

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INSIDE SAFARI

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“INSIDE SAFARI II” – a private story

The sharing of my infant crib experiences is a conversation I have only afforded to a limited few through out my life. I protected these memories with hesitant thought of what others may think of this especial topic. Amidst life awakenings and what I feel comfortable calling a mid-life revival. Or what others may refer to as a “mid-life crisis.” I have ditched my concern of what my peers may perceive of my body, my adornments, word usage or personal history. Today I decided to open up about my crib connections with a distant friend for the first time do in part to one of my “electric itches.”

Before I could walk, talk or even crawl I had “visitors.”  These creatures where playful, silly and communicated without sound. Circling gently above my crib, large, soft and funny. My friends, four in number protected me, communicating through thought and vibration. Their messages and mission where uncomplicated upon these mostly night time visits. Bringing comfort to a young mortal life. Not yet able to contemplate the meaning behind the physical and emotional chaos around him. They radiated only love and safety reassuring me that I was looked after. Before I had any capacity of speech I had the capacity of love and understanding.

I believe it is true, people are born with an innate intelligence. Then many of us have our intuitive gifts “earthed” out of us. Through life circumstance and programming of intention and not. If we are fortunate we experience a personal revolution that awakens a shift. Or, we are intuitive and lead our own archaeological excursion back inwards. Taking us back to the beginning our root truths. Expanding a bigger, better, deeper, wider self. While stretching our concepts of time and understanding.

About six months back I had begun speaking with a talented artist through the Book of Faces. He happens to illustrate almost identical creatures to those of my toddler years. Never in my life have I seen anything that resembled my mystery figures in any form. Not in a sci-fi flicks, TV, or other form of art and creation.

Today I finally asked my friend about a few of his drawings. There is one in particular that is a drawing of my main visitor. I did not care how bizarre my story might sound I had an urge to speak. That meant I had to follow my guts guidance. His response was limited by design and I respected that. Although he made it clear he knew precisely what I was talking about. He also made a point that the visitors come to him. And he did not want to know anything else about them. – we each shared a “wink” moment then let the speaking rest.

I am satisfied knowing that I am not alone in my toddler coral club. Spiritual beings or hungry needy imagination, I was swaddled in love. I adore our cosmic protectors, I do believe that we all have messengers, angles or energy around us. what we choose to call them really doesn’t matter to me. Also it is pretty dam cool that I am at a point in my life where It doesn’t frighten me to say what I have experienced in life. I am grateful to recall the messages from my crib and reapply them to my life today. Safe Loved Open Guided and Free-

Love and Light
The Empowered Runt

 

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adult male rape, Images, Selfportraits, Uncategorized

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Artist Intent:

To invite the viewer to experience the intimate process of self-renewal. A moment captured here within these layered images. As layered as the emotions and the process itself. Where the foundation of the moment is based on openness, willingness and a seeking spirit. After a gang rape that took place in New York City in November of 2011, the artist finds himself safe at last in his home of current refuge. Images shot between the floor boards and box springs of his bedroom. Are symbolic of a safe shelter where once a similar setting of contrasting events took place 24 inches above.

This murky event birthed a nightmare of denial, addiction, and a full social shutdown. Distrust, loss of all hope, material goods and above all love of self and others. These same experiences also gave birth to grand opportunities to embrace spiritual, creative and emotional life change. These photos capture flashes of those moments.

Alone he is safe to explore his desires with little fear, no judgement or limits. A sense of vulnerability is unavoidable in this instant of self-love and passion. During these intimate moments he must earn even his own trust. As he literally makes love with his bed frame, the object he once held onto to save his life. Unable to embrace another man at this stage of healing. Without the crutch of chemicals from spike to vein. He companionship entangled in his own arms. Unavoidable looks of question, hesitation and fear rise to the surface of his face. Eventually comfort is found in the knowledge that all is ok…

This is not about the dark of the journey nor the light of the discovery. This is the the story of the in-between, the passionate self rediscovery of a life still unfolding and a soul healing. This is a love undone: the story of one.

Transitional Leap:
At this mid point between ages of 52 and 53. I have made a huge artistic transitional leap. Out of the 10,000 plus images I have created over the last few years. I have taken the steps and printed my first creative works in large scale. Professionally mounted and framed with purpose, care and love. This is the first I have ever seen or ever touched my own work. Which may sound strange, pieces I have sold have gone directly to the buyer. Never passing my final critical eye.

On Saturday January 30th 2016 I will participate in my first group show. My message remains the same and I never mind repeating. It is never to late evolve, shift your story should you choose and change. Never let go of your dreams and trust me when I say your words, your thoughts and your life all hold dynamic powers.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

A LOVE UNDONE / A STORY of ONE

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Images, Peace, Selfportraits

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Wishing everyone SAFE-TRUST-LOVE layered with an abundance of good fortune. My seasonal wish is for all to continue to embrace their own personal understanding of truth and limitless possibilities of life discovery.

May all of us love uncontrollably, as we fuse the seams of 2015 with 2016. Casting away the salvage scraps of 12 months past. Always a new horizon, always a new frontier-Sweet Luscious Cheers!

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

Fuseing the Seams

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Images, Selfportraits

A YARN STORY
Is just what it implies, a pile of found fibers and a half knitted cap. My story as most know doesn’t sway far from my common theme. Beauty is where you find it, life is what you choose to make of it. The magic is everywhere, beneath the grit you shall find your glit’ and gold.

Recently I came across an expansive bag of discarded knitted carnage and puffed woolen floss. My friends and colleagues questioned where I would like it to be disposed of and how quick. My neck twist in the direction of my current thrill. Eyes popped with conceptual lust with an expected response. Beauty is where you find it. Please set all aside for me, this bag is a a must!

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

A YARN STORY

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