Author Archives: joe bielawa

From Facebook:

Li Frad Le Fay
Today I received something really AMAZIIIIING!!!! Joe Bielawa Thank you so much really!!!!! I going to buy a frame for it a really nice one hahaha finally got it =D and it’s AMAZIIIIIIIING!!!!! SO MUCH LOOOVE!!!! =D Kristine Weitz Love you too =D haha

Last June, after I photographed Kristine W. in Minneapolis, I asked Facebook friend and Kristine W. fan, Li Frad Le Fay which of the photographs I had taken did he like the best. He picked a few, but came back to this:

When I sent the disc of the images from the concert off to Kristine, I included an enlargement of Li Frad’s favorite. Knowing that he was fan of Lady Gaga as well as Kristine, I asked if she would please sign it “For Li Frad. Even though you are a little monster, I still love you” then she added “Love, Kristine W.”

It took a while for me to get the image back, as Kristine is on the road so much, but I knew, in time the signed image would be returned and sure enough, in a couple of months it was back on my doorstep.

For whatever reason, it took a while for Li Frad to give me his address, which I can understand…although I may creep, I do not stalk, but how was he to know

After some time, Li Frad gave me his address and since he resides in a foreign country, the address looked, well foreign. Or completely strange to me. I wasn’t really sure if it was an actual address.

I sent it out a week or so ago. This morning I was thinking that I should send Li Frad a message to see if he might have received it. When I logged onto Facebook today, I saw the post that is above.

What is cool for me is, as I run in various circles exercising my passion and enjoying some wonderful moments of connectedness photographing these musical celebrities, I get to pass some of that along to someone 10 months and 2000 miles away. For me, that is the gift.

And the beauty of snail mail is it adds to the excitement to see that package on the doorstep labeled “Photos: DO NOT BEND!!” And I know it well, as I send images around the country, always wondering when/if that return envelope will be used, and most oblige me.

And I am guessing when Jake Shimabukuro returned home to Hawaii this week, he saw that large envelope in his mail labeled: “Photos: DO NOT BEND!”

Addendum: 6/3/2012.

Li Frad Li Fray poses with his picture of Kristine W.

Li Frad Li Fray poses with his autographed image of Kristine W.

Three years back, I purchased a Nikon D90 from a “dealer” I found on the web out of New York. Jumbo Packages it was called. (Still think it sounds like a porn movie title). It had the most “bang for the buck” of all the places I had looked at. I had checked out local retailers, internet sites, big name retailers…but ole Jumbo Packages could save me a few hundred on my purchase. After a few weeks of hymning and hawing…I decided to bite the bullet and just make a purchase and dropped a couple grand on a camera package: two lenses, the D90 body, a power winder/auxiliary battery holder, a tripod, a couple of memory cards.

When I received the “Jumbo Package” a large box with the whole kit and caboodle inside, I was like a kid on Xmas morn. All a goofy excited over my new tool that would bring my artistic talent out of my self-imposed exile and into the digital age. I noticed right off that there were some small items missing. I called Jumbo Packages and had difficulty getting thru on the help line so I called back on the “place an order line” and got right thru and voiced my concerns. They sent out the missing items. I realized at that moment that I had kinda been taken, but was so thrilled with the camera, that I just chucked it up to experience and figured I would take a loss on the little items. I wanted the camera and the lenses, and as I said, it was a start.

11, 000+ some images later (as posted on my Flicker) I was working a gig affiliated my corporate day job last week and the camera fell off a desk and “incurred an impact” which, is my way of saying I was a knuckle-head and knocked my camera onto the floor.

I sent the camera to Nikon USA repair in El Segundo CA and awaited the news on how much it would cost. I had an issue with a lens prior to this event two years ago and Nikon fixed it pronto and I had it back in my possession within 10 days.

Eight days passed and no word from Nikon. I called today and spent what seemed like an eternity on hold waiting (Nikon built it’s first pair of binoculars in 1918, 32 years before its first camera….ear worms, damn you!) Finally, I heard a live human voice identify himself.

I asked him what was happening with my camera and began to get an uneasy feeling as it took a while for Nikon Guy to actually find my repair order. I knew something was amiss…I could just tell.

And then he explained: “Um, ya, we have problem with this order. It appears from the serial number that this is a grey market camera. It’s a Nikon, but not sanctioned to be sold in the US and apparently, you bought it from an unauthorized dealer. So there is nothing we can do, we won’t repair it.” And suddenly I had a knotty feeling in my gut.

“So basically, your telling me I got fucking screwed when I purchased this?” I asked.

“Um, ya if I could use that language at work, I would say that.” Nikon Guy responds.

I apologized for my adjectives. Then begin to try to piece this together…but I just keep coming back to the fact I got fucking screwed when I bought the thing, so I stopped trying to figure out the what happened/why and figure out the how (to repair). Nikon Guy gives me the name of a place in Chicago that may be able to repair it. (after 20 minutes on the phone trying to get through to them I gave up and will try tomorrow.)

If the Chicago Connection can’t/won’t fix it, then it is dead and I toss away a grand. Or, maybe, that trip to Japan might be happening much sooner than I thought.

So I have to purchase another body so I can be up shooting. The last ten days without a camera I have been a moody, cranky, pissed off little shit…and that is probably the kinder-gentler way for me to describe my attributes. Without the means of my photographic expression…I am a prick.

What is funny to me is I used to spend money a lot more freely when I had a limited or non-existant supply of it. It is as if since I have gotten clean and sober, I have to keep what I have massed tightly, watch everything carefully. What the fuck is this about?? I still feel it is nothing but intrinsic of this planet and has no real value. Just get another camera and be done with it.

And the other thing that is quite comical to me was the reinforcement that there are sinister people in the world, pulling scams to make a buck. And little Joey walked right into one and opened his wallet. I am shocked, (laughs) Really? REALLY? Maybe this is one of the reasons I suck at certain aspects of my business and finances…I believe in being honest about it.

So from here on: I deal directly with Nikon.

ADDENDUM 4/27/2012: Untied Camera in Bensonville IL has quoted a bid to repair the D90.

You know that moment where suddenly a veil is lifted and an understanding floods into you mind and you realize the way you have been going on about something is COMPLETELY a state of denial or disillusion and you are face to face with the error of your thinking and it hits you: Ugh, fuck!

You don’t know really where to begin, except not to feed into THAT bullshit any longer.

You wonder:

Who else could tell (ya praobally everybody)
You feel like a fool ( um, ya and hold onto THAT feeling just so you may not fall into this trap AGAIN)
In amazed embarrassment at all the years you lived this way ( again, hold on to that feeling, the discomfort)

But then, after the flood, there is this feeling of fresh air and /or a fresh light that shines in on an area once so dark with self-deception that a wave of power, force or strength seems to overflow the area that once was dark and you realize, ya ok, it’s cool. I am done thinking that way. That thought pattern is a delusion and that delusion is killing me…

And suddenly that ugh fuck turns into ( the goodly) OH FUCK!

Ya, I have had another one of those. Again.

….that which is for certain.

It’s that time of year again, and as usual I have run down to the deadline for filing, except in these last recent years money is returning to me as opposed to more debt being incurred to the IRS. I seem to be making more sound business decisions with a mind free of narcotics. So that aspect of this time of year is not the issue for me.

Alfredo “Freddy” Nolasco died three years ago today, at the age of 31 from cirrhosis of the liver…it seems like a lifetime ago, and in a way, it was.

Freddie was the second Aquarian to come into my life. And sway me in a way that no others have.

I met Freddy in 1992, he was my protégé Nathan Tuetle’s best friend. Nathan, as with Freddy and few others, were “my kids’. A group of lads that took me in, or that glommed onto me in my late 20’s and early 30’s and seemed to view me as some sort of demigod.  I tried to be the mentor, the teacher…but it was kind of a fucked situation, because really all I was doing was trying to be the father I never had.  Me without boundaries, and lacking any discipline, I spoiled the hell out of these lads.

Freddy tagged along at times when Nathan would come into my photo lab/studio in Cathedral City to get film developed or have his next photo lesson.

Eventually, Nathan went off to New York City and then Atlanta to follow and achieve his photographic dream.

Freddy and I began to hang. He would just show up where I was living and we would just spend hours chatting away. We bonded very quickly and it was an intense bond…a kind of bond I have only felt with just a few. Even with its intensities, it was strictly a platonic relationship.

He constantly ribbed me for being an “old man” and I was quick to point out his adolescent foolishness.

Freddy’s ‘family” encouraged me to marry one of their clan, who needed citizenship, an illegal immigrant with two children. I was told I would just have to put up the marriage front, and not even have to live with or support her for she had a “successful business” running lingerie from Mexico into East LA to sell to Hispanic transvestites. Even in my state of narcotic induced neurosis, this immediately caused me pause, for when I thought of a vato in the barrio of East LA, I couldn’t really imagine there was a large tranny population there to warrant an import panty trade from Mexico.  I just assumed she was an, a-hem, importer of sorts and this ruse was just a hook to try and win me over. Again, in my neurosis, having direct connection to a foreign panty trade seemed enticing, yet I was reluctant.

The “family” offered me $5,000  to marry her. I insisted on $25,000 to “cover expenses.” They declared me a greedy gringo, and stopped with their encouragement. The woman, in her mid twenties began to “court” Freddy, who was still the bumbling virgin, and eventually won him over with sex.

Looking back now, if I would have received $25k at that time in my life I would certainly have ODed and in very deadly way.

One night Freddy and I were on the couch, sitting close. I was teasing him about his newfound avenue for sexual release. He moved right next to me, put his arms around me and hugged me, looked me in the eyes and said “Joey, I promise a woman will never come between us” I laughed and said, “Don’t say that Fred”  “No Joey, I mean it” he continued  “I will never let a woman come between us and put a wedge us” again I laughed, but sternly said “ Freddie DON”T SAY THAT! It’s gonna happen. It’s alright.  Just don’t say that”” Freddie put his head on my shoulder and hugged me tighter and softly said “Oh, Joey. No, it won’t”

The phone rang and I pulled away form Freddy to get up, answer it and when I did a woman’s voice yammered on in Spanish and all I could understand was “Freddy.” I laughed, handed the phone to Freddy and said, “ You gave Gabriella my phone number?” Freddy jumped off the couch and grabbed the phone from me and began to speak in rapid fire Spanish. I wondered if I sound that way to people who don’t speak English, talking a thousand miles a minute?

Freddy hung up the phone and said “ Joey I gotta go!’ and headed for the door…I roared with laughter and said “ Hey, PUNK!  What were you just saying to me on the couch as you cuddled all up next to me?”

“This is different, you don’t understand” Freddy tried to explain as he opened the door “ but I gotta go. I’ll se you later. Bye, Joey” and he scurried out the door in less than five minutes from the time we were embraced on the couch.  Ahhh, the power of the V.

Freddy did marry the woman against his mother’s (and mine) wishes and in the course of time it turned out be a grave mistake costing Freddy much hardship financially and legally.

I know Freddy and I smoked some weed at various times, but we never really drank together, and towards the end of our time together in Palm Springs I know we engaged in narcotics, but it never really seemed like a common occurrence, but then my drug consumption never did appear too severe to me anyway, thus was my denial.

Freddy joined the Navy in the early part of 1997 and it caused a reemergence of emotion from the last Aquarian I was madly in love with who left and went into the military.

The similarities were evident between Freddy and the One ( who wasn’t).  With my abandonment issue so close to killing me , I just wrapped it all into one lump of painful emotion and created a justification that fueled my use.

I began to get letters from Freddy in the military professing his love and longing for me. This would just tear me up inside and cause even more confused emotions and pain.

I saw Freddy in the summer of 1997 a couple of months before I left Palm Springs to seek rehab in Minnesota.  Freddy was in town on leave and to visit his wife, but we spent a couple of nights together staying up all hours of the night talking and eventually we fell into bed together, cuddling and wrapped in each others arms.

While I was in rehab, Freddy sent me letters that again just stirred up emotion. He wondered why I couldn’t have sought rehab in Palm Springs and that he always though I would be there for him in PS. I stressed to him that, at that time I had to get OUT of Palm Springs…it was the one time in my life where my running was the best thing for me.

15 months later, I returned to Palm Springs and Freddie was out of the military. I hooked up with some of my old crew and Freddy came over to hang. We were all drinking/ drugging and decided to play a game of strip poker, with the winner of the final hand winning the other three players as his slaves. After some time, Freddy won the final hand as myself and the other two players where in various to stages of nakedness. “Master Freddy” decided that we, as his slaves, should wash his car. Under the influence of the drugs and the booze, and aroused by the game of strip poker, my two gay friends and I were just miffed that all Fred wanted us to do was just wash his car and not be forced into service our new master, who won us fairly in the poker game.

The three of us created such the scene with the hose, buckets, suds and sponges washing Fred’s car, that he finally said enough and got the hell out of there, squealing his tires as he sped away. The three of us found the whole thing just that much more amusing with Freddy’s hurried exit. We went inside and carried on with out him.

As my recovery began to take hold and I began to stand on more solid ground, Fred’s ground began to crumble. He would call me in the middle of the night in various stages of confusion and or panic. I would calm him thru his anxiety. Most times he would just call to chat. Even though this calls would come in the early morning hours when I was sleeping, I didn’t mind, it was good to hear his voice and we would, as always, get into some heated discussion, rib each other, laugh like crazy. Even with 1900+ miles between us it was as if we were right next to each other.

In Sept. of 2008, Freddy’s deterioration of his health was starting to take a heavy toll. I had been trying to get him to look into rehab and was even encouraging him to come to MN and enter rehab. He wasn’t really willing. When he was given the diagnosis of liver failure, he looked into Loma Linda University and they were willing to accept him in a program for chronic alcoholics. Freddy didn’t have the initial enrollment fees. I covered the costs and when I called the hospital to make the payment, the nurse questioned as to why I was doing this. I really didn’t know except I thought it might give him a chance…get him started. He entered the program; they let him call me when he checked in. I felt good, I thought he might be starting a new path and might begin to enjoy the road of living life with out alcohol and drugs as I was experiencing it.

Three days into the program Freddy checked him self out.  When I called the hospital that day and they informed me of this I was more than a little pissed. They offered to refund a part of my money. I told them no, to keep it and apply it to some other person who might need to get enrolled in the program. They seemed surprised by this…I didn’t care.

When I finally made contact with Freddy and we began to tear into one another as to why he left the hospital, I finally realized the magnitude of Freddy’s disease. He was going to die. He was too gripped by his denial to face a reality with out chemicals. He wouldn’t face his denial and it was going to kill him.

This was a very difficult moment for me (and even now, the keyboard is blurred by my tears…and I have take a break) Ok.  It was a difficult moment for me for I realized there was no help for Fred and that a time was coming very soon where he would be dead.

The last time I saw Freddy was in March of 2009, less than two weeks before his death. I was out in PS, CA and was staying at a campground. I bused over to Freddy’s house to see him. He was now living with the mother of his son, but still married to the woman he married to gain her citizenship.

He looked like hell. He wasn’t the thin attractive man I saw last. He was haggard, aged, bloated and walked with a swagger that was almost comical if it wasn’t for the grimace on his face with each step he took.

I took some pictures of his son and his girlfriend with his son. The girlfriend took the boy and went shopping leaving Freddy and I alone.  We sat on the couch and talked and he commented on how good I looked. I tried to convey to him that stopping using and drinking changes a person’s health.  He thanked me again for getting him into Loma Linda and sincerely apologized for leaving. I told him he didn’t have apologize to me, he should be apologizing to himself.  He told me he would repay me the money I spent to get him into Loma Linda and I told him “ No. You won’t. But don’t worry about it. I didn’t spend that money as a loan”

As I left and we hugged goodbye he looked me square in the eyes and said: “You know I love you, right Joey?” I did know it, but shrugged it off and just said, “Ya Freddy, I know.”  We were to get together again that trip but it just didn’t happen.

He called me when I was back in Minneapolis and expressed his sadness that we didn’t see each other again. I shrugged it off again and told him not to worry.

He called one other time and left what would be his last message on my answering machine that said “Hey Joey!  It’s Freddy. Just calling to see how you are. Hope you are doing ok. Take Care. Bye.”

You know…I was to call him back.

A couple of days later…April 14, I was out having pizza with a friend when my cell phone started chirping. I saw it was a 760 area code but didn’t recognize the number. I answered and a woman through a thick Spanish accent, in broken English said: “Joey? Freddy’s sick. In hospital. Freddy’s real sick” when I realized it was Maria, Freddy’s girlfriend, I told her to not to worry. We knew he would get sick again. I told her I would find a translator and call her back tomorrow. I don’t know if she even understood what I was saying.

The next day at work, I couldn’t find anyone willing to translate. I knew of one co-worker of Hispanic decent, explained the situation and asked him but he refused citing him translating to her would make him uncomfortable. Whatever.

I tried again the next day, but it didn’t pan out. When I got home that night my answering machine was blinking and I pushed play and it was Maria again and her message was: “Joey. Freddy already gone. Freddy dead. Freddy here no more” and she hung up and that was it.

(I am a wreck right now as I relive this)

I went crazy.  I was so pissed that I didn’t make contact with him at the end. That I couldn’t find a translator to talk with Maria. That I couldn’t get thru to him to get clean REALLY angered me. I wanted to drink. I wanted a smoke. I wanted to get high. The fact that he died and abandoned his son even PISSED ME OFF MORE!! All the things that were not in my control angered me. And, in a way, I went right back into an active addict mindset.

I called my friend John Carlson and unloaded some of this on him. He suggested we go out for sushi. This was a good idea, for it got my mind somewhat off of the anger. The grabbing of the fish with chopsticks and tossing it into my mouth kind of satisfied my urge to do shots of booze.

I tried to maintain my daily routine…I went to work, to the gym. The gym helped a lot; I beat the shit out of a punching bag a few times that week and had bruised knuckles & swollen hands to show for it.

But my urge to drink was so strong. I didn’t give a fuck that I had five years (clean) it didn’t matter. It usually hit in my idle time, after work. So every time I wanted a drink, I went out and knocked back sushi.

Six days after Freddy’s death, I was sitting at Mt .Fuji Sushi on Lyndale Ave. in Minneapolis sipping tea, looking at my latest sushi bill and I realized I had spent $680 on sushi in five days and I thought: “boy, you better reel this in” I realized  couldn’t continue to mask my pain with sushi. I had to start to deal with his death.

I don’t know really…what else to say. I have pictures of Fred. And a ton of memories…mostly good…I was an ass in the end there and got in his face a few times trying to bust thru his denial.

I know now there was nothing I could do to “save” him.  I had my “mentors” into recovery, but it was me taking the action to get and stay clean.

I know I shared love with him and it could have gone to another level. There are omissions in what I wrote that are the indicators to this…but I didn’t go into that detail. I know Freddy fought/ denied a part of himself that his religion and his heritage told him was a sin or weakness. And I know he used drugs and alcohol to help mask these feelings. But aside from all this…he was a good friend even with 14-year difference in age between us. We shared a certain closeness that I hadn’t shared to that degree with any one.

I wish I could have had more time with him, yet the time we shared is something that will always be with me.

When you read this you may think of Freddy as a dumbass or a loser and that’s ok, you can have your judgment.  I knew him as an intelligent, fun-loving comical guy, in the grips of the illness of addiction, fueled by a mindset of denial.

And although I try not to, I can’t help but have my judgments and it reinforces to me that religion is just soul-corruption; for a group of mankind in the name of a loving god, label another a sinner, damned to hell for who they were born to be and for who they love is the greatest hypocrisies I have ever heard in my life.

I still think the name is the ultimate in phonics: Alfredo Nolasco

..since my last post. and alot has happened in the space of a few weeks.

I had my first gig with TownSquare Media, a media company out of St. Cloud, MN that I am currently working with; and that was  Home Opening Day of the MInnesota Twins.  After a series of communications, The Twin hooked me up with Major League Baseball and then was accredited with them and now can shoot n any Major League Ball Park in the country.  WTF??? How did that happen? HAHAHA. Just trips me out as the dots become connected, but I guess that is what happens when things come together.

I shoot over 400 images that day, edited down to 200 that I submitted to the media comapny for review and here are the final 32 they used for their website:

http://wjon.com/hope-springs-eternal-for-twins-fans-at-home-opener-photos/

Doing some shooting for my corporate day job, candids of the staff to be used during a slide show at company staff event, I pulled a bone head move and knocked my camera off a desk and it SMACK CRACK onto the floor. Multiple cracks in the housing. It still worked so I could finish the task at hand, but I sent it off to Nikon in CA for repairs. WIth a full schedule of gigs on the horizon, it is best to be without a camera for a while now than have it crap out at a later, more crucial time.

I am up for a gig this coming Friday, so I will have to rent all equipment for that.

I have been a slacker. I have an article written about my last experience with Jake Shimabukuro..but have yet to post.

The above mentioned corporate gig had me arriving at work early in the morning this past week and neglecting my early a.m. gym routine. Feel somewhat out of sorts.

Last night I returned to the rehab facility I went thru 9 years ago for a meeting, spent some time in a small group with the newly recovering…certainly affirms how far I have come since I was the twitchy one just a swirl of emotions….ok so maybe I have just dialed those two traits back. maybe. alittle.

Never pass up the opportunity for a joyride.

Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.

When loved ones come home, always run and greet them.

When it’s in your best interest, practice obedience.

Let others know when they’ve invaded your territory.

Take naps and stretch before rising.

Run, romp and play daily.

Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.

Be loyal.

Never pretend your something your not.

If what lies buried, dig until you find it.

When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.

Thrive on attention and let people touch you.

Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.

On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.

When you happy, dance around and wag your whole body.

No matter how often you are scolded, don’t buy into the guilt thing and pout…
run right back and make friends.

Delight in the simple joys of a long walk.

The co-ordinates and the precise moment my soul housing took its first breath on this planet.

Year marker 49, the beginning of my 50th year of existence in this lifespan.

So I am granted another “mile maker” yet what are they but just a number in time?  I don’t look my age… that is, if I compare myself to others of my vintage…can’t say if I feel my age…because I don’t know what this age is suppose to feel like.

I can only speak of my own path…my history and I feel better today than I ever have in my life, I don’t know if it is my aging, getting older, just not giving a fuck or what.

I feel more at peace now, than I ever have in my life.

There was a time in the middle of the third quarter of 1997 where I tried to extinguish this life, but the universe has a greater plan.

The Piscean. Of all the astrological signs, Pisces is the ONLY sign warned of avoiding alcohol and drugs.  It is said that Pisceans are the most balanced of signs for they have equal parts of all the 12 signs of the Zodiac, yet it is this balance that also creates havoc as far as the mood swings go as they are hyper-sensitive to their surroundings…actually, just hyper-sensitive in general. Yet on the dark side, Pisceans can be escapists, living in a dream world, one steeped in emotion rather than logic, amongst other things.

Astrology was never part of my early education; family and Catholic educators seemed to label it unfounded, nonexistent, or a “sin”. I don’t live my life around it, but I know it is an existing force. Much of my early religious education has been discarded for a more believable spirituality. And the stronger this spirituality becomes, the more people with the same understanding enter into my life, renewing and making stronger a knowledge I was never taught, but always intuitive to.

This last year has been a good one, a lot of achievements and realizations have come into reality. I think the most significant is the understanding that came by spending time in the Integratron. The short time I was there striped away layers of confusion, lifting veils of darkness, giving way to an enlightenment so empowering, it is somewhat beyond words. But I don’t have to explain it. I just have to live it.

Whether it was ‘a seven year itch” or whatever, but I have seemed to embrace a life with out a dependence on 12 steps programs this past year.  I know they were critical for the couple few years in the beginning. I would encourage anyone struggling to try the 12 steps to see were it leads.  And there are certain aspects of 12 steps that I still hold onto, but as far as it being the focal point of my life…I find it too limiting to continue. But I still maintain clean time for I love a life with out the use of intoxicants.

With the way things that are starting to happen photographically, I am excited to see what develops (HA!) in the upcoming months.

And yet, there are still things I have to improve on. Mind fucks, character defects, bad habits, issues…whatever they’re called.  Until the last breath it will always be a life to improve on…some understanding of self that will need to be addressed so another aspect of growth can occur.

I had my first stint in a drug rehab facility n Sept of 1997, and after that I became what is known as a “chronic relapser” never getting more than 45, maybe 60 days together before I would use again. This continual relapsing and then ongoing use lasted for six years.

My second time thru a drug rehab facility occurred in January of 2003, the exact date was the 24th. I didn’t pick the date; it was just the way the cards fell. A couple of weeks in, a group of the rehabbers were discussing clean dates, and one dude was twisting dates into “sober-astrology”. When I stated my date, he cooed “Oh, a sober Aquarian” And I just about lost it and not in a good way. I had two significant friendships in my life, both being Aquarians who were born 7 years and 14 hours apart. I call them friendships but they were, at least to me, extremely intense emotional relationships just without the sex…but nearly on the verge.

Nothing against Aquarians in general (well maybe, HAHA)…I just didn’t like the idea of having my “sober sign” be Aquarian and knew when I heard this that a relapse was certainly in order.

I maintained being clean and sober until Aug. of 2003. That month, my 15 year old nephew was killed when he lost control of a stolen car he was driving as the police pursued him. The events surrounding that, the wake, the funeral, family dynamics and other personal issues gave me the delusion of justification to go back out (and use).

I continued to use for another six months, yet at the back of my brain was that whole “clean time astrology“ I had heard a year before.

I decided to have another go at trying to clean. Only this time, without using a rehab facility, just the fellowship of a 12 step program; and I thought that celebrating my birthday as my first day clean would be a keen idea.

I had been getting high all day, but as 8:25 pm approached, I put an allotment of meth shards in the pipe, cooked and melted them down, then smoked them, keeping an eye on the clock. Exhaling and repeating the process until the digital clock switched from 8:33 to 8:34pm, March 18, 2004 and as it did, I exhaled the last amount of meth smoke from my lungs. I took what was left of the narcotic in the bindle and flushed it down the toilet, and put on my shoes and coat, walked out to the garbage to break and toss away the glass pipe.

So at 8:34pm, March 19, 2004, as I celebrated my 41st birthday, I had my first 24 hours without crystal methamphetamine. But trust me the cigarettes were burning like wildfires!!

I went a year, and then drank three beers at a company party, which proved foolish, because I got sloppy quick, and then the next day the hang over was everything I despised.

A year and a half after that, to “celebrate” a promotion at work, I took a couple of hits off a joint at a friends house and it was the worst experience… I hyper-ventilated, couldn’t breath, over heated, thought I was going to die.

I had felt that way many times in the past after smoking too much weed and/or meth for days in a row, and always lambasted at the heavens to “get me out of this“ and I, begged, I wouldn’t do it again. This time I could make no deal with the heavens, for I accepted the fact that I put my own silly ass in this predicament.

Aside from these two instances of use, I have remained clean of narcotics over the last eight years. So I am a “Clean Piscean”…. if you believe in the ways of astrology, clean or otherwise.

Somewhere in the last few years, with the assistance of doses of Chantix, I put a pack a day plus cigarette habit down on August 19th in some year….can’t really remember when….four or five years ago?? Does it matter?

12 steps dictate you start you clean time countdown over again with a relapse and ya, I have done that…but meth was the issue at the time for me so I hang more on the 3/18 date. And besides, my life is not dictated as it once was by 12 steps…maybe in theory, but not in practice.

The last eight years have been a world of change for my life…mostly in the things I never would have imagined. Yes, on occasion, usually triggered by a visual of a drug bust on the news, I will have an urge to get high.

Last year on 3/18, I was in Cocoa Beach FL, as I walked to the local yogurt shop for breakfast, I found a bindle full of what looked like meth shards. I picked it up looked at it and instinctively put it in my pocket. ( I seem to find more drugs now that I am not using them, than I ever did when I was using them) I walked a half a block, took it out, looked at it again and began to laugh as I thought of explaining to a cop: “ but honest officer, I just found it, I am clean for 7 years today” I tossed the bindle in the trash.

When I got to yogurt shop, the owner, whom I had visited with for the last few days while I ate breakfast, asked me “How are you today, hon?” I told her it was my clean date , tomorrow my birthday, and what just evolved. She said “come here” as she motioned with her hands to come close. Thinking she was gonna give me a hug, I leaned in across the bar and with an open palm she hit me on the forehead and asked me “ are you NUTS?!!? What are you doing picking that shit up?” and began to scold me for picking up the bindle, but then showered me with love and praise for maintaining 7 years off narcotics.

The urge to use and the encouragement to stay clean can come at any time out of anywhere; which is why I am “out” about being a recovering meth addict. I really don’t give a shit who knows…for I am comfortable in the fact of who I am, and for those this fact makes uncomfortable, they usually just scurry away and those who support this fact, acknowledge it.

The greater “tweek” is  the cigs, they’re everywhere, but the smell of them has come to repulse me. And the look of a person’s face as they draw off a smoke almost looks like they are sucking the life force out of their body. Of course I never noticed ANY of this when I was puff-puff-puffing away, no, I was too cool, too fantabulous to notice that I stank and looked like hell.

Alcohol rarely triggers me, but at times I get bitchy about it. Society seems to have this mentality that all good times surround a bottle or glass of beer. But I just have to remember that I love the feeling of not waking up all hung-over more than the feeling I get from a beer; but more importantly, I really love going to bed…not just passing out or passing out after being up for days. Keeping this recall seems to remove my desire for a beer.

The last eight years has been the most continual clean time I have experienced since I started using when I was 12 years old. The course of my life has been one that most may not have taken, but it is mine and each day it brings me to where I am, and for that I am truly grateful.

I discovered a few days ago that my friend, artist Valerie (Velinka) Porter Stancin died on Feb. 24, 2012.

It was Velinka who introduced me to Cy Breen mentioned previously in this blog.

At 36 years my senior, she was Maude to my Harold, if you know what I am saying, although I wasn’t quite as dark as Harold. She taught me that life and art are one and I must be passionate in ALL that I do.

She would always say that as artists, we had more creativity & expression in what we left in the toilet after our morning bowel movements than most people have in their entire lifetimes. As was her nature, she of course, would elaborate in far more graphic detail.

I met her in the summer of 1990 when she came in to a photo lab I was working at in Palm Springs to get some film developed. She asked me my name and was all touchy-feely and kept grabbing my forearm and hands as I filled out her order envelope. When she left the lab and and was in the the middle of the lobby, she began to sing my name, turning, whirling, hands above her head swirling, scarves and skirt of colors twirling: “Joe, JOOOE, Jooe, JOE” When she got to the door, she turned to me and seductively said “Good bye Joe” smiled, waved and went out the door. I laughed and said “what the hell?” my co-worker asked me: “you gonna hit that or what?” then just laughed and said “Go Vato” and then mimicked “Joe, JOOOE, Jooe, JOE”

The next time she came into the lab, she moved seductively, like a lioness slinking towards it’s prey as she approached me at the counter. She paid for her film processing and invited me over to her studio “to look at her art”. I, of course, accepted her invitation.

We became very close quickly and would spent evenings together smoking weed, drinking wine and talking. She was still in mourning over the death of her husband artist, John Stancin who had died just a couple of months before and would talk about him at length.

She showed me her scarp book to read and in there were pictures of her as a young woman in Spain with Picasso, Man Ray and Salvador Dali. There where pictures of jewelry she had made, letters from John Lennon and Paul McCartney, thanking her for the jewelry she had made for them. There was the contract and pictures from Joe Wieder of the bronze sculpture she had done of him, which was the same one that was pictured on the Joe Wieder products I had purchased in the past.

On every inch of wall space in her apartment, were paintings of her’s and John’s work. I recognized John’s right away. I felt as if I had seen it before or had known it somehow.

She had four place settings, of four plates each, each set a different color. When I would go over to her house and she was making dinner, it was my task to set the table. From the color of the plates I set on the table, she would “Cook with Color” and make the meal based of colors that would complement the canvas (plate) and the food was her palate of paint. I was always amazed that not only did the food taste awesome, it looked incredible.

To this day I use some of her “Cooking with Color” concepts and throw food in a pan based more on its color than its taste. I know the tastes, but it’s the way colors compliment each other I strive to create.

We were both moving out of our apartments on the same day. I went over to her old apartment to take her ceiling fan down and move it to the new apartment. It was a more difficult task than I had planned on…but it had NOTHING to with the fact that we smoked a fat joint prior to me starting the task.

After the fan was installed in her new apartment, I was slightly bitchy for it took much longer than I expected. Valenka handed me a rectangular shaped garbage bag and told me ”Here. I want you to have these. John would have wanted you to have these.” I took the bag from her and went home and began my move.

A couple of months later I opened the bag to see what was in it. There was variety of drawings in various mediums: watercolors, both lead and color pencil, water-color, water color with pen, charcoal, and chalk drawings. Two drawings were back to back in cellophane and when I looked between them I found a 5×7 pencil drawing, that was a self-portrait of her husband, John and written on it was “To my beautiful wife from your Loving Husband, John”

I knew I had to return this drawing, so I called her and asked if I could come over.

We sat down on the couch and I told her “I looked thru the bag you gave and I found this and there is no way I should have it. It is meant for you” as I handed her the drawing her husband had drawn for her who knows when. She looked at it with a stunned looked on her face and then just began to sob, ”Oh John, Oh John” she hugged the drawing against her chest and cried. I was so touched by this. I felt a sadness, yet a joy as I knew when I saw the drawing that it had to go back to Velinka, for it was meant for her and I was somehow allowed to give it to her as a gift from John after he died. This caused a surge of emotion in me and I too began to cry.

She hugged me and said “Thank you. I love you.” Then she stood up and started to kind of rant, somewhat angrily: “you know his work, and he never fucking knew you!” she walked over to a wall and took a painting down returned to me and dropped in my lap and continued “ My own kids don’t appreciate his work” and grabbed another painting off the wall. This continued for a short while until I had a pile of paintings on my lap; as she tossed the last one on the heap, it bonked me on the nose and I took the paintings off my lap stood up and went over to her and grabbed her arms, turned her to me and said “STOP!” She collapsed against me, started to sob again and I held her close.

When she composed herself she said she wanted to be alone, and that I should go, but she wanted me to take the pile of paintings that she had placed on my lap. I took them, and a couple of days later brought them back to her to return them and she made it clear: I had given her the best gift from John, so she wanted me to have something from John.

These paintings hang in various points throughout my house today.

Velinka inspired me in so many ways. She felt that labels were bullshit and if she had to ,the only one she would accept was that of “trisexual.” Being of course, that a person should try anything sexually, to expand sexual prowess through a vast variety of experiences and lovers, the more bizarre the better. It was her nurturing and encouragement that led me to become a multi-generational lover, and to open myself to many avenues of expression with both sexes that took me from being the awkward pupil, to the teacher, and to the man I am today. This really wasn’t too difficult, with what little experience I had then; I was still pretty much just a walking boner, and willing to try anything anyway. She would always ask, and request in graphic detail for me to recount my sexploits for her; even this, built a certain confidence in me as I would report my new experiences to her.

Our friendship never really waned, but we grew apart as she took a lover closer to her age and I was off following my own pursuits.

The last couple of times I was in Palm Springs and would pass by her old apartment, I thought that I should look her up, but always felt it could wait “until next time.”

When I read her obituary, I felt a tug of sadness but yet at the same time a surge of energy to create, which she always seemed to ignite in me. So as a memorial I guess, I made a major purchase buying some photographic equipment that will hurl me into another realm of photography.

So I don’t what else to say…except for maybe take a walk on the wild side…try something different. Get tied up, tie someone down, get on top, be a bottom…let someone take their teeth out for you! That thing you said you NEVER do….DO IT!!

“Ya runnin’ an ya runnin’ an ya runnin’ away,
Ya runnin’ an ya runnin’
But ya can’t run away from yourself.

Every man thinketh
his burden is the heaviest (heaviest)

Ya still feel it:
Who feels it knows it, lord.

Must have done
Someth’n’ wrong
WO! Someth’n’ wrong

Why you can’t find
the place where
you belong”  ~ “Running Away ~KAYA~ Bob Marley

I don’t know exactly when I started running from my self, but from a very young age, I was never really felt comfortable in my own skin. Escapism took form in play; Granpa’s old cameras; Hotwheels, Matchbox and Tonka trucks seemed to provide an outlet to escape the world where I lived.  Oddly, that world wasn’t one that necessarily needed an escape, there was no horror or abuse to cope with, yet I sought the security of imagination.

As I got older, the toys changed and the play cameras became real ones, a series of moves from neighborhoods on Chicago’s Southside to a small town in Northern Illinois, and the angst of adolescent awkwardness brought an even greater sense of insecurity, commonplace I am sure, but seemingly compounded to me at the time.

I drank alcohol for the first time at 12, and smoked weed for the first time at 15, which was also the same year I feel in love for the first time…but I didn’t realize it was love…cuz it was an emotion for another boy…and being gay wasn’t, well as “out” as it is now.

But I think this is where the running really started…when my energy and feelings for the classmate weren’t shared or returned, I began to isolate and shut my self off from people to a degree, even thou there were people around who I shared friendship with, I never really noticed it for I was withdrawn over the one who spurned my affections.

This was the set course for many years to come. Falling for ones who were unwilling or unable to return the emotions I felt and wanted to share.

I was always running away…from really the hatred I felt for self…for I felt there must be something wrong with me as I being “rejected” from ones who didn’t want to share what I had to give; and too, like the addict…I always wanted more than what they were willing to share.

Funny (not really) how I was constantly drawn to people who would fulfill my “density “ of abandonment and undeserving of love issue I had begun to foster at such a young, young age.

With this delusion of reality I would always focus one the ones who raised my emotions and then be clueless to those around me who were willing to share some of them selves with me.

There is one, who I have referred to as “the One” (who wasn’t) who impacted my life the most. I still to this day have emotions for him, yet they have subsided some, but they still do exist.

After some time at the Integratron and in mediation, I have come to the realization that the intensity that I feel for him is because we were connected in a past life. I have been able to ease some of the intensity for him since this understanding has come to me. I can’t change a feeling/energy that has been carried throughout time, over centuries.

One of the greatest gifts that come from maintaining a brain free of outside chemical influence is, what the medical professionals call “corrective emotional breakthroughs”

These breakthroughs are the “head rushes” of clean time, for they make me just kind of open my eyes and say, “ WHOA! WOW! That was pretty cool”

The breakthrough theme as of late is that I have impacted each person that has come into my life (and they me) in one way or another.

Recently, in the last few months, two people have contacted me via my Flickr account from my past, who, in all honesty, I thought were dead. Thru our present conversations, they indicated a good vibe between us.

Yet I was so consumed by a misdirected energy I felt for the One (who wasn’t) that I couldn’t see the energy between myself and other people.

In the last year, I have become reacquainted with high school peers who, through conversation, also indicated energy towards me that I didn’t realize existed.

This energy is to most, friendship. But thru my mental deficiencies, I was unable to see that at the time.

I need to be aware of whom I surround my self with…and how I interact with those that come into my life. I have to remain aware of the presence that exists in the moment. And express gratitude to those who enrich my life. And even to those who teach by toxicity, I am grateful for, but when the lesson is learned, I must move on…away.

Somewhere along the way, in the time that has passed since my last ingestion of a drug or a drink, I have stopped running and I have grown accustomed to life within my own skin.  I accept every facet of what I am…good and bad and work to establish a balance between accentuating the positive and minimizing the negative, which will always be a progressive path.