Pushing The Shimmering Shirt Envelope

        In Burlington Vermont, I came across a clothing store that contained the best selection of explosively colorful shirts I had ever seen. For men. This excited me, because when it comes to fashion, let’s face it, women have it all over guys. They can wear virtually anything, even a tie, and not get looked at like they’re from another planet. The range of colors, patterns, designs, and styles that women can wear give them vastly more choices.
        This seems somewhat unfair. Men are up against very entrenched and long standing tradition if they want to expand their fashion horizons and dress unconventionally. I’m not suggesting that guys start wearing skirts or anything. But I challenge the accepted parameters because they make no sense at all to me.
        The way I dress occasionally startles people. Especially if they have relatively narrow minds when it comes to men’s fashion. In extreme cases, what I wear can even provoke hostility, usually of the passive aggressive nature. My choice of clothing can disturb extremely critical and judgmental people who don’t see the value and beauty of diversity. And it can sometimes even confuse extremely conservative people about my sexual preference. But such are the risks you run when you dress the way you want and don’t pay attention to conformity, established norms, convention, or what other’s find fashionable. Or acceptable.
        Maybe it’s shocking to see a man wearing a sparkly purple shirt. But to me, what’s far more shocking is for anyone to assume that, because of the shirt I wear, I prefer having a guy’s dick in my mouth instead of a warm, succulent boob. As far as I’m concerned, the jump from conventional oxford to unconventional purple satin is nothing compared to the quantum leap one must make in assuming that I prefer “love-stick” over “love-cave” based solely on my clothing. Society’s arcane and prosaic limitations on masculinity and sexuality are what’s absurd. Not the damn shirt.
        As a musician, dressing differently often comes with the territory. Although I know plenty of musicians with a rather conservative fashion sense, I know plenty, like myself, who push the envelope. Those of us on the fringe don’t make a distinction between what we would wear on stage and what we would wear almost anywhere else. Maybe to us, all the world really is a stage.
        I know I have a different way of looking at things. But is it so crazy to expand one’s horizon regarding what a man can wear? An ex-girlfriend paid me the greatest of compliments when she said, “It’s not that Clint thinks outside the box. Clint doesn’t know there is a box.”. I couldn’t have said it better myself.
        If you’re honestly not into colorful and expressive clothing, then you’re not into it. There’s certainly no foul there. But have you ever asked yourself why? Is it because it’s just not your bag? Or do you actually like flashy clothing, and don’t wear it because you’re afraid of what people would think? Is it because colorful clothing would attract too much attention to yourself, and that makes you uncomfortable?
        And if that is you, all I’m saying is try to break free of those self-imposed limitations. Express yourself more fully through what you wear. Clothing is such an easy and functional way to exercise your uniqueness. Take advantage of it. Dressing exactly the way you want is loads of fun. And it’s a simple yet effective way of helping you own yourself. It’s a step in the process of fully being you.
        It’s astounding to me how much attention I receive whenever I wear one of my favorite shirts. Does a part of me wear it to get attention? Sure. But it’s much bigger than that. If I didn’t love what I was wearing, and did it only to turn heads, then I wouldn’t be comfortable in it. And I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. But I love what I have on, and it shows. I’m not just comfortable in flamboyant attire. I’m energized by it. I become as electric as the shirt I’m wearing. Or, closer to the truth, the shirt I’m wearing becomes an outward manifestation of how I feel.
        But c’mon, man. It’s just a shirt. I search myself, and for the life of me, I honestly can’t see what the big deal is. Apparently, I’m in the minority. Which is fine. Perplexing, but fine.
        When all is said and done, I am my own fashion statement. And that’s how I’d like everyone to be. Maybe that’s my unconventional convention.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a closet full of Wrong Shirts) Reserved.

"In a word, Clint. Poetry."

        I’m trying like hell to decide what to post. I’m stuck in a place right now where the juices aren’t flowing very well. There’s plenty inside of me, but none of it’s coming out the way I want it to; like a big, juicy mango of thoughts and feelings with all the succulent nectar trapped inside.
        In times like these, I’ve found it best not to force anything. But I want to keep adding fresh content as often as possible, because I know that’s a key ingredient to a good blog. So what do I do?
        Suddenly, it hits me. Long forgotten words spoken by my sophomore English teacher at Villanova, Mr. Mitchell. I’ve long forgotten my question, but I’ll never forget his answer. “In a word, Clint. Poetry.” Of course. Poetry.
        Through the years, I’ve written lots of poetry. Most of it, nobody’s ever read. It represents some of my most passionate writing, but it also shows me at my most vulnerable. So I’ve resisted sharing it.
        But if I’m not so concerned about being vulnerable anymore, then the only thing stopping me is fear. Fear that nobody will like it. Fear that I’ll look like a sissy. Fear of...whatever. Well fuck the fear. Just like pain, the only way out is through.


THINGS SHE NEVER KNEW...

I used to watch her sleep
And I envied how peaceful she looked
I wanted to wake her and say "I see you"
But didn't want to disturb the place she found so soft

When she would snuggle next to me
And place her beautiful warm body into mine
I would sink into a peace that I could not hold onto
Unless she was lying next to me
A peace that I could feel
But could not touch
Unless I was touching her

Whenever she left, I would run upstairs and watch her car leave my driveway
My heart would sink as I watched her drive away
And then I would do anything not to feel that pain

I wanted to run towards love
I wanted to run towards her
But I just stayed where I was
Yearning for more
But unable to risk asking

So many things she wanted
And needed
I wanted
I needed
But I could not bring myself to tell her
Because I was afraid to feel what I already knew
I was in love with her
And that was something I could not be

Because being in love with her meant pain
And heartache
And that I could not bare
I had already suffered more heartache and pain than I knew possible
To love her meant to lose her
I could not lose her
For I had already lost more than I knew I had
So I could not be in love with her
But I already was...

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a poetry book of Wrongs) reserved.

Fat Grief

        Grief is like fat. If I store too much of it, it will weigh me down, compromise my ability to live, and create all sorts of problems. And grief can kill me. Just like fat can. Hold onto enough of either, and I look different, feel different, act different. I have to adjust to all of the excess that I’m carrying. In the process, I lose my vitality, my joy, my self.
         I know how to get rid of fat. I’m less adept at getting rid of grief. Most of us struggle with one or the other. Many of us with both.
         Throughout my life, I have, like all of us, suffered many losses. Little ones. Big ones. Ones you forget ten minutes after they happen. Others you never forget.
         But I never learned how to grieve. Anything. I never knew what to do with the pain. Every significant loss I’ve ever had, every deep pain I have ever felt, therefore has the potential to stay alive inside of me and wreak havoc until I let it go.
         I feel losses very deeply, but I rarely acknowledge that and then grieve. We all experience loss differently. For me, it’s as though a piece of me gets ripped out and leaves a hole. The hole can be filled, but only if I allow myself to feel, to grieve, and to let go of the pain. If I don’t, the hole remains. So after half a life of losses, I feel like swiss cheese.
         Only recently have I began to come to terms with how the losses of my life have shaped me. How a pervasive loneliness and sorrow resides deep within me, an amalgamation of all the losses I’ve never let myself fully feel. In certain circles, it’s called grief work. And right now, I’m working overtime.
         I know this is the way out, because the only way out is through. Through the pain. For years, like most people, I tried to go around the pain. I tried to get past it without actually feeling it. I employed all sorts of creative methods to handle the pain without having to go through it. And like a heroin addict trying to kick without going to some form of rehab, it just doesn’t work.
         There’s a saying that goes “If you’ve spent your whole life walking into a forest, it will take more than just a few weeks to walk out of it.”. I need to remember that when I’m frustrated with my progress, as I am at the moment. I’ve spent my entire life stuffing pain. I’m not going to be able to let go of it all in a few short months. Although I’ve been doing inner growth work for many years, I really just started doing grief work. Even though I experienced a profound opening last summer, I still have much to do.
         And for me, grief work is where the rubber meets the road. It’s taken me this long to come to the point where I can start to really feel and thus release all that stored hurt that has buried itself all the way into my subconscious. As much as I just want to be done with it, it doesn’t work like that. It’s a process who’s time table I have to honor. As long as I show up and do the work, the process does it’s job. How long it takes isn’t completely under my control.
         Years ago, I shared the following poem with a friend who was going through a rough time. He said it helped him. So it’s time I share it with myself again and with whoever reads my blog. Because these are words I need to hear. And if I need to hear them, it’s a good bet that somebody else does too.

Keep Always

Keep looking. Keep finding. Keep looking.
Keep asking. Keep answering. Keep asking.
Keep crying. Keep laughing. Keep feeling.
Keep succeeding. Keep failing. Keep learning.
Keep loving. Keep living. Keep growing.
Always.


©2009 Clint Piatelli. All rights (and a forest full of Wrongs) Reserved.

A New Rebel

        This is my third time in Burlington, Vermont. The first time I visited was over twenty years ago. My band in college, The Albino Skunks, traveled from Philadelphia in a rented Winnebago and did three shows in the northeast during a week off from Villanova. I suppose it was my first rock ‘n’ roll tour. It didn’t disappoint.
         This time, I’m here because I’m chasing a snow storm. Just like I did when I came up here with principessa in December of 2007. It was a more spontaneous decision this time around. I had to be in Boston, for business and pleasure, on Tuesday. When I heard that a storm was coming north, I packed my bags and threw them in the car before I left. While in the city, I went on the web and did some weather research, trying to determine who was going to get walloped the worst. Because that’s where I was headed. My instinct for snow is rivaled only by my passion for it.
         I’m certainly the only person at the Sheraton Burlington, and probably the only person in town, who’s here solely because it’s supposed to snow. My situation is therefore unique. But that’s usually the case. When anybody that I meet asks me what I’m doing up here, or anywhere else that I chase a storm, my answer often baffles them. “Are you a skier?”, they ask. I tell them “Yes, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because there’s going to be a storm and I want to be a part of it.” They usually reply “Oh!”, which is undoubtedly more polite than what they’re probably thinking.
         As I explained in my first post about my obsession with snow, Confessions Of A Blizzard Junkie, I just love to be where there’s a snow storm. But I realized something at exactly 6:34 this morning as I went down to the lobby to grab a coffee. My life is flexible enough that I can do this when I want to. That’s incredibly rare. That’s a unique situation. And it’s a metaphor for how I see myself. And of how I want to be seen.
         I like to think of myself as unique. As different. For better and worse, a rare specimen. And maybe I’m afraid that if my life were more “ordinary”, that if my life wasn’t such that I could take off and chase a storm, that I would cease to be so unique. That I would be less different. That I would be just like everybody else. And if that’s the case, then how much is the fear of being common keeping me from taking on more responsibility and more commitment? More of what everybody else seems to be doing.
         In a way, freedom has become somewhat of a prison. Just as the walls of responsibility and commitment can limit freedom, and could keep me from doing something I wanted to, the walls of freedom can limit my ability to commit and take on responsibility, and can prevent me from doing something I want to. A big exciting project, say, that involves lots of time but also limits my flexibility. And because I tend to polarize, it becomes an all or nothing type of deal. So I become unwilling to give up anything. But in reality, what I’m giving up is what I really want to do. I’m giving up that time consuming project that excites me. Which is a big something.
         My mercurial nature is a part of whatever boyish charm I possess. I’m afraid if I lose that, I lose a part of myself. Again, it’s a polarization. I look at it as a zero sum game. If I gain something (responsibility and commitment), I have to lose something (freedom). If I tackle the big project, I loose flexibility. If I become too much of an adult, I’ll lose my boyish charm.
         Being an extremist is how I made sense of the environment I grew up in. So little made any sense to me unless I put it in terms of good or bad, black or white, adult or child, saint or satan. I don’t have to do that anymore, but I still sometimes do. I know that way of looking at things doesn’t serve me anymore, and I’m changing it. But it’s a hard road.
         I’ve been blessed with opportunity and freedom, and I’ve therefore lead a very interesting life. Most of it I chose consciously, because I’ve practiced self-awareness for many years. I know I’m different, and I’ve chosen to express it. I’ve chosen to live it. But some of my choices to lead a different life have been unconscious reactions. They’ve been rebellions against not doing what everybody else was doing. The problem with rebellion is that the rebel doesn’t necessarily do what he wants to do. He just makes damn sure he doesn’t do what everyone else does.
         I’ve done a lot of work on myself around this issue. My heart has opened up and revealed much to me. So I’m in a different place now, and I’m negotiating my way around this exposed area. I’m trying to make the unconscious conscious and ask myself what exactly do I want. If I can create the type of life I really want, then I don’t have to frame it in terms of either/or. I can change the paradigm of the zero sum game. I can move the whole continuum to a new plane, to a new level of consciousness. I can change my old way of polarizing it. Then it doesn’t become a matter of freedom vs. commitment, or anything vs. anything. It simply becomes living the life I want and doing what makes me happy.
         I know, because of my nature, because of who I am, that my life is naturally and without pretension going to look very different from most people’s. It’s going to be somewhat lunatic fringe, because I’m somewhat lunatic fringe. But it’s also going to look similar to many people’s lives in some ways too. And that won’t be a bad thing to me anymore. I don’t have to judge that. I don’t have to make that mean that I’m just like everybody else. I don’t have to unconsciously rebel. I can just be me. One-hundred percent Clint. Every moment.
         In our society, being fully yourself is plenty rebellious enough. And what makes me truly me comes from the inside. It’s born within me and naturally manifests itself in the outside world if I simply honor it; if I live from that core place. I know how to do that. I don't do it every single moment, but it's what I aspire to. If I simply continue to do that, then my life will be unique. My life will remain unique. I will remain unique, because there’s no one like me.
         And ironically, that’s precisely what’s the same about each of us...

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a rebellious amount of Wrongs) Reserved.

Prescriptions For Disaster (part 2)

        During the tenure of my last relationship, I was coming out of the most painful period of my adult life. Nine months before I met principessa, my father died. I had also experienced a slew of other losses in a short period of time, which I’ve written about in this blog (you can read more about this by going to the category My Dark Ages).
         The pain from those losses was poisoning my mind, heart, and body. Instead of feeling all that pain, however, I anesthesized myself to it. I effectively wrote my own internal “prescriptions” that would numb me to the world of hurt living inside of me.
         I’m not blaming myself for why my relationship with principessa didn’t work. But I am owning my part of it. She had her own prescriptions, different than mine, but just as destructive. That’s usually how it works - when it doesn’t work. We each do the dance we’re used to. We each take the prescriptions we’ve written for ourselves. If we recognize what we’re doing, that we’re building walls instead of bridges, and want to do it differently, we can. If not, we just repeat old patterns. And sometimes even create some new ones.
         All these prescriptions were created and taken to avoid pain. Pain of the past. And the projected pain of the future, in the form of potential rejection and abandonment.
         So without further ado, here they are. Clint Piatelli’s personal Prescriptions For Disaster in his last relationship:

1) Shut down emotionally, as a reaction to a bludgeoning series of huge losses.

2) Go into depression. In other words, turn all that pain and anger back in on yourself.

3) Meet a beautiful woman, fall in love with her right away, but not know it because you’re on prescriptions one and two.

4) The more you feel, the more scared you get. Increase dosages of prescriptions one and two.

5) Hold onto your anger, but be ashamed of it. So instead of moving through you, the anger stays inside and keeps you perpetually frustrated. Then, once in a while, blow up.

6) Unconsciously say and do things to keep the woman you love from getting too close, all the while beating yourself up for not being able to fully express yourself. This self-sustaining cycle perpetually reinforces itself until you feel like there’s no way out. Occasionally consider jumping into on-coming traffic.

7) Let her know you’re sad, but never, ever, let her in on just how much you hate yourself. Because then she’ll leave you, you miserable lout, and then you’re really fucked. But keep hating yourself. It’s good for you.

8) Only let your intense passion for her come out in the bedroom. It’s safe for you there, because that’s the only place on you know who you are and what you want.

9) Unconsciously renew your vow never to fall too hard for a woman because of how badly you got burned from your first love. Tell yourself that love is like money. Always get just a little more than you give, that way you’ll never be in the red. Hide some away where nobody can find it too, in case there’s a run on the bank.

10) Operate at about 60% most of the time. That is, minimize everything, because it’s safer that way. Never let her see you too much of anything - including excited or happy - because that’s showing too much of yourself. And that’s dangerous. Besides, you’re no good anyway.

         Some of those prescriptions I’d been on in other relationships, and others were unique to this last one. But I had never been on so many, or taken them as much. That’s because of where I was at in my life. And because of how deeply I felt for her, and therefore how positively petrified I was. I actually invented prescriptions (without consultation, mind you) because whatever I was on wasn’t enough. She kept touching me, and when I started to feel too much, I reacted by either increasing the dose of something I was already on or just creating a new prescription from scratch. I was like a mad scientist, concocting all sorts of noxious, dangerous chemicals in the labs of my psyche just so that I wouldn’t get hurt.
        Eventually, after she broke my heart, I opened up. I fired that crazy chemist inside of me who was doping me up to keep me from feeling. Thank god. That guy was killing me.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and another medicine cabinet full of Wrongs) Reserved