Anxious Moments, by Pat Gourley

If you get confused just listen to the
music play
Some come to laugh their past away
Some come to make it just one more day
Whichever way your pleasure tends
If you plant ice you’re gonna harvest wind
A
few lines from Franklin’s Tower. Grateful Dead (Garcia/Hunter/ Kreutzman)
Let me just
repeat that last line for emphasis: “If
you plant ice you’re going to harvest wind”.
 More on that further on.
Writing about “anxious
moments” in June of 2017 now 7 months into Donald Trump’s presidency presents
itself as a herculean task. I mean where to start? For me perhaps it is best to
start with a bit of self-examination of what may be causing my anxiety.
If my privilege allows me
to simply weather out the storm of the next four years with little or no
personal damage, and sadly that seems it might be the case, I must say that it
is very tempting to just put my head down and go about my daily routines.  That would be much less anxiety provoking I
think.
I have Medicare and not
Medicaid.  Paul Ryan and his bunch would
certainly like to get rid of both but Medicare seems a reach to far politically
even for that crowd. Medicaid on the other hand serves a much more vulnerable
and powerless group of Americans. The strong and largely elderly voting block
represented by Medicare recipients is somewhat of a bulwark against Republican
intrusions – Medicaid not so much.
I also get a small Social
Security payment and a pension from the City and County of Denver. Both of
these are fairly solvent entities that I expect to last for my remaining years.
That is perhaps delusion on my part but rather than get “anxious” about it I
prefer to just blithely skip along. I acknowledge this view may really be from looking
out on the world from my relatively privileged window. There is of course any
number of ways the whole really fragile edifice could come crashing down on all
of our heads. So I am choosing to resist
on many fronts anxiety provoking or not. 
Let me relate a very small, and perhaps even a silly way, I am
resisting.
Significant marijuana tax
revenues going to Colorado coffers are adding to the overall financial health of
the State and our City in very major ways, indirectly helping keep my City
pension solvent, a tax tide sort of floats all boats. I am choosing to do my
part by exploring marijuana edibles in earnest purchasing recreational rather
than medicinal and paying the larger tax. 
I could of course legitimately play the HIV card and get a medical
marijuana license but for now I can afford the higher tax on the recreational
herb. Taxes really are the cost of living in a civilized society and it would
only add to that civility I would think if a significant portion of us gets
stoned on occasion.
So what else, other than
getting high, am I trying to do to counter the toxic miasma of the Trump
presidency enveloping us all? Well I am trying not to ‘plant ice’ and by that I
mean I am acknowledging that nobody is wrong 100% of the time (thank you, Ken
Wilber). Well that may not apply to Trump but I am willing to give nearly
everyone else on the planet a pass.
Without getting too deep
in the weeds and stretching the metaphor to death you can simply think of the
phrase “if you plant ice you’re gonna
harvest wind
” as another way of saying don’t be an asshole. That behavior often
causes anxiety for others and yourself eventually, adding however small to the
anxiety burden of the planet.
A recent personal example
of my regrettably ‘planting ice’ was when I encountered Human Rights Campaign
(HRC) solicitors out in front of the Trader Joe’s near my house. It was a warm
day and I suppose I was cranky from the heat but I decided to give these young
20-somethings a bit of crap around HRC’s early endorsement of Republican Mark Kirk
over Tammy Duckworth in the Illinois U.S. Senate race last fall.  HRC switched to Duckworth a few weeks before
the election supposedly due to nasty things Kirk had to say in a debate about
Ms. Duckworth and her family but the damage had been done in my mind.
Initially I felt mildly
righteous for sticking up for my longstanding belief that the at times too
conservative HRC was not my Radical Fairie cup of tea. By the time I got home a
couple blocks away I started to feel somewhat anxious about the interaction
though albeit it was pretty tame, no stone throwing or cursing had occurred. I
began to worry, a great hallmark of anxiety, that maybe I had not made myself
queerly obvious and they thought I was some old homophobic jerk. So I put my
groceries away and walked back down the street. After assuring the two I was
not stalking them I explained further my issues with HRC and threw in a few
other things to firmly establish my gay cred. They listened politely, nodding a
lot and I am sure hoping this crazy old queen would soon move on. I ended by
saying that I appreciated and admired their being willing to be openly and
politically queer on a public street. Not something I would have done in my
early twenties.  This proved to be one
more instance in my life where I realized if I were going to plant ice I would
soon be harvesting wind.
© 11 Jun 2017 
About
the Author
 
 I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised
on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40
plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS
activist. I have currently returned to
Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

Boredom – My Evolution With the Erotic by Pat Gourley

A pet theory
of mine around the widespread use of penile erection-facilitating drugs
(Viagra, Cialis etc.) and the apparently millions of Medicare dollars spent on penis-pumps
has as much to do with boredom as it does the ravages of aging and
atherosclerotic disease affecting penile veins. I am extrapolating here from my
own personal experience of course and exceptions for some would be the real
nerve damage often related to prostate surgeries.
When I was
twelve a hard-on seemed to be virtually a permanent waking and often sleeping
state of being. The slightest friction or even the most innocent male image,
genitalia not even required, was enough to get there. Organisms once I began to
indulge in them regularly were easily a several times a day pleasure requiring
only minimal effort and stimulation.
To say that
that level of excitement today is a rare thing would be an understatement. What
now can take literally an hour or two of perusing internet porn or 45 minutes
of foreplay with a friend, at times I’ll admit aided by a bit of Sildenafil,
used to take only 10 minutes to reach an explosive climax.
Now there is
definitely something to be said for the longer and certainly more intimate
cuddling and foreplay leading up to fruition. I would love to think that this
is related to maturation on my part and an appreciation for the art of true
lovemaking and genuine care and concern for my partner. Being male though and
believing that our true imperative may really be a lifelong drive to “fuck it
or kill it” (h/t Ken Wilber) I am forced to wonder what is really going on
here. Do I think for a minute I wouldn’t like to return to the sexual
excitement of forty years ago? Oh and of course to the same firm ass and flat
belly of those days.
As mentioned
above I certainly think that the accumulation of atherosclerotic plaque, not
only in our coronary arteries but also in our dick veins is a culprit here.
Looking back though at my own sexual history if you will I have to say that
over time I could quickly get bored with what turned me on. Is a mediocre
ejaculation with a half assed hard-on after thirty minutes of effort more a
function of ennui or ageing? For me personally I am going with the boredom. Not
that I am in denial here, I am sure my arteries are as sludged-up as the next
aging American male.
Is it boredom
that really is the goose if you will that allows someone to progress from
getting off with a bit of print porn or just the simplest of visual images to
hours of S/M bondage with endless aides and props? Or why do so many go from
getting satisfaction from a finger to a fist? I mean does your prostate really
care about the “size’ of the stimulus?
For example if
the image or time spent with another real human is just right then things seem
to work just fine for me. So much of what precedes this though seems to hold
little erotic interest and I seem to think this is not related to anything more
complicated or mundane than boredom. Perhaps the task at hand for me is to
appreciate more the long periods of boredom during sex for the often-genuine
expressions of love they can be. I mean I am now semi-retired with much more
time on my hands
The examples
of men getting into trouble at all ages in search of what is described as
excitement or risk are of course tediously endless. Pick up any newspaper, turn
on any TV show etc. 24/7 and the examples are rife of men doing stupid things
in pursuit of a happy ending. Risk of course could be the default mechanism we
have honed to deal with boredom. Have gay men in the past been “forced” through
oppression to seek sexual gratification in very risky situations or on a more
mundane level have we simply been seeking to tackle a crushing boredom?
Let me close
by saying that women, especially lesbians, are much more evolved in these
areas. They seem to have, and perhaps this is my own ignorance and not true,
replaced boredom with the rewards and satisfaction of true intimacy integrated
both in and out of bed.
For us men
though perhaps this is all a testament to the fact that most sex is for us
crudely physical with our limbic system connected directly to our cocks, but
what does that really say except that maybe the average male, gay or straight,
has the attention span of a gnat?
© April 2014

About the Author

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled
by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in
Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an
extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.