January 2008 Archives

They brought him into the room in an orange jumpsuit, his hands pinned beneath his belly in bright steel handcuffs. I nodded to the guards and they unlocked the cuffs, leaving me alone with him in the painted cinderblock visiting room.

“Have a seat”, I said, “let’s get started.”

The charge was murder.

His name was Luthor. Luthor Labush.

“Man is an immortal, spiritual being,” he said, “his experience extends well beyond a single lifetime. His capabilities are unlimited, even if not presently realized — and those capabilities can be realized. He is able to not only solve his own problems, accomplish his goals and gain lasting happiness, but also achieve new, higher states of awareness and ability.”

“Well Luthor, its good to meet you, nothwithstanding the unfortunate circumstances.”

He rested his hands on the small table that separated us and splayed his fingers apart, his palms flat against the formica surface. His fingers were long and slender, almost elegant, but there was something about them that suggested violence. I imagined his forefinger curled around the trigger of a 9 mil, squeezing off rounds into the back of the man he was accused of shooting.

“Tell me about yourself, Luthor. How did you end up in here?”

“I’m a Scientologist,” he said, “the goal of Dianetics is a new state for the individual never before attainable in man’s history. This state is called "Clear." A Clear possesses attributes, fundamental and inherent but not always available in an uncleared state, which have not been suspected of man and are not included in past discussions of his abilities and behavior.”

Uh-huh.

“The Clear is:freed from active or potential psychosomatic illness or aberration and self-determined. The Clear is vigorous and persistent. The Clear is unrepressed.”

“I see”, I said to him, “but tell me what happened.”

“The Clear is able to perceive, recall, imagine, create and compute at a level high above the norm. The Clear is stable mentally, free with his emotion, able to enjoy life and to reason swiftly.”

“Who is the The Clear?” I asked politely. “Did The Clear have something to do with the shooting?”

“You mock me, but that’s okay, it doesn’t matter. The Church will prevail.”

“The Church? I don’t understand”, I answered.

“I’m a Scientologist,” he said, “Dianetics are the scientific principles that guide us to a better path. A path that addresses the part of the mind that operates below the conscious level, exerting a hidden influence that causes you to react irrationally, say and do things that aren't you, and have inexplicable emotions and ills that hold back intelligence and ability. It all resolves with Dianetics.”

“Well Luthor, that’s very good to hear, but we need to talk about your case.”

Luthor didn’t respond. He only wanted to talk about Scientology.

We’ve all read about Scientology. It’s the religion that caused Tom Cruise to jump on Oprah’s sofa, blissfully proclaiming his love for Katie Holmes on national television. I hoped the guards were watching closely in case Luthor decided to jump on the table and proclaim his love too.

My own view of Scientology is that it is a disease of the middle class. You won’t find too many Scientologists in Darfur or sub-saharan Africa. They are too busy starving and hacking each other to pieces. But who was I to ruin Luthor’s day?. If he wanted to believe in Scientology, that was his business. I was there to defend him, not to discourage him.

“ One of the most fundamental breakthroughs of Dianetics is the concise statement of the goal of life itself”, said Luthor, “this, the dynamic principle of man’s existence, was discovered by L. Ron Hubbard. From this fundamental discovery many hitherto unanswered questions about man and life were resolved. The goal of life can be considered to be infinite survival. That man seeks to survive has long been known, but that it is his primary motivation is new. Man, as a life form, can be demonstrated to obey in all his action and purposes the one command: SURVIVE!

SURVIVE! is the common denominator of all life, and from it came the critical resolution of man’s ills and aberrations. Survival is not only the difference between life and death. Nor does it mean merely existing. It encompasses things like ideals, love and art as vital aspects. The better one is able to manage his life and increase his level of survival, the more he will have pleasure, abundance and satisfaction.

Pain, disappointment and failure are the result of actions which do not promote survival. Dianetics addresses these moments of pain and threat to survival, and it provides a precise technology to increase your ability to survive and live a happier, healthier life. “

“Are you living a happier, healthier life now, Luthor?” I asked politely.

“You can say whatever you like” he said, “but I am The Clear.”

Luthor was clear, alright. Clearly out of his mind. He spent the next fifteen minutes rattling on about Operating Thetans and E-meters, telling me that I should become a Scientologist. I wasn’t interested. I don’t roll that way.

“Did The Clear pull the trigger?” I asked him. “Will The Clear tell us the truth?”

Luthor shook his head and pointed a bony forefinger at me.

“The dude was a rat”, Luthor replied, “I capped his ass and he deserved to die.”

If Luthor was any indication of what Scientology was about, I didn’t want any part of it. I am perfectly content not being The Clear.

It was going to be a very interesting case....

Here we go again. The question of whether the government should be telling us how to behave in the bedroom seems to ignite passionate debate whenever it is raised. It all too often draws out hysterical cries of protest and finger-pointing. We can all be sure of one thing: the question will never go away.

If the government is going to be involved at all, the laws must be CLEAR. They must not marginalize or stigmatize people, and they must be fair. If there has to be a law, it should read as follows:

1. It shall be unlawful for anyone with a sexually transmitted condition, as defined herein, to knowingly and intentionally fail to disclose that he or she has that condition to a partner immediately prior to engaging in any sexual activity with that partner that carries an unreasonable and scientifically established risk of transmitting the condition.

2. Notwithstanding the above, if anyone with a sexually communicated condition knowingly and intentionally fails to disclose that he or she has that condition to a partner immediately prior to engaging in any sexual activity, without actually transmitting such condition, such conduct shall not be punishable by law.

3. Section 1 shall not apply to anyone engaging in sexual activity for payment or in any commercial establishment or other public venue where sexual activity between consenting adults occurs.

4. The following conditions are sexually communicated conditions:

* BV - Bacterial Vaginosis

* Chlamydia and LGV

* Gonorrhea

* Hepatitis (viral)

* Herpes, Genital

* HPV - Human Papillomavirus Infection

* PID - Pelvic Inflammatory Disease

* Syphilis

* Trichomoniasis

* Human Immunodeficiency Virus

All of these conditions are sexually communicated, and if you know that you have one, it’s unfair to subject someone else to it without telling them about it. Period.

This doesn’t relieve our partners from their responsibilities; when human beings engage in unsafe sex we are always taking some risks, but if we are going to criminalize human sexual behavior at all, the laws should be intelligently written and based on established scientific facts.

The above language would limit the stigma of having HIV or whatever, and protect uninfected individuals without imposing an unfair burden on others. What is a "reasonable risk" of transmission? Hey, if you have HIV, or chlamydia or whatever, it's your obligation to find out how you might give it to someone else. If you screw up (yeah yeah, I know its a bad pun) but no one gets hurt, it shouldn't be the government's business and you shouldn't be punished by any government agency or authority. If you have "safe sex" and don't disclose, it should not be criminal because you are not engaging in conduct that is unreasonably dangerous. If you have sex for money, you assume the risk because the underlying assumption throughout human history has always been that people engaging in paid sex have no obligation to their partner other than a measure of respect. If you have unsafe sex in a sex bar its reasonable to expect that you may catch more than a cold.

If you have any constructive suggestions as to how the above model statute might be amended, tell me about them.

Cupcake, Ginger and I were having dinner last night with some friends of ours at a restaurant called Maya.

Maya is on 1st Avenue between 64th Street and 65th Street in Manhattan. The food is either Mexican inspired, or inspired Mexican, but whatever you call it, it’s a treat - as long as no one brings up the Mayan calendar.

When one of our friends remarked that the ancient Mayan calendar designates 2012 as the year that the world will end, Cupcake’s ears perked up. Needless to say, because Cupcake is an immortal being, she has a vested interest in knowing how and when the world will end. There isn’t much point in immortality if there’s no place left in the world to get a good cup of latte.

The Mayans didn’t tell us how it will end - only that it will.

We started to run down some of the possible candidates for the apocalypse:

1. Giant asteroid impact. The big rock hits outside of Las Vegas, causing mass extinction, the end of all life on earth and closing all of the casinos. Alternatively, the big rock smashes into the ocean, and the only survivors of the ensuing destruction are the crazed gamblers who live inside the casinos.

2. Thermonuclear war. The growing human population continues to consume more of the earth’s non-renewable resources, until competition for food and energy sources causes someone to drop a nuke on Washington, D.C. While this might be viewed by some as an improvement, I doubt that we’ll take it lying down.

3. Global warming. This is a hot topic these days. Too serious to joke about.

4. Alien invasion. I’m not worried about this one. I think we’ve already been invaded, but the aliens were so freaked out by poor Britney’s problems that they took pity on us and left.

5. The SIM theory. This one says that we never really existed, and that what we think is reality - including that creepy neighbor who lives downstairs and roams the halls wearing nothing his slippers and a pair of sunglasses - is nothing but a simulation running on a laptop computer owned by a 13 year-old pubescent cosmic being. The cosmic kid becomes more interested in sex and porn than the game software, and he shuts us down.

6. The blog smog. This one is my personal favorite. The number of silly blogs on the internet overwhelms the capacity of all of the computers on earth, hanging the main control software that keep the world’s nuclear reactors from melting down.

7. The writers’ strike. This one is a variation of apocalypse scenario #2: with no end to the writers’ strike in sight, mankind runs out of watchable television re-runs, and after four more years of American Gladiators and Deal or no Deal, our brains atrophy to the point that we are completely zombified. Religious extremists who view this as proof that God is on their side launch a Jihad that results in a thermonuclear war (see also # 2, above.)

8. Biological disaster. While trying to create genetically altered sushi, science unleashes a scourge that turns all of the fish in the ocean into a life form that even Martin Brundlefly* wouldn’t eat.

9. Depression. The world runs out of Ambien and Zoloft. One half of humanity can't fall asleep and keeps the other half up all night. As a result, we all lose interest in the whole thing and walk into the ocean.

10. A black hole swallows the earth. This one really sucks.

I could go on with this list, but with only four years left until 2012, the end is near. It’s certainly here for this entry...

___________

* "The Fly"

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
10:40 am flash bulletin! I've just been informed that we somehow actually got Springsteen tickets for March 10th. Can't wait!

My wife and I saw Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Pirates of Penzance” at City Center on West 55th Street last night. I’ve probably seen it three or four times in my life - the last time I saw it Linda Ronstadt played the lead ingenue, and I think Kevin Kline had the lead male role. This performance was by the Gilbert and Sullivan Company ensemble, and although none of the lead actors are household names, it was a terrific show. If you’ve never actually seen it, Pirates of Penzance is a comic opera about “duty” set in the time of victorian England in the 1880's. There are some extraordinarily funny bits of dialogue in between the songs.

Being the good citizen that I am these days, I couldn’t take any pictures because it's prohibited, so you’ll have to use your imagination. But there were some hilarious moments, including one song and dance number that included a take-off on Bob Fosse, with the actors holding silver-sequined top hats. The performance left me with a smile and in such good spirits that they’ve carried over through today.

This has been a good week for me. There are some people who may find this offensive, but I managed to get a very tough judge to give my client probation for selling two kilos of cocaine. I can’t share the details with you for a variety of legal reasons, but the judge did the right thing, and when you do a good job at whatever it is that you do, it feels satisfying.

I suppose that there is an irony in the fact that I often defend drug dealers - alleged or otherwise - since I wouldn’t have HIV if I hadn’t abused drugs way back when, but it wasn’t a drug dealer who gave me HIV - I take all of the credit for it. I don’t want to start a policy debate here, but we’re the ones who create the demand for illegal substances, and while I think it’s necessary to control the flow of harmful drugs, we seem to be very inept at it, and there is a lot of collateral damage inflicted by our methods.

I also managed to get a lot of writing done, which is also satisfying for me. I’ve done a lot a editing on the novel I’ve been working on, and with any luck I may even finish it one of these days. Whether it’s good enough to get published is another issue, but I’m not concerned about that, at least for now.

I'm hoping that we'll get to see "Sweeney Todd" tonight at the movies. I like Johnny Depp. He's a terrific actor, and he seems to be a pretty cool guy, too. At least he has enough good sense to avoid the tabloids.

Speaking of piracy, tomorrow the Giants play Dallas for the NFC East divisional title. I say the Giants will pull off an upset and steal the division. At the very least, it should be a great game.

Cupcake, Ginger and I just got back from my hepatologist, Dr. Drinkmor. Drinkmor did a liver biopsy update to check on the state of my 57 year-old , HIV positive, Hepatitis C eaten liver.

Here’s a sliver of what home base looks like these days:

I have hepatitis C, genotype 4, and the existing treatments - pegylated interferon and ribavirin - didn’t work for me when I gave it a shot, so to speak, last year. Depending on who you ask, and on what additional foolishness I subject my body to in the next few years, I’ll probably have cirrhosis - and maybe liver cancer - in about seven or eight years unless I get very lucky and they come up with a more effective treatment for the hepatitis.

If my liver quits, that will be it for old Wishihadacat. I don’t think they’ll waste a perfectly good liver trying to do a transplant on me, assuming I’m around that long.

I’ve had a good run, though, I really can’t complain. I’m perfectly happy to admit that it’s been fun living in this body. Unfortunately, when the sh*t hits the fan and I’m called out at the plate, I won’t get another at-bat. This is it. We only get one shot at life, as far as I know. If Cupcake could make me immortal, my liver wouldn’t be an issue, but let’s face it: there is no Santa Claus, and vampires only exist in fiction.

I may be smug about it right now, but I know that when the time comes, I’ll be wishing that I had been less foolish. I’ll be wishing that I hadn’t used IV drugs 28 years ago, and that I hadn’t done all the stupendously stupid things that I did to myself back then. I’ll look back and regret not having children, or not having been able to live a life that could have been more meaningful. And I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

But enough of this pity party. I have a more important confession to share with you: I have become addicted to another kind of cupcake:

This delectable item is from a bakery a few blocks from where we live called “Crumbs.” This is their cappucino cupcake, and it may be the most sinfully delicious non-living thing that I have ever eaten. I have no idea how many calories each one of these things has in it, but they’re awesome! If we could give every American one of these things, we’d probably end up voting with our taste buds instead of our minds. Don’t misunderstand me: I like Obama, and I think Hillary would do a good job too, but let’s get our priorities straight - what’s more important, a good President or a good cupcake?

Crumbs also sells a s’mores cupcake that will knock your socks off. These things are so dangerous that the government will probably prohibit them. If that happens, I’m going to need a good lawyer.

I was talking to my friend Kelly the other day when the subject of Hubris came up.

Hubris - excessive pride that usually ends in destruction - is definitely something I don't want to be infected with. I've got enough on my hands already. Regardless of the risk that I may be infected by my own sense of self importance, I'll be candid with you; I It isn’t easy to write an anonymous HIV blog. How do you write about your life without writing about your life? To make matters worse, when I look in the mirror now, instead of my face all I see is this strange blue picture that looks like someone ran my head through Photoshop. It would be much simpler for me to write to you if I could just open up the old HIV closet door, march out into the street, and say “oh yeah, that’s me, I’ve been writing this blog for POZ/AIDSMEDS, and it’s really been fun!

I’m close, but I’m not there just yet. I have family and friends who would be affected, and I have clients whose lives are in my hands. I’m also afraid.

Like or not, most of the world still looks down on us, and that hurts. So yes, you can go ahead and call me a coward., but you’d be wrong. This is a pretty bold statement to make, but I do have a plan here.

As you may have read in the first blog entry, “28 Years to Life”, I’ve had HIV for 28 years. HIV is no picnic in the park. Had I been less fortunate over the years, if my only accomplishment was surviving, it might even be enough.

But I’ve done more. Much more. If I could share the things I’ve done in the last 28 years with the world, it would make for a great story in itself. We’re talking tabloids here. But not just yet.

As one my HIV positive friends said yesterday, there are so many amazing stories out there, so many people who have suffered so much for so long, yet still walk through the fire today, that whatever I have accomplished in my life pales by comparison. It’s downright humbling.

This is my invitation to you all. I want to read your comments. I want to smile and laugh and cry at all of the incredible things we have done, and the astonishing stories of survival and spirit that make us we are. Post them with your own name or post them with another one. It doesn't matter.

The rest of the world almost deserves to know. We can talk about me some other time. Right now I think I'm in love with you.

*Illustration by unknown painter, deceased.

On line dating is a trip.

Some months ago I was cruising an “adult” dating site, and I saw a picture of a particularly alluring woman, or more accurately, a particularly alluring semi-nude torso.

Granted that those of us cursed with Y chromosomes often have poor judgment when it comes to these matters, but her picture, and what was visible of her, reminded me of my first major crush, whom we’ll call Melissa. It would be indiscreet to describe in detail and exactly how cosmic the sex was for the few weeks that we dated, but suffice it to say that Melissa left quite an impression on me before she split for the West Coast with her kids in tow.

The woman in the picture (let’s call her “Ms. Ponytail”) responded to my “flirt” and left me her email address. Naturally, I was encouraged. She seemed intelligent and educated as well as having an incredibly sexy body.

Ms. Ponytail and I exchanged several emails over the course of a few days. By the third or fourth day, I was sure that I was actually going to meet her. I was excited by the prospect of our meeting and could barely wait.

“I could have sworn I saw you at the flea market on Columbus Avenue,” she wrote, “and I’d love to meet you.”

And then the emails stopped.

I suppose that I should have realized from day one that Ms. Ponytail had a few missing screws, so to speak - she had described herself as the wife of a husband who’d been emotionally and physically absent for years. She said he was in Russia and thought he had a girlfriend there. While that was perfectly plausible, and I have nothing against our brothers and sisters in the former Soviet Union, let's face it - there seems to be an extraordinary number of Russian scammers in the sexual cyberworld.

I should have known.

Strike one.

Several months later, I saw that her picture was still on the site, and days later, after seeing a woman in a restaurant who might have been her, I thought how nice it might be to snuggle up together, so I upgraded to a "silver" membership, which allowed me to send a message to her (I'd lost her email address.)

It looked promising. She replied to my message and told me that she would call my cell number.

She didn't call. Strike two.

Then she wrote me that she thought she saw me at the New Year's fireworks in Central Park, and she suggested that we both go the same restaurant, but not actually meet.

I saw the breaking ball coming, so I didn’t swing at the pitch.

I left her my cell number again, but no call. She said she'd tried it, but that I hadn't answered, so
I checked my phone and confirmed that it was working.

Strike three.

I think I'll stick with porn. Its much safer - and much more rewarding than Ms. Ponytail's torso.

________________
(note: the ilustration above, which is an actual photograph taken by the Hubble Space Telescope and has been provided by NASA, is NOT the subject of this entry, which is largely based on real events!)

As I drove down Ninth Avenue through the grey cold of January, unwanted thoughts kept washing over me.

It was the 3rd day of 1988, and in the newspapers there had appeared numerous stories of people who had been infected but asymptomatic for five years or more.

In eight years I had not had anything more serious than a brief bout with the flu.

I’d also had an odd white spot on my tongue sometime back around 1980 that my doctor thought was a yeast infection that I’d picked up from a girlfriend (he actually gave me Monistat tablets to suck on!)

Nonetheless, the passage of time was no longer the assurance that it had been. Even though the last time I’d used IV drugs was in late 1979 and into the early days of 1980, and I thought that it was unlikely that I’d been infected, I had taken the test because we wanted to have children. Just to be sure. I pulled over at a parking meter and waited awhile, and at five minutes to nine, I pushed two quarters in the coin slot and walked into the Health Department building.

A young woman standing near in an open door looked out me. I gave her my patient number and she told me to have a seat. I watched her pull a manila folder from a metal cabinet.

“There’s no one in yet, you’ll have to wait,” she said.

It was hard to imagine a more depressing place. The walls were covered in dirty celadon green tiles, and spikes of old straw stuffing poked through the row of cracked and faded orange vinyl seats that lined the hallway. The smell of industrial floor cleaner pinched the back of my throat. After fifteen minutes watching civil service employees and tired volunteers drift into the nearby rooms, I looked into another office where two women spoke quietly while looking at me. It could not have been more obvious, and although I could not understand it at that moment, neither my wife nor I would ever have another innocent day without worry of death or pain or loss.

I left the clinic and drove to court in Brooklyn, where I’d been assigned to represent a defendant who had AIDS. I can still remember his face - gaunt and grey as a ghost. The court officers refused to touch him without wearing rubber gloves. His name was Juan Figueroa.

Figueroa was dying, and I had asked the judge to dismiss the case in the interest of justice so that Figueroa could die a free man. The judge ducked the issue, adjourning the case every thirty days for a decision that never came. I drafted a motion that I was going to file in the Appellate Division, hoping to force the judge to make a decision, but I was too late. Figueroa died alone and all but forgotten at the AIDS ward of the Rikers Island prison hospital. I never forgot Juan, and I doubt that I ever will. You can be sure that I will never forget the name of that judge, either.

After I left the courtroom that day the enormity of it all swept over me, and I retreated to a phone booth and called my wife, sobbing in a corner of a courthouse in Brooklyn. A few days later, my doctor tested me for Hep C, and I discovered that I was coinfected with that virus as well.

So much time has passed. So many years. I have now been living with HIV and Hep C in my body for 28 years or so, and despite all that we have lost I have been incredibly fortunate. I am still here, still ridiculously healthy and I have made a lot of great friends whom I never would have met were it not for HIV. I am a very lucky man.

It’s been a long time since I went into the New Year feeling as joyful and optimistic as I feel these days, despite all of the challenges that we all face. I wish each and every one of us - HIV positive or not - a very healthy and happy new year.

And Juan as well, wherever he is.