Headshot 2013 by David Robinette 

 AI photo collage by Gemini

14 AUG 26:  People talk about true love like it is a gentle thing—a soft landing, a shared laugh over coffee, a sunset walk. But true love isn't a luxury item. True love is a shield you forge out of your own muscle and bone, and sometimes, the world demands that you hold that shield completely alone in the dark.

​If you follow popular approval, love is easy. It comes with societal blessing, family support, and an audience cheering you on. But when you follow your heart across lines the world doesn't understand—across generations, across expectations, across class—the world withdraws its safety net. It doesn't offer you empathy; it offers you indifference, judgment, or an ultimatum.

​I learned what true love required long before 2020, but the fire was built years earlier.

​Part I: The Gamble and the Protocol

​In the summer of 2017, I was working at Orchard Supply Hardware in Los Angeles, desperate to transition into my true passion and finally put my college degree in Outdoor Adventure to work. A seasonal offer came through from Griffith Park Boys Camp: ten weeks of work, starting with a mandatory one-week staff training. The pay was lower than hardware retail, and I had zero financial margin, living strictly paycheck to paycheck. But I knew if I didn't take the leap, I’d be stuck forever.

​I pitched taking the entire summer off to my store manager, Vicky. She was a cool, sharp woman originally from Northern California—a real farm girl who recognized immediately, just from who I was and how I worked, that I had grown up on a farm too. We had a unspoken connection built on that shared background. What I didn't know then was that Vicky was guarding a heavy secret: she was the only person in the store who knew Orchard Supply was going insolvent. Months before the company went public with its bankruptcy, Vicky already knew the ship was sinking.

​Because of our bond and what she secretly knew about the store's shelf life, she granted me the impossible: the entire summer off with a guaranteed job waiting for me in the fall. My coworkers were absolutely furious. They were being denied basic single-week vacation requests while I was handed a full three-month pass. The stakes were astronomical; I was walking a social tightrope at work, risking my entire baseline security just to take a shot at my career.

​Then the floor dropped out.

​Travis needed a major medical procedure, which came at a high-risk to his heart. Surgeries of that magnitude aren't scheduled on a whim; they are booked months in advance, and by sheer misfortune, the hospital’s first available date landed right in the middle of camp training week. Missing training meant immediate termination from the camp.

​Hospital protocol was ironclad: a surgical patient had to be dropped off by the person who would be taking them home. They would not admit him otherwise. Knowing I couldn't be there in the morning without losing my job, Travis and I practically begged the medical staff to adapt. In a rare, astounding act of empathy, the hospital agreed to break protocol. They allowed a 71-year-old man with a weak heart to take an Uber by himself to check into major surgery—solely on my solemn promise that I would be standing in the waiting room at noon on Friday to pick him up. The camp schedule swore training ended at Friday lunch. The timeline was razor-thin, but it was our only shot.

​The last text came from Travis right before they wheeled him into the operating room. After that, total radio silence. Because Travis had no family there and I was trapped at camp, there was no status update, no liaison, no one to tell me if he was breathing.

​Late Thursday night, the hospital finally called. The doctor said things had been touch-and-go with his heart during the procedure, but he was out of surgery and recovering. I didn't sleep a single second that night. I lay in the dark, processing the terror of almost losing him with no family to turn to, completely alienated in LA, bracing for Friday morning.

​When Friday arrived, camp leadership casually announced that training wouldn't end at lunch after all—it would drag on until 4:00 PM or later. When I desperately explained that my partner was sitting in a hospital recovery ward waiting for me, and that I had promised the staff I would be there at noon, they gave me a cold ultimatum: If you leave early, you're fired.

​The sheer weight of everything—the secrecy at Orchard, the fury of my coworkers, the sleepless night, the sheer terror of Travis sitting alone after heart surgery—shattered me. I had a total breakdown, crying so uncontrollably in front of everyone that they had to remove me and put me in an back office. Facing a distraught man who refused to back down, they finally yielded and let me leave with my job intact.

​I drove straight to the hospital. I was penniless, exhausted, and emotionally battered, but when I walked into that room to pick him up, I learned a vital truth: If you are afraid of being alone, you will compromise on love. But if you aren't afraid of standing alone, your love becomes unbreakable.

​That grueling summer was also where I met Dr. Al Wright, setting off the chain reaction that built my career with Fulcrum Adventures and Alpine Towers. The fire didn't destroy me; it cleared the ground for my future.

​Part II: Cold Math and 6% Odds

​Three years later, the real test arrived.

​In 2020, Travis was diagnosed with prostate cancer. The doctors gave him less than a 6% chance of survival. Almost immediately after, the global pandemic locked down the world.

​While everyone else was arguing online or settling into remote work, I was driving my 74-year-old partner to chemotherapy at Cedars-Sinai, acting as his sole caretaker, driver, and airlock against a deadly virus. His immune system was systematically dismantled by chemo; a single point of exposure to COVID meant death.

​The world outside was silent, but the silence from my own blood was deafening. Earlier, when I had remarked to my mother about how horrifying the rising COVID death toll was, her immediate, flat response had been: "Well, in a country of 300 million, the number of people dying is relatively small."

​It wasn't just a casual remark—it was the cold, utilitarian logic that much of the country adopted to distance themselves from human tragedy. To her, Travis was just an old man who had lived his life, a fraction of a statistical rounding error in a nation of 300 million. She knew he had a 6% survival chance and was undergoing chemo, yet throughout the entire crisis, she never called once to ask if I was okay.

​When my brother, fresh out of the Marines, showed up unannounced at my apartment during the strictest height of the California lockdown, he couldn't grasp the reality. He just wanted to see his brother. He didn't understand that letting anyone inside who wasn't strictly quarantined was playing Russian roulette with a cancer patient's life. Standing behind that closed door, I had to make the brutal choice to turn my own brother away.

​Even when I reached out to a friend for support, the topic was too heavy, the age gap too unconventional, and the grief too intense. They pulled away. So I processed every hospital drive, every crashing white-blood-cell count, and every terrifying night entirely on my own.

​Part III: The Triumph of the Unconventional

​They gave him 6%. They told us he wouldn't make it.

​They didn't factor in what happens when someone refuses to let go, and they didn't factor in Travis's incredible strength.

​Today, Travis and I have been together over thirteen and a half years. He beat those 6% odds. We survived the cancer, the lockdown, the bureaucracy, and the isolation. And while my own family turned their backs, I found what real community looks like through Travis: a network of hundreds of true friends who love him, welcome me, and treat our partnership with deep dignity and respect.

​To anyone reading this who feels alienated, judged, or abandoned because your heart led you somewhere the crowd doesn't approve of: do not yield.

​The world will tell you to choose what is comfortable, what looks good on paper, and what fits neat societal boxes. But comfort does not build a soul, and popular approval will not sit in a hospital parking lot at 2:00 AM praying for a pulse.

​Loving deeply against the grain requires you to be comfortable being the villain in other people's shallow stories. It requires you to carry the weight when nobody else will offer a hand. But when you stand in that fire and protect the person you love, you discover a strength that nobody can ever take away from you.

out religious single folks who think they know what I'm talking about simply because they talk to themselves every day and use prayer to solve everything.

I'm talking about possessing the personality and relationship skills to get someone, a living breathing human being, to like you long enough for 12 years to go by with you both still are as much in love and as attracted to each other as Travis and I am.

I cannot believe I have been working with challenge courses for 18 years, Travis and I have been together for 12 years, I have been riding horses since I was in diapers, and I wrote my first manuscript to be published 20 years ago this year. Familiarity is grounding, something without which I couldn't turn 36. I'm still impacting the future with summer camp education, Travis and I are more in love now than we were when we met in the fall of 2012, last year I got back in the saddle, and in 2024 I published my memoir and was published in two different horse magazines. These are the definitions of being on solid ground.

The LA fires canceled all of my work with Fulcrum Adventures last week and this week, allowing me to pivot my attention towards Griffith Park Boys Camp. During the week, I have been helping repair challenge courses and working to prepare boys camp for the big year ahead. On Tuesday as I drove through camp in our old city pickup with a brand new tailgate, it dawned on me this is my 8th year serving the City of Los Angeles as a team-building challenge course enthusiast.

I also realized this week that the camp is haunted because no matter where I am, memories of past adventures flood my mind. Today, I'll be back at boys camp tightening hand holds on the climbing wall and doing other odd chores. At the climbing wall I hear giggling, on the challenge course I hear laughing over at the campfire amphitheater, over by arts and crafts I hear a little hammers tapping during leather work class, at the Science Center my ears can hear Jackson and all the kids in my cabin building a space ship.

We live in an era where nobody does the same career or has the same life partner for their entire life, but this is something I could never not do. The modern definition of happiness is not mine, possibly because of who I am now. I do not need or want new all the time. All I have to do to ground myself when the fast speed of time overwhelms me is go to work, write a poem, or spend an evening with Travis, places I realize where commitment is a reward far outweighing modern ambition.

I think it is absolutely wonderful we live in a time where there are no more arranged marriages and divorce has no stigma. I understand marriage, but you have to admit it was originally created to turn other people into your property. That said, the love Travis and I share is the greatest foundation in my life. I blame the religious nutjobs out there for ruining everyone's perception of lifelong commitment. This is why I work for a secular camp.

Can you believe Griffith Park Boys Camp is the only summer camp in Southern California that doesn't shove religious doctrine down the throats of children? This is a fact of which I'm quite proud—and I know what I'm talking about because I have worked at every summer camp in Southern California and no matter where I am, either the dining hall has Buddha in the name, the Israeli flag is flying high, or a massive wooden cross symbolizing Jesus is overlooking the challenge course.

Not the case at Griffith Park Boys Camp, where campers are allowed to be Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, non-religious, or whatever you want without anyone ever telling you you're wrong. This detachment from religion is solely why I am equally commited to Fulcrum Adventures and the Outdoor Recreation and Tourism Department and challenge course at California State University Northridge.

I remember in 2015 wrangling horses in Griffith Park and aside from loving my job each day, the best memory was the joy of knowing that after work, I would go home to Travis. After work, all the wranglers would be excited about going to a cowboy bar in Beverly Hills, but I never went because going home and watching Huell Howser on PBS with Travis was far more fun to me. Travis also supports my writing by reading it and listening. He also helped me get my second book published by editing it and putting me in touch with his publisher. Travis got me back in the saddle again as well by introducing me to his friend Susan in Ojai, who is a psychologist and works in equine therapy.

For me, being with the same person for 12 years is far more rewarding than dating. Gold is less valuable than being able to love someone who listens to me and who I know will be there smiling to greet me the moment I get home. I don't want to be in a relationship with someone who would rather be at a bar in Beverly Hills than home watching Antiques Roadshow on the couch next to me with our little pug between us.

During the pandemic, too many people told me home isolation revealed to them how lonely they were despite how many friends they had. For Travis and me, the pandemic was one long island vacation. We would drive to Griffith Park, where we would read books to one another, or we would stay in my studio apartment where I would write while Travis painted. Never being alone is the greatest gift of longevity, something my generation doesn't value, which I totally get but personally reject as a lifestyle choice.

For decades, lyricists and poets have written about how lonely life in Los Angeles is, or life in general, but maybe everyone simply doesn't want to acknowledge how lonely they are. Travis and I attend so much theatre, I work with every school in the city, I work with hundreds of horses, and people all over the world are reading my memoir being sold at Barnes & Noble. Los Angeles, lonely? Writers have got this city all wrong, which is why my book Urban Native makes me one of the few LA writers not rehashing the same old "world's tiniest violin" whiny crybaby crap.

I love Travis because he discovered many of the musicians whose music the next generation is listening to instead of contemporary music. I know this because I work every day with the little kids who will become the future and they aren't listening to the music we listen to today. Taylor Swift, yes, but for the most part, whenever I am taking song requests, little kids are listening to Joni Mitchell, Jim Morrison, Queen Elton John, and Linda Ronstadt. Travis worked with these artists and gave many of them their first professional job at the Troubadour in Los Angeles, artists who created music with longevity. Longevity is what is missing in today's overproduced, AI monstrosity, elevator, head-banging noise. Travis is my connection to a world less shallow than the one I was born into. I need more than video games and football as conversation fodder for the person with whom I'm spending my life and I found that in Travis.

It's really hard for young people to understand but my generation is finally getting old enough to begin to see what I mean when I say there is nobody greater than a person who is able to spend every day with you, not always talking but able to simply be with you. Travis will tell you nobody needs sex more than me, but sex alone will not last 12 years. Just go to a strip club if you don't believe me and strike up a conversation with one of the customers who is more lonely than an LA lyricist or a theologian praying.

In March I am turning 36, which is a point in life when you really begin to notice, especially if you have been doing the same things and living in the same place for 12 years, that everyone around you is getting older. Whether it is little kids or adults, after 12 years in the same place, you begin to notice aging like never before. For some, this can be daunting, but for me, it shows there will always be children and there will always be adults. The cycle of life is beautiful if you truly take the time to appreciate it as it passes by.

Writing is the best means I have to appreciate this cycle and my memoir is proof. Thanks to my writing, nobody could ever convince me about life being a terrible experience. Too many people I know who ran around having lots of fun without committing to anything or anyone are now disgruntled and pessimistic, whereas I wake up each morning excited because I'm always someplace new every day, yet I'm still with the same person. My life takes me all over the place from the Grand Canyon to Malibu to Griffith Park to New Orleans. I couldn't work in the same office cubicle my whole life, nor could I look for a new job as often as people find new romance partners.

This Saturday we will be taking kids to the Griffith Park Observatory, where they will be hanging out with NASA scientists, and I will be leading team building. 2025 will be the start of the second year of Griffith Park Boy Camp's Air Land and Sea program. We go whale watching, we go to Huntington Beach Gardens, we go to the LA Zoo, we go camping. How could I not be a writer and not be in love with life's journey?

I'm really shocked at how many people in their mid-30s walk around under little rain clouds. They act like the best is behind them and the future is uncertain. How could I? I have publishers interested in books I haven't even written yet and I'm currently helping the City of LA design an after-school program based around summer camp activities. Why? Currently, most after-school activities revolve around sports and if you have been working with children as long as me, you know for a fact, sports create many health problems for kids, especially football. I am devoted to ending this country's infatuation with sports and removing the NFL from its pedestal.

We need to be teaching children empathy or start providing real healthcare because of all the negative health issues caused by sports like brain trauma, spinal development problems, and poor sportsmanship.

See? I have way too much to do for not wanting to jump out of bed every morning with a smile. That’s the difference between being grounded and blowing around in the wind with nowhere or nobody to call home.

The first essay in Urban Native: The Musings of a Queer Navajo Cowboy in Hollywood:

The Owl of Griffith Park

Folks back home in New Mexico consider Los Angeles to be the throne of Satan. Why do you think it's this cowboy's permanent address? My sister once said during a brief visit to the City of Angels that she wore an aroma of marijuana. This evening her statement rings true as the evening breeze blows down from the San Gabriels into the streets of Burbank, networking its way to the LA Equestrian Center and Viva Cantina Restaurant while bringing along cool mountain air saturated in the sweet whiff of the ol’ Demon Weed. The Cantina's outdoor patio holds my bony Navajo ass in a faded white wicker chair while a whitewashed railing perches my aching feet clad in tired leather ropers painted with dried horseshit.

The year is 2015 and my sweaty salt-encrusted straw Stetson drapes over both eyes, masquerading the illusion of a cowboy taking a siesta. Nothing could be farther from the truth. With arms loosely crossed, I'm actually peering through the aerating vent woven 360-degrees around the crown of my hat. Like all of us, horses are more themselves when they think nobody's watching. A snoozing cowboy is an easy target for horses to take full advantage.

The dirt alley next to the patio has multiple rows of steel hitching posts where almost 40 horses are tethered, 13 of them belonging to Steve Smith, owner of Sunset Ranch, the last remaining ranch in Hollywood Hills where back then I worked as a wrangler. The ranch offers a dinner ride in which I take paying guests on horseback from the ranch at the head of Beachwood Drive in Hollywood up over Mount Lee, then down past the LA Zoo through Oak Canyon and across the swinging bridge spanning Los Angeles River, arriving finally at Viva Cantina. The ride both ways is just over 12 miles and takes 4-5 hours including dinner, unless of course the guests get wasted at the Cantina's bar. There's nothing more challenging than getting drunks safely home via a 19^th-century version of Uber, which is the reason my feet are tired and need propping up.

I'm watching the horses through the aerating vent in my hat because horses are as good at untying knots as a challenge course facilitator. The old-timers who still work for Steve have great stories of the past when they came out of the Cantina with their guests only to find all the horses had untied themselves and made the 6-plus-mile journey alone back to their corral in Hollywood. Guests always ask the attractive wranglers to join them for dinner, but I always defer to the patio escaping the boring idle chatter inside but more importantly ensuring our mode of transportation doesn't abandon us. Do we really want self-driving cars?

Two of my favorite things about Viva Cantina are that wranglers eat for free—I mean it's the least the restaurant could do since we're bringing them business—and I also love the live music playing every night by great local musicians. The outdoor server refreshes my 7-Up, chips and salsa, then sets the biggest ground-beef burrito in California before me. Hungrier than a tick on a New Mexico coyote, I satisfy the appetite another honest day's work LA has created. Roxy whinnies at my miraculous resurrection and I blow the beautiful mare a smooch.

On the ride back after dinner, crossing the river then traversing the tunnel beneath the 134 freeway, our journey passes Forest Lawn Memorial Park – Hollywood Hills. The cemetery is naturally haunting on horseback at night, surrounded by ancient oak trees bathing under a full moon whose reflected luminosity casts long shadows upon the massive branches fingering over the trail as an owl hoots from somewhere in the canyon. One of the guests asks about the owl, but sadly at the time I still didn't know enough about the Owl of Griffith Park to introduce her to my riders.

After becoming the challenge course director for Griffith Park Boys Camp two years later in 2017, I would learn exactly where the owl lives who was hooting that night in 2015. She has a huge nest next to the boy camp's zipline tower up Crystal Springs Canyon above the golf course, where multiple scientists study her story of survival as urban wildlife. In 2015, I still hadn't been around long enough to know where she lived, but now I see her every time I climb up onto my Hollywood Hills challenge course. She is the nicest and sweetest friend! I'm so happy she chose to live in an old pine tree on camp property, which luckily has restricted access to the public. I would have to become an employee for the great City of Los Angeles before getting the chance to formally meet her, but even on that night in 2015 riding back to the ranch after dinner, I knew without a doubt this hooting gal was a kindred spirit whom I had way more in common with than the humans riding my horse friends.

Today in the year 2021, I'm friends with a lot of the city park rangers, all of whom worship the work being done at Boys Camp. Ranger Tom is the head honcho ranger. Tom's a good guy. He doesn't wear a gun despite the city's new attempt to make the department more law enforcement oriented. Ranger Tom leads our weekly hikes during the nine weeks of summer camp as we take the campers to the top of LaBonge Summit. On the hike sometimes the kids will get Ranger Tom to share his ghostly encounters experienced during his years of service to the city's parks.

During the 2019 summer camp season while hiking the boys back to camp over the landfill, our procession approached a significant fork in the trail—significant in that choosing the right fork would return us to Amir's Garden and boy camp, while the left fork drops into Oak Canyon along the cemetery where my guests and I heard the owl hooting after dinner in 2015. Stopping at the fork I ask Ranger Tom if he had ever seen a ghost at this spot in the trail. Tom grew quiet before asking, "You saw a guy sitting over there on the boulder next to that eucalyptus tree, didn't you?"

Back on that night in 2015 with the owl hooting overhead I rode point, in front of the group, as our horses climbed out of Oak Canyon emerging onto the abandoned landfill. Industrial orange lights speckle a powerplant turning the landfills escaping methane into electricity. With the dark forest behind us my guests become more talkative. They chatter about the Cantina's amazing vibe before segueing into me sharing my Griffith Park ghost stories.

City rangers and horse wranglers see some crazy things in the park at night. Ranger Tom once came upon a naked man brandishing lethally sharp Samurai swords. A fellow wrangler guiding a group through the park at night came upon a naked woman lying in the center of a pentagram that she had drawn large-scale on the trail. While riding back on a different night after dinner, my group came upon a mountain lion prowling a section of the trail in Bronson Canyon. Rangers and wranglers will concur, ghosts are the least dangerous spirits you'll encounter at night in the park. As we rode across the landfill, I didn't need to share any ghost stories, because we were approaching the same spot where Ranger Tom, four years later, would ask if the ghost I was about to see was a man sitting on a boulder next to a huge eucalyptus tree overshadowing this infamous fork in the trail.

The closer we came to the fork and eucalyptus tree, the more jittery all 13 of our horses became. I was riding Ben, a $12,000 international champion roping horse who has performed in arenas surrounded by thousands of people. Still, whatever lay ahead absolutely shattered Ben's unbreakable resolve that night. By the time we reached the fork, Ben was rearing up, bucking and scaring the crap out of my guests whose horses were becoming unnerved as well. The dark shadow of the eucalyptus tree had until then caped its surroundings like a shroud enveloped in darkness, but now standing at the fork Ben and I both could finally see at the trunk's base an odd-looking man sitting upon a boulder looking perplexed. Politely asking the stranger if he would step out of the shadows to stop scaring our horses gained me no response. The stranger sat immobile while the horses went insane. I subsequently would encounter this haunting man on three different nights.

On the night of this story, Ben nearly reared over on me and I was finally forced to dismount and lead him by the reins, beyond this statue of a man sitting beneath the eucalyptus tree at the fork in the trail from which Ranger Tom, 55 boys and myself descended onto four years later returning from LaBonge Summit. As Tom and I talked about this haunted part of the trail, all the boys grew as quiet as the ranch guests had in 2015 while riding our horses past the cemetery. One of the boys listening to Tom and me discover a shared ghost encounter suddenly heard the Owl of Griffith Park hooting. The owl sent a shiver through the boy and instantly I took a knee, patting his shoulder reassuringly before introducing him to my best friend in the whole hooting world, that lovely timeless old owl who just as this Navajo cowboy is simply urban wildlife, equally as harmless as a ghost.

I say to the boy with confidence, “Ghosts mean us no harm, nor do owls. Tomorrow up on the zip line tower remind me and I'll point out the tree house of the Owl of Griffith Park."

Fire still burning hot in my heart and loins

Love is life's intention

It's okay to be needed

I make a living at that

But to be wanted is something else entirely

For someone to want you in their bed with them

For them to want you at their side

Want is my desire

Want is true love

Nothing in existence can want you

In the way only a man can

Sex is great

But love is what makes it great

And to have such greatness is possible

For love is strong enough to be walking into year 11

Give me someone who wants my love

As desperately as I want his

Love made strong through years of tender sweetness

— April 10, 2023

Not sure fascinating is the right word but whatever the right word is that word describes the irony of living in a society perpetuating love while you and your partner get through a year of cancer treatment and no family ever asks, "Hey how's Travis doing?" This is how I know blood is skin deep. Another good example of modern irony is when folks invite you, but just you not you and your partner, like maybe if you were with a woman or a man with a socially acceptable age you'd get an invite as a couple, but instead only you get invited despite being in a 12-year relationship with someone.

Navajo society was inclusive to homosexuals, two spirit people and many other forms of human sexuality long before colonists came along whose spoiled rotten descendants are now pretending to be Navajo (Dine word for human) in order to hide the stories of American hate told by Rosa Parks, Geronimo and Chief Justice John Marshall. Today gay marriage is illegal in the Navajo Nation which is why California stole me from Dinetah (Dine for Navajo homeland). Despite Americans using centuries to make Navajo as hateful as them, I refuse to kneel before Manifest Destiny.

TRAVIS' RESPONSE:

Although it initially took a lot of eye-rolling and "Oh, Travis, you old fool" moments for my friends to accept our love, literally everyone in my life changed their minds when they met you and saw the love in our eyes we share without trying. Of course, there have been other less approving peripheral people who have proven themselves to be more jealous of us then happy for us, but not the real people, the special ones we've chosen as our "family" of friends. We are so lucky for them but in the last analysis, our love has created a force field around us that has survived all the naysayers. The destructive judgmental nature of societal rules and mores have no room in our lives together.

Dinner is smelling mighty fine isn't it

Fresh chopped logs burning in the fireplace

Just wait until you taste that turkey I'm baking

It'll melt in your mouth and erase all doubt

Everything's going to be alright

And not ‘cause I say so

I'm bespeaking our yummy hot cocoa of course

Almost time to turn on the TV since its purt-near 7 on a Sunday

Yeah I know Alfonso Ribeiro is annoying

But AFV is a documentary about us

What would the rest of the world do without us

Who would there be to laugh at if it wasn't for our self-righteous democracy

Laughter is what gets humankind through to the other side

Every court needs a jester

Even one so humble as ours

I mean simply looking at myself in the mirror is funny

So I've got to be hilarious for you

What would you do without a skinny runt like me

And all of my hilarious shortcomings

Of which there are many much to your advantage

Beauty often doesn't come with holiday ornamental perfection

So never underestimate the power of love

Therein lies the beauty I'm talking about

A home worth trusting in

Like this one here we're cuddling in tonight

May Republicans lose Georgia so Biden may help the many homeless this holiday season

Like how we help each other carry on through life

Less of a destination and more an adventure

I may be funny to look at but we sure have a lot of fun together

Who can recall all of our crazy shenanigans

Remember that time in the parking lot outside the theatre

Fellow patrons strolling past on the sidewalk

I admit you were right about getting tinted windows

They sure have come in handy

How in the world do you put up with me

Never mind don't answer that

Let's just leave well enough alone

I'll go check on the turkey

You stay right here looking beautiful

And I'll be right back 

My Zeus

To trust is human

Found within thee

Love of pure goodness

Good not of religion

Nor deeds unto eternity

Goodness of moment

Moment after moment of my life

Spent safely in your arms

Thy great love

True firmament of trust

Divinity of my worship 

May 13, 2019

I’m slowly moving into the seventh year of a relationship with the love of my life. Does seven years make you a viable expert in something? Expert means being talented in a hard situation. Seven years of love isn’t hard work, so I don’t rightly consider myself an expert on love. All love requires is two souls with time for each other. Have you ever dated anybody my age these days? The young dating pool of 2019 is filled with mini versions of my father. Of those born between 1981 and 1996 more than half think they’ll become millionaires. Specifically, 70% of millennial men and 38% of women believe they’ll become millionaires.

Thankfully my successful father spared me from this delusional millennial state of consciousness, because almost none of my father’s friends who got into the oilfield industry with him after high school succeeded at the same scale as him. Counting my dad, maybe three became owners of their own companies capable of turning a profit and surviving the Great Recession. The vast majority of my dad’s friends wound up dead or in prison, because that’s just what happens to the losers in New Mexico. 2019 is a dating pool of losers convinced by the American Dream that they’re winners.

The only type of person harder to date than a loser convinced they’re a winner, is dating an actual winner. Mom revealed to me by my ninth birthday that nobody can compete with the American Dream. My father is in love with America; hence he has no time for anything or anyone else. You cannot love someone who is in love with America for this country requires a person’s lifetime, which means they have no time left to love their families.

I cannot compete for the love of those who as my father are already in love with the sweet promises of dear Lady Liberty, because love simply requires two souls with time for each other. I have no problem with a relationship involving more than two people, but there isn’t time now for a two-person relationship. How could a tribe possibly exist in a world with modern expectations such as they are? Finding one soul with time for me has more than sufficed my dire need to receive and share love.

I’m not saying I’m rich, but I definitely didn’t grow up poor. For this reason, I cannot deny the need for wealth in this world. But at what cost? The deck is already stacked against me regardless of how successful my father is, therefore, millennials make me laugh. My success in gaining a debt-free college education, runway modeling, acting study in Manhattan and LA, working as a Hollywood horse trainer, and progress in Outdoor Leadership Education are all success resulting from being able to afford doing them.

Over 90% of Americans cannot afford success, and that is the statistic that makes me laugh at my peers. Nothing greater exists than being the cowboy cleaning horse manure with a shovel in Hollywood, and experience millennials (convinced they’re about to become millionaires) looking down upon me as a common laborer. The reason nothing greater exists than being that cowboy is because I can afford to shovel horse shit. Young people do not realize that one must be wealthy to live the luxury of being a cowboy, because working with horses doesn’t pay anything. I have the money to stick around long enough to see those judgmental millennials realize life in America first requires money, be it runway modeling or shoveling horse manure.

I’ve been around long enough to see millennials realize they’re no different than my dad’s loser friends who never made it into the 1% club. Nothing a shit-shoveling cowboy enjoys more than ordering a millennial to make his coffee at Starbucks in the morning. Money is so divisive, which is why seven years of loving my boyfriend wasn’t a day of hard work.

All a country boy needs is someone with time to love, and today that is a rare quality to find. It is hard to find someone who can see a cowboy shoveling horse manure as a man and not a laborer. The result of being star-struck with America is it turns the entire world into laborers forever divided.

The problem with living in a world of laborers is that sometimes the cowboy shoveling horse manure is more worth the time of day than millennials promising to one day be the next Jeff Bezos. The problem with a divisive world is that it allows age to blind us from seeing someone well worth the time to love. The problem with the present is nobody sees anything except the American Dream anymore, which means millennials are in a relationship with a colossal lie.

I don’t need a lie when all I crave is a man. One able to hold me tight for seven years, not as a bragging right, but because seven years of love beats seven years of clinging to illusional grandeur.

Story of Runaways

Being self-aware of the journey

Does not reassure the destination

For destiny's road is tread by mortal sole

All seeking to fulfill their hearts

Voids of lonely desire in need

Like dreams of night concocting images of men into gods

Transfiguring us into taillights beneath the setting sun

Vanishing and reappearing with each new bend in the road

Taillights of the future that are always just out of reach

Set between solid lines of paint on asphalt

Boundaries not meant to be crossed

Forever determining fate's hold over us

Abandoning mankind to his fantasies

Always leaving the heart aged tho still in want

Having never set foot upon the imagined destination of gold

Far ahead down this road laid beneath the black night

Somewhere between these painted lines of civil mediocrity

Concluding that nobody can write their own ending

No more than Coronado could find a city of gold

For destinations no longer exist in this world of ours

Paved over long ago in the quest to catch up with those distant headlights

The transfixed illusion of self awareness

Never able to change course

Despite the passionate desire to one day arrive

Driving us farther and farther down this road in a dream of night

Till at last we all wake up in time

To realize that no one has ever left home

Because as surely as the sun shall rise tomorrow

All dreams like roads eventually return us home

 Home Of My Heart

 I hear you breathing softly,

As wind whispers through leaves;

Music to my mortal ears,

Stirring my heart into flight,

Barking as crow's wings upon the breeze.

I kneel to take you in my hand;

I cry as you fill my soul with peace,

The mountain is but a reflection,

Of your most beautiful face.

The intoxicating aroma of your essence,

Like pine needles after rain,

Smell like marshmallows roasting;

My childhood memories return.

Life is the embodiment of your figure.

I am but returning home.

May you forever take me,

And overflow my broken vessel

With the powerful magic of love.

LA

Embrace better days

Forgetting the past

Casting away tomorrow

It's better here

Inside the moment

Slipping gently by

Come take refuge

Be my guest

Herein lies reality

Place SoCalians abide

Despite fantasy destinations

Concocted starting points

Imagination versus insanity

We are LA

Do you dream?

Are you insane?

Or in between

Just like LA

My lovely home

Quaint isn't it

Nothing too fancy

Borders on loud

Me humble abode

Es tu casa

Welcome inside friend

Better isn't it?

Than being outside

Land of outsiders

Where is outside?

Wasn't the clouds

Nor father moon

Perhaps maybe Mars

I doubt it

Outside isn't real

Real is LA

Yes indeed friend

Embrace better days

Outside isn't better

Better is here

Inside the home

Realm of freedom

Where you’ve arrive

Welcome to LA

Where dreams die

Insanity lives homeless

Still some survive

Embracing better days

Come share them

For a while

What is change? Fighting for civil rights? Reclaiming one’s Native American culture? Buying a new car? A career?

As one gets older it gradually becomes apparent that change is less of a state of mind and more of a spectrum that encompasses the broad unfolding of one’s life here on planet earth. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that the earth is in trouble, that things need to change. The million-dollar question is how do we as individuals affect the world around us in a way that actually matters.

Maybe the problem lies in the fact that it’s a million-dollar question. As a teenager, the idea of change sounds easy, because rebellion is an idea rather than a reality. Smoke, drink, have lots of sex, skip Political Science 101 for a day at the lake with your young beautiful friends. The problem with new idealistic eyes is that they haven’t yet seen the consequences of living in our current reality. Live long enough and eventually we all see unplanned pregnancies, STDs, alcoholism, a fast-paced economy that’s fast replacing all of us with technology, age deteriorating livelihood. Reality makes life much harder to change.

As a rodeo cowboy in college a majority of the young cowboys I met only rode bucking animals because of some misplaced ideal of rebellion. Most of them were trying to get out of abusive homes, working in the oilfield, or simply trying to win the jackpot to pay child support. Unfortunately, none of us saw the outcome of our stupidity: death, broken necks, blood, tears, pain, medical bills. Ultimately the majority of us wound up right back where we started, only now bearing scars, and scars don’t signal anything except defeat. The world keeps spinning regardless. Thus change becomes more and more elusive as new eyes begin to age. Settling for reality by simply accepting one’s place in a pre-established social hierarchy ruled by Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Trump is just easier. Vast overpopulation and drones have made us all expendable, except the select few owning fast food and fracking corporations.

I’ll never forget my college years. College was one of the best parts of my life and not because a paper diploma magically elevated me to a state of being that was far above my less financially fortunate peers. Rather it allowed my new eyes to see the world for what it really was, teaching me the most important lesson of my life. That lesson was that earth is a big terrifying place that gobbles up people on a daily basis without so much as even shedding a tear. My professors taught me that as adults our greatest gift is that we are able to do whatever we want with our lives. Anyone can join an anti-Wall Street protest in Manhattan that blocks bridges and Subway stations that keep college kids like myself from making it to 9 a.m. drama class at the Union Square campus—or just as easily anyone can go to work in the oilfield shoveling out Frack sand tanks to pay for tuition like I did.

Perhaps you are beginning to see how arbitrary life is in an uncaring world that desperately needs change. I soaked up sociology and political science like a sponge, I was a master of debate with a grade point average of 4.0 but in the end, I realized that winning arguments can still lose debates like my buddy that dropped out of college to move to Denver to claim his sexual identity that later ended badly. You can use facts, yell, discuss, whatever, and still be unable to change another person’s mind. The only thing that college did for me that Denver didn’t do for my buddy was that my professors cared enough about my future to always help me get back up on my feet when I fell.

Mortality is the Achilles Heel of change. I think that’s why liberals are losing. Sure we had Obama, but we also had Sitting Bull at one point in history too. Great men whose life efforts were destroyed by single elections, which makes the idea of change a million-dollar question. Change doesn’t pay anything. You won’t make a million dollars fighting for change. So how can anyone afford to answer it? Truly loving someone doesn’t reward you in the same way that having sex to advance your career does; just like saving the environment doesn’t reward you in the same way that destroying it can. Our reality is ruled by social perception and dinging bells on Wall Street.

The only other reality to ever have existed was the Native American world, where nature provided an alternative, but mass extinction and logging have swept that away leaving us with an out-of-control economic empire. How do you fight for a reality was losing before you were even born? How do you champion as cause that has already been so badly defeated that it isn’t even strong enough to keep Donald Trump out of the Oval Office? How do you fight climate change when you need fossil fuel and iPhones to survive? Both of which are polluting our planet at rates not seen in millions of years.

The million-dollar question sucks, because its answer still eludes us. As I get older that answer becomes less apparent and more obscured as I watch young people at Trump rallies chanting with euphoric new eyes or as I see hate crimes against the LGBT community rise instead of decrease and witness friends give up. Just like a bucking horse the world has once again left me face down on the ground in agonizing pain that makes me want to never get up again.

Then for some unknown reason I get up for the hundred millionth time and fall in love with an amazing man who has given me the greatest most fulfilling years of my life—and I use my Outdoor Leadership Education skills to teach kids with new eyes how to ride horses and see the treasure of nature. Suddenly I see the world anew with the same eyes of my old liberal college professors, and just like them I too have realize that change may simply be reminding others just how incredibly wonderful life is. Perhaps the liberal affects the world by reminding the future why it’s worth saving, because the day that our species once again learns to care is the day that we shall see change.

Brilliant splendor adorning thee

Taking me ever so gently

Surely pain comes unnaturally

Hostility a bedfellow to bitter hate

Indeed your taste is sweet

Sweet and salty

Cradle of my longevity

Sustaining me deep within the soul

Pulsing in rhythm

Our hearts beating one beat

Herein lies my manhood

Where for better not worse love abounds

Better than any alternative

Indeed the world mystifies me

Where boys are taught to destroy

But shamed for love

Hate is a plague of damnation

Trepidation ruled by religious vengeance

Not in this house

I am a man of love

Heaven is not my aim

Sweetness is all I have

Bitterness results from not sharing it

I am still too full of life for sourness

Blood of my great ancestors fills me

Not the blood of Christ

I may only be inseminated with love

Who possibly could be man enough

Very few so it turns out

Reason I count myself lucky

Here in your cradling arms

Lapping at life's sweet nectar

Fearless as nature intended