The Malignancy of SAAF, Tucson

Southern Arizona AIDS Foundation report

They are at 375 South Euclid Avenue, Tucson – they simply fabricated nonsense.

Particularly a woman named Pat Desson – what a moron – anyway …

There is no numbering system to their pages so I numbered them F-1 through F-53

On F-1 “Mailing Information” has my correct address and the question: “OK to send mail?” and it is stated “No” – and that’s not true. I had no problems with getting mail from SAAF at my house. I would have told them “mail me anything you wish.”

F-3: “Expense” – “tenant rent payment” – they put “$251.30” – I have no idea what this number is or where it comes from or why it is written – it is an imaginary number. My rent was $400 a month.

F-4 “developmental disability” they wrote “yes” – I have no idea what developmental disability they thought I could have – we did not discuss my childhood.

“Mental health issue” – they put “no” – because I don’t.

“has Aspergers 7/17/12 JMB” – no one knows this for sure – I have never been tested for it or discussed it with anyone. In 2002 at the HOP Clinic in New Orleans, Louisiana a Dr. Wetsman (I do not recall his first name, I met him twice) said on my first hour with him “I think you have Aspergers, but I cannot diagnosis you because I do not have the expertise, but I want you to go look it up and if you dismiss it as nothing, then you don’t have it, and if you read it all and it is clarifying, than you do have it. You are going to self-diagnosis, and I will agree to it” (The approximate discussion, not a word for word quote) I read about it for a week – and then went back to him and said it was “clarifying” and he said “you have it” and I never spoke to him again. Yet, not once have I ever been evaluated about it by anyone with any competence in the matter. “JMB” who I am assuming is Johnny Barker, doubtfully had anything but a cursory knowledge of it that perhaps he gleaned from the public press.

“Medicaid” they write “not eligible” – how they concluded this I have no idea, but my income meant I was eligible. Robert Gadsden of UMC had me fill out an 8 page application for it, for as he told me “you have to be denied first and you will be denied” and a week later I had an AHCCCS card in my hand, approved completely – and Mr. Gadsden was truly surprised.

Food stamps status: “not eligible” – my income would seem to indicate that I was eligible, and Ms. Desson wanted to sign me up for them – but did not know how to do that. But I did not ask for food stamps. I was told I was eligible – and not eligible. It was not SAAF nor COPE who finally figured out food stamps – but Michael Castaneda and the woman at 101 South Stone Avenue who brought me to a food bank in south Tucson somewhere, and to the office of a woman whose name I do not recall, who I met once – she was a charming Latina Abuelita type and we had a fine talk, half in Spanish – and it was that lady there in her office at the food bank who did the form online and got me $76 in food stamps.

F-5 – I did not ask, but they gave me some food boxes – on July 23rd and on August 7th – and I never went back to get any again. It was simply food I did not eat, and inconvenient to go get it.

F-6 – CD4 and viral load: 11/29/2011 was the last time it was taken, 9 months previously, hence my desire to get it done quickly – and the T-cells were 454, and my viral load was 20 (or undetectable really.) By the time SAAF and UMC got my blood work again and to a doctor my t-cell count was down to 254 (I do not have the records yet, but I remember it – because I was extremely concerned – “agitated” as they note I was from time to time. A Patty McCracken at the Petersen Clinic, 6OPC, thought it just delightful my count was 254 – she was giddy – and I was angry.

I told SAAF I was off the drugs for months – and to hurry getting me back on – and they couldn’t – they could not figure it out – causing my T-cell count to fall – and this is a major marker for HIV health status. I told them why – my last name and the common screw ups – Mr. Barker writes about it – with an air of disbelief. On the day of my birth, before I was even named, before I was Jim – the record for statistics and feeding spells my name wrong – in the hospital where my mother got her training and was working at when I was born. The 1978 White House and Governor’s letters spell my name wrong. In 1914 on the passenger list of the ship my grandpa came over on – they spelled the name wrong. These are just four official misspellings of my (h)last name – I joke about it – but I am very concerned. For one foul up – and I lose the drugs, health care, who knows what might happen if my name is misspelled? I have countless stories about what happens. I do not expect this to be dismissed as some obsession, or mental issue, or paranoia. It is real – and I can prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Not a year has gone by in my (h)life without it happening.

F-7 – a form dated 7/12/2012 – which is my first visit there – the form is unsigned, and nothing is filled in except my sister’s name and address for emergency contact – so obviously I thought I was in touch with my sister and she would do something if required.

F-11 a box is checked: “Accessing HIV specialty care; has HIV Medical coverage but not general medical; not following treatment protocol.” – yes, I was off the drugs – but not because I wasn’t following the treatment – it was because I could not get the drugs – the system simply would not give them to me. I do not fit their boxes. Their boxes puts the onus on me – I “was not following treatment protocols” implies that I wouldn’t take the drugs. And I begged for them – I pleaded – I said “hurry” – repeatedly – and they went like sloths, and did things wrong, and were confused and didn’t know what to do – it was they who denied me the drugs to take – it was not me having trouble “following treatment protocols.” On the other hand, I have “general medical” because I have Medicare – because I worked for 40 years.

It is noted “…client is anxious to get back on his meds as he has been off his meds for a few moths – client’s adherence level is also unknown at this time.” And that’s the thing – I stated clearly I was desperate to get back on the drugs and that the system was not providing them to me. My adherence is 100% – if I can get the meds – and it’s zero if I can’t – and they couldn’t get me the drugs. “Client has first appointment with UMC on August 10th, it is not known which doctor he will be seeing …” – they simply didn’t know if I even had a doctor to see at all – and in their own directions to me on how to follow along with their program – it is stated “client should know who his doctor is” – and they didn’t know who my doctor was – and have the audacity to put the onus on me, to blame me for lack of knowledge they could not and would not provide.

On the reverse of F-11 “Income” they checked off “can meet basic needs with subsidy or other resources, appropriate spending.” I did not ask for nor need any help from these people – who could have no idea of my spending and living habits. I have never sought subsidies from any program. I never asked for rent help, food help, energy help, transportation help – nothing – I asked for nothing because of 2 main reasons. 1) I did not need the help 2) I do not want to deal with bureaucracies. I find them all insufferable and do my utmost to stay away from them.

“Shelter” – they put “transitional, substandard, rent unaffordable” – and this is simply not true, but explaining to these people the way I travel and live was just irrelevant – it was none of their business really – I had no need nor desire to explain to people I just met how I lived for 40 years – the only thing they had to do was get me the drugs – and they could not.

“Food” – they checked the box “can meet basic food needs but requires occasional assistance.” It’s not true – I didn’t need, require, nor ask for any assistance with food, cooking or purchasing. I never even brought it up. They just simply assumed it – probably based on their mistake about “shelter.” They insisted I take their food box, and their hygiene stuff and I was gracious and said thank you and was “now what do I do with this stuff I don’t want and don’t need?” Both times I received these items were on days I met them on other matters – like trying to get the drugs. Twice I got their food boxes – and ignored it for the rest of my dealings with them.

“Transportation” – they checked off the box that said “no access to transportation, public or private, may have car that is inoperable.” This is just a fantasy, a falsehood. First, my friend Paul Miller had a car and we got together every week for lunch and stuff – and he drove me around looking for apartments in the first few days I was in town. Second, the Hostel is 4 blocks from the main Ronstadt Bus Terminal in downtown Tucson, with access to virtually every bus line in the city. And third, the apartment I got was on three bus lines – Wilmot, Broadway and 5th Avenue – all of which had a stop at the entrance to my apartment complex, on both sides of the street. I was able to get anywhere I wished. I paid for my own transit and did not ask anyone for any help. They gave me some bus passes, which I did not ask for, and again, graciously I said yes and went about my life trying to avoid these people.

More ironic – SAAF’s offices are not on a bus line – their offices are one half mile from the nearest bus stop – for an agency which is helping people usually at the poverty level – to not be on a bus line – and the nearest stop is one half mile away is just abominable. It is nonsensical. People with walkers, wheel chairs, canes, aches and pains, weakness from a debilitating disease – are made to walk one half mile from a bus stop to their office. The audacity of them saying I had no access to transportation is stunning.

“may have car that is inoperable,” is just a 100% fantasy. Where this comes from is their own minds – they are delusional, frankly. I hadn’t owned a car since 2003. For three years from 2009 to 2011 I drove a new Kia for the friend I was tending in Baton Rouge – it was his car.

“Mental Health” – they checked off the box “mild symptoms may be present but are transient, only moderate difficulty in functioning due to mental health problems.” I have no such difficulty – I have a problem with bureaucrats who can’t get things done and don’t know what they are doing. Ms. Desson was an idiot, pure and simple. I was made to talk to a woman who knew nothing – and she got to label me the difficult one because of her incompetency, coupled with her vaunted sense of importance. But more to the point, it had to be impossible from mere form signing sessions with intake people for them to conclude I had any difficulties of any kind. Then they state I have Aspergers, which no one knows if I do or don’t – and then they state “client is actually quite pleasant to speak with as long as patience is exercised” – yes, get things right, and get me the drugs – and they couldn’t and they didn’t – so I got impatient.

More amazing – but not in the record – is this woman wrote up a “life plan” for me – that’s what she called it – she handed it to me as a done deal. She was going to run my life, get it back together, for she thought it broken. She was going to get me into a halfway house, a group home, get me on the road to recovery, she said. She was going to do this and that – and I looked at this abominable document and was infuriated. This woman didn’t know me – I barely spoke with her. And she imagined things. Then told me what I was going to do by her lights. And I told her she was out of her mind. I ripped it up and threw it on her desk and walked out. I was mad as hell. This woman was a moron, plain and simple. The rest of her comments about me in their report is her exonerating herself and accusing me of all sorts of things. And I was fed up with her almost from day one.

She brings up that she called the “ED” of HAART in Baton Rouge. I’m assuming this is “Executive Director” – she did call him – at my insistence. But he’s not just the director of a major AIDS organization, for who I built their first website – he’s a personal friend of mine. I gave Ms. Desson his direct cellphone number. She was hesitant to call him. I said “go ahead, he’s my friend.” I wasn’t some “client” to him – I hung out with him at his home and in the bars.

F-12 question 14, “Life skills” a box is checked off: “can meet most but not all daily living needs without assistance” – this is absurd. I never had an issue with meeting my daily living needs. It is not stated what assistance they thought I needed. Not did anyone ever ask me what I might need. Nor did anyone from SAAF ever come to my house to see what I might need. Nor did any of them speak to me beyond being wrong about whatever they told me the previous time. This is just fantasy.

On the reverse of F-12, item 15 “Support System” – they checked the box “Lack of necessary support from family and friends, abuse (DV, child) is present or there is child neglect.”

This is just absurd. I was never abused as a child, or neglected – this is just sheer imagination on their part. Moreover – my entire extended family never had a negative word to me about being gay – and welcomed my boyfriends to family gatherings with “So, you’re Jimmy’s friend, want a cheeseburger?” I had a charming childhood. Though, we didn’t even discuss my childhood. As for “family support” – my father expressed mailed to me the extra money I needed for the deposit while I was still at the Roadrunner. I found out what money amount I needed, I called dad, who was awaiting the call, he got a Post Office money order, and expressed mailed it to me, and I got it the next day. My father and I act – we get things done. I was in constant touch with my family as I have always been. My sister knew where I was as she always does – she was transferring some money I had inherited from my mom, that she kept in investments, to my bank account so I could get things done. I had a phone, provided for by my sister, and I had internet access – I was in touch with my family and friends at every step of the way. These people simply created a falsehood.

item 16 “community involvement, self-determination” – they checked off “crisis situation, survival mode” – I was in no crisis – I wasn’t in any “survival mode” – I am very self-determined – and I was getting things done as I always did – in a sure but steady, calm, rational, reasonable, normal way. I wasn’t in the least bit worried, nor did I – I couldn’t have – expressed one shred of concern about what I was doing. Within days of arriving in Tucson I went to every gay bar in the city, all 5 of them – to find out which one I liked. At the Venture Inn I met guys like me – and one of them brought me in his vehicle to get the table and chair that I could not get home by myself.

Within 5 days I had an apartment and moved in. I didn’t have anyone help me do it.

Days after I arrived in Tucson I took on the Tucson Observer, the local gay newspaper, on my blog – and I told them I did it – because their economics was all wrong – and they published their rebuttal to me in their pages. Let us say I made a splash in the gay community from day one. I made friends with Hennessey and David who lived next door to me – and we saw each other near daily for the next 13 months – until they finally took me to the Tufesa bus station to get out of Tucson.

Plus I was seeing Paul Miller weekly – and I was sometimes meeting a guy named Howie who worked at the hostel – he was a fellow New Yorker – so we connected.

Item 18 – “risk behavior” – they checked off “engages, practices harm reduction behaviors consistently” – this is just insane, really – what harm did they think I needed to reduce? What behaviors did this intake specialist possibly think I was doing? I never brought up anything – I was “get me the drugs” – and then I ignored them. I was leading the life I always led.

Then they note “client states when he is sexually active, he practices hard reduction consistently.” – I never talked about my sex life – because I wasn’t having one. I haven’t had a sex life since the late 1990s. Michael Castaneda wondered about my sex life – “are you getting nookie?” he asked. “No,” I replied, “I have a fungus growing on me and I can’t get to a doctor to get the drugs I need.” Then we’d laugh, and I’d go for another week or month without the drugs.

F-13 – they checked off “moderate need” of something with a score of 2.5 to 3.749 – and then “HIV Specialty Care, Income, Housing, Mental Health, Substance Abuse” – they checked the box “Yes” – what needs they thought I had I have no idea – or what issues – but I didn’t have any issues or problems or needs – and I certainly wanted nothing from these people but the pills – and they couldn’t provide them. I had no income, housing, mental health or substance issues whatsoever. I had a “I can’t get the AIDS Drugs You All Insist I Should Be Taking” issue – which they ignored.

This form is not signed by anyone.

F-14 – done on 7/16/2012 – Johnny Barker did an intake and wrote up a description of me – and stated I have Aspergers which makes life difficult for me and – well, it doesn’t. What difficulties he thought I had I do not know, but they are imaginary. He points out what is true – the systems I get involved in constantly screw up my last name – it happens repeatedly throughout my life. I am very leery of it, and I have to constantly point out to people to make sure the name stays right.

And then it just decays. I said “hurry” and they took their sweet time and got so much wrong it was incredible. But all of it is written as if I am the culpable party – and they are diligent and innocent civil servants. Instead, they were incompetent fools imagining things about my life while being incapable of providing me the drugs. After a month or two of them I was simply “you idiots, get away from me.”

They also sent me to Michael Castaneda – who ran a drug rehab program. This is not mentioned in their report – there is no referral or why I might have been sent to such a person. In Mr. Castaneda’s office, in our first meeting, within 10 or 15 minutes I figured out he was talking about drug rehab and I asked him why he was. He told me SAAF told him I was a meth head. Somewhere there must be a referral – a form – a statement – of why I was sent to Mr. Castaneda.

It was Michael Castaneda who figured out the AIDS drugs finally – because he knew this woman Shannon. And he is the one who every month had to make a special call – because every month it was different. What I was covered by, what a copay might be, when I could get them all together – every month was different.

Neither SAAF nor UMC could do a thing.

Though – if there is one thing that is true – I did express my displeasure heatedly to these people – oh, I waited a long time with great patience and fortitude as they bumbled with idiocy. I went along with the flow until no reasonable man would put up with it. There comes a time when arrogance and incompetence must be forthrightly addressed. And I did. Not so oddly, I did so poetically – and it utterly confounded them. They note in their reports that they all had discussions about a poetic email I sent them expressing my displeasure. Such a danger to society and myself I supposedly am – I write poetically – and so obtuse and obnoxious and moronic are these people – they were confounded. A poem simply disrupted their existence. Amazing, yes? I include in my supporting documents one I sent to Michael, Shannon and Heidi – this too – this charming writing – simply flummoxed these people.

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An index of posts here in 2012/13

I have maintained a blog called The Daily Mush since 2009 – the url is www.thedailymush.wordpress.com – at one time it was daily – by 2012 I cut down to once or twice a week. But throughout 2012 I posted in the same steady slow pace – from before I moved to Tuscon – to the end of the year. I got bored – and moved to other projects. It is linked to by many other websites and has followers — it is public 🙂

Daily Mush blogposts 2012
Done in Pennsylvania

santorum crazy 1/1/2012

Iran war 1/3/2012

cardinal george’s unacceptable apology 1/6/2012

gay man family history 1/16/2012

christie mush 1/25/2012

flying home 2/1/2012

Done at Baton Rouge Louisiana

SB ads 2/6/2012

pope 2/11/2012

putin polian iran autism 2/19/2012

gay perplexed 2/20/2012

greece collapse 2/21/2012

prop 8 and kids 2/22/2012

wilcutt redemption 2/23/2012

discarded 2/23/2012

taxes and income 2/24/2012

economy or marriage 2/28/2012

stockton North Korean 2/29/2012

left right gay 3/12/2012

gay genocide 3/14/2012

off to mexico 3/25/2012

Done at Mazatlan Mexico

mexican tea party 5/31/2012

matt barber letter 6/8/2012

free individual vs gov’t boxes 6/11/2012

Done at Tuscon Arizona

message to tea party 7/27/2012

USA bankruptcy looms 7/28/2012

chick-fil-a exodus 7/30/2012

intemperate language 8/1/2012

kristol on chicky 8/2/2012

free, hate, speech 8/4/2012

slate destruction 8/8/2012

observer email 8/11/2012

47,000 v 36 8/15/2012

observer response 8/17/2012

four quote tucson 8/18/2012

nicolosi endorsers 8/20/2012

bronson 8/23/2012

Venk 8/24/2012

hate crimes 8/27/2012

Kristol response 8/30/2012

spanish liberty answer 9/1/2012

wild on coffee 9/4/2012

pfaff 9/4/2012

the debate 10/4/2012

equal pay work 10/17/2012

pre fixer 10/18/2012

must vote 10/28/2012

on the gay gene 10/28/2012

the election 11/7/2012

tea party gay guy 11/8/2012

binary politics 11/10/2012

comparisons 11/14/2012

Soc. Sec. Plan 11/16/2012

gov’t help 11/17/2012

gay positive 11/26/2012

aids day 12/1/2012

christmas2012 12/25/2012

pope message 12/25/2012

Blog Posts at the Daily Mush in 2013

Done at Tucson

fiscal cliff 1/5/2013

mary comments 1/6/2013

krall comments 1/17/2013

health care Joel 1/18/2013

babbage article 1/22/2013

expert ruse 1/23/2013

free association 1/24/2013

jackson lament 1/24/2013

O’Donnell 1/26/2013

Times Gays Downfall 1/28/2013

mary pay 1/29/2013

gay thoughts 2/2/2013

empty lot conundrum 2/4/2013

we win 2/8/2013

state of the union 2/10/2013

NOM absurd 2/13/2013

lopez lunacy 2/16/2013

lost family 2/18/2013

banned plays 2/21/2013

new mid east 2/22/2013

flop aces comment 2/24/2013

arts and socialism 2/25/2013

koop 2/26/2013

transgender 2/28/2013

obama and the wolf 3/4/2013

blag brief 3/5/2013

blackwell 3/6/2013

bureaucracy 3/8/2013

twainage 3/16/2013

collins mush 3/17/2013

hound forever 3/19/2013

abortion gay babies 3/23/2013

incorrigible, first post 3/25/2013

gay missing 3/27/2013

schrodiner 3/30/2013

Gay Republic 4/1/2013 (3/31/2013)

8th day 4/8/2013

north korea 4/9/2013

masha gessen 4/22/2013

Allen West 4/26/2013

multifaceted 4/27/2013

so what 5/2/2013

4 subjects and a funeral 5/9/2013

the scandals 5/15/2013

death to gay 5/18/2013

vacation 5/30/2013

president mush 6/2/2103

am think final 6/14/2013

end of the end 6/23/2013

alito gay lynchpin 6/26/2013

father’s day 6/26/2013

snowden snow job blizzard 6/26/2013

Cardinal slander 6/27/2013

confusion 6/28/2013

20 million protest for liberty 6/29/2013

fourth of july 7/4/2013

obama westboro 7/11/2013

written in Tucson, published from Mexico

promoting homosexuality 8/27/2013 (9/10/2013 published)

Done at Scranton Pennsylvania

sevan rant 11/2/2013

defriending friend FB 11/16/2013

Pope Spectator Gay 11/19/2013

mendermen and me 12/20/2013

Duck soup 12/22/2013

It behooves those wishing to know about me to read everyone – and to match the dates of these posts to what dates you have in your records about what you think I said, met, did or whatever — 🙂

 

 

 

Three wild & crazy Czech brothers

Three Wild And Crazy Czechoslovak Brothers

There was a skit on Saturday Night Live by Steve Martin and Martin Short called “Two Wild and Crazy Czechoslovak Brothers.” – it is funny stuff. Well, I have joked for years – we three Hlavac brothers are “Three Wild and Crazy Czechoslovak Brothers” – for never could such entirely different, vastly different three brothers come from the same family. The differences would take a book to describe by tale after tale. This is just a short version. We are Bobby, Jimmy and Charlie – that’s us. We were lucky we were not named Ladislav, Bohumil and Vyechslav like the elders in the family wanted.

This picture is the last picture of us together – in late May or early June, 1978, Bobby back from basic training, Charlie about ready to go – and me with a one way ticket to San Francisco in my hands – we were never together long enough again for anyone to take a picture.

scan0023 (2)

 

My brother Robert (Bob, Bobby) who is just 9 months older than me.– did indeed commit suicide by shooting himself in the head in January 2010. However this has actually zero correlation to any “family history of suicide” and an “at risk factor” for me for a plethora of reasons.

Primarily – the last time I saw my two brothers was in 1984. One day in 1985 they simply disappeared, and I was living in Houston, Texas when they did it. I came home and found out they were gone. They went together. I have no idea why, nor does anyone in my family. My late mother didn’t know. My sister doesn’t know. My father doesn’t know. No one, they just went. One day they were there at a business doing collision work in Uniondale or Hempstead Long Island – I don’t even know – I never went to their place of business – and the next day the place, and their apartment, (And I never knew where it was – I never had their address even,) I’m told, was vacant and they were gone. My mom and I went to the police – there was no help to be had. They had the right to move away in their 20s – and they exercised it. Nor did they seem to ever talk to anyone in the family again – not my mother, father, sister, aunts, uncles, grandmother – no one – or maybe Aunt Pam, and I really don’t know that either. I think starting in the early 2000s or so – my mother would get an envelope with pictures of their projects – but no phone calls or anything. I’m not really sure, but perhaps in 2009 was the first time Charlie and Bobby spoke to our mother since 1985.

They apparently lived together for their entire lives – it turns out first in Palmdale California and then in Danville California and then in McMinnsport Oregon. They never married. There are rumors that my little brother left behind a trail of children – I do not know for sure – but no one ever said I was “at risk” for having a slew of bimbo girlfriends and unacknowledged kids, that’s for sure. And does my brother Charlie like some skanky women – the “gentleman’s club” sort. He did in high school – and from all indications he does now in Florida.

I did not know where they went – or what they did where they were. I simply had zero knowledge of them from 1985 – until I received word from my mother in 2010 that he shot himself. Had he called I would have tried to talk him out of it – but he did not call me – not ever in my life. The man simply never spoke to me more than 2 dozen or so words at a time since 1978. I have never had any meaningful conversation with either of them – they are complete ciphers to me in many ways.

Before Bobby joined the Air Force he basically for 2 or 3 years stayed in the basement and watched TV – and I haven’t watched TV since 1973 – and I had a job at a local Long Island supermarket for 2 years, while on Tuesdays and Saturdays I would go the Ninth Circle, a gay bar in Greenwich Village. He was a hermit – and I was a bon vivant about town.

In 1994 when my grandmother died I got their phone number from my Aunt Pam, through her ex-husband my Uncle Charlie – how she had it I do not know. So I called. And I told Bobby, as I called him, “Grandma died,” and he said “I don’t give a damn” and hung up. The call lasted oh, 2 minutes.

But more so – from 1978 until 1984 I saw them maybe a dozen times. I did not get along with my brothers. My little brother Charles (Charlie) is a year younger than me. We were born in 1957, 1958, and 1959. But throughout our childhood we simply were so different that we were not friends. We were not buddies. We were not ‘brothers’ in any loyal, supportive, or work together sense. Oh, sure, I suppose we were all cordial – from 1969 until 1976 we shared one big 24’x14′ bedroom, with our beds in a row dormitory style – but we were not friends. Frankly, and I joked about it for years – if I met these two in a bar I would walk away. They got along great with each other – but I was never included in any games – we just didn’t really do anything together. They went everywhere together. I went and did something else. Nor did we fight – there was no violence – arguing, eh, sure – but no fighting ever.

And so in a sense they were complete strangers to me. Nothing they did had a shred of influence on me.

In April 1978 Bobby willingly enlisted for 4 years in the United States Air Force – and served the duration. In 1980-1982 he was stationed at Mildenhall, Cambridge, England – and I lived in Manhattan going to NYU and working as a printer. I got a letter from him telling me I was living my life wrong somehow – it was a very weird letter.

In May 1978 Charlie was pushed into enlisting for 4 years in the United States Air Force – and served 2 years or so – and for some reason I do not know – got separated with an honorable discharge. He was pushed by a judge – and my mom, Aunt Marion, other family – for the young man was on the road to perdition. Seems he and a friend were caught in Harlem looking for African-American hookers for their birthdays – and they forgot about the shotgun in the backseat – and the cops inquired – and the case brought – and Bobby’s recruiter spoke up and said “We will take him if the court allows” — and so the judge ordered it I guess. I really don’t know the details – because I said I didn’t want to know. I was importuned to provide his bail and attorney money – I would not, though I had it. Aunt Marion did.

And in June 1978 – I bought a one way ticket to San Francisco – to “join” the vaunted “Homosexual Lifestyle.” There was commentary in the family that perhaps “Three sons in the air force, oh my” and I said “No, I cannot join the service – I am not going to hide for anyone.”

And that’s the thing – I was out gay – never in any closet – by the time I was what? 8, 10, 12? I was just it – I didn’t say “I’m a homosexual” I said “Oh my he’s just adorable!” And well, everyone in the family was fine with it – I guess. No one ever had a negative word in my family – not even my two brothers – it was just a was. Though the funniest story I have with Bobby is this: In 1977 he and his friend Eric Renneau took me to a real live 42nd Street peep show. They thought perhaps if I looked at a naked woman, I would turn straight. So we went – and they wouldn’t go in, while insisting I go into the ludicrous place. The lady at the front door approached us, “What’s up boys?” I explained the plan. She and I just laughed. She said, “Oh, come in for free, take a peek.” So I did – I was, beats me – it was utterly ridiculous. Then I offered to take them to my favorite gay bar – they declined. So I went, and regaled the fellows with the story. I’ve been telling it for decades.

Maybe my brothers didn’t like me either – seemed that way. However, we three are very talented – but very differently so.

Bobby was a brilliant artist – he really was. But also a moody, vindictive, nasty man. He was just nasty, there was no joy with him – but I am this happy go lucky jokester. But – I rescued his art, I still have many pieces of his. He would do a brilliant work – and then sometime later destroyed it. That guy destroyed so much – he was destructive. And I am not – I am the complete opposite – I am a preserver. He went to Pratt institute in Brooklyn for art – I went to NYU in Manhattan for words.

Charlie is a brilliant car person – anything to do with cars – he can do – it’s amazing his restorations of old vehicles. His ability with an airbrush is stunning. He can pull apart and reassemble an engine in a day. He jumped a car over a 30 foot wide canal in Freeport, Long Island, NY. He built a ¾ sized working model of a Harley Davidson motorcycle – out of wood. Even the pistons went up and down. And I have no mechanical ability at all. I can barely turn a screw.

Charlie more so, but Bobby too, have no fear of heights, or edges – they would go to the edge of every cliff they could find – and I would stay 10 feet back. They went deep out in the waves at the beach – I stayed in the shallows. They played with bugs – I read a book. They had perfect vision – I wore glasses since kindergarten. They can draw faces – I cannot. They love and own and shoot guns – I am gun shy and never go near them. They have muscular builds – the classic V-shaped torso and bulging pecs and arms – and I am a scrawny proverbial 98 lb weakling. They cannot utter a word in a foreign language – I can handle a half dozen with ease. They developed at 13, 14, the usual age – I had developed at 8, I was shaving by the time I was 12 – Bobby couldn’t even grow more than peach fuzz. I doubt either one ever read any books more than shoved to read a textbook in school – I read 200 books a year on average. They never read the newspaper – I started reading the NY Times when I was 15, and William F. Buckley’s “National Review” for that matter. They wanted to know nothing of our Czech heritage – I wanted to know everything. They both got their driver’s license when they were 16 and got cars to work on – and I didn’t get a driver’s license until I was 27 years old. They are tough – I am soft.

And so all the things that they were made of – is I suppose “a family history” — but have nothing to do with me – I am not “at risk” to be a car mechanic or brilliant moody artist or have a great body. And they didn’t seem to be “at risk” to be a gay guy.

In a sense – Bobby got emotion, Charlie got brawn, and I got brain. I got music and writing and language talents. I got intellect – they got hands on.

In high school – people would introduce us to each other: “Say, you guys have the same last name.” No one could believe we were brothers – we are that different. Every aspect of our personalities is different – there are no similarities. More amazing, I am dark haired, brown eyed and tall – Charlie is blond haired, green eyed and short. We don’t even resemble each other in any way. By brother Bobby has the ‘hlavac’ look – he looks most like my grandfather Methodej Hlavac – I got the ‘herel’ look – I look like Bohumil Herel, my mother’s grandfather. Charlie has the ‘javurek’ look – after my mother’s father. That’s how different we are.

After we all went our ways in 1978 I really had no regular contact with them. It was perhaps only at my mom’s house in Baldwin, Long Island that we encountered each other. I came out from Manhattan on a Saturday – and they were there – we just harrumphed at each other – and went back to our lives.

However – the only thing we all enjoyed was pinochle. My father taught us the game when we were 10 and 11 and so – and we all played regularly as kid – and it was fun filled nights at the dining room table playing the game for hours. And Risk and Monopoly too, but not like pinochle.

The first time I met Charlie since 1984 was at my Bobby’s memorial in 2010. We had three wonderful days together just talking about it all – our lives. And with my father and sister – the four of us played pinochle like in olden days. And we have zero in common except that we had the same parents. Then Charlie moved to Florida and I really have no contact with him. I doubt I ever will.

So to argue that these two brothers of mine – so vastly different fellows from me – with such vastly different lives – means I have any “at risk” anything for what they did is simply absurd. I suppose, if you want to go that route – they both are “at risk” for being gay men – and they are not.

But if some relationship is required for some influence upon another – than I would point to my 18 cousins – I was in regular contact with them all my life – and only 3 were divorced (2 after very short 2 year marriages, before they got into long term marriages, and one after 20 years) – but the rest of them have been happily married for 30, 40 years – with kids – and I suppose if I’m “at risk” from a “family history” – then being married with children is far more likely – than blowing my head off with a gun I am afraid to go near.

Our genes? Well, from the same pool – but we got such complete separate sets that there is no connection other than the same 8 great-grandparents.

And yet beyond the simple question “anyone in your family commit suicide?” – no one in the system wanted to know another word. If I started to explain – they simply dismissed it and went on to something else. Nothing else mattered about an event 2000 miles away from me by a man I never spoke to for nigh on 40 years and am so vastly different, even opposite, from.

But think about it – while my two brothers were in the Air Force as fine men and a plus to the nation – I was out in San Francisco – and then living in Greenwich Village – as a social pariah at war with the entirety of society. That’s how similar we are.

My Jimmy Carter & Dixie Lee Ray letters

In 1978 as a very precocious 20 year old I wrote to the President of the United States, Jimmy Carter – and I wrote to the Governor of Washington State, Dixie Lee Ray. I wrote to them on the issue of Gay Guys in America. And they responded. Here are the letters from them to me. Mr. Carter had his Assistant Midge Costanza answer me – Mrs Ray wrote me directly. I would think that I was one of very few 20 year old Gay Guys getting answers from such people at such a time on such a contentious issue. I have since discovered that my letters to them – which I did not keep a copy of — are actually in their archives in Atlanta and Olympia. They so graciously sent me PDF files of them – I have not figured out how to post them to this blog yet — but, well, go to the archives and ask for copies.

One interesting thing is that both made merry with my (h)last name – Ray writing “Havac” and Costanza writing “Heavac” — no matter – -it’s me — same address — I’m sure the State of Washington has that address in their files for my ID I had at that time. Hell, I still have it my own archives.

Of course – not once in the years since have I ever relented in saying “Gay Guys Are Good By God’s Good Grace” – NEVER! — I have said things to heterosexuals which would astound anyone. I am about to tell a slew of heterosexuals what they do not want to hear.

Anyway – here’s the two responses.

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Books I published from Arizona

I published 14 books since I got to Arizona. The one I did in Tucson was completely rewritten – the ones from Phoenix had long been in gestation and ready to go with only final things to be done, like covers, dedications and such, formatting, technical stuff.

From Tucson:

“The Pink Sheep of the Ninth Circle: Homosexuality, Homosexuals, Sissies, Queers, Faggots and Gay Men” – my iconoclastic at the nonsense heteros say and believe – and who and what gay men really are.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ENWA3PI

From Phoenix

On July 10, 2014, I published my big political novel “Stalin Giggled: a novel of political apocalypse as America moves forward” – oh, it’s a big one, 900 pages – but what a cast of characters over 20 years.
http://www.amazon.com/Stalin-Giggled-political-apocalypse-America-ebook/dp/B00LP1SVHW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1405913334&sr=8-1&keywords=stalin+giggled

From July to November I worked on the short stories. Then I published in quick succession five volumes of them, those I had written across the years – so I put them into related categories, fixed them, proof read them, did the cover art and so forth …

11/12/2014 The Garden of the Quick

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PKR1FWA

11/17/2014 The Big City

http://www.amazon.com/Big-City-short-stories-ebook/dp/B00PSOBUVQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1417198501&sr=8-2&keywords=Jim+Hlavac

11/21/2014 My Reason For Visiting

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00Q0NKGDW

11/27/2014 From a Guy’s Perspective

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00Q9NMTDI

12/9/2014 If TV Were True

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QUASQ8M

On 1/5/2015 I publish “C-Note: 8 months in a New Orleans Dive Bar” – I have ample experience with drunks and ne’er do wells and sordid characters.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RW8XJ8I

1/30/2015 I publish “The Improbable Traveler: The journey of a 20 year old guy.” Basically it is the journal I kept when I was 20 years old and flew one way to San Francisco from New York City.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00T01OYW0

3/12/2015 “Far Across the Pond: an American, not so lost, on a journey to Europe” – the journal I kept when I was in England, France, Germany and the Czech lands.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UMT1FXU

3/21/2015 “Thoughts as he turned 60: a novel memoir” – it’s a rambling existential work of more questions than answers. It’s not factual, but more factoid.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00V2I1YUY

4/3/2015 “It’s Confusing: One man’s guide to what is going on.” It is a 150 essays on the issues of our day in politics, economics, foreign affairs and social movements.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VO76C50

4/23/2015 “Re-imagining the Political Spectrum: Who’s on Whose Side?” – it’s my iconoclastic view of the way “right” and “left” are viewed.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00WNK5HSK

5/3/2015 “A Heritage Journey: a 3 month trip to the Czech Republic” – my journal of my time in the homeland my family is from – and the visits to the relatives I have there.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00X4ER42G

5/11/2015 “Our Gringo Of Mazatlan: Random Reality and Fantasy in Mexico” – the first 2/3rds are about what happened while I was there – the last 1/3 is a completely fictitious story – that only David Whitney and I can understand to the fullest – it’s about us – we have a grand and deep friendship.

http://www.amazon.com/Our-Gringo-Of-Mazatlan-Reality-ebook/dp/B00KALK1OE/

5/29/2015 “Such a Picnic Is My Life: 20 years of time” – my notes on the life I led in the 1980s and 1990s – it’s a very upbeat book – for the times were swell, and the adventures many – it doesn’t really mention AIDS at all.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YJP1ADI

Perhaps someone should read them one day 🙂

my music on Youtube

I have a youtube channel – with 75 videos — my music set to pictures — I write or play all this music. Weirdly — I cannot write what I play. Nor can I play what I write. Nor can I play any known piece of music. Can’t read a note. Never had a piano lesson – nor a music lesson. It’s a gift of God. I just create music – endlessly — it’s stunning. Anyway  — virtually everyone is impressed if not in love with my music

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqc5ICsE8TpM2ceYCZVhzXg

amethyst (6)

 

What I did in Phoenix

What I did in Phoenix

I arrived in Phoenix on January 4th, 2014. I stayed at the Phoenix International Youth Hostel at 1026 North 9th Street – where I have always stayed since November 2002. I am, in a way, part of the family who owns it. Certainly I worked there more than any other person in their history. And I know intimate details of the family like few other people. On January 10th 2014 I signed a lease at the Paseo Verde (now Melrose) Apartments at 4444 North 7th Avenue – it was my first time to ever have an apartment in this city.

I arrived with my laptop computer and the same valise I arrived in Tucson with – and approximately $1,500. I had really wanted to settle down in one place for 5 or 10 years after a lifetime of travel – it was not to be – my story in Phoenix is now three parts – in three different apartments.

Within days I went and bought a table, chairs, bedding, pots, pans, dishes, silverware, and the things one needs to live in an apartment. The hostel gave me an air mattress to sleep on. A month or so later, two ladies gave me a spare bed they didn’t need. The gay center gave me two easy chairs, a bookcase, and more. I furnished an apartment quickly. It was a one bedroom apartment for $435 a month. I set up electricity with APS. It was bright and airy with an expansive view of the courtyard – and just as important, was pretty much next door to my favorite bar in the city – Pat O’s Bunkhouse. It is a bar for men my age – all of whom survived AIDS. Such bars are called “Wrinkle Rooms.”

I got a Phoenix Public Library card and started to take out the normal stream of books on 101 subjects – I read 3 books on average per week. I would not say I am an expert on any subject, but I can certainly write a 1,000 word essay within an hour on virtually any subject under the sun.

I discovered nearly immediately that the Phoenix One Voice gay pride center was literally next door – mostly because their big gay flag flew above the building on the other side of my courtyard – and that’s my view from my desk – the Rainbow flag. I started to go there daily to use their wifi, and began to meet people.  I am still friends with all of them, in life and on facebook. I also met in my complex, Thornton and Donnelle, and we remain close friends, their three sweet grandsons – none older than 7, all call me Uncle Jim – the boys pushed my cart at the supermarket when I had a broken wrist.

That first month a woman I met volunteered to help me get my stuff from Tucson, and we drove down and got it. I gave her two paintings as a thank you.

With the paintings I got from Tucson I had an art exhibit at One Voice right away. They put my art in the lobby, several mazes.

I continued writing music – a dozen or so pieces a week. I sought a piano but could not find one, and that disappointed me. All the pianos I knew from 2009, the last time I was in the city for any length of time, were gone.

I continued to socialize and hang out at the One Voice – I was a very popular fellow. In May 2014 I was the first, last and only person they ever gave a birthday party to – along with a computer table, a card table and chairs and several gift cards. A few months later there were financial issues at the center and I got involved in proposing solutions, even considered running for president of the board.

I wrote 64 articles for my blog, “The Daily Mush,” in 2014, and only 17 in 2015. I was just bored with it, I had been doing it since 2009. That was long enough, but the blog is still there – every few months I post something.

My friend of 40 years Carl shipped me what I had prepared to ship from New York – personal items, my mother’s Revereware she got when she got married in 1955, which I use to cook – and books – my things. It was all ready to go as soon as I got the new place.

I changed my address with all the right agencies and companies that I had to deal with. I sent postcards to all my relatives alerting them to my new abode.

In mid August 2014 a fine lassie brought me two huge sheets of plywood – 4 x 4 foot squares. The One Voice was closing and they were opening a new Pride Center at 801 North 2nd Avenue. I decided I would paint them a painting. So I painted a monumental painting of 5,000 years of gay history. Their opening gala was slated for September 5th – and I wanted my painting there for it. (See picture) And I got it done – and then a few days later I sort of collapsed – a physical exhaustion came over me – and on September 11th I was taken to St. Joseph’s emergency room at Thomas Road and North 7th Avenue. I was only there a few hours. My friends Debbie and Monica came to take me home. And on the way out I found the piano I had been seeking – right there in the lobby. I was back there the next day (Monica admonished me “What if you have a relapse!” and I laughed “The emergency room is right there.”) And that started my piano career at the hospital.

In mid September 2014, and just a week or so after the emergency room trip, Dannie Lane was moving back to Seattle – she wanted someone to travel with her – I jumped at the chance – and in a five day whirlwind trip I went to Los Angeles, Sacramento, San Francisco, Portland and Seattle – where I spent a day with my cousin Peggy, a very busy professional woman who cleared her schedule for me – and then flew back to Phoenix. It was with Peggy that I was living when I wrote to the president and governor back in 1978.

Meanwhile, as far back as January, I started to prepare the 13 books I had in the pipeline – things that I had never published because I was busy with other things. All I had to do was create cover art, proof read them, format them, dolly them up – create books.

From July to November I worked on the short stories. Then I published in quick succession five volumes of them, those I had written across the years – so I put them into related categories, fixed them, proof read them, did the cover art and so forth …

11/12/2014 The Garden of the Quick

11/17/2014 The Big City

11/21/2014 My Reason For Visiting

11/27/2014 From a Guy’s Perspective

12/9/2014 If TV Were True

2 days before Thanksgiving in November 2014 a scrawny tired scared hungry cat walked into my house through the open door and announced that he was moving in. He loved me from day one, and I love him – I named him Schroder, after the piano player character in the Peanuts Cartoon – the character that doesn’t like girls and is vocal about it. He’s a 10 lb orange tabby and he’s my buddy. The first week of December I took him to the vet up the block to get him checked. He required a herpes medicine, I gave it to him. They directed me to a discount neutering clinic – and there in December he had his surgery and got all his shots. I also bought a leash and harness, and within 3 or four days of him figuring it out – we began to walk all over – him with a harness and leash, me in control to make sure he does not get into trouble. We even went to the Bunkhouse, the bar a few buildings down 7th Avenue where we were popular fellows. (Walking a cat might be the most “insane” thing I do.) A cat charity I contacted for advice brought me food, liter, toys and information – and the lady bought one of my paintings right then and there.

In early December in the cat food aisle at Fry’s Supermarket at 7th Avenue and Camelback Road I meet a man named Jordan Dancer – a long time resident of the city and a keen intelligence. We had a great time – and he drove me home – and hung out for a few hours – and we became instant friends. I joined him in some men’s groups, and he invited me to join him at a Christmas party – where I played piano to the delight of all. He introduced me to Mike Desi – the three of us codgers have been getting together and spin our tales every 6 weeks or so ever since.

As usual in December 2014 I created my hand drawn Christmas Cards and mailed them to friends and relatives.

I painted some 50 paintings – in the hopes of finding an exhibit somewhere – and I painted more paintings for my house.

I renewed my lease in January 2015. They did not raise my rent.

My friend David I’ve known from 2006 in Mazatlan passed through every few months, stayed a night or two and continued on his way – he was going back and forth between Montana and Mazatlan – twice he had his three charming pre-teen daughters with him, who don’t speak a word of English, and call me “Tio Diego.” I did marriage counseling for him and his wife Abby – and I solved a legal issue by threatening an Amparo – a special Mexican legal option, which I learned about in a few hours.

On 1/5/2015 I publish “C-Note: 8 months in a New Orleans Dive Bar” – I have ample experience with drunks and ne’er do wells and sordid characters.

1/30/2015 I publish “The Improbable Traveler: The journey of a 20 year old guy.” Basically it is the journal I kept when I was 20 years old and flew one way to San Francisco from New York City.

3/12/2015 “Far Across the Pond: an American, not so lost, on a journey to Europe” – the journal I kept when I was in England, France, Germany and the Czech lands.

3/21/2015 “Thoughts as he turned 60: a novel memoir” – it’s a rambling existential work of more questions than answers. It’s not factual, but more factoid.

4/3/2015 “It’s Confusing: One man’s guide to what is going on.” It is a 150 essays on the issues of our day in politics, economics, foreign affairs and social movements.

4/23/2015 “Re-imagining the Political Spectrum: Who’s on Whose Side?” – it’s my iconoclastic view of the way “right” and “left” are viewed.

5/3/2015 “A Heritage Journey: a 3 month trip to the Czech Republic” – my journal of my time in the homeland my family is from – and the visits to the relatives I have there.

5/11/2015 “Our Gringo Of Mazatlan: Random Reality and Fantasy in Mexico” – the first 2/3rds are about what happened while I was there – the last 1/3 is a completely fictitious story – that only David Whitney and I can understand to the fullest – it’s about us – we have a grand and deep friendship.

5/29/2015 “Such a Picnic Is My Life: 20 years of time” – my notes on the life I led in the 1980s and 1990s – it’s a very upbeat book – for the times were swell, and the adventures many – it doesn’t really mention AIDS at all.

Then in June I ran out of stuff ready to publish and went to the task of working on some 20 other book ideas – some more well developed than others.

I’m not sure where the idea came from, or when it was clear, nor do I know if I can really do it – but I have conceived of several operas – all on gay historical themes – and I have done a lot of work in playing with musical ideas, the plots, librettos, order of the arias, duets, choruses.
Richard & Philip

Hadrian & Antonius

Jonathan & David

Oscar & Alfred

Meanwhile – from the time I got back from Seattle – I started to go on Tuesdays and Thursdays to play the piano for 2 to 3 hours at St. Joseph’s to the delight of all. I get a fan base, I chat and joke with everyone, people come especially to hear me, to regroup in their stressful jobs. People ask me “How long have you been playing?” I joke “2 weeks! I got an app!” – I charm people with jokes and music. People applaud. They buy me coffee, the Starbucks started to give me a coffee and chocolate croissant as a thank you for playing.

Now is a good time to explain, if I can, my music; ah, what is it? Well, it’s all mine. I cannot play a note of any known piece of music – I cannot play Happy Birthday nor Chopsticks. I never had a piano lesson in my life, nor really a music lesson beyond anything in grade school. I cannot hear a piece of music and play it – that is “play by ear.” Many can do that, I cannot. I cannot duplicate any known melody. But – I can play and I can write – and all of it is complex classical music that has been compared to Mozart, Debussy, Ravel, Dvorak, Chopin and more. Even more strange, I cannot write what I play, and I cannot play what I write. Nor can I explain what notes I hit – or why – I can’t explain this amazing talent – but it whooshes out of me endlessly and effortlessly. One day in 1998 I was at a party in Baton Rouge Louisiana, and the only place to sit was on a piano bench – and I just turned around and began to play. Everyone there said “I didn’t know you could play the piano.” “Neither did I,” I replied in shock. And what came out from that first moment was just as fine as what I play today. It’s a miracle of God – that is the only answer I have. I told a woman that I go into a sort of trance when I play piano – she writes “he has trances” – while forgetting the rest of the story.

All the while two absolutely charming young ladies worked at the front office of my apartment complex – Mayra and Michelle. I joked with them in Spanish – I make them laugh – they bought me half dozens of donuts from time to time, right to my door. They bought my art and tell me my music is gorgeous. It is simply a pleasure to deal with them at every moment. And then in August and September the two of them left for their personal reasons.

And that is when the complex hired Lori Felix – one of the most lunatic woman I ever encountered in my life. For reasons beyond fathoming this woman hated me with an evil sadistic passion. In fact, from as early as January 2014 when I first moved in – I was walking to my home – and this woman came screaming at me. About what I have no idea. It wasn’t even really rational. She was a fellow tenant – from the other side of the complex far from me – and for 2 years – every time I saw her I went the other way – for she would start to scream – scream! – at me from across the courtyard. So I avoided her.

Then the complex hired her to be the manager. I go to pay August’s rent – and there she is – and she starts to berate me and castigate me and trash me and yell at me – and I was simply stunned. Then she just escalated it. In November she slapped a notice on my door that I “cure” what she claimed was noise and disruption. I went to ask her what she was talking about. She screamed at me like a wild banshee to get out of her office – she accused me of intimidation and worse – I just said to her before leaving “You are insane.” A half hour later there were two police at the door – with a handful of more notices. She accused me of breaking so many lease provisions it was amazing, many involving violence, drugs, gang activity and worse. Then over the next several weeks – cops were at my door 8 or 9 more times – all at the behest of this woman. More notices came accusing me of this and that. I had to contact a lawyer. Included in this was a notice that they would not renew the lease in January as I would have loved to do in this so perfect abode. Well, I was informed by Community Legal Services that they had the right to do that. So I had to January 11th the notice said. On the advice of the lawyer I spoke to – I gave the office – well, tried to give it – a letter stating I would be moving out as they requested. This woman screamed at me and chased me back to my house yelling – and sent cops to my house again. So, I got to action and started to look for a place – as the Christmas and New Years holidays loomed to interrupt my need to find a place. She even sent a suicide crisis team to my house from Empact because she stated, apparently, that I was suicidal – which means she just lied about me.

On December 21st she served me with eviction papers. I had to move fast to get a lawyer, which I did through the HIV Law Project at 305 South 2nd Avenue, Phoenix AZ 85003. My attorney gets the eviction proceeding stopped so long as I’m out by January 4th. So I found just one place that had the things I needed – accept Schroder, I could afford, and was available immediately. I signed the lease on the 4th of January 2015 at The Cinnabarr Apartments and I was just mad as hell. My life was not only disrupted – but this crazed woman tried to get me arrested, hauled off to a psyche ward, and ruin my credit and rental history – for her sick sadism. I was told I had no cause for legal action against her.

So I wind up in this dark studio with a window facing a wall – the sun never shone into the place. I moved to Phoenix for light, and air, and sky – and now I was in a dark garret. Even worse – it was so far from everything I did that it severely impacted my social life – I couldn’t get to the bar – it was an hour or more away – and back. I think it is the farthest I ever lived from a gay bar in my life.

And so I entered the nadir of my life. I knew I had to wait the year for the lease to run – but I was determined to get out of there. From November 2015 through January 2017 was simply the lowest point of my life – eh, a midlife “crisis” perhaps – and as I joked – I could not afford a sports car.

And throughout this year – I continued reading books at least until May – and I kept playing piano. In fact, during this year in early August sometime the hospital asked me if I would play more – I said “give me a lunch voucher I’ll play 4 or 5 hours a day every day.” They said “yes.” And that’s what I did. I became an official volunteer with a shirt and a badge and did the screenings and protocols – whatever they wished. When I check into the volunteer computer it lists my job as “Lobby Pianist.” I traveled the hour or more each day there – and I played to the delight of all – for 4 and 5 hours – five days a week.

In August a woman who works at the hospital, Denise, asked if I could play at a chapel at an Alzheimers home on Sundays, I said yes I could, just give me lunch. And I started to play there too. The lunch they give me – I give to a homeless person on the way home from services.

This playing glorious upbeat happy vibrant cheerful music continued – as did writing it. That did not change. But I couldn’t paint – the house was too dark.

And then on October 26th on the way home from playing all day – the bus was in some wreck – and we all went flying – and when I got up – my wrist was broken. I saw it and felt it immediately – and I demanded an ambulance to take me to a hospital. There’s a case that lawyers are handling for me – I just want to make sure the medical bills are paid, really. But the only joy I had was wrecked – and you bet I was panic stricken – my joy, my music, my life – imperiled in a way I had never experienced.

Meanwhile, I had turned 58 on May 13th — I had a few people over – and then I just got melancholy – not depressed – not anything more than wistful, ennui, a vague sense of unease – I was alive and in this very weird situation – and so many of my old friends were dead – and I could have been one of them. And so I just wanted to talk to a male counselor about these emotions, these feelings – none of which altered anything in my way of doing things. I was still me – I was just – wondering about life and the way things turned out. I look at a picture of the AIDS Quilt  and I wonder about “what if?” And that’s where this odyssey really started to this hearing.

In June 2016 I got on the waiting list at a City of Phoenix Affordable Living 55+ community called Camelback Properties. In November 2016 I began to work with the Cinnabarr apartments for a graceful transition out of the place, for I was determined to move – the lease was up on December 31st 2016, and I went to month-to-month for January, and arranged February if need be. I had charmed the office there where I spoke mostly in Spanish to them, and they worked with me.

Fortunately, in bright beginnings, on January 10th 2017 Camelback Properties called me and told me I had 24 hours to get there and start the process – I was there in 2 or 3 hours. On January 20th 2017 I signed a lease at Camelback Properties at 11th Avenue and Camelback Road, next to Fry’s and a gay bar, Charlies, visible from my kitchen window – and I am a very happy camper, who just wants to live in this adorable apartment for the remainder of my years – as the piano player at St. Joseph’s – so that my obituary 10, 20, 30 years from now as Providence decrees will happen says “Long time volunteer pianist at St. Joseph’s passes away” – that is my life goal.

And these people, these agencies – are interfering and imperiling my life’s goal with their fantasies.

A Jovial Creative Polymath

The Jovial Creative Polymath

A short explanation of my life:

Psalm 23:4: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil

And I walked through the valley of the shadow of death from 1981 to today – because I am a gay man with HIV/AIDS – and I did watch 100 men I knew die – and thousands of others. And I did experience what I term the evil of heterosexuals – and the miraculous changes of late – since the dark days of the 1970s and 1980s. For nigh on 40 years with every cold, every sore, every sniffle I thought, well, this is it. And it was not. It is this miracle of life shrouded with so much death that I wished to speak to a male counselor about. It is my emotions – not my mental state. I have manageable emotions of extraordinary depths from extraordinary times – not some mental condition impeding my life. Everyone in the system simply ignored me – and labeled me a horror story.

I wanted to speak to someone about Neil Murphy, who died in 1986, and how I hugged him for 20 minutes in the middle of the Ninth Circle when he was gray and emaciated, skeletal even, and no one would talk to him. And people said “How could you touch him, you might get it.” And I replied, “How could you not? You might get it.” I include here his memorial notice. Or bathing the sores of Rick Jones while trying to get his family to come take him home to die, and they were hesitant, for they had chased him away to begin with. Or John Campbell I hugged one last time before he flew off to Seattle from NYC to die under his sister’s care. Or Timmy Dessel who I wrote to in 1995 and when I got the letter from his mother I knew before even opening it – he died – and I cried. And so many more, Robert Route, Patrick Haggerty, Rita Mae, Brady, Robert, Paul Gross, Eric Brudner, Steve Penn – and more – guy after guy died week after week for a decade – and I was there, wondering when it would be my turn. I wanted to talk about Tommy Ace, the love of my life, who I lived with in 1979 and 1980 – and who came down with “it” – and lived. I speak with him on his birthday every year – and we just wonder what could have been if society had welcomed gay couples in those years – and the fact that we are both still alive – and he is still the love of my life, but well, there’s nothing to be done about it. That’s what I wished to speak about – my emotions about those times – and the fact that I am here to tell about them. The system told me no – this was not my problem – as they went on a labeling spree of mental problems that is astonishing – while sending me to woman after woman to sign more forms.

And the system sent women to my house to be my “peer counselor” and no woman can be my peer – nor counsel me – nor will I ever speak to a woman about my emotions – never.

Meanwhile, I had this extraordinary life – and it continues to this day. My creative intellectual output has not ceased or diminished one bit – and it is all happy, bright, joyful, humorous, pleasant. Everyone who sees it or hears it or reads it gets a smile and a good feeling. I am an upbeat, jovial, joke telling, story weaving, bon mot making, bon vivant happy fellow who goes through life saying hello to everyone and wanting to find out, as I say, “all about your exciting adventures.” I make people laugh everywhere. I have a good word for everyone. I have a commanding personality and can take over a room of 100 people in minutes so all might listen to what I say. And for some reason, young straight men 15 to 25 come to me for advice, and they love my music. One tattooed ruffian told me my music was “gangsta” – which was high compliment. I am so charming I am the only person the Phoenix One Voice gay pride center ever gave a birthday party for – with cake and balloons and gifts and “joy, mirth and merriment,” which is a phrase that peppers my writing.

Since 1999 I have sought out pianos to play – and I bring joy to people. I am the official lobby pianist at St. Joseph’s Hospital here in Phoenix – I play for 4 to 5 hours a day to the delight of hundreds of people. They come and tell me I brightened their stressful time visiting the hospital. I doubt one of the people in the system has heard a note I play, certainly they all refused to look at my Youtube channel. They seem to imply I am delusional about it. I told one woman I go into this charming trance as I create my music – and she dutifully noted for the record that “he has trances” – and anyone who reads that in light of these labels on the records is going to get some very wrong idea about it.

I am a polymath: “a person of great learning in several fields of study” per dictionary.com – their example is: “Athanasius Kircher, the eccentric seventeenth-century Jesuit polymath, collector of curiosities, and borderline crank.” – and I guess that’s me. I’m eccentric, and cranky on one subject at least – gay men – and I just know stuff and can do stuff and have done stuff that just amazes people. My memory is just as fine as it has ever been – and it is encyclopedic. From aardvark to zygote there are very few subjects I could not write a 1000 word essay on within an hour at a moment’s notice – or expand it way beyond that – off the top of my head. They tested my memory with three words – “door, chair, tree” – this is supposedly the test of my memory and cognitive skills they gave me – that is an abomination. The list of projects I did from 1985 until today at just a line or two of description would fill 40 or 50 pages. I did not have a job – I had a life. I did not have a career in an industry – I did a wide range of projects that would surprise anyone.

And I do it all with aplomb and a smile and a ‘let’s get it done’ attitude. I get things done. I do not dawdle. Today, just as 45 years ago with my first job as a newspaper boy – I look at a project – conceive the method – and then I do it quickly – and effortlessly too. The quickness with which I do things has always amazed those who witnessed it. And I created things from nothing – music directories, trade shows, logos, businesses, radio shows and websites and more, endlessly more. When I was 14 or so I took on a paper route and they gave me a map of it and I took their two hour tour and cut it down to 40 minutes or so – and took on two more routes – and they came and observed, and marveled. In 1995 a trade show that might take 20 people 2 years to put together, I did in 6 months with me guiding two salesman. In 2015 I published 12 books in rapid succession. And I create endlessly gorgeous complex classical music up off the top of my head for hours and hours – a vast variety of luscious music – and I never had a piano lesson in my life

On gay men I am vociferous. I believe gay guys are great by God’s good grace. I believe we are natural – and are in fact, required for the species to survive. We are not broken, a mistake, a dead end or some strange inexplicable thing – nor an unholy terror as so many heterosexuals still state. There are 106 boys for every 100 girls, by nature, in every human group no matter where in the world. There are 6 gay boys for every 100 straight boys. That’s our ratio in the population – all over the world. And there’s those 6 extra boys staring everyone in the face – and heterosexuals go into gyrations into trying to explain it any other way – and always label us the problem. The obnoxiousness towards gay men all over the world is legendary and extensive – and it does indeed make me angry – and I have never been shy about telling heterosexuals to go to hell.

In 1978 I wrote President Jimmy Carter – and I received a reply from Midge Costanza, assistant to the president. In 1978 I wrote to the governor of Washington State – and received a response from her. I doubt there were many 20 year old gay men getting letters from governors and the White House about homosexuals in 1978. I include the letters here.

On April 10th 2013 – the day after a young woman claimed I agreed that I was “severely mentally ill” – I was published on a major Right Wing, Tea Party, Christian, Conservative website called “American Thinker” extolling the glory of gay guys. I include here a copy of that article – and the defense of me that very day by a noted anti-gay commentator. I published a second article there – and other articles on other right wing sites – at the same time COPE is claiming I was “severely mentally ill” and “can’t function” and “can’t concentrate” and is “bipolar” and on with their nonsense.

And in the decades in between I have had the “the gay discussion” with 1000s of heterosexuals. My message has been clear: if your god did not create gay men, get a better god. I have never relented in my strongly held religious belief, which Mr. Abeytia at Southwest believed and noted was nonexistent. – and there is nothing in any “religious freedom” law that says “homosexuals can’t have strongly held religious beliefs” – and I have them – in spades. Thousands of comments by me from the internet could be produced to support my claim. I have noted often that gay men are a test of the simple admonition of Jesus: “Love others as you love yourself. Treat others as you wish to be treated.” And heterosexuals have been miserable in this regard when it comes to gay men. We are certainly among the most vilified people on earth, even to this day, despite the patina of niceness which currently prevails in Western lands. Nor do I subscribe to any theory that this is “discrimination” in need of a law – this is abject willful ignorance – and a sadistic refusal to deal with the reality of gay men while fabricating endless nonsense about us – in need of some serious attitude changes among heterosexuals.

As early as 1993 I wrote up a book I have long titled “The Pink Sheep of the Ninth Circle.” It was rejected countless times by publishers. From time to time I laid it aside. From time to time I would update it and try again. Again it was rejected. And when I got to Tucson I decided to self-publish it. So I updated it again, almost rewriting the thing entirely – and in August of 2013 I finally published it to Amazon Kindle. The title is “The Pink Sheep of the Ninth Circle: Homosexuality, Homosexuals, Sissies, Queers. Faggots, and Gay Men.” It is my iconoclastic view of the way heterosexuals look at gay men – and the way we really are. I post links to it often, or send PDFs of it to people who wish. I told a woman at COPE I was “iconoclastic” and she had no idea what the word meant. So I said “thinks differently” – and she dutifully noted this for the record. The phrase has such portent given the plethora of labels now attached to my good name.

I have wanderlust, or had. From 1985 to today I spent on average only 6 months in a city before going to the next one. A few nights, a week, a month, 3 months – 6 months – 8 months – then on to the next city – and then returning to some cities, or moving on to new ones. Sometimes to the homes of friends and family – and often to some city where I knew no one and had no reservations and just showed up. I arrive, and I get to work. In each city I obtained reasonable lodging within hours – and started a spectacular project within days, and sometimes hours – in November 2002 I first set foot in Phoenix at 4 AM on a Greyhound bus, and by 6 AM I was playing piano at the Hyatt hotel downtown. The restaurant there gave me breakfast and said “Come back every day.” The longest I spent anywhere in 35 or so years was 2004 to 2006, when for 18 months in Baton Rouge, I completed and published my book “A Hidden Impact: the Czechs and Slovaks of Louisiana from the 1720s to today” – and rescued some 30 Czech citizens out of the maw of Katrina, and was the temporary honorary consul of the Czech and Slovak Republics to Louisiana.

From late 2009 until August 2011 I again lived in Baton Rouge, this time taking care of Duchein Cazedessus, a World War II veteran that was a friend of mine for 20 years. He turned 87 and could no longer drive, so I moved in with him and did all the driving, cooking and gardening. Other than that – incessant travel. So when I showed up in Tucson, or Phoenix, I was not some lost soul trying to get my life on track as these people apparently imagined – I was a seasoned traveler going to yet another city like I had done countless times before. I showed up with a day’s notice to the Roadrunner Hostel in Tucson where I had stayed before, where I know the owner – and in 5 days I had an apartment, a library card and a bus map – and tried to set up medical care, which the system there bollixed beyond all belief. In January 2014 I arranged with Mary Stephens, owner of the Phoenix Hostel, a week there – and within 5 days had an apartment. I just do it, I do not fret, I don’t worry, I don’t dawdle – I move along at a steady pace and get it done. And I have never failed at doing it.

In this wandering around among the first things I did in any city was to head to a gay bar – within hours of my arrival. Not because I needed a drink, no. But because a gay bar is an instant social network. It’s a place of information on health care, possible jobs, housing, projects, pianos, friends, guides to the city, and more. Any gay man can walk into any gay bar in the world – and be instantly accepted and if need be, assisted. It’s a social service center – without a form or bureaucrat in sight. Things get done, and they get done quickly. It’s also a place of refuge from the many heterosexuals all around us – in fact, it’s the only place where we are the majority. And I have long joked that straight bars are where people go to forget about their troubles – and gay bars are where we go to solve them. It also so happens that 9 times in my life police came into bars where I was and harassed us and called us garbage and worse – and I deeply resented in then – and it bothers me still.

I say I had wanderlust – because I really do want to settle down. My energy is sapped. I am physically weak – my mind is fine – my body no longer wants to go all day. I need frequents rests – and I still get more things done faster than any bureaucrat on the move. I now have this fantastic apartment in the perfect location – and I plan on living out my days as Providence decrees in this place. What these people put on my record threatens and imperils my plan. Their accusations of drug and alcohol abuse and mental instability might imperil my lease – who knows what anyone would think if they read any of this that the system wrote about me?

Though, because of my travels, and because I have this charming positive effect on people, I have friends all over the world. Just one example: in 2009 in the hostel in Reims, France, I met a man from Spain named Rafael. We talked for about 3 hours, only in Spanish – he speaks no English. We connected, because instant friends – and now I’m not only still friends with him on facebook, with a standing invitation to visit his home and family in Palma, Balearic Islands, Spain – he wrote a brief note of support for me.

I have never been in trouble with the law. I have never been suspected, investigated, implicated, and certainly not arrested or convicted of any crime ever. The only negative dealings I ever had with the police where the Nine Bar Raids I experienced in gay bars between 1977 and 1993 – when cops would come in, turn off the music, turn on the lights, and line us up to berate us with their night sticks waving in our faces – for the “crime” of sissy smooching, as I call it repeatedly on the internet. I have never even gotten a speeding ticket, nor suspected of a DUI. The only time cops pulled me over was twice with Louisiana license plates in New Jersey and New York – just to see if I had guns – and in Louisiana for my rainbow sticker on my bumper – and because twice I had a black man in my car – and they were wondering if all was right. He was the oboe player with the symphony, all was fine.

I have never been involved in any civil litigation – I have never sued anyone nor been sued. The only court case I was ever in was a 5 year long New York City Housing Court landlord-tenant dispute between 1981 and 1985. Acting as “pro se” and writing our briefs – I won 5 years of rent abatement and a $6,000 penalty for damages for me and 14 other tenants (not all of whom lasted the entire 5 years, having gone on with their lives before the conclusion.)

I have only been involved in 3 physical fights in my life. Twice in 9th Grade – when I had to beat up Michael Henderson and Allan Rolli who thought they were going to take up the cudgel against gay men in 1973 – and call me names and push me in school. So on Henderson’s front lawn, 3 or 4 houses from mine, I just pounded him into the ground in a rage and fury – and his father came running and my father came running and as they pulled me off screaming “Don’t call me queer again” and Henderson crying – his father started to take up the cudgel and mine said “Don’t call my son queer” – and that was that. Rolli I punched just outside of the principals office, and he came running, for he saw it out his windows – and I said the same thing “Do Not Call Me Queer Again” and everyone marveled. For a sissy to pound the bullies is not expected. As I joked – I became the “bashing fag” instead of “fag bashed.”

The third time was in the early 1980s – two young heterosexual men thought they’d come into the 9th Circle and beat us up. They came in wearing coats, under which they had baseball bats – and they took them out and started swinging and the gay men went running. I did not – I was right there – and I rushed them, while calling for aid – and I started beating one up – and I dragged him out the door – threw him down the steps and then kicked him into the gutter. The police were not called. The incident was well handled – and I received many a drink in thanks for my bravery.

I am a polyglot – I speak – besides English of course, and about which I have been published – Spanish and Czech. I am not fluent in these two, but I certainly can hold hours long conversations in them, and I can go through the day speaking only them. I have written a booklet in Spanish about how to think about learning English, it is very popular among my friends in Mazatlan, Mexico. I have written a 3 page essay for Czech friends and acquaintances on “the” and “a/an” because Czech does not have these words. I have studied linguistics – languages – words – Latin – alphabets – writing systems – the entirety of human communications I have studied. I can get along in French, Portuguese, Italian and less so, German. I can loosely read Dutch and Romanian. As I joke, I know 30 words in 30 languages.

I am an artist – incessantly painting – for decades. I have left behind a trail of paintings – many of which I don’t even have pictures of. But at least 600 paintings by me exist. Since I got to Tucson, and then Phoenix, I have painted some 150 works. I have 57 works on my walls. All of it is bright, cheery, effervescent, ebullient, golden, silvery, brilliantly colored – everyone notes the color – except for one skunk of man – he did not notice my art at all. I think he is the only person who ever came to my house who did not mention my art. What a bizarre little man claiming to have a right to manage and oversee my life. Even the police who came to get me at his behalf noticed the art and commented on it. Alone among all humanity – this miserable man demanding to run my life while being wrong about everything didn’t notice.

This is the short version – what I could show a court about what I did in my life – and since I arrived to settle down in Arizona would simply astonish the court – and take weeks to show. The court might remember the classic holiday film “A Miracle on 34th Street.” There’s a scene in the movie when Kris Kringle’s lawyer is trying to prove that he is not insane and is really Santa Claus. The lawyer presents 3 pieces of mail to the judge, and the prosecutor says “Come now, that’s all you have?” and the judge insists on more proof. So Kringle’s lawyer has a parade of mailmen trudge in bag after bag of letters. Well, if I might joke – what I can show about my life, both before Arizona and here now – would simply be like those bags of mail dumped on the judge’s desk. That judge did rule Mr. Kringle sane, and who he said he was, by the way.

What I accomplished in Tucson

What I accomplished in Tucson

I moved to Tucson in mid-July 2012 – and stayed there until September 3rd, 2013. I thought I would give the city a try, it did not work out. I have done this a dozen times or more, I just go to a city where I know no one and set up life within days, and I am very good at it. It is not “homelessness” or “drifting” – or “vagabond” or “transitional housing” or “survival mode” or “in crisis” in any current usage or idea, or social services “he’s at risk” nonsense – it is a deliberate plan to enjoy every bit of life I can squeeze out of existence. It is a deliberate, organized, thought out plan to go experience a city. And I do it, I have done it, and …..20130122_135631I cannot say I will not do it again. And this is one of just 30 mazes I did there.

I arrived with my laptop and a small suitcase – and about $800 – and stayed at the Roadrunner Hostel on 12th Street, where I always stay when in Tucson (at least 1 dozen trips I think since 2003.) I know the owner, and it is a fine place that is cleaned top to bottom several times a day every single day.

Within 5 days I had an apartment at 373 North Wilmot. A studio apartment on three bus lines, with a pool in the complex named Mountain Vista. The rent was $400 a month, electricity included.

Within days of signing the lease I had a table, chair, bedding, towels, pots, pans, dishes, silverware, more clothes, cleaning products – the things one needs to furnish a house. I met a guy at a bar called Venture Inn who took me to get the big stuff. (And to me a gay bar is a far better social service center than any bureaucratic agency.)

I moved my bank account from Louisiana to the National Bank of Arizona and arranged the continued deposit of my Social Security check into the new account. I still maintain my back account there.

I got an Arizona driver’s license, and I changed my address with anybody who needed or required it as one does with life.

I got a library card from the Tucson Public Library and took out and read perhaps 150 to 200 books over the year (I did not count, a list could not be obtained from the library, they do not keep lists they told me.) Subjects ranged from medieval kings of England and France, to the Renaissance, to Arizona history and geology, books on Tucson, and Arizona flora and fauna, to books on mosaics, cacti, architecture, gay literature, history, art, the English language, language and linguistics in general, biographies of accomplished people – the usual broad range of reading I’ve always done. The funniest book I read is by a late Dr. Nicolosi – “A Parent’s Guide to Preventing Homosexuality” – it is one of the most ludicrous books ever written – right there on a public library shelf. The most interesting book was “Gay Bar” about a gay bar in the 1950s written by the owner, Helen Bronson, way back then when she owned it. It mentions every buzz word about gay guys of today – including marriage.

Within a week or two I was friendly with the neighbors – we shared an entry balcony – Henessey and David, a charming young couple in their early 20s, Latino and Yaqui heritage, native to Tucson – they taught me about the city. From then until September 3rd 2013 when they helped me take my most precious things to a storage unit – and to the Tufesa bus station to go to Mazatlan – I was regularly socializing with them in my house – and they lent me a small electronic keyboard so I could dabble with music. They also gave me wood they found. Indeed – the 40 or so paintings I did for me are all on cast off wood of one kind or another.

On November 18th 2012 I started a picture book of my travels – there are some 150 hand drawn ink pen line drawings of people, places and things, with commentary, in my life. I finished the book on January 11th 2013. As I do with everything I ever did – I noted the dates in the work. The drawings are vivacious and succinct – the words clear and concise – and there are no errors.

I wrote 137 articles for my blog “The Daily Mush,” while I was Tucson. I have had the blog since November 2009 – in sum there are 980 articles on a 101 subjects. And while it used to be daily – I had grown bored with it mostly, so I cut it down to two or three times a week, and now every few months – I have said my piece. Each article is about 1000 words, that I write in about an hour. They are as cogent and lucid as anything I have ever written. The blog was, and perhaps still is – linked to by at least 2 dozen other websites, all major political ones, and mostly right wing. Commentators unknown to me actually posted links to my article on the Libya situation to a NY Times thread, and someone else my article on counting gay men to a Wall Street Journal thread.

I painted nearly 100 paintings. 40 for my own enjoyment – the rest to sell or give away. Half were mazes – the other half Czech themes and flowers – and one a biographical painting. They are as bright and vibrant as anything I ever did in a lifetime of painting.

In April and May I held an art exhibit at Brooklyn Pizza on 4th Avenue – the arts district’s major street. This involved visits, phone calls and emails to put together. I was “artist of the month,” and they held my exhibit over an extra month. Within a month or two of me arriving in Tucson I got on the rotation waiting list and waited my turn. I painted some 25 mazes for it – all with a pizza theme. They are actual workable mazes of quite intense complexity (see pictures) – and they certainly require concentration and focus to get done.

I created some 800 pieces of piano music – sketches, bagatelles, short works – all classical – and all on the computer sheet music that I have on my laptop. It takes me 10, 20 minutes to write a 1 to 5 minute long piece. They are all rich in melody and rhythm, and they are all very different. My inventiveness is simply unrelenting.

Within one month I found a piano in the lobby at The Arizona Cancer Clinic on North Campbell Avenue because I went looking for pianos – every day – all over – downtown, here and there, hotels, wherever – that’s what I do – I go look for a piano to play. I found this one and went there two or three times a week to play for a few hours to the delight and enjoyment of all. There are no pictures of me there – and there’s no record that could exist – I doubt anyone knew my name. I just walked in – played – thrilled everyone – and left.

I went to lunch almost every week with a man named Paul Miller who I met in Mazatlan, but was a retired teacher from the Tucson school system, and who when I first got to Tuscon drove me around to help me find a place. He tried to get me to be his roommate – but I don’t want to live with anyone. On the other hand, if I couldn’t have found an apartment right away – I knew I could go live with Mr. Miller right away.

I wrote and published a book called “The Pink Sheep of the Ninth Circle: homosexuality, homosexuals, sissies, queers, faggots and gay men” – which is my iconoclastic view on one of the most contentious subjects in this country – and around the world. It is not about the LGBTQI+ who knows anymore community – it is about gay men, me and my fellows.

On April 10th, 2013 I was published on a major Conservative, Christian, Right Wing website with a strong anti-gay streak – American Thinker – to promote my position on gay men: “Gays are much ado about nothing.” Over 350 comments were posted trashing me to umpteenth degree – and I enjoyed poking them in the eye.

The very day I was published at American Thinker – after a torrent of nastiness by commentators – a nationally known anti-gay commentator named Robert Oscar Lopez wrote a defense of my article and views – and for American Thinker – which I read for several years and was a comment moderator at in 2010 – this is the first, last and only time this major political website ever posted a defense of one of its contributors. Just months previously I had castigated Mr. Lopez on my blog – lopez lunacy 2/16/2013.

I had a second article on American Thinker – this time on the statistics of gay men.

I had two articles published about gay men and gay marriage at a smaller conservative right wing website called “Flopping Aces.” I was a regular commentator there – the editor inquired if I would like to state my views. I was a daily commentator on dozens of articles, engaging people on the issues of the day.

Both sets of articles involved working with the editors of the websites and crafting the articles. I also continued my regular commenting on many a subject all over the internet – I suppose 100s if not 1000s of my comments can be found anywhere one looks on the internet. Mr. Steven White’s letter included here attests to my commentary on his award winning conservative website.

I created a 24×36” maze with a watercolor background and a black pen line maze on top for the Tucson Arts Brigade. (See picture above.) It eventually sold for $100 – $30 to the TAB, $70 to me. I had to work with them, meet their guidelines, use their paper (one sheet I was given – there was no room for error – and there are no errors) and meet their deadline.

I created several paintings for something called BICAS – they fix, repair, sell, trade bicycles. They were mazes with a bicycle theme. (The only photos I had of them were on the phone that St. Joseph’s hospital washed.)

At a ‘paint and wine’ store where Michael Castaneda took us on an outing I painted in one hour a great painting – the only painting I really regret letting go – but there was no more room in the van to take everything to storage. After I did that – I had an exhibit of my paintings there, and I guess I might still have some there – I don’t know. I also painted a maze for the owner. (see picture)

I translated and transcribed about 20 letters from my great-grandmother in Prague to my grandfather in America. They are all in an old formal Czech in a tight cursive handwriting, in a dark, spotted with blotches copies – they are not easy to read – and Czech is not an easy language, nor am I fluent in it, but had to look up many a word in my dictionaries. I shared these with the family. It took a couple of hours a day for months.

I made a CD of family documents and items related to my grandfather Joseph Javurek with commentary, for his namesake great-grandson Joseph. I sent other CDs of other family documents and letters, items, photographs to other family on both my mother’s and father’s side. I am assembling, recording, translating, describing and putting into context hundreds of documents from the Czech lands, and 100s of letters, photographs and ephemera – all slated for the National Czech and Slovak Museum and Library in Cedar Rapids Iowa – who are expectantly awaiting this incredible treasure trove of Czech immigrant families.

I translated from Czech several letters from my great-uncle Otto to his brother, my grandfather. Otto was for 6 years in a Nazi concentration camp, who wound up as a displaced person with this wife and two children in Newcastle, Australia. The letters pertained about getting help to get to America, and please send some clothes and money for we are broke and desperate. Otto died in 1963, I was 5 years old. And the family in Prague and in New York lost touch with them there. In February, 2012, I posted the letters to my blog, in the original Czech – as a sort of filler because I was very busy and my readers wondered what happened to the flow of articles – and in February 2013 that post lit up with hits – all from Australia. And over the next 10 days I did everything I could to let whoever was looking at the post know – “I am your American cousin, contact me.” Finally I got an email from Alice, now living in Wagga Wagga, New South Wales, Australia saying “I am Otto’s daughter” – and we started Skyping every week. For the next six months I would go to the library across the street for a solid internet connection, and we’d talk for an hour – it was 4 PM on Saturday for me, and 10 AM in Australia for her. And I contacted relatives around America and in Europe to tell them all about this – and finally my family is reunited on three continents in two languages.

As I do every year for 40 years – in December 2012 I hand drew dozens of Christmas cards and mailed them to my friends and relatives here and abroad.

In June 2013 I flew to Pennsylvania to go to my niece’s wedding. I was there for 5 days.

And as always – I baked quiche, pumpkin and apple pie from scratch – rolling out my own dough for the crust and slicing the apples, etc etc – and made chocolate chip cookie cake, one of my favorites. I am a very good baker and cook.

In other words, I had the same steady flow of creative and productive things I ever did, year in and year out for decades. I didn’t change one bit.

And I met with any bureaucrat the system required, I made every appointment, I signed every form and provided every proof any bureaucrat could desire – and I tried to avoid them all as best I could.

On April 8th and April 9th 2013 some young woman at COPE wrote that I said I “was seeking services because I can’t concentrate and can’t function.” I might have said “I can’t concentrate because of the air conditioning work going on in my house” – for the complex started doing something that required a hole cut in my ceiling, and pipes and tubes strung from one end of the house to the other going out the door and this compressor going for 8 hours a day – while workmen traipsed in and out as they needed – for months they did this. And how could I concentrate on my projects with this going on? It wasn’t “I can’t concentrate” but “I can’t concentrate because …” and this woman didn’t want to know that.

And I did not go to COPE seeking services of any kind – but Michael Castaneda said I needed a case manager. I met with one, signed their forms, and never met or spoke with them again.

Whoever wrote this simply fabricated it – I could never have uttered these words – not in a million years. It is written “James agrees he’s severely mentally ill.” Never would I agree to that – it is obnoxious to reality and to the entirety of my being. And yet this is what started this avalanche.

On April 8th I published to my blog an article titled “And on the 8th Day He created Gay Men” – extolling gay guys as great. To think I went to some woman hours later and said I was “severely mentally ill” is preposterous.

On April 8th and 9th they say I’m saying I’m insane – on the 9th I published an article on North Korea that still applies today.

The next day, on April 10th 2013, my article on the Glory of Gay Guys was published at American Thinker – where I’m proclaiming the glory of Gay Guys as God’s great good creation.

More so – my views of bureaucrats, heterosexuals and women are dim – I mention my dislike for the trio all the time – there must be 100s of times I castigated the three one way or the other on the internet and in the books and articles I wrote. It is simply nonsensical to argue that after 40 years lambasting these three – I would go to a woman heterosexual bureaucrat to tell her anything but “let me sign your forms and get out of here.” For 40 years I argued gay men were not mentally ill – and that very day too – and to claim I just blithely agreed to it hours later is lunacy.

In August 2013 I renewed my lease – and the complex as a thank you, sent in carpet cleaners. I had to clear everything from the place so they could do the cleaning – and there was not one bug. 3 weeks later bedbugs surfaced by the hundreds – they came marching under the moldings, through the sockets – I had never seen anything like it – and I said “It’s like a Hollywood horror flick” which somehow got changed to “He’s delusional and thinks he’s a Hollywood movie star.” Whoever dreamed this up is nuts – never could I or would I say I wanted to be movie star. I don’t even watch movies – I despise them actually.

The county sent a health inspector who told me that the complex was cited repeatedly for bedbugs. The complex wanted $400 or $500 up front to deal with it. They told me they would get to it in 10 days – and they said there were going to start eviction proceedings against me. But the hundreds of bedbugs were coming at me – if I stood still they would crawl up my legs – it was just gross. I’m a sissy, I can’t handle bugs, no.

I was up for 7 days – there was no way to sleep. I had severe sleep deprivation – which is a major problem. A neighbor saw me and was concerned and I said “call 911” and the police came and I said “take me to a hospital.” So they brought me to St. Joseph’s across the street – and in the emergency room while they were picking bedbugs off of me – they wrote that I was delusional about them. Apparently because I don’t get the common welts and bite marks, and I don’t why that is – they claimed I was imagining them – as they were crawling on me. The apartment complex took pictures of the thousands which covered my mattress which I dragged out on the balcony.

I even bought two cans of bedbug killer spray – overdrew my bank account to do it – and sprayed both cans everywhere – including on me to keep the bugs off of me.

So, they put me in a psyche ward – and all I wanted to do was sleep – and they wanted to ask me questions about whatever they thought was going on – so while I told them I was sleep deprived and please just let me sleep – they grilled me about who knows what – nor could anything I have said in this state be taken seriously as conscious thought. I did not sleep for 7 days – I was out of it.

COPE had sent a woman to my house – someone named Heidi – she claimed to be my case manager and I had never knew she existed. It took her three days to get to my house because she had the wrong address. She would not enter my house – bedbugs, you see? And for the 12 or 15 minutes she was at my house she spent 3/4s of the time on her phone – ignoring me. Then she told me I was on my own. And then she left. She had not a care in the world about the situation. And in COPE’s records there she is – writing paragraph after paragraph about me – and I saw her once – for 15 minutes tops – on her phone. How this woman could write a thing about me I don’t know – it is simply fabrication. She wrote that I was moving to Costa Rica – where could that come from? She also wrote I was moving to Philadelphia. So I was going in two directions at once? This woman just made this up – I don’t know how.

Fortunately, I was taken to the hospital by the Tucson Police Department on September 2nd, and I finally got some sleep. I had even written a note for the police, for I couldn’t talk anymore, and I handed it to the first officer through the door: “I have no weapons, I am not on drugs, I have not slept in a week, the house is infested with bedbugs, please take me to a hospital.” I don’t even recall how they got me to the hospital – I just let them lead me, while begging for a safe place to sleep.

On the morning of September 3rd after finally some long good sleep, I spoke with a Dr. Lambert – and then they let me out right away – but first they handed me back my wallet and phone – washed. They washed my wallet! They washed my phone! I went to my bank, asked if I could use their phone, and I called my neighbors Henessey and David, who were awaiting the call – who then came with their van and I took out my most precious things – my art, the family letters, my laptop, bake ware – and I put it into storage. They only had time for one trip at the end of their work day at 5 PM – and the storage unit closed at 6 PM. And by 8 PM or so I was on a Tufesa bus bound for Mazatlan, Mexico. I abandoned the rest of it – there was nothing else to do. I emailed the complex that I had done this and told them I expected no trouble from them.

I didn’t have money to stay at a hotel while looking for a new place. Nor could I stay at the hostel – because there’s a standard rule that you can’t stay at a hostel in the city you reside in – if you have a Tucson ID, which I did – you cannot stay at the hostel – it is for travelers, not locals. So, I went to Mazatlan where I have friends (both the Hotel Belmar and Hotel Mexico there have ample proof they know me. I am still friends with them on Facebook. I have written a book about my time there.)

For the next several months after I left the city COPE in Tucson endlessly discussed me and what they were doing for me – nearly 120 pages of their 186 page report about me is written after I had left the city and had no further contact with them whatsoever. That an agency I never wanted to deal with – never called – met maybe 5 times at their insistence – could churn out a 186 pages on me is simply stunning – and a fantasy at that. I even sent them two or three emails telling them they were nuts to think I would let them run my life or be involved in it – and all I told them was “if you give a damn, you’ll send me the drugs” – and they did not.

After two months in Mazatlan I headed to my sister’s house in Pennsylvania. My nephew needed help with the building he owns in Scranton – my niece and her husband had a new house – I had family archives to work on – and 150 items that I put up on Ebay to raise the money to move to Phoenix. And I played piano at the Century Club, the 100 year old woman’s club in Scranton, down the block, because I met the president who parked her car in front of the building I was in – and well, I became the only guy in the woman’s club, for two months I played at least once a week there to the delight of all.

And that’s all in one year ….

A whole new direction

In the next few days – watch for a whole new direction

it’s going to be a wild ride 🙂

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