The Living Centrifuge

I'm in Vancouver. The apartment is beautiful, but I miss Toronto already. And there was a fiasco of epic proportions last night when the boy didn't show up, and called me, intoxicated, 2 1/2 hours after he was supposed to arrive at my place, to tell me that he was downtown and wasn't able to see me. "I'll see you tomorrow" he said last night. "No you won't. I'm leaving in the morning" I said. He seemed genuinely distraught, which is something. He was under the assumption that I was leaving on Wednesday apparently. It's difficult not to have seen him before I left. But I spoke with him today, and he says he's still okay with waiting until I get back.

Anyway, I bought a bed. It's here.

I'm tired. I'm using the previous tenant's phone connection to post this. C'est ca for now. I'm really tired, and I think I'm going to go to bed, even though it's only 8.30 here.

Again, the phone connection isn't supposed to kick in until 13 September, so hopefully I will check in before then, but if not, I'll talk with you then.

One thing: Cafe Artigiano was bought out by Starbucks apparently. Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I am leaving tomorrow. My head is going to explode.
I'm not sure when I'm going to be back online. I don't have the new computer yet (I haven't even ordered it yet), and I don't get my phone line until 13 bloody September. So, I'll write as soon as I can.

Be well, all.

A la prochaine.

I've been tagged by Ka!

Here's her challenge: List five songs that you are currently digging - it doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions and the five songs (with artist) in your blog. Then tag five people to see what they're listening to.

Well, I think what I'm going to do is forward on this tag to 1 person who isn't a blogger, but is a reader, and four random blog people, who I've never met or contacted or commented on their sites, or even BEEN on their sites, maybe, because my readership is small, and this will act as a way to branch out, or at least scare a few people, which is fun too!

Here are the songs:

1. Aquarium from Saint-Saens's Carnival of the Animals.
It's sooooo creepy, and reminds me of the play I'm writing with my best friend, because we're using it for a scene in which a narcissistic little girl drowns in a lake.

2. One Evening by Feist.
Loving it. Very sexy. Very flirty and hot. Alternately, Mushaboom from the same album is equally lovely because of it's home-ness.

3. Procissao by Gilberto Gil.
One of his early pieces, from 1968, and one of my favourites. A beautiful Brazilian song with a mildly spiritual subject matter. Gorgeous and simple and well executed. It's the epitome of what I like about Brazilian music, while still remaining a definite piece of Tropicalia, which I tend to like least of all the Brazilian genres.

4. a man/me/then Jim by Rilo Kiley.
Again, a very beautiful song from their latest album. I love the way these writers shift narrative, and bring the listener on a really hard journey, inside a little pretty acoustic cha-cha. It's heart-rending and perfect.

5. The Sweater by Meryn Cadell (Toronto-based! Yay!).
This song is just hilarious. It's sort of a spoken word thing, using samples from "Un Homme et Une Femme", and it just made me the happiest man in the world when I first heard it in 1991, and it continues to do so to this day. My favourite line from it is: "If you get to keep it for a few days you can sleep with it but don't let your mom see because she'll say what is that filthy thing and who does it belong to besides the trash-man. So you have to keep it under the covers with you. You can kind of, lie it beside you or wrap it around your waist or touch it on your legs or whatever that's your business". Ha!

Okay. so the tag goes to:
the infamous RH (the one without a blog)
Here I Stand
Andrew B
Dev
KOTP

As you know, my time at my "old" job has been positive on the whole. I like my co-workers a lot, which is very rare for me, and I enjoyed some of the clients. On the other hand, other clients were twits, and I'm glad to be rid of them. And, if I was to stay in theatre administration, I'd want more challenging jobs (like doing some of the work that Ka does), and that's incompatible with the flexibility I had as an artist to go and fuck off to auditions from time to time.

If I come back and am doing less in the audition realm, and more in the starting my own company realm, then voila, maybe I could do with a more stable theatre admin job. but as it is, the flexibility and my need for greater challenges are incompatible in that venue.

Today was my final day at the theatre administration job where I've been working since June 2004. I can't believe that it's over. It's been a good run, and my boss offered me, not my job when I return, but at least to put in a good word for me wherever I go, and to help me however she can when I return. I know that some people refer to her as a she-devil, but this just has not been my experience of her, for the most part. From time to time she'd be short with me, but it's been basically wonderful to work there for me. I think it's a good time for me to go - I don't have more that I want to do there, or, if I was to stay, I'd want to start learning a new set of skills, like marketing or something like that. As it is, I'm glad I get to go to Vancouver and get paid to be an artist.

Except of course for the small matter of the boy. Or rather, the HUGE matter of the boy. I just have to admit the fact that despite the cooling down of the initial rush, I think I'm in love with this boy. I could be very comfortable with him (from what little I know) for the rest of my life, maybe. I don't want to commit to that at this point, but it's definitely living there in a tentative way.

I've decided, and it's a Mac for me, and not a PC. Yay!

I had sushi and shiatsu today. Not at the same time. The sushi was brilliant. The shiatsu, even more so. And it was with a beautiful South African man. I'll definitely go back to him. It was way more tactile than I'm used to, which was really excellent. A going away present for myself.

It's getting so close to the day. I'm soooooooo scared.

When I'm away from B, I get this feeling that he's indifferent to me, and is seeing a million other people, and I get these overwhelming urges to emotionally protect myself, but then when we're together, it's wonderful, and I feel like I'm the only person in the entire universe for him, and he talks about eight months from now when we'll switch my refrigerator door so it opens the other way. I really hope I can come back in December. The talking on the phone thing is definitely not good enough for me.

Holy Lord. I am a protective man. It's very interesting to see what triggers that in me. I'm working on a show right now in a workshop, and last night the director came in to the process (on the weekend, it was the dramaturge working with the actors and the writer). Now, the thing is, I really like this director. He's a real smartie-pants, and I like the way he interacts with me. But my best friend is in this workshop as well, and as it happens, she's beautiful and tall and blonde, and this director is very straight. He's also sort of manic, and has a boyish charm. However, the way he interacts with my best friend - he just wants to touch her all the time, and she's really not into it (I know her well enough to be able to read that), it actually makes me puff my chest out, and turn into some older brother figure. Now, I know that my friend can handle herself, and she doesn't need me to protect her, but there's something a little more primal than logic at play in me. Yesterday, as he was walking up to her, to give her some notes, he was doing this sort of breathy, excited, horny, lascivious laugh, and I nearly picked my friend up and carried her away. Whew! Logic, and my inherent feminism just flies directly out the window.

Also, on another note, my gentleman friend and I have agreed (as soon as I told him about my move, so this is not new), that he could have sex, but not relationships while I'm away, and I suppose I can do the same. He has a profile on an internet dating service (let's be honest, it's a site to hook people up for anonymous sex), and for a while before I told him I was going, he had modified the profile to say that he is seeing someone and so was just looking for friends and chatting. Then I told him about Vancouver, and he took the "seeing someone" out of his profile. In my neurotic panic, I was crushed, and then I look again yesterday, after having (sort of) come to terms with the whole thing, and the fact that he's seeing someone is back in his profile. I'm elated. Like a little schoolgirl.

So, my computer, as my friends are tired of hearing, is from the Paleozoic era. I bought it in 1999, and it was out of date then. At the time, I had no real designs on starting a theatre company - I just wanted to have a glorified typewriter on which I could check my e-mail from my dial-up connection. The thing is, I still have dial-up (I can hear the chorus of laughter and jeering from here), and I still have this ancient clunker with a partitioned 4GB hard drive. However, my needs have changed drastically. I want high-speed, and the fact is, I don't think my computer even has ethernet capabilities. I need to be able to get information very quickly, and need to be able to use the computer for the business as well as the artistic side of owning a theatre company. I'm not going to be doing a huge amount of designing, but I want to be able to easily view the work of my designers. Anyway, the whole thing boils down to whether or not to get a Mac. Theatre administrators use both PCs and Macs (more use Macs, from what I can tell), and it's true that Mac software is more expensive, but it's more impervious to viruses, and seems like something that you can use for a much longer period of time. That being said, PC's can still go pretty fast, and are comparably easy to use for me, considering I don't need the computer to do any massive graphics stuff. However, there is the video art thing.....editing video art pieces. This is still a burgeoning aspect of my career, but might be something I'd need to do......Argh! Help! Do I get a Mac or a PC?

I'm reading it right now, and it took a bit to get into, but it's exquisite. My memory of the utter luminous beauty of the aristotelean worldview tends to dull if I don't keep up my reading in that direction. But this has reminded me how exquisite it really is. I'm glad I have the chance to revisit this type of work. You can see, when you read this, why Christianity is attractive. It's gorgeous. I'm especially moved right now by the idea that a vow is a gift. God gives his highest gift, free will, only to the angels and to humans, and the making of a vow means that you give your free will to someone else. It makes the weight of a vow much heavier if you think of it like that. And so when (if ) I get proposed to, I will consider very carefully whether I'm willing to make that vow. Just a short one today.

And the other thing is that I'm pretty sure that I'm going to go through the sacraments when I move.

As I am embarking on what I am considering a serious relationship, I can't help but compare this gentleman friend to my last serious gentleman friend (in fact, my only other actually serious gentleman friend). There is a series of similarities and differences that are interesting to elucidate, since the similarities especially might arrest me from seeing the present gentleman friend on his own merits - although I doubt it because he's breathtaking. In no particular order, these are:

First criterion: The First Date:

With the ex (let's call him X - even though "X" cannot possibly convey the patient condescension with which I utter his actual name), the first date started off a little rough. We went to Kelsey's (Oh Keele and Steeles, how do I love thee?), had some mediocre food, and the obligatory first date silences, then went back to the university, where I was reading a part in a play of his for a new play festival. After the festival was over, we hung around in the room where the presentation had taken place, which had sofas and the like, sitting together, me leaning on his chest, which was very nice, and being excited about being this close to someone who thought I was attractive. Then we walked around the campus, stopping on several chairs and sofas along the way. Then he drove me to the suburbs where I lived at the time, and we sat in his car, being thoroughly G-rated and sweet for about an hour, which was wonderful, and by the end of the evening, he was my boyfriend.

With the new fellow (let's call him B for "Beautiful"), it was a blind date, where we were to meet at College and Bathurst, and then we walked down to a fantastic little Italian bistro and ate tartuffo and had espresso, and chatted about our families and food, and the attraction was mutual. We decided to walk and ended up wandering about the whole city for three and a half hours, talking about dogs and our families and what we want out of life and the beautiful streets on either side of Trinity-Bellwoods park, and more about our families, and walked through Kensington market, and basically became more and more attracted to one another and then went back to his place for me to meet his cats (EUPHEMISM, EUPHEMISM!) where I had the most mind blowing sex of my entire life (again, not that I'm that experienced, but it was freaking fantastic), and we very enthusiastically decided that we were going to see one another again.

Second Criterion: Intimacy

With X, we were both virgins, basically. Sort of. Depending on what we are terming virginity. Well, in the strictest sense of the word, we were both virgins. It was therefore very enthusiastic (read: fast. Read: disappointing except for the fact that I loved him).

With B, as already mentioned, mind-blowing. And consistently so. I'm very comfortable, which is unheard of for me.

Third Criterion: Aesthetics

X is sort of a short, black Irish thing. Very attractive, very John Cusack kind of a look. Very meat and potatoes, which is sort of my thing.

B is also a short black-haired sort of a thing. Very attractive. His lips are basically irresistable, and his face shape and eyes and everything is pretty much unbearably beautiful. French. Beautiful accent. All irresistable all the time.

Fourth Criterion: Health

X has a series of allergies that made it difficult to cook for him, or dress in clothing. Allergies to wool, carrots, bananas, alfalfa, cats, dogs, and they were all life or death. Or else he was a pussy.

B has a series of allergies that are moderate, and don't affect me at all. Chocolate, milk, and something else I can't remember right now. But all are of the "I'll pay for it if I have these" order, and not the "MY THROAT WILL CLOSE UP AND I'LL DIE A DEATH OF UNSPEAKABLE HORROR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" order.

Fifth Criterion: Style

X's personal style was not fantastic, but I was okay being the stylish one.

B's personal style is comparable to my own, which has relaxed considerably in the time since I was seeing X.

Sixth Criterion: Likes

Both X and B are sci-fi geeks, which suits me just fine.

Seventh Criterion: Truth

X was in the closet with his parents, with no possiblity of reprieve (presumably, this is still the case). He is also bisexual, so the threat of a white picket fence lifestyle for the sake of easily pleasing his parents (whom he was obsessed with pleasing, by the way) was constantly around the corner.

B is also in the closet with his parents. This is a major sticking issue. However, I think he will eventually tell them. He realises it's something he will eventually have to do. They know, he knows they know, it's more a matter of bringing it out in the open. Still a contentious issue, but at least it's under review.

Eighth Criterion: Magnanimity

X was (is) also a performer, and was professionally jealous, because I'm more successful, and less helpless about shaping my career than he is. He would put down my training at any possible opportunity. He was also personally jealous, becoming sullen and anti-social around my friends, who were all "stupid", apparently. We were in a relationship that was almost immediately serious, and he always managed to avoid meeting my father and his wife - the two most important people in my life, at this point.

B has met my best friends, making sure to impress them (I've done the same with his friends). The friends who have met him have been very positive. They like him, because he's likeable. When telling him about a man who hit on me, his response was "I don't blame him!" 5 points to B. Also, there is no professional jealousy, since he works in a totally different field. In fact, when writing with my best friend yesterday, he called me and I said I was going to continue writing for a little while. He told me to "go be creative, and give me a call when you're done." Nice to have that sort of support.

Ninth Criterion: Comfort

It was always difficult to sleep in the same bed with X
I've almost immediately been able to fall asleep, even in a double bed, with B.

Tenth Criterion: Zsa Zsa Zoo

Sex with X became less and less interesting until we broke up, when it became a little more exciting
Sex with B becomes more and more interesting every time.

Eleventh Criterion: Ability to Maintain Calm in the Face of Possibly Stressful Situations

X was all about drama. Everything was a huge deal. He went on tour, and it was all about having people leave him every time he goes away. Cue Russian chest-pounding, moaning horror.
B is anti-drama. So, when I go across the country, he's going to wait for me, and keeps saying, when I mention how difficult this is going to be, that "eight months is really not that long". It makes me believe that the time period is totally manageable.

Voila. That's all I can think of right now. I like B

Good God, I'm going to miss my best friend when I leave. Eight months! Eight months!! Of course, the opportunity is unbelievable, and I have friends in the new city, but this is my BEST friend. And there's something about presence in our friendship that's really vital. We talk on the phone when we're working, and that's very useful, but when we get together, that's when our friendship lives its fullest life. We drink tea together (there are stains on my sofa from countless laughing spit-takes), and just sort of talk and listen to music and we have a massive shorthand, so that we're basically incomprehensible to the people around us. I also tend to just speak with her when she's around, no matter how large the group we're in. It's 'cause she's always the best one.

I say I tend not to get along very well with gay men. However, she's basically a gay man. All the things that are supposed to be too cliche to do anymore, we do. Listen to Barbara and Judy, and watch old movies, and basically be as film-noir-y as possible. Hehe. No no. I'm misrepresenting a little, but for the last few times we've met, we have HAD to play Streisand's nebbishy 1967 version of Jingle Bells. It's our mission to spread the good news of the Streisand Jingle Bells to the masses.

The whole thing is, we rolled around on the floor and screamed together for three years in theatre school, and then were very close outside of class time too, so if anyone knows me, it's her. I might say that I know a little more about her than most people outside of her family too - I could be disabused of that opinion, but I do hold it nonetheless.

We have scheduled three meetings to finish the play we're writing (last time we met, on Sunday, we finished 6 Scenes!!!!), and then, that might be it. Although, I'm planning to return in December at some point, we see or talk to one another almost every day. And really, after that sort of continual contact for four years, the phone is really not good enough. If this was the 30's, we'd be married by now!

And of course, my hardcore neurosis comes in (or maybe it's the fact that my imagination is well trained), and I have thoughts like "what would I do if she was on a subway train that blew up, and she died?" I'm not totally sure how I would continue to function in the world.

All this to say, I'm going to miss my best friend.

If anyone is interested to see what I'm doing with my life, at 8pm EST or 5pm PST tonight, tune in to Bravo! and you'll see a special on the dance company I am going to be working with when I move. I am looking forward to this!

This is from a friend of mine who just came back from the summer in NYC, where she was doing a course in Yiddish language at NYU (I think):

"Ocean (Cunningham and Cage's last piece in 1991 before John Cage died) was being performed by the Cunningham dance co. in NYC. The Cunningham co. performs in NYC maybe twice a year and the rest of the time they're on int'l tour - that's how good they are! So, i ignored the insane price and bought the cheapest ticket i could find. And of course, since you weren't around, i went myself.

It was __________________. (no words, too stupendous)

The dancers danced in this circle and the audience sat around it, and then the orchestra was around the audience (exactly the stage formation that Cage and Cunningham wanted for the dance piece.) There were two clocks, ticking down from 90 minutes, on two 'sides' of the circle. That really changed the perception of time. And there was no narrative, set-design, just pure perfect dancers' bodies moving for 90 minutes and for some reason it wasn't boring. I could go into all the other things i read into the dance, but then you'd be reading a novel and not an email.

Anyway, after the 90 mins everyone clapped, the performers bowed, and then this man sitting near the stage door on the back side of the circle got up and bowed: Merce Cunningham himself.

Now thank goodness my mother taught me how to be a little adventurous and pry open back doors. I ran downstairs to the door nearest his seat as the rest of the audience poured out of the auditorium. I bolted and lied past agressive ushers who wanted me out, not in the auditorium.  I found Merce Cunning, i figured old friends and performers. Then, the ladies stepped aside to leave and there was the genius himself in front of me: old, wrinkly, in a wheelchair. As they were about to wheel him out i stuck out my hand, blabbered some nonsense "it's been my dream to meet you" or some other stupid thing. He shook my hand, smiled, and then the ushers pushed me out.

I shook hands with Merce Cunningham!!!! A friend of mine said that i am a fool to think that that was of any importance. But, i disagree entirely. I have no interest in just a meaningless handshake from famous or powerful pple, but to make physical contact and see the eyes of a genius is something completely different.

I was so elated that i walked all the way home, all 55 blocks down Broadway - through times square - and at 10pm."

Ladies and gentlemen of the blogging universe, I love New York. Also, I need to tour internationally.

Alright. Here's the thing. Most of my straight female (and some of my straight male) friends are very curious about the mechanics and logistics of gay sex. Now, I'm no super-expert, by any stretch of the imagination, but I might be a good introductory source to anyone who is curious about how gay sex works. I will answer as much as I can to anyone who wants to know these questions. As I say, I'm not a total expert, but I'm willing to do academic and practical research to be able to answer questions. Ha! Well, the field research will have to be until the end of the month only, when I am moving away from my boy for eight excruciating months.

Anyway, there you have it. Ask away, and whatever you do, do NOT be politically correct.

I am a gay man who has been out of the closet since I was fourteen, and yesterday was the first time I've ever been to a gaaay bar. Actually that's a vicious lie. And also, by the way, my gender politics don't convince me that gay is the right word to describe myself, but that explanation is way too long for this post, so perhaps another day. Okay so back to the vicious lie. I am a gay man who has never been to a gaaay bar, except the Icon in Ottawa. Oh, and the Lookout, also in Ottawa, but the Lookout is more for the girls. And anyone who has been to either of these locations knows that they don't count.

So, yesterday, I went to a very popular establishment in my current city of residence (which by the way, is changing to a different city across the country at the end of the month). I would say that this is the first REAL time I've been to a gaaay bar, and it was very very very interesting. Not so bad, because I had the boy to hold on to most of the evening, and his friends were very nice to me, so that made it a little easier, even though it was the first time I was meeting them. I could go on ad infinitum about the fact that I'm socially awkward, I don't have anything to say, I get slightly panicky in crowds, I hate the gays in general, because they're happy with rating one another, I have a feeling that anonymous gay sex is politically inexpedient, but I think the real fact of the matter is, I just don't like loud places. I'm a crotchety old man already.

In fact, it's more that in a loud space, I don't feel like a useful human being. I was going to say that I don't like bars, but I looooove going to pubs and having a pint with a friend or a group of friends, so that's not it, really. It's actually that a loud space such as a gaaay bar precludes anything but the most rudimentary grunts and whistles. Which is fine, I guess, considering the purpose of a gaaay bar - that is, to find men to whistle and grunt at. However, I enjoy using colourful language. At a gaaay bar, all that illicits is a grunt with a question mark at the end. And, one of the boy's friends last night asked me, if you've never been to a gaaay bar, what do you do?

I told him what I've told you. I go to pubs with friends, I go to the theatre, see films, opera, dance. Go to galleries and museums when I can. I write things. I meet with people and talk about art. And then it hit me this morning that all of these things are useful. They contribute to something in some way. Most of my friends are also artists, so even when we go to pubs, we're talking about our work, or the work of our colleagues, or the state of the art in general, and although this is interspersed with anecdotes about our lives, our friends, what we had for dinner last night and the shoes I shouldn't have bought, but aren't they fantastic, I come away from these encounters feeling like I am a fuller human being. Every conversation that I have hones and clarifies what I want to be doing with my life, not only professionally, but also, how I want to live my personal life as well (one of the edicts I really like is "be quiet and ordered in your life and wild and revolutionary in your art"). I take inspiration from the arts around me - they actually teach me how to live. And in a gaaay bar, or any loud space where communication is reduced to a series of grunts and whistles, this type of moral and artistic striving is basically precluded. Unless you buy Diotima's argument that the desire for human beauty circuitously leads to the search for the Good, there is no real point to being in a gaaay bar. And even then, I have a feeling that very few of the people at any gaaay bar are going there with Diotima in mind. My suspicion is that they are a little more alcibiadean in their motivations.

Now don't get me wrong, I did have fun, it just felt a little vacuous compared to my usual (admittedly boring from most points of view) activities. However, the fact that the boy has said that he's falling for me, and that he will wait the eight months for my return after the contract is over, makes any vacuousness of the evening easy to bear. Agh! I feel...something...for this boy. Lordy.

Yes! I'm a performer, and we performers are always desperate for work. I signed up for a web-based service that posts auditions. From the time that I signed up, the company grew and apparently prospered, restructuring their services several times. In January of this year, they required some sort of response to some post or other to continue membership. I didn't really read those postings, and got booted. However, because I don't really read those postings, I didn't know what was going on. So, I sent them an e-mail saying, "Oops! For some reason, I can't log on. Can you help me out?" I got a snarky response to the effect of "Well, if you had READ the postings, you'd know that we're doing this purge!" "Okay" I said to myself, "don't get angry with stupid people. You have done administrative work too, and you know how thankless it can be", so I wrote back, "Oh, that's my mistake, here's all the information you require of me. Just out of curiosity, what information were you looking for by doing this purge? In any event, I hope you found what you were looking for." Then, I got a massively bitchy message, saying that I had no right to be so rude (!), to which I resoponded that misunderstandings occur when tensions run high (for example, when you re-structure your services), but that is no reason to treat me so poorly, and that respect is a two way street, and if they want people to be friendly, they should definitely not attack their clients outright. The response I received was that respect is indeed a two way street, therefore my account was in suspense, and my correspondence was being sent to the executive director. Fantastic. At this point, it was more of an outrageous game than anything else: if I remained completely civil, but firm, how horribly could these people treat me? Quite horribly it turned out. The executive director actually yelled at me over the course of the next few days in her e-mails (going to the trouble of caps locking her entire messages, italicizing and bolding several passages, and using a multitude of different colours for the text, primarily red. She then accused me of refusing to understand the intentions of her e-mails. Heh). I got unceremoniously kicked off this service. We parted ways, both secure in the knowledge that the other wouldn't survive treating theatre people in the way we had been treated in this encounter. "Theatre people never forget", we both thought.

Yesterday, I got an e-mail from this company. It was a form letter, so I thought, "Wow, that's a blast from the past", and sent them a message saying they needed to update their mailing list, because we had parted ways several months ago.

Then I got another one.

I looked a little closer, and saw that although this was a form letter too, it was in fact, not directed toward current members, but was a solicitation! This evil company is wooing me! YES!!!! I sent another e-mail, saying (always in a very professional manner) that my inbox was too full to be receiving solicitation from companies with which I would not like to liase, and to remove me from their mailing list. I am hoping a little that they send me more messages, and that I get to continue being fabulous at their expense. I'll keep you updated.....

Right. So, I went onto 4degreez.com, where I took their Dante's Inferno Test (www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-test.mv). So, I'm a man. I like the men. But I thought it might be interesting to see where I stood if that little fact of life was not factored into the equation. As it stands, I'm pretty much guaranteed an eternity of scorching sands, immersion in mud, and a pitchfork in the face if I try to breathe, in the lovely Seventh Circle. So, anyway, I thought, "well, maybe I'll be good enough to get in with the noble unbelievers, or with the folks in the third or fourth circle. That's prime real estate.

But no! If I was not a homo, I'd be even closer to Satan. I'd reside in the Eighth circle. This is what the fine folks at 4degreez have to say about my eternal damnation:

the Malebolge
Many and varied sinners suffer eternally in the multi-leveled Malebolge, an ampitheatre-shapped pit of despair Wholly of stone and of an iron colour: Those guilty of fraudulence and malice; the seducers and pimps, who are whipped by horned demons; the hypocrites, who struggle to walk in lead-lined cloaks; the barraters, who are ducked in boiling pitch by demons known as the Malebranche. The simonists, wedged into stone holes, and whose feet are licked by flames, kick and writhe desperately. The magicians, diviners, fortune tellers, and panderers are all here, as are the thieves. Some wallow in human excrement. Serpents writhe and wrap around men, sometimes fusing into each other. Bodies are torn apart. When you arrive, you will want to put your hands over your ears because of the lamentations of the sinners here, who are afflicted with scabs like leprosy, and lay sick on the ground, furiously scratching their skin off with their nails. Indeed, justice divine doth smite them with its hammer.

Okay, so the Seventh Circle ain't much better, but here's what really happens to me (it's an alternate ending, like in Clue!)

Guarded by the Minotaur, who snarls in fury, and encircled within the river Phlegethon, filled with boiling blood, is the Seventh Level of Hell. The violent, the assasins, the tyrants, and the war-mongers lament their pitiless mischiefs in the river, while centaurs armed with bows and arrows shoot those who try to escape their punishment. The stench here is overpowering. This level is also home to the wood of the suicides- stunted and gnarled trees with twisting branches and poisoned fruit. At the time of final judgement, their bodies will hang from their branches. In those branches the Harpies, foul birdlike creatures with human faces, make their nests. Beyond the wood is scorching sand where those who committed violence against God and nature are showered with flakes of fire that rain down against their naked bodies. Blasphemers and sodomites writhe in pain, their tongues more loosed to lamentation, and out of their eyes gushes forth their woe. Usurers, who followed neither nature nor art, also share company in the Seventh Level.

Fantastic, isn't it? My favourite thing is that being gay actually saves me a little bit.

I'm so excited that I finally got this mother up and running. Ladies and Gentlemens, this is THE LIVING CENTRIFUGE!!

SEE!
The Living Centrifuge leap over tall logics in a single bound!

HEAR!
The Living Centrifuge crack bones and mangle flesh - primarily his own!

TASTE!
The Living Centrifuge's desire for the perfect croissant!

SMELL!
The Living Centrifuge's absolute refusal to wear deodorant, and compulsion to shave his armpits instead!