No News Is Good News

So it is always stated "No news is good news," or people seem to mutter quite often "It is better just not knowing"... But is this the full-blown desirable truth?? All this and more confusion plagued my conscience at my BYC (Broadway Youth Center) volunteer job. The awkward day seemed too pleasant to be true. For weeks I had wondered why I would get packed with all results and the next all tests. Not tonight... I was overloaded with 5 tests and 3 results to take care of. I am always optimistic while dealing with a diverse group of youth whether they be gay, straight, queer, homeless, abused, raped...Whatever walks in that door I am open to assist them to the best of my abilities. However, tonight I could not be prepared enough.

My last client of the night walked in the reception room and I received the normal phone call in my testing office stating that I had a client. I went towards reception to pick up my clients card in order to look up the results before they entered, but the client stood up and proceeded to follow me towards the testing room. While biting my tongue, I figured that it was not necessary to ask the client to wait in reception until I was ready for them. I figured that it would be a negative-HIV result like the majority of clients. I searched through the Pre-test HIV folder filing cabinet and finally my eye crossed what I was looking for. I flipped through the records and my peripheral vision caught a quick glimpse of the results sheet. I was unexpectedly dumbfounded after seeing: "HIV-1 ANTIBODIES FOUND: REACTIVE" (In large, bold asterisked characters). I continued to act calm and collected while I asked how the client was feeling and if they were ready to receive their result, as I do with everyone else...

The next instant I jumped in my seat with a yelping voice weeping desperately "I knew it! F***! Help me! I'm going to die!" The client dodged towards me and laid their head in my crotch while their helpless arms wrapped around me with great force. Their eyes filled and spilled over with liquid anguish. I was speechless and hugged them back saying anything to cool the client down.

***

This event sucked me into one of those pensive moods of mine of wondering "Is better just not knowing?!" I feel as if today's youth are lost in drugs, clubs, sleeping around and not the future and health. The notion that adolescence makes them immortal seems to be quite popular, as if they all wear an invinsible cloak (or better yet, condom) until age 25. Too bad that HIV transmission occurs the most between ages 16 and 25! Getting tested every three months becomes habitual but almost pointless. Is there truly a reason for these continual appointments? Now they know if they have a sexually transmitted infection or disease, but with something like HIV, it is already too late. Then I ponder the thought, "Is an approximate hour of ecstasy worth an uncertained, unhealthy future? Is it really so much more sensual and intense without a thin protective layer of latex between a healthy and dreaded future to put your life on the line? Well it sure seems to be the popular path of adventure throughout today's recent generations, while a test counselor like myself thinks: "Am I truly making a difference in a world of a lost future?"

Bedroom Gambling: The odds of HIV transmission during mixed-status sex

I came across this truly interest-sparking article at my Broadway Youth Center volunteer position and thought that I should share. Please leave an opinion if you have one...

"Much has been written and calculated about the transmission risk of HIV negative folks face with positive, negative or indeterminate partners. But what is you know you're positive and worry about infecting a negative partner? With the help of out very own sexpert, Perry N. Halkitis, PhD, POZ combed through the University of California San Francisco's online vault of the latest research to chart the odds of infection in the absence of protection. Although some of these numbers seem low, they don't guarantee condom-free Eden. Many factors, including uncontrolled viral load, the presence of other sexually transmitted infections and rough sex, can increase the likelihood of transmitting HIV. Feeling lucky?

If you're HIV+ and you're not using condoms as the:

• Insertive partner of gay anal sex, the risk of your partner being infected is 1 in 122.
• Receptive partner of gay anal sex, the risk of your partner being infected is 1 in 1,666.
• Insertive partner of straight vaginal sex, the risk of your partner being infected is 1 in 111,111.
• Receptive partner of straight vaginal sex, the risk of your partner being infected is 1 in 1 million.
• Performer of penile oral sex, the risk of your partner being infected is Negligible.
• Receiver of penile oral sex, the risk of your partner being infected is 1 in 1,666.
• Performer of vaginal oral sex, the risk of your partner being infected is Negligible.
• Receiver of vaginal oral sex, the risk of your partner being infected is Negligible."

By Jennifer Gong from November 2005.
______________________________________________________________________

I find this article shocking and inaccurate, in addition to making people think that the chances to acquire HIV is low.

Leave some feedback...

Just returned from beautiful St. Louis, Missouri...

I took my grandpa to St. Louis to see the Gateway Arch which he has gone on and on about for over 2 years. Finally the opportunity arrived for me to take him. To see some pictures of our trip, click on the picture to the right of the Kiener Plaza, ancient Old Courthouse and towering Gateway Arch.

Random Thought...

Staring at my buddy's Dark, Sugarless Starbucks Coffee cup, I slowly read the printed comment surrounding it:
"Seven million inocent European Jews were killed in the 1940s, and we rightly called it the Holocaust. Eleven million innocent Africans have died of AIDS so far this decade because they were unable to get the drug that would save their lives. What do we call that?"

To see more of these, visit: www.starbucks.com/wayiseeit...

Gift From Heaven / Regalo caído del cielo

A Poem I wrote for about my mother Linda...

Gift From Heaven:
By: Richie Diesterheft

Reason for my existence
true angel of God
mail from a distance
friend without falacy
the guardian of my dreams.


Regalo caído del cielo:
(Richie Diesterheft)

Razón de mi existencia
verdadera ángel de Dios
un correo de distancia
amiga sin falacia
la guarda de sueños míos.

My AWARD-WINNING Spanish Poem...

**Look for me in the September issue of the Spanish newspaper ContraTiempo**

When You Fly:
A Poem of Paternal Farewell

By: Richie Diesterheft

Oh child of mine, you have to leave me,
and go off on your own. Outside of the grand nest.
Point your audacious arrow, cupid,
it’s time to pursue your own dream.

When you fly my love, I fly with you.
Your successful fate is in your hand,
don’t let it escape in vane.
Be careful! Because you’re now your own boss.

When you were born the flora acclaimed.
Your light is what brings each new day,
Your smile offers the world harmony.
I offered you all my blessings.

When you fly my love, I fly with you.
I have fear that you won’t succeed,
but I will not abandon you, never.
When you fly, bring along my heart.

I believe in your infinite options.
You’ll never know everything, my apprentice,
I only want you to be happy.
Forever, I will wait for you on the ground.

When you fly my love, I fly with you.
Never forget about your beloved cradle.
(If you’re homesick, look at this shared moon).
No limits exist, saint of the sky.

The hour of farewell has arrived.
For that reason maintain the habit: pray.
Always remember your many skills…
Be sure that you exercise them.

When you fly my love, I fly with you.
Angel, you were born to fly…
Without you, my world, I know, is going to end.
Allow me to help you with your little wings...

___________________________________________________

Cuando vueles: Un poema de despedida paternal

(Richie Diesterheft)

¡Ay, niño! Ya tienes que dejarme
e irte solo. Fuera del gran nido.
Apunta la saeta audaz, cupido:
es hora de perseguir tu propio sueño.

Cuando vueles, amor, vuelo contigo.
Tu destino exitoso está en tu mano,
no le permitas escapar en vano;
¡Cuídate! Porque ya eres tu propio dueño.

Cuando naciste la flora aclamó:
tu luz es la que trae el nuevo día,
tu sonrisa ofrece al mundo armonía.
Yo te ofrecí toda mi bendición.

Cuando vueles, amor, vuelo contigo.
Tengo miedo que no lo lograrás,
pero no te abandonaré, jamás.
Cuando vueles, lleva mi corazón.

Creo en tus opciones infinitas.
Nunca sabrás todo, mi aprendiz,
solamente quiero que seas feliz
y yo siempre te esperaré en el suelo.

Cuando vueles, amor, vuelo contigo.
Nunca te olvides de tu amada cuna
(si la añoras mira esta misma luna).
No existen límites, patrón del cielo.

Ha llegado la hora de despedida;
por eso mantén el hábito: rezas.
Siempre recuerda tus muchas destrezas,
está seguro que las ejercitas.

Cuando vueles, amor, vuelo contigo.
Ángel, tú naciste para volar…
Sin ti, mi mundo, sé, se va a acabar.
Déjame ayudarte con tus alitas…

[Octava italiana, Endecasílabo, Arte Mayor, XAAB XCCB, Rima consonante]

A Short Story I Wrote For Spanish Class

Diary of Desperation
By: Richie Diesterheft

--From beneath a bed, a young boy takes out a locked box. While his hands shake, he opens the small dust-covered box with his teeny key. He rummages through the secret items until his small hands found two essential objects at the bottom: a diary full of sloppy handwriting and a dull, lightly rusted razor blade. With the razor in his right hand, he sets it directly on his wrist and writes desperately in his diary…

“I can’t take it anymore! What am I? I must be a puppet of God… But today is the last day I’ll be a victim of society. Since the week I gave up my dream to be an Olympic gymnastics champion, my parents lost faith in me. They only saw it as a lost college scholarship. They complained about the interminable sports expenses that had accumulated over the worthless past nine years. They never realized the existence of a lost life-long goal, the psychological suffering, or the physical pains and scars I tolerate. I rendered everything to achieve this stupid, useless dream.”

--He focuses on an old painting created with a thin paintbrush which had been a family treasure.

“How, in only two weeks, can someone lose almost everything that has value to them? God had other plans for my lovely grandmother. Truthfully, I believe that Heaven lacked kind people like her. I yearn to accompany her on her sojourn of solid gold, where distress due to the fault of evil humanity doesn’t exist. Now I only possess this faded painting of remembrance her by, but I mourn for something more realistic.”

--He throws the portrait to the floor splattered with his fresh blood. He begins to fidget nervously with his silver bracelet, which hangs from his right wrist and was given to him by the one he loved but recently abandoned him. His eyes fill with confused tears which remain trapped by his eyelids. He can barely breathe due to the invisible jail of air surrounding him.

“I feel alone without a partner. With him, I didn’t feel so abandoned. It was the occasion in my life when I had felt so normal. When my fellow students discriminated against me in school for being myself, he protected me from their prejudices. Although this love of mine took away my virginity, abused me for two years and left me in the dark… However, I got used to his negative aspects. Furthermore, I loved him with all my heart and for that reason I allowed him to penetrate and infect me with his mortal, contagious tadpoles. How is it possible for someone like myself to have serious ailment at such a young age? That dirty son of a bitch cheated on me and left my house without telling me the truth. I gave him all the trust in the world and he deceived me.”

“Now, here I am without the support of anyone. Everyday my parents blame me for being gay. I yearn for and will never be able to feel the same affection I once received. I can continually hear my father’s voice resound in my head lecturing—“Homosexuality is a devil’s trick and for choosing your lifestyle, you got what you deserved.” But it was never my decision. I was born this way. Why don’t they understand me?! I’m made up of their blood and possess their disgraceful genes. Now I’m left with nothing…Without an Olympic dream, any moral support, and a loved one. I have absolutely nothing except a fatal destination. Enough!”

--Standing in a puddle of blood, the boy gazes on the reddish, warm blood through his swollen and blurry eyes. On the verge of giving up, the child imagines a skeptical diabolical figure sitting on his bony shoulder who whispers in his deaf ears: “You can’t turn back now…Time is quickly coming to an end.” The youth rests his perplexed head on his weak arms to ignore the voices from within. All of a sudden, he hears an unexpected noise…

“I give in. My death is the only viable solution on this earth. I prefer a definite end instead of suffering from a damn virus and drowning in solitude. My sister has arrived but not even she can save me now.”

--The young man cringes from the physical and psychological agony and continues to saw his flesh unconsciously. His sister arrives with urgent news and pounds on the door with great force until it opens. Completely surprised and with anguish reflected by her innocent pupils, the young girl observes her brother’s Christ-like wrists. The boy allows the razor blade to fall to the floor and is reaching out for the only person who notices his suffering. He firmly hugs his angelic sister between his distressed arms. His sister carefully uses a white sheet to wipe her little brother’s delicate wrist. While the sheet soaks up the purplish-red fluid, the siblings are taken by surprise. The wounded flesh depicts “M.A.,” the initials of his boyfriend. The answers to his concerns become discovered: His boyfriend gave his life to save his own. The sentiment of guilt and the idea of death attacked only the spirit of the one who destroyed the child’s innocence, bringing him to commit suicide first. The adolescent grasped the concept that he did not want to face a similar fate.

--Five years later, the young boy only has the scars as a reminder of his confused and lost years.

______________________________________________________

Diary of Desperation / Diario desesperado
Por: Richie Diesterheft

--Debajo de una cama, un joven saca una caja cerrada. Mientras tiemblan las manos, él abre la cajita polvorienta con su llave pequeñita. Se revuelven todos los artículos secretos hasta que sus manitas encontraron los dos objetos esenciales al fondo: un diario lleno de letras descuidadas y una navajilla desafilada y poca oxidada. Con la navajilla en mano derecha, sujetada encima de las venas principales de la muñeca, el adolescente escribe desesperadamente en su diario.

“¡Ya no aguanto más! ¿Qué soy? Marioneta de Dios soy… Pero hoy es el último día de ser víctima de la sociedad. Desde la semana que dejé mi sueño de ser un campeón olímpico de gimnasia, mis padres perdieron la fe en mí. Ellos sólo comprendieron la pérdida de no recibir una beca universitaria. Se quejaron de los gastos deportivos interminables que acumularon en los nueve años desperdiciados. No piensan en la meta penalizada, el sufrimiento psicológico, o los dolores y cicatrices físicas que tolero. Ofrecí todo para logar este sueño estúpido, inútil.”

--Se enfoca en un dibujo añejo pintado con un pincel delgado que fue un tesoro familiar.

“¿Cómo, en solamente dos semanas, uno se puede perder casi todo lo que vale en la vida? Dios tenía otros planes para mi abuelita querida. Creo que en el cielo faltaba gente buena como ella. Deseo acompañarla en su recorrido de oro sólido, donde no existe el sufrimiento por la culpa de la humanidad malvada. Sólo poseo este cuadro descolorido para recordarla, pero todavía llevo luto por algo más realista.”

--Él tira el cuadro al suelo salpicado con su sangre. Empieza a juguetear nerviosamente con la pulsera plateada, la cual cuelga de su muñeca derecha y fue un regalo de aquel que lo amó y lo abandonó. Los ojos se llenan con lágrimas confundidas que siguen atrapadas por los párpados. Casi no se puede respirar por un calabozo invisible de aire que lo rodea.

“Me siento solo sin pareja. Con él, no me sentía tan abandonado. Era la única vez en mi vida que me he sentido tan normal. Cuando los otros colegas me discriminaron en el colegio por ser yo mismo, él me protegió de los prejuicios. Aunque ese amor me quitó la inocencia, abusó de mí por dos años y me dejó en la oscuridad, pero me acostumbré a sus aspectos negativos. Además, lo amé con todo mi corazón y por eso lo dejé penetrarme e infectarme con renacuajos mortales y contagiosos. ¿Cómo puede ser que tenga una enfermedad grave a una edad tan joven? Ese hijo de puta sucio me engañó y salió de mi casa sin decirme la verdad. Le di toda la confianza del mundo y me defraudó.”

“Ahora, aquí estoy sin el apoyo de nadie. Cada día mis padres me echan la culpa por ser gay. Nunca volveré a sentir ese cariño que tanto añoro. Parece que escucho la voz de mi padre resonar en mi cerebro sermoneándome—“La homosexualidad es un truco del diablo y por escoger este estilo de vida, recibiste lo que mereces.” Pero no fue mi decisión y nací así. ¡¿Por qué no me entienden?! Estoy hecho de su propia sangre y tengo sus genes desgraciadas. Ahora me quedo sin nada…Sin un sueño olímpico, sin apoyo familiar, y ni siquiera una pareja íntima. Estoy absolutamente sin nada, excepto un destino fatal. ¡Basta!”

--Parado en una poza sangrienta con sus ojos hinchados y borrosos, se concentra en la sangre roja y tibia. Al punto de rendirse, el chico imagina un diablito escéptico sentado en el hombro huesudo que murmura en los oídos sordos: “Ya no puedes regresar a la decisión de vivir porque el tiempo está acabando.” El joven se apoya su cabeza confundida en sus brazos débiles para ignorar las voces del interior. De repente, se oye un ruido inesperado…

“Ya me doy por vencido. Mi muerte es la única solución viable en este mundo. Prefiero un final definitivo en vez de sufrir de un maldito virus y ahogado en la soledad. Ha llegado mi hermana pero no puede salvarme tampoco.”

--El joven se encoge del dolor físico y psicológico y sigue aserrando su carne viva desapercibidamente. Su hermana vino con noticias urgentes y golpeó la puerta con fuerza hasta que la abrió. Completamente sorprendida y con la angustia reflejada en sus pupilas inocentes, la chica observa a su hermano con las muñecas parecidas a las de Cristo. El joven deja la navajilla caer al suelo y es alcanzado por el único ser que se ha dado cuenta de su sufrimiento. Él abrazó a su hermana angelical fuertemente entre sus brazos dañados. Con cuidado, ella usa una sábana blanca para limpiar la muñeca delicada de su hermanito. Mientras la sábana empapaba el fluido púrpura, los dos hermanos se cogieron de sopresa. En la carne de la herida leyó “M.A.,” las iniciales de su novio. La respuesta a sus por qué fue descubierta: Su novio dio su propia vida para salvar la de él. El sentimiento de culpa y la idea de morir sólo atacó el espíritu de aquel que destruyó la inocencia del niño y lo llevó a su suicidio primero. El chiquito captó que no quiso encontrarse en el mismo destino.

--Cinco años después, el joven sólo tiene las cicatrices como recuerdos de sus años confundidos y perdidos.

Random, Hilarious Craigs List Posting

The Delicate Balance, That Is My Ballsack... ["Yes, as in scrotum"]

I trim. I mow the lawn up top to basically look like a pizza slice with a bite taken out. I use clippers for this.

As for the balls and taint I have set up a system that helps me shave them without getting bumps or redness.

I took a balloon, blew it up, lathered it, and then practiced shaving it until I could do so with a surgeon’s precision. It took practice but I finally felt that I had it down after several tries, one crying spell, and the Rocky theme playing in the background.

So I decided last night would be my first ball shaving with the new technique.

So I get naked, do a shot of bourbon, and then strip. Oh shit, the blinds! Okay close them after waving to my neighbor and proceed to ground zero… my bathroom.

Once in the bathroom I put on a headband and start shouting slogans at myself in the mirror.

“Fuck yeah bitch it’s going down”

“Look at you! Is that even hair? Who would want you?”

“Yall fuckers are gonna be smooth!” pointing to my wiry sack.

Out with the bad air…in with the good.

Okay so the tools are now all laid out. Three different razors. Gillette shaving cream. Water is running and Norah Jones is in the CD player. I don’t know why but her voice makes me want to shave my balls. But I digress.

I splash a little cold water on my eggs so the bag will shrivel up. Good, nice and tight.

My hands are shaking like leaves. Drip of sweat coming from my brow, and you bitches questioned the headband; I go in for the first hover stroke.

I can’t do it.

I drop the razor and pace. Fuck! All this prep work! All my training! All those popped balloons!

Do it for the balloons kid, for the balloons. The voice in my head was familiar. Mickey?

I grab the razor (cue inspirational music… you’re the best, arooound. Nothin’ in the world can keep you down!)

I have never spoken in tongues or had an out of body experience but this is what I imagine it is like. I was hitting angles that I never thought possible. I was upside down at one point.

I woke up speaking Latin and had two leg nuggets as smooth as silk. The phone had shaving cream and a couple of pubes on it and there was no more bourbon.

Today, my friends, I have the smoothest sack in DC. It feels like that Viagra commercial when that guy got his confidence back. I am walking into rooms just eager to show my newly shorn sack.

New haircut? Nope, shaved my balls! Did you get that promotion? Nope, silky sack!


You’re the best, around. Nothin’ in the world can keep you down. You’re the best around…

[Date: 2006-06-28, 12:23PM EDT; Craigs List posting under "The best of craigslist": http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/176368889.html]