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  • welcome to the hole

    welcome to the hole

    Once upon a time, I kept a LiveJournal account, gryphons_hole, a deep, dark, comfy little hole in my brain where I kept notes on my life and queerness.

    This is the archive to that account, mostly password protected, adult, queer content, stripped of photo content after the site restructured its photo hosting feature. I hope to restore that content as well.

    If I know you, ask for the password. If I don’t, hope for a generous mood.

    08.18.24 I have realized a need to continue in this space. A kink reawaking if you will, with content that may range into inappropriate for my other blog spaces.

  • coming out…

    For clarity…

    Gryphon is not my given name. I am no longer sure who does and doesn’t know this. Beyond coworkers and my family, no one I know uses my given name. Gryphon started as a totem used only by myself. Then, while in Arizona, it became my name of leather, which was a common practice in that circle at the time. A few years later, I considered the idea that Gryphon was a better fit for my erotic images than my very Anglo given name, so it grew into my pseudonym as well.

    When I met my last partner at IML, he met me as Gryphon in the vendors’ market. When I moved to KCMO, he just introduced me to everyone as Gryphon and no one local even knew otherwise until my mother was visiting during chemotherapy and corrected everyone that called asking for Gryphon… ‘Oh! You mean Jeff…? He’s right here.”

    LOL

    There you have it.

    Jeffrey Martin Gibbs

    That is my full given name, although I have somehow succeeded in getting most all official papers to list me as Jeff M Gibbs, which is my preference. Even my driver’s license.

    I say this because I joined the ranks of Facebook. I did so under my given name. I know I could have used my pseudonym, but I want to make use of the networking of Facebook for purposes including activism. And I feel a bit *ick* doing so not with my real name.

    I realize that the various circles of my past are about to coming crashing into each. Throw the current cast of fabulous gayness into it all for a delicious cataclysm. *g* And through it all, I am still breathing. Evenly. I am still wanting to disclose my HIV status, but I will consider that over more time. I don’t wish to invest time in the part of my past that never moved forward into the world. That is a part of why I left them behind…

  • Protected: sunday style – revisited

    Protected: sunday style – revisited

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  • sunday style – winter sets in

    sunday style – winter sets in

    This week is more casual. It is certainly much colder as well…

    This is First Weekend. The galleries and studios have extended First Friday into Friday and Saturday. Being a night-shift worker, I am happy for that. So, Saturday afternoon, I was off to the Slap-n-Tickle to hang with Apryl. Always a great fit there. I have taken to making it a reason to dud up. The choice has been well-received.

    But it was freakin’ freezing outside. I should have at least taken gloves. Shit. Time to figure out where I packed them last year.

    This overcoat has been hanging in the closet since August, waiting for this time of year. The fuzzy collar is warm and snuggly. I landed it for ninety-eight cents. Big score! I stuck with the oxblood fourteen eye boots. This is suppose to be about blending and merging and although I have been landing some cool shoes as well, that leaves only the spetum peircing to stand out against normal dress. I am working on that. I think I will save the shoes for when queer effects show up in the clothing…

    The collar is broad and stands up well. A loop and button at the collar brings it up tight against my beard, blocking the wind most completely off my neck. I am a freeze baby. As much as I enjoy the winter, I never really reacclimated to it after six years in the desert.

    The sweater is Paul James and one hundred percent wool; thick and textured. The shirt is a grey Croft & Barrow cotton/poly oxford; the tie, all silk by Geoffrey Beene. All DAV finds. At this point, outside of leather, ninety-five plus percent of my clothes are DAV finds… but you all should know that at this point.

    The trousers are wool herringbone; a nice tight crisp pattern. The belt is Kenneth Cole in brown leather. Well, brownish. This has proven to be the most versatile belt. Its color reads to match (at least well enough) any footwear I have from burgundy through oxblood and into the deeper brown leather… A good land for a buck.

    Quality, hefty sweaters and stylish overcoats are rarer finds at the DAV Thrifts, but I have been shopping off-season through the summer and landed some fun things. The warm and layers of winter clothing has always been enjoyable to me. I am looking forward to this coming year-end.

  • Protected: my own personal shiva

    Protected: my own personal shiva

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  • Protected: another one gone and another one gone…

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  • beard month – number two

  • thursday randomemory – just a bit late

    thursday randomemory – just a bit late

    Some of you engage in Thursday Randomocity…

    I like the potential that my Sunday Style post is showing, it gives me a target for which to aim in content and timing. I want to develop more such things for other days, as a means to keep up some content. Tonight at work, a pretty random memory hit me. usually, someone around me triggers them, but not this time. Now is as good a time as any to start it.

    It would seem that I have strongly detailed memories. Some date back as far as three years of age. They don’t all sit around int he surface of my brain, but various thoughts and conversations unlock various chunks of my stored life. Although the events run the gambit of experience, when I rediscover them most often my reaction is that of curiosity about the memory: why it is so intense? What brought it about? So on. I am not usually inclined to still it is a matter of dwelling on the past, so much as remembrance of my life.

    Here we go…

    The time is: about mid-July, 2004. I was 37.
    The place: St. Luke’s Hospital on the Plaza, KCMO. 5th floor BMT wing.

    I was just finishing up my seven round of eight of chemotherapy. (For new arrivals, non-Hodgkins lymphoma, Burkitts type) The staff had not yet figured out what was causing my fevers at the end of every other round. The last bag of agent emptied into my central line. Twenty minutes later, I was building a fever that would peak at one-hundred and six point five. I remember the nurse pulling out the thermometer from my mouth. I was astounding. A few times as a child I hit one oh three. One oh six point five…

    This was the day I was suppose to go home to recover for the last round of chemo. I stayed two and a half days extra for observation. They brought in a chiller blanket that first afternoon. (Think of an air-conditioned sheet of bubble-wrap.) They rolled me to my side, like they would to change the linens for someone that was bed-ridden. I was incredibly cold on that thing. Whichever side laid against it was entirely numb. I don’t think I switched sides too often… Afterward, I had terrible folliculitis down the left side of my body.

    I remember the flurry of activity in my room. Doctors and nurses and orderlies and other staff members. As well as my mother. I remember it very clearly. I remember the conversations flying about the room. The tone of concern about every line of words. I recall being moved about and my stats being taken regularly. The smell of of the Heparin used to keep the central line open… I remember all of the fuss.

    Only, I saw none of it. Not one bit.
    I think this is why I remember it so clearly, so vividly.

    Such an odd experience. It happened with me one other time back in eight grade, but I will save those details for a future post in the series.

    How odd is it to remember a day so intensely in hearing and taste and touch, but have no visual record of it. I assume that the heat of the fever and swelling of various brain-stuff pushes against the optical nerve blocking its information. Or something to that effect. When still in college, I spent a chunk of time inspecting my memory process… I had such an awful way at putting single events to dates. I mean, key events had time-line anchors and I knew where everything else fit between those, but specifics of when on the bulk of them didn’t exist in my head. I also noted that memories associated with peak emotional states were more intense: they had more detail, more depth. Almost like my emotional levels played as a recorder for the experience…  The higher the peak, the more tracks that got recorded. Didn’t really matter which emotion, just as long as it was strong: my middle sister’s wedding, both of my grandmothers’ memorials, my parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary, on and on.

    Sometimes, a matching emotional state can unlock related memories, but I don’t think it is necessary.

    If I go looking for a memory, it doesn’t always unlock so completely. When I fall into them, I can experience it like it was just yesterday, or even as if it were currently happening. Some more recent stuff may be still charged emotionally, but other wise my current self stays unattached, almost like watching a movie. Well, a movie in Smell-O-Vision…

    There you have it, the Inaugural Installation of Randomemory.
    Next week: I will aim for actual Thursday…

  • (one of twelve) beard month(s)…

    This is the current trim. I think I like it best: still full enough to be all fuzzy and crazy and trimmed enough to be cleaned up for special occasions.

    Last summer, I grew it out with almost no trimming for over six motnhs from this length. Conclusion? My beard gets too scraggily as it gets long; it doesn’t stay full. I want a style to it. I want conscious effort and choice. For now, anyway, this is it.

  • the political post

    Tomorrow will be rough for me. I will have to vote in the morning and then spend the day in the information black hole I call work. I will have no updates until ten thirty at night, or later.

    I don’t know what my brain will do if Prop 8 passes in CA. I think I could easily vomit. I am that sick over the toxic process of the whole thing.

    The reprieve…? Yesterday, while running errands and thrifting, I finally noticed the incredible number of Obama stickers driving around the state of Missouri.. Fuck! That made me happy. In fact, I think each of the few McCain/Palin stickers I have seen have been Johnson County plates. And well, DUH! But that is Kansas, not Missouri.

    I so want Missouri to turn blue…

    Oh! And the Republican party somehow got my name on the list and I have been buried under paper mail with all their hateful distortions. Luckily, this let’s me understand their views better and clarifies all the things I need to vote against…

    It is kind of them.

  • Protected: sunday style – the late edition

    Protected: sunday style – the late edition

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