5/1/20

RICK CASTRO: DIARY- 4/29/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/29/2020


I know who I am.
 Succinctly and with clarity I always have.

There is so much wildlife here in the high desert. It is all around me. At my front door nature approaches. The bunnies do not run from me, (well not right away) the squirrelys with striped tails prance about in front of my bedroom window. My beautiful blue-jay greets me on a regular basis, preening and puffing his chest so I can more adore him. Last night there was a family of coyotes no more than ten feet from my porch. I couldn’t see, but could hear them. They sound like bratty babies crying for attention. Today two pretty birds were fucking right in front of me, totally fine that I was there for the show. My dear friend Iris says the wildlife here is trusting,”because they never see people so they don’t know how evil people can be”. I am an anomaly. 
She also says, “animals know a pure soul when they encounter them.”


I’ve always wanted people to see me, but In fact they do not. 
For my entire life I’ve been accused of everything, and given credit for nothing. As a child my bro accused me of being “queer” even before I knew what that meant. At age eighteen, my father accused me of being a male hooker. “I know why you want to live in Hollywood, he points his finger with scorn, so you can be around all those older men.” 
Boy was he wrong, but he always has been and always will be… about everything.
 As an adult I’ve been accused of being a pornographer, prostitute, pedophile, dominatrix, satanist, drug addict and furry. BTW, I only have a problem with one of those. I’ll leave to you to figure out which. Always without proof, merely based on making people “uncomfortable.”

What I have been my entire life is an artist.
I don’t judge, I don’t assume, I find out. I don’t dabble, I explore and jump into wherever my interests takes me. I don’t follow trends,
I create them.
This has put me at odds with everyone at one time or another. Everything I’ve explored and created has become mainstreamed and accepted when presented by others a few years after I break the ice. Credit and $$ goes to the others that copy from me. If I was paid all $$ owed me, and ripped off from me, I would own ten cabin’s like Bee’s.


My demeanor doesn’t gel within the corporate structures forced into place by people that call the shots because they have wealth, thus privilege. Whomever writes the story,  produces the film, makes the $$, becomes the “ bearer of truth.” They become, “the powers that be.”  I’ve been in the “industry” since I was eighteen years old. Started off by working for Bette Midler, then working my way up, eventually working my way down.

The other day The Divine Miss M tweeted-
" Maybe Trump is the president we deserve. Maybe we have become so corrupt, amoral, materialistic, greedy, ruthless, manipulative, and such liars, that he really does represent who we are. Maybe we have been fooling ourselves the whole time.” 

 My response; Only you would know what you deserve.
Nature accepts me. I know who I am.

So this is how the world will end.
copyright- rick castro- 4/2020



please donate to Rick Castro: It’s the right thing to do- here or -here-



4/30/20

TOM OF FINLAND VIRTUAL TEA SALON

 ~ presents~ 
TOM OF FINLAND:100th BIRTHDAY
virtual tea salon

  Wednesday May, 6th, 3:00 PM PST

 ~please  donation to attend~


 choose your fave tea & dainties
  find a nice spot to sit down
  take off your slingbacks and have a nice cuppa with me
celebrate Tom's 100th birthday!


  you have to join zoom to attend- it is free. 
 I am requesting  donation to help me thru the plague mass.
 it will take a little time getting used to zoom 
please donate to reserve seat 
 paypal.me/rickcastrotea or https://venmo.com/rick-castro-13007 

rick castro is inviting you to a scheduled Zoom meeting.

Topic: tom of finland 100th birthday
Time: May 6, 2020 03:00 PM Pacific Time (US and Canada)
    
Join Zoom Meeting

Meeting ID: 845 2422 8427

Find your local number: https://us02web.zoom.us/u/kdyNcaE5ze



 Touko Valio Laaksonen AKA Tom of Finland 
 (8 May 1920 – 7 November 1991),  
 Finnish artist known for his stylized highly masculinized homoerotic art, and for his influence on late twentieth century gay culture. He has been called the most influential creator of homoerotic art. Over the course of four decades Tom produced some 3,500 illustrations featuring men with men. This May 8th, 2020 is the 100 year birthday of our leather daddy icon.


4/29/20

RICK CASTRO: DIARY- 4/26/2020

So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/26/2020


What is your definition of Manifest destiny?
For me it’s a negative historic term for the Anglo-European settler expansion throughout the newly discovered, (their term) continent of American was deemed justified and inevitable. This creed allowed them to feel superior, have a supposed god on their side, take over an existing population of indigenous people, and promote capitalism. 

A day or so ago I was on my last leg, literally. I was down to my last $, feeling eviction in LA was imminent, and down to my last gigabyte with $0 to purchase more, thus ending my new forced virtual life. After texting and begging everyone I know, I send a text to my younger cousin Minguini, (not his real name). The text: “ could I park in your drive way and possibly access WiFi up here?” His immediate response, “Sure cousin come right over.”  “You’re here in the high desert?” I exclaim. “Just got in last night,” he replies. My cousin Minguini, (not his real name) is the fourth child of my uncle Ruben Villagrana, Bee’s youngest brother. 

The history; Living in Boyle Heights circa 1930s, the Villagranas were very poor. Their mother, Lupe Villagrana, (my grandmother)  died of “consumption,” ( an outdated term used for many aliments from tuberculosis to  venereal disease) soon after young Ruben was diagnosed with tuberculosis and was sent to TB camp. This is how they treated infectious diseases during the depression. He begging his father not to send him, but they had no choice, it was mandatory. Because of the quarantine he wasn’t allowed to attend his mother’s funeral. Ruben felt like they didn’t want him. Bee told me how traumatic it was for her youngest brother to leave his family.

As an adult, Ruben became a social worker in East Los Angeles. He was popular in the community, able to moderate and talk with anybody from council members to gang bangers. Everyone in the family liked uncle Ruben, including me. Whenever there was a problem Ruben was called to help moderate, or just listen to our problems. All of my uncles, and my father, had private one-on-one conversations with Uncle Ruben. His calm demeanor soothed everybody. 
It also caused him hidden stress. At the young age of fifty, uncle Ruben died of a massive heart attack. His wife Sylvia found him lying by the bedside after his morning jog. She pleaded with him, “Ruben! please, please don’t leave me.” He was already dead. Ruben was the first in our family to pass. This event devastated my family.


 Before the funeral, my father comes to me in tears asking forgiveness for the way he treated me for being gay. He says to me, “I didn’t understand.” During the funeral Bee cried inconsolably. I never left her side. This may seem morbidly superficial, but she looked absolutely beautiful. Like Elisabeth Taylor if she went to a funeral during Butterfield 8.


I remember being at the gravesite in Rose Hills Memorial Park. Ruben’s widow and four children sitting all in black in comatose shock. When I went to give my condolences they all brighten up and we hugged. Auntie Sylvia said to me,” I didn’t want this to be any sadder than it has to be. Ruben always loved Mariachi music, so I hired Mariachis to play.” And with that the band broke into a happy song. The contrast of the cheery music and the devastation of our loss, brought everybody to tears with smiles on our faces.
 “Ricky, please don’t be a stranger. Come visit me," Sylvia said to me. I told her I would, but never did. Within a few months my father forgetting his conversation with me went back to his usual distance and denial. 


Back to the present, I am driving up the dirt road, (same road as Bee’s cabin) to my cousin Minguini’s, (not his real name) cabin. Turns out it’s a mobile home. I had never been. It is palatial and comfortable, and wow what a view! There sits my auntie Sylvia working on a puzzle. One of those puzzles that takes weeks to finish, even if you work on it every day. Minguini makes me tea! Sylvia shows me photos of our family that I have never seen, she says, “Would you be offended  if I ask you to wear gloves?”. This because I might’ve been infected. My entire visit observed six feet social distancing.  My cousin then puts on his giant plasma screen TV the original footage of his parents wedding in East Los Angeles circa 1959. It is amazing!  We chat the entire morning, then Minguini gives me cables & VCR to hook up, and my own private room, (shed) so I may come onto his property and access WiFi whenever I need. He gives me a key to his gate, (he’d also previously brought me food).

the view from cousin minguni's, (not his real name) property

As he loads up his mother and her sweet dog into his truck. I tell my auntie Sylvia, “ It took me a longtime to get up here and visit you, but I finally did.” She replies,” i’m happy you've rediscovered your parents cabin, and you are healthy. I was so worried when my son told me you were ill.” They leave back to the harshness of Los Angeles. 

After Ruben Villagrana died, his family; wife, three sons, and one daughter became and stayed melancholy. Sylvia never remarried. The oldest son Joe; sweet, but sad, has an alcohol problem. The daughter “Sister”; gentle and kind, she became a teacher and had a beautiful daughter out of wedlock. She is always alone. The middle son John-Raymond; lost touch with reality. He never got over the death of his father. The youngest son Minguini; (not his real name) worked hard and became a successful representative for the Guitar Center in Hollywood. The kindness and generosity that was our uncle Ruben lives within my cousin’s melancholia. Minguini, (not his real name)  wants to prevent any more tragedy. He wants to save someone grief.  We all know the greatness of their collective loss. There’s no need to bring it up.

My parents are in the later stages of Alzheimer's, they cannot help me. My sister is immersed in a codependent Christian cult marriage after the death of her first husband of fifty-five years, she cannot, or will not help me. My brother is a self-absorbed narcissist, (like a Mexican Trumpworld) he would never help me. My younger cousin Minguini, (not his real name) wants to do everything he can to help me. He is my personal angel savior, This is My Manifest destiny.

So this is how the world will end.
copyright- rick castro- 4/2020


please donate to Rick Castro: It’s the right thing to do- here- or -here-