Journal XIV: Passion & Integrity

The Writer is Stolid

This entry is ‘continuing’ from personal events discussed in our previous entry: Anxiety & Honesty.

02 January 2025

Our friendship is over. It ended last night after a twenty-minute video call.

After Anxiety released, I received two distinct messages: one from my former partner and one from my former friend. I had not expected to hear from either of them, and so it is good to know my writing is evocative. The former sent me a short message to acknowledge the piece, refraining from all opinion but to tell me the writing was ‘good’. The latter messaged me to inform me that they had read the post ‘five times’ and wished to end our friendship. For this request, I insisted we wait until the New Year.

It is the second day of the New Year. They wasted little time.

---

The title of this entry is Passion & Integrity. Originally, this would have been Patience, but I’ve decided to save that for Journal XIX (stay tuned!¹). The decision to delay has come largely from two events that happened yesterday:

1. At 12:01am I had a conversation with a friend who casually proffered some odd perceptions of my romantic life.

2. At 11:12pm I had a conversation with a former friend who has decided to terminate our friendship.

We will address the first incident later.

In the conversation that ended our friendship, my unnamed friend stated a preference that they be ‘removed’ from all my media. I have done this to the best of my ability, relenting only for the poem 12024 HE and those entries which refer to my ‘best friend’.² In telling me about Anxiety & Honesty, they said they felt ‘exposed’ by my discourse, and that they did not appreciate me using their life for ‘content.’ I did not bother to inform them: I do not write content. I write.³

I am sorry they felt I exposed them. Passion is a blinding force. When I wrote Anxiety, I was in the midst of a passion. As I said therein, the editing process for the entry was immense. It was even delayed for this reason: the original draft was an exposé. I did not wish to write an exposé. I wished to expose my honesty and to express what remained unexpressed within me.⁴ There were aspects of the first draft that did not serve my ambition; rather, they served only to provoke and disarm through callous honesty.

Here I have been quite vulnerable about my perceptions not because I wished to tell of another’s life but because I wished to tell of my own. I believe we are not alone entitled to our experiences while we share them with others. This is the dichotomy—the contradiction—of behaving as social animals. I accept that others have alternative perceptions of me distended from my own self-concept and I accept that at any time I may have qualities unveiled that I would have preferred to remain secret.⁵ I do not think that others’ incapacity to accept the burden of exposition should prevent one from giving exposition for the writings of their life experiences.

I told my former friend that I did not feel the same about their preferences for my expression: they ought to process their decision to end our friendship however they wish, even if it means writing libellous songs or broadcasting irreverent opinions on their Instagram stories. They are entitled to the part of me that caused them pain, as I am entitled to refer to them as an abuser when they have done things that are emotionally abusive⁶. Ironically, they’ve chosen to block me and have me remove evidence of them from my work as though I am the abuser. Of course, I have issues, too—detailed explicitly here, and often—but I don’t feel the need to block the people I’ve abused: I believe it is the domain of the abused to determine their capacity for communication.⁷

Integrity is salvation: a spear and shield against all that would diminish fulfillment. In determining what ought to be edited from my work, I have exchanged sparse messages with my former friend⁸ since we spoke. I have sought to understand exactly what their preference is while I will not edit works like 12024 HE or remove Anxiety. Integrity in my expression is important to me insofar as I can preserve it.⁹ Today, this goes two ways: how can I maintain the integrity of my truth and experience while likewise maintaining the integrity of their preference? I want to be respectful in my honest recollection of my perceptions. I don’t want to cause grief, and I wish to make things ‘as easy as possible’ for them as we process their decision. Of course, they don’t have to read my work if it upsets them (and I did tell them this), and I have an inconsequential readership at present (hello, Sweet Reader). Why are we concerned about the content of my writings here?

Considering their preferences has led me into a seat of frustration. It seems I could be exhaustive in my efforts to pacify them—and how am I to talk about my life this past decade while forsaking the mention of a primary actor? It cannot be done. Last night, after speaking, I read over Anxiety again to see if I had failed in my editing: If I had accidentally published an exposé. I do not feel I did; though, I have the benefit of knowing what the first draft was like. Considering all this, I had drafted a message to my former friend (Rufus T. Firefly) this morning:

Good morning,

This will be the last message you receive unless you need my response.

I have read Journal XIII again. It would help going forward if you explained better how you felt exposed in that piece. I feel I was generous, given the upset of the period. Frankly, if I had wanted to 'expose' you, then I would have kept the first draft—or simply messaged […]. I feel you have projected a lot on my writing, and have projected a lot on me in the past year, from awkward comments about heteronormativity to telling others you felt I needed to grow up (the latter something you had previously been upset at […] for saying about […]). Even your upset at my terminology, abuser, feels like an unwillingness to actually face your behaviour towards me. You know you've been an abuser this past year. Indeed, I would be curious to know if any of your confidants read the piece or if they gave opinions merely off your feelings toward it. I feel you would rather hide behind your own accusations than talk openly with someone you've hurt (and I needn't say that I will always be open to talking). Because I feel this way this morning, I think it would be helpful if you made explicit why the style of Journal XIII was libellous to you.

Barring any reasoned explanation, the frankness of that piece will be the model for how I write about this past decade going forward. I am telling you this so that you understand I won't betray my craft because you didn't like what I wrote about you. Everything I said was true. So, I resent your use of the word 'content' last night. I don't write content, Rufus. I write. Some of that writing is published in public spaces. It always will be.

Most importantly, I would like to say that I forgive you, and that I hope you find the love and the help you need during this difficult period.

I did not send this message; and, I did not edit it for this entry.¹⁰ I do not need to. It works better as ‘content,’ and I have said my fill. I need not obfuscate or placate, but only accept accountability where due and move on. Integrity compels fulfillment, and maintaining my integrity for this period means acting on the autonomy to write about what I please, respectfully and gracefully.

My craft is a living process and so am I. Thus, I will not condemn anyone or claim I am on a high ground of any kind. I am just an animal expressing what remains unexpressed within me. This past year has been quite challenging as I reckon both with the wrong perceptions within me and the wrong perceptions of those surrounding me. It is so difficult to navigate the labyrinth of expression.

Integrity: What remains unexpressed within me?

• My sister was not the only person I confided in. The limit of my confidence is Everyone I Know. I even dug a hole and exposed my truths to the soil and then Myosotis grew from that soil and whispered the truth to the Wind, and then the Wind took the Truth and spread it to the Four Corners of the Earth. This is passion.

• I harboured deep emotions for Rufus that undoubtedly contributed to the unravelling of our relationship this year. Though I tried my best to reckon with these emotions—and was successful given how easy they made it—I feel deep remorse for how my attachments undermined our friendship. This being said, I never felt ‘romantically spurned,’ and was never upset over such a thing. It is simple: Someone who treats me such ways does not deserve the fractured grace of my romantic sensibilities.¹¹ This is integrity.

• Sonnet to an Enemy¹² (from Poems of Hate & Malice):

Do you hear that? The cackling, the crackling?
Why did you set fire to our bridge, my friend?
Why do you stand upon it still, screaming?
You expect me now to join in your descent?

The billowing smoke burns my hot, wet eyes.
I'm not crying; you're crying and screaming.
I am hopeless, watching our work crumble.
The mountain is impassable thanks to you.

I forgive you. I think you are unwell.
When the dust and ash settles far below,
I will scrape what remains from the grey stones.
I will put you somewhere safe and harmless.

Then, you have betrayed your love for nothing;
look: already, my friends build another bridge.

• I am writing this because I want to exercise my passion and integrity. I want to toe the line. I want to fall into the habit of Negative Capability and become just two words more than what I am at all other times. I want to be acknowledged. I want to be angry. I want to welcome the New Year with a blade in the stomach. I want to overcome everything I am not. I want to speak most for the unspeakable that resists my telling. I want to exercise (exorcise?) the embarrassment of my humanity. I want to live.

---

Later,

We turn away from Rufus now. The damage is done and no effort I make will improve it. Therefore, we turn away from them.

But a minute after midnight, the first of the New Year, an old friend messaged me to inform me he would be hosting a game night for his birthday. In catching up, he expressed surprise that I was single, stating that I’ve ‘always had someone back to back.’

Darling Reader, I feel as though I woke up in April of 2024 in a different universe and I am slowly unfolding the minor differences of this bizarre place, growing ever agitated by the wrong perceptions of the people I’ve known. I’m not sure what has prompted this perception in my friend but I wanted to discuss it. I have become aware in the past year or two that there is an opinion amongst some that I have taken lovers like oxygen, and I would love to have been this person they have known so I could better speak for his experiences.

Unfortunately, I have not taken my lovers like oxygen:

1. I began dating my first partner in 2014. We dated for two and a half years before I cheated on them with

2. someone I dated for a month in 2016 before they moved away. Then, I was single for more than a year until—

3. I dated someone for a summer in 2017. This relationship did not work out. I think about it a lot. It was an important lesson.

4. In early 2018 I began dating Rufus. We carried on and off for almost two years. In the time between our romances, I had some ‘friends-with-benefits’ (though, I have preferred to call them friends).

5. In mid-2020 I dated someone for about five months, but I failed to commit. This period of time was the start of a Dark Age in my personal history¹³. Not long after we broke up,

6. I came together with a friend who has been referred to here as my former partner¹⁴. We were in a relationship for three years, living together for about two. As mentioned in Anxiety, I cheated on her twice: through a text exchange in 2022 and through another in mid-2023. These incidents did not explicitly lead to our break-up but they contributed (obviously).

These are the relationships that form the arc of my romantic endeavours (thus far?). I have not taken any partners since my former partner and I ended things in April 2024. Since the breakup, I have had some small entanglements—including the crisis with Rufus—but have had no direct intimate relations. Much of my time between partners has been spent in romantic idolatry. The only time I kept intimately busy between anyone was after dating Rufus, when I had several liaisons until mid-2020. I have mixed feelings about some of those experiences with friends.¹⁵

So, why is there a shadowy conception of me that takes partners back to back and becomes someone others should ‘be careful’ around?¹⁶ I am oblivious to the precise reasons. I know that my long on-and-off relationship with Rufus had contributed; though, I think many do not have a fair comprehension of this relationship (and perhaps that is why I am provoked to dispel some of this now). Comments by others have led me to believe it is this relationship that planted the seeds for others’ perceptions of my love life—as well as the relationship I had in mid-2020, which I did not handle with integrity but with apathy. I was not graceful about that relationship or the events that led into my relationship with my former partner.

In mid-2020 I dated a wonderful person but I was quite dogged about commitment and courtesy. I adored them, yes, because they’re a wonderful human, but I failed to align my intellectual adoration with my loving action. I was put off by the inception of our relationship and still reeling from things that had happened elsewhere in my love life. I had no business being in a relationship. This was during COVID, a queer time for us all. When we broke up, I didn’t waste time turning my attention to my ‘former partner’ who had been close and friendly with me for almost two years. It was not a good look, and I received criticism in the year following the new relationship—especially during the 2021 event referenced in 12024 HE.

The perception of me as someone who takes partners back to back is ironic given my lived experience of the matter. I am feisty and horny at times but rarely so insensitive to the grace owed my romantic endeavours (meaning that I’m not a salacious person). Thus, it is comments like these that fascinate me—as evidenced by my long discourse here. In the past year I have explored a lot of these strange mirrors of others’ make and tried to navigate my identity amongst the shifting reflections that are so unrecognizable to me. It is not always easy when one becomes caught up in others’ perceptions. It can be debilitating to self-concept. My experiences in the ‘2021 event’ were a masterclass in this, though. Navigating these differences this past year has been a pleasure, even when they frustrate me.

Enough now. I am ill and tired. Amidst this I am coming down with a bad cold also. Life is relentless. We’ll return tomorrow and see what the damage is.

---

03 January 2024¹⁷

If Dante could name his political enemies and place them in Hell, shall I not blithely reference those with whom I have quarrelled?

I do not use true names when I talk about these things out of respect for those who own the names and their actions. I won’t use true names in Journal posts. The folk I speak of surely know who they are, and if my writing upsets them then they would do well to abstain from my work. In discussing Rufus’ decision to end our friendship over Anxiety, my sister commented, “Well, that’s Art. What did they expect?” And I appreciated that. If my artistic efforts are thorny, then refrain from my briar patch.

I had a small crisis of integrity yesterday as I wondered if my closeness to Anxiety blinded me to a severe fault in that piece. I asked friends who read it and know what has been happening in greater detail than I professed there. I thank the Gods for friends who reassure me: No, dude, you were vulnerable and honest about your life; it was a good work and anyone’s upset over it is closer to a reflection of their character than yours.

That’s how writing—and art—works. It provokes a passion in us and we must bear the responsibility of our interpretation. This contradiction is integral to the pleasure and terror of art. One might say that it imitates life.

When we spoke, Rufus told me they cannot trust me, and I understand where that perception arises. Their interpretation is not incorrect, just wrong to me. I feel more trustworthy than I ever have: I’ve been telling the truth and all the while forsaking those details that would truly cause a ruckus. In editing Anxiety, I removed a significant portion titled Wrong Things: A List. This was a literal catalogue of sensitive details exposing others. It was a list of five things leading to the juxtaposition of the sixth item on the list:

• Lying to your best friend about telling your little sister about your best friend’s romantic life because you were concerned with how they were treating others, regardless of if you were one of those you felt were treated poorly.

Because I have integrity and will not provide the full list, I can only assure you, Sweet Reader, that it is devastating. I ended up removing it because, as I’ve said, I was not aiming to write an exposé. Now, I do not feel that I was utilizing those five other items to ‘expose,’ but to encapsulate the intensity of emotion and betrayal I felt during the writing of that piece. Of course, I need not defend myself: I am undoubtedly in the wrong just as others have been. I know what I am. I do not discuss Wrong Things here to say, “Look, I’m not so bad; I could have been so much worse!” I discuss it because transparency is important to me right now: There is a manic freedom in radical honesty.

If only I could have discovered that earlier this year, or last year, or any of the years I’ve lived. If only we could be so honest with each other.

Some will surely wonder what the purpose of this entry is and why I have chosen to write about two unrelated personal events, especially when one of those events involves a person who has explicitly asked me to remove their name and identity from all my work. Is this a revenge post? Another anxiety attack? Is he just an asshole?

Sure—but no. I’m writing this because it is happening and because I had intended to write a follow up to the events of Anxiety regardless of the outcome. The circumstances I discuss form a worthwhile subject¹⁸ and I have wanted to write more about my life. Despite the robust journal I keep or the poetry I have, I often wish I had a greater catalogue of personal events and happenings to refer to and to leave behind. When I read the work of others, I feel them with me and I wonder if I can’t do the same. I wonder if I can’t endure beyond the feelings and events I experience but also leave some impression of them. I aim to accomplish a body of work, even if it is ‘unrecognized’.

I wish all my ancestors kept journals.

At Will Edgcomb’s behest, I will admit the other truth: I am writing this because I am devastated. I am devastated that Rufus and I chose silence and irreverence over faith and communication. I am dismayed that there are some who think I am a Casanova¹⁹ or someone others ought to ‘be careful’ around. But, things fall apart, and if you care for others opinions then you become their prisoner. Instead, I will lay these things down on my operating table and viciously (humorously) ask them to dissect themselves. This is passion.

Writing this, I wanted to explore my immediate impressions and considerations for the two unfortunate interactions I had on the first day of 12025. I wanted to navigate those contradictions with due diligence and reverence and to tease the threads (Sweet Reader may remember my pulling of threads in Anxiety). Some may wonder how my Wolf is doing in their den and what progress my Eagle has made in altering the small golden ball. What do you think? One is resting while the other flies high and far. I am letting them be. This is integrity.

I accept all this. Though I have struggled in affording grace to others, I will not dwell. I have only visited. I am only passing through. I am accountable.

There, already it is tomorrow and today is another mythical yesterday.

---

08 January 2025²⁰

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

Over the weekend, I had again considered sending a final message to Rufus:

Good morning,

This is only a coda.

The slow decline of our friendship was agonizing. I acknowledge how great the discord must be in you, and I am grateful for the trust you did share with me. I'm sorry I could not serve you better in our friendship. The most I can offer is support, even if that means saying goodbye. I love and accept you as you are and our actions don't diminish my love. You will always have a space here regardless of who you become.

I read Journal XIII again. It would help if you shared more about why it upset you. I am sorry that my words caused you pain and left you feeling exposed. That was never my intention, and I’m sorry for the hurt I caused. This year has been overwhelming for us both, and I understand how my words and actions may have become a focal point for the pain and guilt you’ve been carrying. In your discourse these past months, I feel you've projected a lot of that pain and guilt on me (and my family) because I am a 'safe space'. However, our friendship has always been a place of honesty, not a place to hide from ourselves. I could not let our friendship become a place where we hide from ourselves. Contradiction is the honey and the poison of love. It was never my intention to 'expose' you or use your life as 'content'. I am sorry that it came across that way. For what it's worth, I'm thankful for what our friendship exposed in me this past year: As I wrote in Journal XIII, I've been abusive, too.

I hope you find the stability you deserve, Rufus, and the capacity to explore your artistry as I have. If I don't see you next in this life, then I'm sure we'll meet again some sunny day. I love you and I look forward to hearing your EP.

auf Wiedersehen,
Will

I did not send this. Wise men remain silent.²¹

In editing this entry, I have removed some sentences and expanded greatly on others. I did not face so much of the turmoil I did while editing Anxiety. This piece did not contain the exposition of that first draft—only the bitterness. I have not been so upset while writing, but more often melancholy and reflective. I’m sure I’ve toed the line between integrity and respect, between passion and mania. I am remorseful that I can only offer my perception. Alone, I am biased. Everything I write on this is half a tale. It will always leave one wanting. I long for the clarity of interdependence: to give it to You. Otherwise, I am just defensive and rambling. (Sigh.)

In writing this, I have said too much; thus, here is where I must leave You and this bone. I am finished being a dog for now. I am tired, and so I will let Jack sing²² for all that remains to be said for passion and integrity:

1. Geddit? It’s a joke! ‘Cause I’m makin’ you wait.

2. One may wonder, “If they want to be removed then why are you writing about them?” Because it’s my life and I’m a writer and because I write about my life and this is a part of what has been happening in my life. Don’t worry, Sweet Reader, this won’t become a whole arc: I’m eager to discuss much more exciting and happier things happening in my life. My next Journal is XV: Current Ideas. You’ll love it much less than this piece, I’m sure.

3. For transparency, I will say that their consternation seems to stem from my paraphrasing of upsetting texts I received from them. This forms the basis of Call & Response where they are seated in a chair while I get an opportunity to speak. Regarding their upset, I could invoke my former insights and say: If you don’t want others to know what you’ve said then perhaps don’t say such things. However, intending this sentiment would be an obfuscation of the hurt my words have caused them. It is okay to hold space for contradiction. I understand why they are upset.

4. My leading question for introspection this past month has been: What remains unexpressed within me? It will likely be my mantra for the whole year. I stole it from a passage in Deng Ming-Dao’s 365 Tao (ISBN: 9780062502230; buy local).

5. Such as the details of my infidelities, things I said in apathy, my sexual proclivities, or other stupid human things. We’re human. Let’s discuss our stupid human things.

6. You may rightly ask: What did they do? It doesn’t matter, Sweet Reader. I forgive them. Perhaps I will anticipate a piece titled Fifteen Days that will detail at length the experiences that led to willa’s poem and Anxiety. To satisfy curiosity I can only say: they were careless and hurt others, including me. I do not believe they intended their abuse towards me or anyone; I think they have been confused and growing (the same as I). What more can I say? They wish not to be exposed.

7. Nonetheless, I will not block them. I forgive them. The most I have done is remove their email from this publication’s mailing list. It is worth saying that I acknowledge they may view me as an abuser and would thereby be justified to block me by my assertion. There are a few sides to every story.

8. Perhaps we should begin to call them Rufus or Penny or Paul or any number of names they are not. ‘Former friend’ is a fair term but fills much space—even more than ‘best friend.’

9. I know I walk a narrow line writing here about this. It is not in an effort to expose anyone but myself. Our lives do not belong to us. Do I contradict myself?

10. Therefore, I know my tone in the draft is problematic. Sometimes we just don’t know how to behave. There is not a peer amongst us who has not written a problematic draft. Most end up being sent. This one had a different fate: Thank you for witnessing me. I was quite distraught when I drafted this message—calm, but distraught.

11. Period. *snap snap* — Ser Templeton Esq.

12. Written 30 December 2024. Not written for Rufus, or about them, but surely a serendipitous thing to have written only days before our discussion, no?

13. Lasting approximately 2020 — 2023. Notably, this coincides with the COVID era.

14. I suspect that if I referred to her by anything other than ‘former partner,’ then she would surely have my head. She bites back.

15. Aside, It is worth mentioning a particular friend with whom I shared intimate relations throughout 2019: They were a wonderful casual partner and we remain friends today. I can only presume they feel the same, but I do not wish to presume.

16. I had overhead—quite by accident—of someone who used to be close to me and how they had told another person to ‘be careful’ in dealing with me. From my understanding, it was regarding romantic inclinations. I have never confronted them about it because we don’t speak anymore—and why would I give a fuck? We’re writing about this, not steeping in it (my writing process is scraping honeycomb, not serving tea). I consider it less than I consider the person who felt I was a pedophile for defending the novel Lolita as a work of fine literature (foreshadowing for a Lolita post?).

17. Happy Birthday, J.R.R. Tolkien. You would have hated it here.

18. We must note that these two events are not unrelated but interrelated. Their contradictions are mutual echoes. The crisis of one is found in the acceptance of the other.

19. Specifically, I am devastated that people are not direct with me about this. I actually have no issue being seen as a Casanova as I think libertine sensibilities are worth consideration (key word: consideration). However, I think if we’re to have opinions of others then we ought to either discuss them or remain silent.

20. Happy Birthday, David Bowie. I miss you and I wish you’d remained among us. Things changed when you passed.

21. Fools write about it on Substack. I’d rather be a careful fool than a prudent wise man right now. I’ve noticed I tend to learn more faster this way.

22. May this invocation usher us all into a space of compassion and reflective interdependence.