Gutted

A fire burned down my old ward building back in Cambridge, MA today.
This building was my ward for 3.5 years as I attended Emerson College. Bishop O. of the University Ward saved my life by telling exactly what I needed to hear when I came to him ready to take my own life because of the crushing weight of my self hatred and shame. And now, this is all thats left. A memory, hazy with smoke.

Gutted.

Just like my faith.

Ezra is MORTIFIED

In case you weren't in the Bay Area on April 17th, here's an audio recording of my performance. I recorded it with my digital still camera, which was sitting behind a booth. If you find it hard to hear--tough cookies, If I could have gotten a board feed I would've!



For those who might not want/care to listen, you can download a PDF of the piece, here. But trust me, it's more fun to hear me read it and hear the audience reactions.

Being Here For Once

I have been meaning to make several blog posts as of late and I find that the only time I have lately have been sitting at the laundromat.

This also gives me an excuse to practice and hopefully improve my iPhone typing speed and accuracy. So far, so good.

Anyways, I'll start this post talking about my recent trip to Yosemite National Park. It was amazing. I didn't think that I'd want to stay the full six nights as I was alone, however I found that once I was out in nature, I was fine. No, I was better than fine, I was amazing.

I feel peace when I am alone in nature. My mind grows quiet, the gears slow down, and I am suddenly present. 100% present in the here and now. For once in my life, I'm not thinking about what I'm going to make for dinner or worrying about the next day at work. For once in my life, I don't reminisce about the past or dwell on mistakes.

For once in my life I feel free.

That's the power of nature-- that's what God is supposed to feel like. We shouldn't spend our days pining for some imaginary heavenly glory that may or may not be what we think it is or even exist! We must work to build Zion HERE RIGHT NOW. Because that's where we live.

Visiting the Yosemite Ward

This morning I set my alarm to head down to Oakhurst, CA, where I attended my first LDS Church meeting since September.

I want to tell you that it felt good.
I want to describe to you the confirmation of truth I received from the spirit.
I want to express my feeling of foolishness for leaving my beloved church behind.

I WANT to tell you those things. But they would be lies.

Wending my down CA-41 from Fish Camp to Oakhurst, I listened to Trail of Dreams, a Mormon Pioneer musical that I have referenced before.

"Past the farthest farmhouse, to the open plains
every step we've taken, one less step remains!
On, like ancient Israel, leaving Egypt in their day,
and praying God will lead us and will open up the way!

Rolling on!
to sage and pinion!
Rolling on!
to the plateaus!
Rolling on,
to make the mountain valleys blossom as a rose!"

One of my favorite things about Mormonism has always been the Pioneer Heritage. I belted the songs out loud, which moved my soul to a great extent--I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I drove.

My heart palpitated considerably as I arrived at the Chapel, finding not a single parking space. I ended up parking on the curb, which placed my "No On 8" bumper sticker facing almost everyone who'd leave the lot. It was partially obscured by my bike, but it made me feel conspicuous anyway. I spied at least one "Yes On 8" sticker, and my heart tightened.

I remembered vividly the whole experience of why I left.

Walking inside, I thought it must have been ward conference--apparently, they had just combined two wards, perhaps in a money saving measure, but it meant that now the cultural hall was perpetually necessary to accomedate the memebership.

The hymns, which are usually my favorite part of a meeting, were especially bad. They picked hims I could care less about, and the congregation sang with about as much spirit as a man dying of starvation. Timid bland vocals sung at whisper volume. Why are we as Mormons so bad at Worship?

I didn't feel much at all during the whole meeting. I honestly tried to be optimistic and open minded, and sought out the truth in what people said during their testimonies. However, unlike my distorted memories, the spirit didn't speak to me at all. I felt like I was listening to old woman after old woman telling some anicdotal bullshit story and then lamely tying in the gospel. No one referenced scripture, no one quoted the prophets--the Bishop spent more time making allusions to Ben-Hur than describing the story of the woman and the well. (John 4:4-42).

I do miss the church, but I miss it in the same way one might miss a friend that use to be very close and important to you, but whose actions changed your opinion of them. They are still there, you could still hang around with them--but that isn't the person you miss--the person you miss is gone.

That's my latest thoughts on the church.

Contrast that experience with going to Yosemite afterwards, and feeling nothing but JOY and PEACE and happiness for being in God's beautiful creation, this beautiful earth. It's like night and day.

Speaking of night, it's about 2am now, so I should head to bed!

The Buddha Says...

This morning, my grandma (who is Buddhist) sent me this

It is true that in some sense Buddhism can be described as a do-it-yourself process.  The Buddha himself said, "Work out your own salvation with diligence."  So it seems clear that, to a certain extent, salvation is up to us and we cannot really get help from outside.  There is no magical gimmick that will solve our problems for us without pain.

How amazing is it that she would think to send that to me when I needed a little boost, when I'd been doubting my path?

I love my grandma

19 Months Ago... June 28th, 2007

I haven't blogged in a while, and maybe because I don't have that much to say.  So instead I'll be opening up a journal entry from 19 months ago.  It is almost uncomfortable.

6/28/07
Dear Journal,

I’m not sure yet. This could be the day that you start making real progress towards heterosexuality—or it could be a day where you’ll look back and regret it. Today I told my Dad that I am struggling with same-sex attraction.  Homosexuality.

I honestly can’t believe that I told him. I bought this book on Amazon.com called “Coming Out Straight” by Richard Cohen, and I think it has helped me realize that I may have a chance to change. According to the book, there are many factors that can lead someone into SSA. I have a lot of them, and it really hit home.

When I told Dad, I cried and muttered along, trying to talk through the tears, and we held hands, he just let me get it all out before even speaking, and then he thanked me for trusting him enough to talk to him.

Then we stood and hugged, and I cried on his shoulder as he held me. I sobbed into his chest for a long time, but it wasn’t enough. Richard Cohen was right—touch/attachment therapy between father and son is important. I never wanted to let go. I’ve probably not cried in the presence of my father for 10 years. I’ve probably not been held like that since I was a child and it felt good, like I finally had a Dad. I’m not cured, and I’m not healed, but if anyone can help me, it’s probably him, since he’s the cause (direct or indirect) of most of these potential factors. He’s also good at emotional healing work. So maybe, with God’s help, the Bishop, Evergreen, myself, maybe D. H. (if I get the courage to ask him to help) I might be able to melt the pain in my heart that has caused these attractions. I’m scared of what is ahead, but I am grateful to be moving away from the darkness and into the light. There is SO much work to be done—I have such low self-esteem and confidence around men, poor body image, fear of women, inadequacy issues and who knows what else is hiding in my subconscious.

It’s funny. I have been asking God for a friend for the last few weeks, projecting developing a healthy friendship with someone, and maybe I’m supposed to heal and become friends with myself and my Dad. Could be?

There are so many thoughts whirling around in my head. Dad says he will do whatever he can to support me, maybe he can. We may do hormonal therapy, flower essences, emotional healing, and who knows what else. I want to become a real man with confidence, self-worth, and respect, and a deep belief that I am a child of God and he loves me as I am—I don’t have to please anyone else.

Dad says he loves me and wants me to know that I shouldn’t feel guilty for the way I feel. And that he feels change is possible, though even if I stay a homosexual, I’d still have his love and support and it wouldn’t change a thing between us.

I really wish I knew what he’s been thinking about all day. Is he even thinking about it?  I want to cry in his arms again.

I feel alone again.

Mom does not know and probably will not know about it until I am done with it (or close to it.)
I love my Mom, but I know (or at least I think I know) that her maturity level is not sufficient to be able to handle that kind of news appropriately. She’d get upset and cry and try to “pray the gay away”. But I already know that doesn’t work.

Sarah would be of the belief that I cannot change it and should accept it, and I’m not sure what Katie and David would think of it. Most of my friends feel the same way about SSA (that you can’t change it). I refuse to accept this because I know God places no burden upon us that we cannot carry—and I can’t carry these thoughts and feelings anymore.

Nothing has even been done yet, but already I have fears and doubts about this. Will the pain and suffering I dredge up be effective and heal me? Or will I be a more well-adjusted homosexual?

All of these fears and frustrations (sexual and mental) are being stacked on top of the lonely-ness of being here in the desert without any friends. Stacked on top of the boring, unfulfilling work I do, the hours of editing crappy footage for J. S.  Stacked on top of my inability to settle or be happy with a film idea and move forward in pre-production. Stacked on top of my concerns about money.

Welcome to adulthood, Ezra.

I need love and I need to get in touch with a very angry little boy who needs healing. I’m looking for a positive, happy relationship. Dad, I need your help. Help me. Help me. Feel me, touch me, heal me.

Sorry if that’s nonsense, I just felt like trying that.
So God, here’s a list (which isn’t all inclusive nor necessarily complete) of experiences I’d like to have and relationships I want.

-I want to have a family. As much as it is scary, because of my current feelings of inadequacy, I still want to experience the joys (and pains) of fatherhood. Please let me be a good father to a few of your spirit children, heavenly father. I would do my best to rear them in love and respect, with a firm foundation that I will never judge them and they can always talk to me.

An important part of this is to have a wife who loves me for who I really am. A woman who is physically attractive would be a wonderful experience, and if she could be supportive of me and the family, creative and spontaneous, a good homemaker, I will have to think more about this as I’ve never given this much thought.  If she is not Mormon I need to come to terms with marrying outside the church, but preferably she should be Mormon.  If the love is strong and the woman can accept me even having not gone on a mission, she should be smart and sound minded, but also be in touch with the guidance of the spirit so we can impart good wisdom and love to our kids.

God, I know thou can do anything, and that thou doest it on your timetable and as I further identify what I truly would like to experience in this life you will provide me with strength and understanding (of others and myself.) I realize I have a lot of forgiving of myself to do, and healing with my family, and I ask for special help with this as I have a tendency to worry and feel afraid and hold onto pain and punish myself for slipping up when I should just repent, forgive myself and move on. Thank you. I ask these blessings in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

This entry almost makes the me of 2009 uncomfortable.

I'm Warning You...

I'm warning you in advance, before you start reading, that this is probably going to be the most rambling flood of dis-organized, emo-licious, swear filled, angry and depressed post I've had in a while. It's my way of crying out for help. Yes, I'll admit that, I'm posting on this blog because I need validation, and I don't know where else to get it.

So if you're wise, you'll just ignore this post.

Here comes the flood.

FUCK THIS BULLSHIT RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

I'm sick. I'm sick in the head, and I'm not just talking about my head cold. I've been lounging around my house all weekend, and I thank God that today is presidents day, otherwise I'd have venture to work SICK the the fucking rain, which isn't supposed to happen, I live in LOS ANGELES for crying out loud.

I'm sick because I continue to torment myself on a daily basis. Yesterday I was already sick, and I was sleeping on my bed, and the phone rang, and I was so happy that someone would call, hoping maybe it was my older sister, who I love very dearly. But no, it was my God-Damn-Home-Teachers™. The good, Mormon me would have been excited to get a blessing, but I don't see the point. God already knows I'm sick, I've already asked him to help me heal, so why do I have to let two people who only care about me because they've been assigned to care touch my head and pour vegetable oil on the back of my head??? It's ridiculous... because I either believe the church, or I don't. And judging from the fact the I've not been to a mormon church since Sept. 2008, almost half a year ago, I'd say I'm pretty fully apostate.

Sometimes, destructive, abusive familiarity feels safer and more comfortable than the frightening cold unknown.

And I'm definitely in that territory now.

I basically told my hometeachers flat out that I only let them teach me because I know that they need to mark me off as "visited" in their report, and I'd hate to be responsible for keeping them from getting 100 percent of their work done.

It was a very uncomfortable meeting. I felt like flying off the handle at them the whole time spewing hateful venom at them, renouncing my faith and telling them to get the fuck off my couch, get the fuck out of my apartment, and never come back. But you can't get angry and two men who really believe that they love you, and speak softly and blah blah blah... what the hell are you supposed to do? It's just like in that episode of South Park "All About Mormons". Stan says:

Oh, stop it! That's another thing! Why do you have to be so freakin' nice all the time?! It isn't normal! You just weasel people into your way of thinking by acting like the happiest family in the world and being so nice to everyone that you just blindside dumb people like my Dad!

I laughed when I watched it. Now I cringe because I feel like it's true. I wanted to just flat out say, "I'm gay, I'm actively seeking a boyfriend, and I don't fit in your church anymore, so if you still want to visit me, then fine, but until I can be who I am within the walls of the church, then you can stop wasting both yours and my valuable time on this bullshit"

But of course, I didn't. I just said, simply, quietly: "I don't know what to tell you". I didn't engage. They got the hint, and they left, though not before one of them (the one I like less) tried one last time to passionately share that he does care about me.

Not the real me, not about my happiness, but for the me that I'm obviously "losing" the good Mormon me.

As if that even ever existed.

I turned down their offer for a blessing. No real point in getting on if I don't have the faith anymore. And when they left, I lay on my couch in a sickness induced stupor, and I started crying. I miss that fucking church so much sometimes. I miss that warm feeling of KNOWLEDGE. Of knowing, with absolute certainty the answers to all life's little problems and questions. I miss the hymns on sunday and my mormon friends that I grew up with, who are all getting married and starting their perfect mormon lives.

And here I am, sick, alone and crying. No one to make me soup. No one who will sit with me and watch a movie, snuggling up, not worried about getting sick from my contact.

I lay on the bed, and for the second time in a year started visualizing the bulk-sized bottle of Advil-Liquigels in the medicine cabinet, and how I could just walk over to that bottle, pour those fucking pills into my massive fucking gut and let that medicine, that pain relief action pump through every artery, vessel, and ventricle until all the pain of life was gone--until life was gone.

I'd probably get away with it too. My roommate if very respectful, and he wouldn't check up on me if my door was closed for probably a day or so. I'd be in the clear. I'm doomed to go to hell anyway, so why not cut through all the bullshit and just go now? What's a few more years of living worth when you have an eternity in hell to look forward to. It's not really worth bothering.

EMO-LICIOUS enough yet? Good, glad to hear it. I'm never going to find a guy because I'm too fucked up, broken, confused, fat, undesirable and angry to ever woo someone. Not to mention I'm picky and shallow, and I want someone who's good looking, but apparently I expect that person to see beyond looks since I'm fucking fat ass who while he's been sick has been binging up a storm and essentially putting on 5 pounds in a weekend. It's just what I deserve. I'm getting it all back, my feelings of being worthless and a waste of space and life are validated again and again, with every lonely night and every sad song and every cute guy I see who I'll never get the chance to talk to. Every couple and every baby, the knowledge that YOU'LL NEVER HAVE THAT. Fuck this life.

In the previous post, I took two doses (60ml) of NyQuil, which is two of those little dose cups full. Chedner had asked if it was 2 cups, as in 16oz? Well, sometimes I wish I had that courage--then I'd really be fine. My roommate had to work today. He wouldn't find me for almost 8 hours. Plenty of time.

Don't worry, I won't do it. I'm too much of a god-damn coward to take my own life. Too scared of the pain, and to considerate of the negative effect it would have on the people that rely on me. My job, my dear, sweet siblings who I don't deserve. My idiot, child-like parents who I can never talk to because they don't know how to listen. My loving, sweet grandmother who's always had more faith in me and more love for me than I've had for myself, who supported me and gave me money for college. All that would be wasted if I killed myself.

It's for those reasons I can't do it. But dammit, I wish I could. I'm done with trying to figure this shit out. It's too hard, and I don't care anymore. I want to have my biggest problem be that my TiVo can't record all the shows I want it to. I want to be a blindly faithful member of a church that fits me like a glove, who can't see the fact that maybe people aren't all supposed to be the same and need different faiths and denominations to achieve that same end-goal of being a good person who does unto others what he would have done unto him.

I'm getting tired now. I took more NyQuil. The benifit of growing up using homeopathic and herbal remedies is that when you really want the wallop, modern medicine seems incredibly powerful and wonderful.

Goodnight. It's nap time. I'm sorry you had to read this, but then again, I warned you that you should stop before starting, because all it is is a sad tired little boy who is crying out for help, for the pain to stop. He can't take it anymore... but every day it's just trying to get to the end.

May 21st, 2001

But I could only go two days.  It makes me cringe--I couldn't even write the words.

Dear Journal,

Today I had a major setback-recession if you will.  After a weekend of abstention, I did two P’s and 4 m’s—oh man, this is not cool at all.  I read an article in the newest issue of The New Era, and there was a short article on passing the sacrament by.  It made me feel funny because I have to do that.  Hopefully I’ll have the courage to talk to the Bishop about my other problem. [gay pornography/being gay] I love Jesus Christ and his plan of repentance.  It lets me make mistakes without condemning me forever.  Goodnight.  Ezra Horne.

No, but I condemned myself.

Excitement and Apprehension - Hand-wringing in the New Year

In about 2 hours I begin my 4 hour drive up to the valley of the Great Salt Lake to attend Scott's New Years Moho party/get-together/shindig/bash/hurrah.

Yesterday, I left LA at 6pm, after a long day at work.  I fought valiantly against the rest of Los Angeles, whose taillights formed a red serpent that slithered towards Sin City.   Climbing the mountain and crossing the desert, the winter cold whistled at the window.   My cracked ipod screen prohibits me from listening to my music in any order except alphabetical by artist,  and so I was unable to think straight.  Exhausted and spent much more quickly than usual, my general pattern of driving thrown off by the excess traffic and the morons who insist on driving in the fast lane 10 mph underneath the speed limit (which is about 20 mph underneath the general flow of traffic), I had to stop, nap, and take night photography.

The photo at the right was taken at about 10pm, 8 second exposure, ISO 80, F-3.1 at a ranch exit in California.  Could it be a metaphor for my life?  The road I want to take is unavailable to me...?

I thought I might not make it.  I wondered why I was driving 700 miles.  Spending hundreds of dollars in lost wages from taking extra days off, gas, and food.  What was I doing?  I don't know any of these people!  I read their words on the screen and I hear of their struggles, but I don't know them.  And they don't know me.  What do I expect from this?  What do I want?  What am I nervous about?

I've been thinking about this a lot.  On the one hand I have been super excited about this party since I realized I would actually be able to attend.  The chance to meet a group of people who know what I've been going through, who know the framework of my thoughts, the struggle that it causes, and the crippling indecision that it creates.

When I was still in the closet, I used to subconsciously deny my sexuality by process of comparison.  I had a perception of the elements that made a homosexual, and by process of simple A+B=C, I concluded that if "that" was gay, and "that" certainly wasn't me, then I wasn't gay.

But I now know that there are all kinds of gay men, and I see the blogosphere as the only community I somewhat identify with.  But even there I sometimes feel like an outsider.  Most of the blogs I enjoy reading the most seem to be of good men who are continuing to stay in the church, even if they want a boyfriend or are pursuing a relationship.  For me, as fallout from the Prop 8 battle in California, I lost my testimony.

I lost my testimony.

I've never written or said that before.  But I think it's true.  Am I really a Moho?  I don't know.  But being gay didn't make me lose my faith.  I lost my faith when the things the church taught me my whole life were thrown out the window, and I chose to follow my heart, my conscience.  And sadly, since the church doesn't really allow personal interpretations, I had to leave, lest my faith be constantly questioned by doting members.  I couldn't make it work.  I was tired of trying.  All I can really say these days is that if I'm wrong, and I won't be returning to the kingdom of heaven, at least I'll be in good company.  My father, older sister and brother will all be there... so much for families together forever, I guess.

I closing, I'm very nervous about how this evening will go.  Will I be loved, welcomed and accepted?  Will I make lasting, life-long friends?  Will I learn something about myself?  Will God show me the path I should follow?

Or will it just be another year of "I don't knows".

See you when I see you.  Goodnight.