Monday, December 31, 2012

Happy New Year!

Here's hoping you all have a very happy, happy new year! I don't know about you guys but I am more than ready for 2013 to show up. We survived 12/21/12 (W00t!) and I look forward to what this new year will bring. I am expecting and hoping for good things: love, laughter, more books, deeper/closer relationship with my family and friends, peace on Earth and goodwill toward men. No joke, I actually want those things.

I have learned a lot about myself, about others, about the world and most of all what it means to ACTUALLY be family. The true definition of that word that holds so much weight. I learned about love. I learned about forgiveness and reconciliation. I learned about strength, both inner and physical. I learned about sorrow, grief and disappointment. I learned about loss, but more than that I learned so much about myself and how I thought I needed certain things and certain people to get through and survive only to find out that I don't.

I am ending 2012 in New York but at the beginning of 2013 I will be moving and I think the greatest thing about all of that is that I feel stronger, more at peace, more settled than I ever have before. Regardless of sickness, disease, hospital visits, hospital stays, regardless of those I've lost and those who have lost me, regardless of those who I turned my back on and those who turned their back on me, I feel like a stronger, more centered Vicktor. I couldn't ask for anything better than that... well, except for Shemar Moore, John Barrowman, Scott Hoying, Matt Bromer and Charlie David naked and in my bed, but you know, that's neither here nor there.

And as I do every year I have made myself a New Year's Resolution List. This is the first year when it's been this short. I guess that's something else for me to be happy about:

  1. Work out more than I did in 2012
  2. Eat healthier
  3. Write at least 10 books
  4. Travel to either Boston or Italy (try for both)
  5. Forgive and forget (make sure you forgive)
  6. Finish each semester with at least a 3.8 GPA
  7. Visit Angel and James. Go to Justin's grave.
  8. Look into adoption/surrogacy (You're turning 30-old man)
  9. Have a 30 Year Birthday bash
  10. Have at least one meeting with potential investors or consultants about Promise House

I hope you all have a FANTASTIC time tonight. Happy New Year and LIVE FROM NEW YORK IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE! (LOL. I've always wanted to say that and yes I know it's not Saturday night but still...)

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas Vicksters!

Here's hoping that you have an absolutely fabulous day with your loved ones. Remember it's not about the gifts, it's about the love and the giving.

And the food.

Always about the food.

If you get a chance to read (or to buy a book to read) don't forget that "Chocolate Vanilla Swirl" released today from Silver Publishing. I'm SOOO excited! It was a great Christmas present from Silver to me and from me to you. The house in the story is the house I'm in right now and the location it's set in (Lakeland, Florida) is where I'm spending this holiday. I feel that makes it a little more special for me.

So Merry Christmas everyone and Merry Christmas Granny Mary, Christopher and Justin (RIP) miss you!


-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Forgiveness & Reconciliation

Hey all! It's been a while I know. I was really trying hard to focus on bringing my grades up in school, so I've been away doing homework, schoolwork, exams, papers, projects, etc. But as this is finals week and I only have two more exams to take I decided to take a small break to write about something that's been swirling in my brain for a while. Reconciliation and forgiveness. Back in October I think it was, I got a letter from my birth mother. Let's call her Black Salsa (as that's her husband's nickname for her). I had to have it read to me because she hand wrote it, but in this letter she told me that she'd received news from a friend of hers and she finally believed me about some of the things I'd told her happened to me as a kid and that it "explained a lot." Now, that in and of itself wouldn't have made us reconcile. I can be stubborn sometimes. I'd been hurt, shunned, disbelieved for so long that now when someone doesn't believe me, I make a token protest and then shrug my shoulders. I know, that's bad and I'm working on it with my therapist but it's just how I am. Anyway, further on in the letter she told me that she'd gone on Amazon and looked up my books and bought each of them. Then she said how great of a writer I was and how she could visualize everything just from the excerpts (I'll admit I had to go back and have my screenreader read them to me because I wanted to know what she was talking about). She said (and I remembered this part verbatim) "When we reconcile we can sit and laugh about how your mother read your homosexual porn." LOL. Okay, that could be insulting but I saw it for what it was. She was trying to support me. Asking for forgiveness. Trying to reconcile. So I called her and left her a message, thanking her for the letter and the support, giving her my number. She called and left me a message telling me how deep my voice was (ummm....duh! LOL) and how good it was to hear from me directly. After that we started to text and call each other back and forth. I told her I forgave her, acknowledged that I am not the easiest person to love or live with, that I was such a problem, to which she responded that I wasn't a problem and she saw that now. So we reconciled and this knot that had been sitting in the pit of my stomach for over a year... okay for over 28 loosened. And then a few days ago she told me that my birth father, we'll call him Abba (which is the Hebrew word for father), wanted me to call him. So I called my rabbi, my therapist, my best friend Angel and then I called Abba the next day. We talked for three hours. We talked about what had been going on with me for the past year. He wanted to know about me being blind, my transitioning (why I felt that way, what step was I in, did I pray about it before I made that final step) and he actually listened to me when I answered this time, whereas he hadn't before. Then he told me that he'd come to a realization that out of all of his kids, I was the one he knew was going to make something of himself (ok, he said "herself" but still). He also told me that he'd looked my books up online and read the excerpts but unlike Black Salsa he didn't buy them. He did say they were very well written and encouraged me to keep writing. And then he told me that if they weren't "gay porn" he would have bought them and displayed them to everyone he knew. He told me that everyone was asking about me and told me what was going on with everyone. And yes, it's not the full on "We support you SON, everything you are and will be. Forgive us" that I dream about, but it is a "We still love you, forgive us, we're trying," that I never hoped I'd hear. And so I forgave them and now for Christmas I'm travelling down to Florida to spend the holidays with them. I missed spending Chanukah with them, but that's probably for the best. I spent it with people who encouraged me and helped give me the fortitude to go down there. I'm not going to lie and say that I'm not nervous and scared, because a big part of me is. A BIG part. But you know what? With everything going on with me and those I love around me, I don't want to get to the end of my life knowing that I hold unforgiveness in my heart for anyone. I want to know that I did everything I could to reconcile with those around me who deserved it, that I let go of those who didn't, and that I did all I could to improve myself and the world around me. And that knot inside of me is barely even there anymore. More than that, I can finally say that yes "It Gets Better." See, life is too short to spend it holding unforgiveness, bitterness, hatred, anger, resentment etc in your heart, in my heart. Forgive and if you must, forget, but be sure to forgive. And the biggest thing is that if you can reconcile with those who you have wronged or who have wronged you, then try to. You can never have too many friends, too much family or too much love. In the end, you want to have people remember you at your funeral and remember you fondly. That's my biggest driving force right now, that and unforgiveness, bitterness, hatred, anger, resentment, etc. are toxic inside of your body and make you sick. Everyone deserves a second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth chance (I grew up hearing "My lord, how many times should I forgive my brother?" "Seventy times seven." And it's something I'm trying to have my life reflect) for forgiveness. You can forgive and not forget, forgive and forget, or forgive and move on, but whatever you do, forgive. I've never been happier that I did that. Hope everyone has an awesome Christmas! Back to schoolwork/homework/finals (sigh). Hugz, Squeezes and French Kissez, -Vicktor A. B.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

The End of The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn 2

Yes, I'm going to see it. -sigh- What can I say? I've seen the first four: Twilight, Eclipse, New Moon, Breaking Dawn 1 (and why am I just now realizing that they all had something to do with the moon and the sky?) and the conclusion to this "saga" comes out on my birthday. I will be going to watch it with Chipmunk two days after its premiere. I wish I could say that I was dreading it, but I'm not. I've actually gotten invested in Jacob and Edward's story... oh yeah, Bella too (can't forget the angst queen at the center of it all) and I'm looking forward to finding out how it all plays out in the end. I am a little wary about going to see the movie when I can't actually "see" it and depending on Chipmunk to remember to relay what's happening on the screen, but I think I can imagine what's taking place there as I listen to all of the grunts and screams and flesh pounding flesh.... For the fight scenes-duh! Anyway. In light of some recent bullshit and fuckery and health stuff that's taken place I'm going to be seriously cutting down on my time online. I have to cut down on stress and shit and being online as much as I used to isn't helping that. I'm still going to be writing and I still have plans to finish getting my degree (holy hell, I've been in school for a long-ass time! I'm just ready for it to be over), but I am almost 30 and at some point you just get tired of... shit. Literally and figuratively. LOL. So I won't be posting as much, you may have already noticed an extreme decrease in posts from me, won't be on Twitter and Facebook as much as before, pretty much trying to focus on my health, school and writing. I'll still pop around every so often, but as the end of the year approaches I have decided that it's up to me to protect myself, to protect Vic, no one else is going to do that for me. So that's my birthday present to myself (in addition to a vacation down to Florida to see Chipmunk), wrapping myself in a bubble of my own creation and making sure that I take care of my health and my end goals first and foremost. I have some big dreams for myself and I have let them fall by the wayside, I can't and won't let that happen anymore. So it's time to take care of me. I have got to go now, I have like two days of homework/classwork to make up for and very little time to get it done in. I will talk to you all later. -Vic

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

A Haven Over the Rainbow

A Haven Over The Rainbow
Vicktor Alexander

I was fifteen years old. A sophomore at Escambia High School in Pensacola, Florida. An alcoholic and drug addict when I decided that I should probably change my life around. No, that’s not right, the murder I escaped at the hands of my abusive boyfriend is what let me know that I was on a destructive path heading straight for the grave. I was pretty much aware that I would never end up in jail, not because I’m special or anything, but because my life was too dangerous, the risks I took too great for me to wind up anywhere but as the guest star of my own funeral. It’s sobering to think about that now, at the wonderful age of twenty-eight, having made it four years past the age where doctors told me I would collapse from heart failure, thirteen years past the time when my ex-boyfriend told me I would “wake up dead” and ten years past the time when my biological family thought I would piss off the wrong person, sleep with the wrong people, take a bad hit and wind up dead.
I started being self-destructive at a young age. I can see that I wasn’t out to merely hurt myself, but to make my biological parents suffer as well. Why? Because their ideas and their beliefs had caged me in this impenetrable box of religious morality where being gay sends you to an eternal hell filled with hellfire, brimstone, weeping, gnashing of teeth and indescribable pain. And being transgender? Well, transgenders don’t exist so they’re not even worth talking about. So what do you do when you’re a young gay transgender male who has suffered abuse, trauma, torture, rape, etc. and you’re surrounded by religious fanatics who take great pains to “hate the sin, judge the sin, condemn the sin, but love the sinner”?
You drink. You smoke. You sleep around. You get involved in abusive relationships because hey someone wants you. You become suicidal, depressed. You run away. You become friends with people in gangs. You become violent towards yourself, others. You get as close to the edge as you can possibly get and then you throw yourself over and hope that you crash on the rocks on the way down.
Graphic and harsh? Yes. But then so was my life. So is the life of so many children and teens (and yes, even adults) out there.
Their lives aren’t candy canes and cotton candy. Bright, shiny rainbows in a world full of butterflies and unicorns. They run from the darkness every day, every minute. The screams from their broken spirit haunt them daily and they’re gasping for air, for breath, for life. For someone, anyone to love them enough to hold onto them while they flail around for something to stand on, something to believe in.
Someone to love them enough to stick around.
At fifteen I was one of those people and having left my home in Winter Haven, Florida where my religious mother and her family lived, I moved to Pensacola, Florida, where my even more religious, and even more hypocritical biological father lived. I’m thankful though. For while my life with him was not perfect at all, one night when he’d gone off to another revival church meeting I stayed home and came up with an idea, a group home, a shelter and safe haven in the storm that completely altered my world.
Promise House started off being called The Exodus Project because I come from a very religious family and growing up my biological mother (who is Messianic Jew) took great pains to always tell us the story of the Hebrews escaping slavery and persecution and arriving at the Promised Land, known as an exodus (see the book of Exodus. Yes, that’s right, I’m talking about the Bible or the Torah, whichever you prefer. I’ll wait).
As a kid the story of Moses and the Children of Israel always fascinated me and when I began drafting up the plans for what would later come to be known as the Promise House, it was the story of a people, looked down on and disparaged for being born a certain way that called out to me.
Notice any similarities?
I didn’t know that PH would become what it did, my only thought had been that I wished I’d had somewhere to run to when I felt unsafe, somewhere to go to when I ran away, somewhere to go just in case my parents ever kicked me out. There were shelters for teens who ran away, there always have been. Programs and group homes for teens who are addicted to drugs and alcohol, Teen Challenge is one off the top of my head (I personally know of T.C. having attended it myself). But the problem that I saw with most of them is the fact that there is so much emphasis being put on God curing whatever is broken. I have no problems with God. YHVH is someone I pray to and speak about on an almost daily basis and Jesus is my homeboy. The problem was the fact that sometimes religion just doesn’t cure everything. Sometimes there’s something bigger.
Sometimes you can’t tell a kid to just dress more like a girl and stop wearing boy clothes and then they’ll stop feeling like they were born in the wrong body.
Sometimes you can’t tell a boy to “man up and stop acting like a punk” and a girl to “stop acting like a dude and act like a lady” and they’ll just stop being gay.
Life doesn’t work like that. So as I started to write down my ideas, I wrote about all the things I saw that failed with different group homes and rehabilitation programs designed especially for teens and which ones succeeded. I wrote it from the standpoint of a teen who needed those services. I wrote down what I thought was needed: classrooms so that the kids can still go to school and not miss out on classes, a place to do rehab that’s beyond regular rehab for drugs & alcohol, rehab for the soul and spirit, a place to hang out, a place to grow, to meditate, opportunity for them to talk with parents/guardians/siblings, etc. in order to heal the family rift. Things that I wanted: a specially designed curriculum that will not only help the kids be able to graduate from high school but help them to heal and grow as people, to develop into mature, stable adults, a pool, a stable (horse therapy is good for kids with trauma), buildings to house the kids who live on campus-separating the boys from the girls). Then I started to write out the curriculum.
It took me five years of working on what I wanted before I felt comfortable enough to show T.E.P. to someone else. They were amazed that I came up with the idea at the age of fifteen and impressed by the research I had done.
They’d also told me that it was impossible.
But I’m a man who never thinks anything is impossible and purposefully crosses lines and barriers drawn in the sand, erasing them as I do so, created by a society, a world too afraid of the unknown, too comfortable to really make a difference. I’ve always been that way. I’m that way in my writing (What do you mean no one’s ever written about a gender-fluid character who’s deaf and a wolf shifter and is mated to a black cowboy? What do you mean no one has ever written about a flamboyant, cross-dressing gay man who’s the survivor of abuse who mates a big, overgrown wolf-shifting cowboy? What do you mean no one’s ever written a story about an interracial gay couple where one of the men is a transgender man?) and I’m that way in my life. I spent years going to churches and high schools speaking (in between working and school) and telling them about how I overcame addiction. I don’t hold back because staying silent means not invoking change and I’m a man who has dedicated his life to bringing about change.
That’s why I write. I love to write the stories in my head. Stories of men falling in love with each other, overcoming insurmountable odds, hatred, bigotry, racism, whatever to be together. They demand their time in spotlight. They want their story to be told. But my characters are a lot like me, they know what their main purpose is: to give me a damn good story so that I can make the money I need to start PH. They gladly tell me about their crazy exploits (You had sex in the carriage?!?! With the driver there listening??) and the villains who try to kill them or separate them from their true love(s) (Wait, you’re saying that he’s the head of the Galaxy Planetary Allegiance and he tried to kill you?) and in each story, in each book there’s the small kernel there, a seed that gets planted in the reader to bring change. More than that, with each book, each story, I get a little closer to that dream of my group home for at-risk teenagers and teenagers of the rainbow who have been kicked out, abandoned, those who are homeless, who need families, love, support, encouragement… help.
Because while there’s a bit of myself in every book, in each character, there’s a bit of my story in each teen that I talk to for whom something like this is needed. There’s a bit of my struggle, my life, my heartbreak and triumph in each story I hear of another teen being disowned and kicked out by their parents for being gay or being transgender. That was me. While I was an adult by the time I grew the balls to stand up and actually say “This is me. I’m Vicktor. Transgender man who identifies as gay. Love me or leave me but this is who I am,” there are those out there who did it when they were younger and suffered the consequences. I want to give them a safe haven, a shelter, a home and a family. It’s a big order. It’s daunting, it’s large and I’ve had people, boyfriends and friends who have told me that my  life goal is too intimidating for them to be a part of. But I’ve also met people who get it, who understand that for me, helping someone, changing the world, is all that I’ve ever wanted to do. They encourage me. They support me.
They tell me to hurry up and get the shelter started already.
And I’m working on it. Making connections, learning more and more every day.
More than that, I keep on writing, because it’s the characters who get to foot the bill for my dream. It’s Tommy, Tal, Elian, Tabansi, Mickey, Samuei, Michael, Luke, Matthew, Roman, and all the others with their impossible love stories and their triumphs who encourage me to keep going, who tell me to keep writing. To push through the painful memories, the hurt, to never stop fighting, to never stop speaking out against homophobia, transphobia, hatred, bigotry. To never stop being an advocate, to never stop being myself. Because at the end of the day it always comes back to Promise House.
It is the very reason that I write, for that haven over the rainbow.

-Vicktor Aleksandr Bailey

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

So Good It Makes You Wanna Slap Yo' Momma

Seriously. I jumped out of my chair and threw my hands up in the air after watching Trevin and Amanda sing together. The Voice did it up good and the two of them together................ WOW. Still got goosebumps two hours later.

Then again, I do keep replaying it over and over again, so that might be why.

After you watch it though, I'm sure you'll understand.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

One Year Ago Today.....

I went to the home of my biological family and was exorcised because they'd found out that I was a transgender male and homosexual. My being born in the wrong body and being a gay man was not something they saw as being good and moral. I was instead an abomination, filled with the devil and needed to receive an exorcism.

Yeah, not cool.

Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while remember how much that rocked me, how I was in a state of shock for a while, for those of you who didn't, you can read the post here.

So today I must admit to being a little on edge. Slightly paranoid and needing a shit load of liquor and cigarettes just to keep my body from shaking out of its skin in fear. I'm not saying that I think my new family would do that to me. They say that they accept me as I am and regardless of the ups and downs I believe that they do, so that's not where the fear is coming from. The fear is coming from the fact I wouldn't put it past my biological family to show up and snatch me. They're not the devil incarnate but they are fanatical about their beliefs.

And yes, I know that's mostly the paranoia talking, but I also know that last year was horrible for me. The rest of the month was filled with ups and downs as well. Between the passing of my Granny, my friend Mores, being disowned, last October sucked ass.

And not in a good way.

So I'm a little fragile today, a little sensitive, made even more so because I can't actually see if there's any danger coming. So I'm being gentle with myself, trying not to stress myself out too much, not pressuring myself to do something that I'm just not up to doing.

And I'm keeping my back to the wall.

Just for safety's sake.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Friday, September 28, 2012

A Must Read: A Private Gentleman by Heidi Cullinan" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px">A Private Gentleman
" />A">">A Private Gentleman by Heidi">">Heidi Cullinan

My rating: 5">">5 of 5 stars

Two hopelessly flawed men discover that they aren't as hopelessly flawed as they suspected. A son of a whore who becomes a whore himself and the painfully shy, socially awkward, stammering son of a marquess meet in the most unlikely of situations and start a love affair with a dark, unspoken and painful  secret between them.

I must admit, I am not just an epilogue whore, I'm a history whore as well and this story had me enthralled in the historical references, the sensitive subjects it touched on and confronted, from the beginning to the end, and the love that seemed to just bleed off the pages to puddle at my feet.

I love Heidi's work, that is no secret, but this is going on my "go-to" list along with other books that I love and can read anytime. Between Wes's desperate yearning for anyone to look beyond his stammer to the man beneath and Michael's need for someone to want the scholar that lurks beneath the body of a "professional sodomite", this story was filled with moments of intense realism, emotion, pain and through it all that blissful acceptance I think we all search for.

While there was no clearly marked "Epilogue" the Epilogue Whore that roars within me settled down and was slumbering peacefully by the end of this book and wonder of wonders the story ended so damn beautifully I don't even feel the need to ask for a sequel.

I recommend this book to everyone because you will learn something, sigh, laugh, weep and love alongside Wes and Michael and when the book is over walk away a little different than you were when you first started reading it.

View">">View all my reviews

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Late Night Thinking

I'm up at almost 3am. Not because I'm writing, though I wish I were, but I'm not. I'm up because I'm thinking.

Calm down. It does happen occasionally.

I'm thinking about being blind. What it means to me, the things I lost, the people and the parts of myself that are no longer the same. The people who have walked away from me, either because they couldn't handle it or because they didn't want to be with me any longer. Friends and family that are no longer in my life. Love interests that I no longer have or that I won't have. The places I won't be able to see and the things I'll never be able to do. And you know what? I don't know if this is permanent but I do know that I am no longer the same.

While in certain ways I am a whole lot more confident before at the same time I feel wracked with more insecurities than ever before. Who will want me? Will I still be able to write? Was my birth mother right? Am I being punished for something?

And I know what people will say to me about that. I know the cliches and the assurances that I will be given but late at night when I'm all alone... again, I hear those questions again.

I am trying to fight them as best as I can, but it's not easy. Nothing is anymore. So I'm up thinking...


What about you guys? Is there anything that keeps you up late at night, thinking?

Maybe we can encourage each other and help each other think about the good things and not the bad things that keep us up at 3 o'clock in the morning.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Interviewed at SJD Peterson's Blog Today

I'm being interviewed over at SJD Peterson's blog today about being a reader at GRL last year and my anticipation for being an author at  GRL this year. I get to kick it off, she's doing a month long thing. I'd appreciate it if you would go and leave a comment.

For everyone who leaves a comment, you will be entered into a contest to win a paperback copy of my upcoming release, Elian.

Hope to hear from you all.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Funny Friday Post

-falling out laughing-

I love the show "Scrubs." I love the way they picked on my favorite show "Grey's Anatomy". I love how they made fun of NBC even when they were on NBC. I love how funny the show was. I love the underlying gay sexual tension between JD and Turk and I love how they never thought anything of crossing the line, at all, ever.

Since I live with a nurse I also found out that Scrubs got the medical stuff right more than Grey's Anatomy. Now how's that for "irony"?

Anyway, because it's Friday and I woke up in a happy mood (no idea why, just go with it), I decided to share some funny with you. Now, I'm using my JAWS program to do this, so the layout of the videos may be a little off, but I do know that I can check and make sure that it's the right ones.

Enjoy some clips from Scrubs S6E6: My Musical:

So Gay!

Dr. Cox, how you make me laugh

According to Cherie, everything DOES come down to poo.

This is the song that helps me deal with my blindness. I sing it in my head whenever I start to feel overwhelmed.

Have a Happy Friday all!

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Graceland by Ally Blue A MUST Read

GracelandGraceland by Ally Blue
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Wow. I could feel the emotions of these characters, the gripping fear, the heartbreak, the joy, the passion and the love, they oozed and bled off of every page. I laughed out loud and hell if I didn't cry at some parts.

Being both black and Cherokee Indian I was both excited and nervous about reading a book where one of the main characters is black and the other is Cherokee as there is still some hostility between Cherokee and Freedmen, but Ally handled it with grace, even discussing the tension there. My granny would have loved this book as she was proud of both her African and her Cherokee heritage and she would have found Owen adorable and Kevin sexy.

At one point I could almost hear her say "'Dem boys need to stop actin' a fool and just get together already."

And at the end my Granny Mary would have sighed and looked at me and said, "Now baby, that's real love and commitment. That's trust. That's forever. I want that for you, because if you have something like this, you know it's real."

Yeah I do too Granny.

That's the feeling that I had when I finished this book. That my spirit had reconnected with my Granny's and we'd read this book together. I felt more connected to the Cherokee part of my heritage and the African part of my heritage, but more than that Kevin and Owen's love came out of the book and wrapped me in its embrace.

I wish I could give the book more than 5 stars, but that's the maximum Goodreads will allow me. I totally suggest you read it, especially if you don't think a book has the power to make you feel loved. And read it if you know that it does.

Just read it.

View all my reviews

Monday, August 27, 2012

For Granny

With October 12th rolling around quickly my mind has been thinking of my Granny Mary even more than usual. Instead of once or twice a day it's now once every few hours. Usually I shove the memories away but with me being blind I find myself not wanting to quite as much.

The heartbreak over her being gone? Yes.

The emptiness and hole in my heart from her no longer being around? You betcha.

But the fond memories of her talking to me about what it was like to grow up half "black" half Cherokee Indian? Of growing up in the South during the time of sharecroppers, legalized racism (you know the blatant kind, not the subversive stuff we have today), of girls getting married and having babies at the tender age of fourteen with their husbands who were in their mid-to late twenties? No.

I miss my Granny. I hear her voice in the wind, smell her perfume and her chewing tobacco at the oddest moments. Sometimes I even fool myself into believing that I can feel her brushing my cheek or touching my hand.

She accepted me when I came out to her. She told me that YHVH had created and called me to change the world. She implored me to take care of my family because they needed me "whether they know it or not."

I've been singing her favorite hymnals, been having cravings for her favorite foods (fried chicken, cornbread, greens, yams, macaroni and cheese, black eyed peas and sweet potato pie) and more than that I have felt an almost desperate need to take some time and make sure I have everything typed up, planned out and ready to go for my group home, charities, and human rights programs. Granny Mary, affectionately named "Granny Panny" and "Granny Pantyhose" by yours truly was the one I talked to about these things, even when the Alzheimer's she fought with made her unable to remember most of her life. She never forgot me though and she always encouraged me.

She loved me.

And I loved her.

I still love her.

So I'm preparing to start school and I'm writing and learning to adapt to being blind and I can hear Granny Panny telling me that "being blind don't give you a free pass to not do what you were born to do, it just means that you gotta get a little creative while you doing it."

So I'm going to get creative and by the time the anniversary of her passing rolls around I'm going to be able to say "See Granny? It's done and ready, now you just gotta bring the right folks to me so that we can get it started."

I love you Granny. Always and forever,

Your great-grandson,


Thursday, August 23, 2012

Blind & Online: Groups, Treatment & Acceptance

A while back my therapist diagnosed me with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), shortly after that I was told that I had OCS (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Situation-because it's not preventing me from living my life, so it's not a disorder, it's just a situation). Those two things alone can cause much anxiety and stress. Enter the lightheadedness, pressure in my head, words not making sense every so often, and the loss of vision and my life turned into a barrel of fun.

Being blind presents its own challenges. Not feeling as independent as before, feeling helpless, feeling like a burden. I could feel myself sinking down into depression. I didn't want to get out of bed, didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, nothing. I didn't want to eat, I wanted to waste away into nothing because I felt like I was nothing.

The disappointment I felt every morning, waking up and realizing that I was still blind oftentimes made my whole outlook for the day dreary and yeah, I felt myself getting angry and annoyed by sighted people. Especially sighted people who tried to tell me that they "understood" how I felt or the ones who ignored it completely. I hated feeling that way and so I didn't express it. I shoved the anger, the annoyance, the anxiety and the stress as far down as I could and put on a happy smile for everyone.

"I'm fine."

"Gotta see the bright side."

"I can totally use this to feel up hot guys."

And for the most part, I did feel that way, and I do still feel that way, but the nightmares started happening. People stealing money from me, people I trust, who in my dreams were not as trustworthy as I thought. Being kidnapped. Being attacked, raped, brutalized. All of these things happened in my dream. Why? Because I couldn't see. I can't watch my bank accounts like I want to everyday. I can't sit with my back to the wall and watch a room to make sure there's no danger coming. I can't keep my eyes constantly looking around for shady characters. I can't protect my sisters, the Nieceling, or Chipmunk because I can't see.

So the paranoia that had been dying embers for a long time began to heat up and spark, catching flame until I didn't want to leave the house because how could I be sure that no one wasn't out there to kill me, hurt me, attack me?

I talked to my blind counselors Megan and Kelly, I talked to Cherie, I talked to my friend Keesha, but more than that I found a few groups online that I could share all of this with.

I hate feeling paranoid, anxious and as if I'm either going to have an anxiety or a panic attack at any given moment. I hate feeling like I can't trust people that I just started to trust and I hate feeling like there is evil, and darkness darker than the one I already live in day-to-day.

So I was happy to find one group in where everyone there explained that what I was feeling wasn't wrong, it was normal and that if I needed something to help with the anxiety until everything is settled down that there was no shame in that. I'd been told that by Cherie and Megan and Kelly but, wrong as it is, I believed it when I heard it come from others who are blind, just like me. I breathed a sigh of relief today and yes, the anxiousness, the anxiety, the slight paranoia is still there, but now I know that I'm not a bad person because I feel this way. I don't cut myself slack, I try too hard to be everyone's perfect something. And then I get overwhelmed and I just want to disappear. Those are two extremes and I'm learning how to find middle ground.

Tomorrow I go in for more testing and I'm going to see Brandi, my therapist. I'm hoping that they can find out what's going on with me and why I lost my sight, but even if they don't, I'm starting to accept the new path and direction that my life is taking. It sucks, good lord, does it suck and in those light night hours I ask YHVH how much more can I take before I break and each time I remember my book: Broken, But Not Destroyed and I realize that I'm not destroyed and I won't be destroyed no matter how much more gets thrown at me.

Yes, I'm blind and physically I'm not 100%. Yes, I'm single, and my daughter (Chipmunk) lives in Florida. Yes, I've had "family" members, biologicals, and "friends" hurt and betray me. But I'm still here. I'm still surviving and living and I'm still pushing forward and determined to make it. Failure and quitting aren't options for me, not at all.. So I accept my current situation, and I accept that in the end I will overcome it and survive.

-Sigh- Let's just hope I remember this post the next time I feel like the walls are closing in on me.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Celebrate Your Sexy!

I am making a global declaration. -clears throat- As Supreme DICK-tator of the world. I am declaring this weekend "Show Your Sexy" weekend. So you are all to take at least two minutes every day this weekend to compliment yourself and then to find something that you would call your "sexy" (ie, your eyes, your lips, or your ass -me-) and show it off, even if all you do is bat your lashes, purse your lips or in my case, smack my own ass for just being so damn cute. You don't have to do this in front of anyone, but this is the weekend when YOU are to celebrate the wonder of YOU.

So it is written, so let it be done. I have spoken!

-Vic, Supreme DICK-tator of the World

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Monday, August 13, 2012


We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Hey everyone I know that it's been a while since I've blogged, but I must admit that I've been trying to deal with the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness that's been trying to strangle me. Not just because of my blindness but in how those around me have been handling it. It's hard to go from being completely independent and helping others to being dependent on others and having to ask for help. For me it's not just a change but it's a pride thing. I never knew exactly how prideful and untrusting I was until all of this went down.

I barely trusted myself so trusting others was an exercise in futility.

I spent days trying to figure out why YHVH would have me endure something like this. I struggled with the whole: I'm being punished because I'm transgender, because I'm gay, because I'm not living a life of holiness like I'd always been taught to, because I'm black...

Because I'm me.

And I don't like to whine and I especially don't like talking to people who I feel either don't listen, don't know me, who are going through their own shit, or who I feel resent me for some reason. Like I said, I have been struggling with this whole trust thing for a while, so I can count on one hand the number of people that I feel like I can call or talk to, no matter what time it is, and say:

I hate being blind. I'm fighting so hard against depression and anger. I'm trying hard not to be suspicious of everyone and trying hard not to be paranoid about everything. I can't look out for danger and attacks any more, I can't look at people's faces to see when they're annoyed by me, when they want to talk about me, when they're angry and it makes me not want to talk to anyone at all. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm confused. I feel helpless. I feel lost.

I feel...

And this isn't everyday, it's sporadic. There's no pattern, no rhyme or reason to the days that it happens. I was so out of it and focused on the whole me being blind that I didn't write a blog post or say anything about the fact that July 27th was the 6th year anniversary of the day that Christopher passed away or the fact that August 8th was when I lost Vivianna. I feel like my life and the days are passing me by and I'm stuck in quicksand and goop and unable to pull myself out of it.

It's frustrating and annoying and hell if I feel like I can actually tell someone that I feel like that and not feel as if I'm going to be chastised or demeaned or whatever. And I'm not saying that they will, I'm saying that this is the litany that chases through my mind whenever I think about calling my friend Keesha or one of my older sisters or my older brother or sending an email to my dad or one of my moms. I've pushed back my own feeling and emotions, much like I did when Christopher passed, by telling myself that there are people much worse off than me. I remind myself of that daily, that it could be so much worse. I could have AIDS or cancer or be dead. I tell myself that I can't be sad or angry or be suffering from depression because it's really not that bad.

But that makes those moments of helplessness, hopelessness, fear, anger, sadness and depression so much worse, so much stronger and so much deeper. And it's made me want to just stop... everything. Stop writing, stop being in a family, stop being a father, stop being a friend, stop being a son, stop being a brother or an uncle... just... stop.

Those are the times, every single time, when I hear my Granny's voice:

Me and My Granny, back when they mistakenly put me in dresses, notice how unhappy I am.
Baby, love is powerful it's true, but hope? Hope gives you the power to believe that love even exists in the first place. People get it wrong, hope is the most powerful emotion, the strongest feeling out there. If you have hope then you have faith, you have love, you believe, you do, you say and you feel. You need hope for all of that.-Granny Mary

And I remember to hope. And I think of every hope quote that I have ever heard or read and it helps that tide to recede and it helps me get my head above water and breathe and keep going forward, keep pushing, keep surviving for another day.

Hope does that. Not love, support, encouragement, though they work with hope to do those things, but hope, for me, is the foundation upon which love, support and encouragement are built on.

Hope helps me to believe that people can change, that people will change. Hope keeps me from giving up on people without giving them another chance. Hope helps me to speak my mind when I need to, to stand up against injustice, to work on the charities that I've always wanted to have.

Hope keeps me living.

And that, I think, is a very good thing.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

No matter how dark the moment, love and hope are always possible.
George Chakiris

Friday, August 3, 2012

Now Legally Blind, Still Emotionally Strong

The paperwork was signed and sent off to the state of New York to have me declared legally blind yesterday. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about it. On the one hand I’m happy because it means that I now have people who are not only trying to find the cause of my blindness but are working to make sure that while I endure this trial that I am taken care of on all fronts.
I have a fucking awesome medical care team now, whereas I didn’t have one before.
On the other hand, this makes it official. It’s like it’s real now. Not that it wasn’t before. I mean, you can only wake up blind so many times before you realize that it’s now a major part of your life. But I’m now realizing that my life is very drastically changed and it’s stressing me out and my sister, Cherie, who is like the world’s greatest big sister and who is helping to take care of me, in spite of the fact that it’s stressing her out so much.
Now I really am blind. Now doctors are acknowledging it and the State of New York is going to be acknowledging it and, oh shit, I’m fucking BLIND!
That was pretty much my thought process last night, but in the middle of the night my phone rang and it was a dear friend of mine whom I’ve known since my freshman year of high school. He was calling to check up on me and when I told him where my head was at, he sort of chuckled and reminded me that I’d been blind before they acknowledged it. And then like a bolt of lightning he got all wise and shit on me:

A: You know, you do that a lot.
V: Do what?
A: Don’t believe that something is true until someone else acknowledges it for you. Actually, until a bunch of people acknowledge it.
V: What? What does that even mean?
A: Remember when you made the Dean’s List back at Southeastern? You carried the letter around with you everywhere and people thought it was because you wanted to brag but it was because you needed to have other people confirm it for you before you would believe it.
V: That’s not true. It’s because I’m an arrogant, self centered bastard and I need everyone to acknowledge my greatness.
A: No, it’s because you need people to acknowledge you period.
V: Ouch.
A: It’s the truth. You’ve been walking around for almost three weeks completely blind, fighting off depression, trying to still be yourself and trying not to be a burden on everyone and it wasn’t until a doctor or two confirmed that you were blind that you finally accepted it? I bet you’re still not believing and accepting that you’re a bestseller on Arizona or whatever.
V: Amazon.
A: That’s what I said.
V: Okay Mondo, whatever.
A: I’m just saying that you probably tell people with that little disbelieving smile on your face. The one that says, “I’m so happy to be receiving this award/acknowledgement/opportunity but I’m not going to hold onto it too tight because I’m sure you’re going to realize that I don’t deserve it and take it away from me.” You did the same thing with Christopher.
V: I did not. I loved Christopher.
A: Yes you did. You loved him so much you didn’t know how to handle it, so you cheated on him at first, then you treated him like shit and when he still wouldn’t go away you finally started to treat him decently and love him the way you wanted to. I wish you could see what the rest of us see.
V: I do too.
A: I’m not talking just physical sight, dumbass. I mean I wish you could look at yourself and see why the rest of us think you’re so amazing. I wish you could see why you touch people, why people get upset at those who use you, who discard you, who mistreat you. You bring out these feelings of protection in people.
V: Whatever.
A: I’m serious. Ask Cherie. I bet she’ll agree with me. The biggest thing is that you have to start believing things when they happen the first time. You have to start believing the good things that people say about you the first time they say it because one day you’re going to get an opportunity and they’re only going to say it once and if you don’t believe them the first time they say it then you’ll miss it.
V: Thank you Obi-Wan. Whatever would I do without you?
A: Turn into a pillar of salt and blow away I’m sure.

So now that I’m blind my friends feel like they can offer all of this sage advice to me about my life and circumstances. The kicker is, I’m actually listening now… at least a lot more than I ever did before. And while being blind when I could see just a few weeks ago is different, the actuality of losing my sight is not as difficult as I might have imagined. I think that having those people who still see me as being me, the ones who still tease with me, still talk to me and support me, who aren’t afraid that it’s contagious… is amazing and made even more so because now, in my blindness I can actually see how very supportive and caring those people have always been. They are the ones who have always had my back and have supported me from beginning to end, they are the ones who are helping me get through this.
So thank you.
I am making my way downtown today with Cherie. We are going to get my official name change paperwork and then going to see my VA Vocational Rehabilitation counselor so I can get all of this stuff together for school.
I actually smiled this morning when I woke up. I’ve been waking up and crying when I realize that I’m still blind, but this morning was the first time I woke up and smiled because you know what? Things could be so much worse.
Another positive note: Elian, the first book chronologically in my “The Marriage Groups” series (the prequel to my LiAW story Steamy) is at over six thousand words according to my narrator. It is at six thousand nine hundred and fifteen. When I lost my vision it was at three thousand. So I’m back to writing and yes, it’s only about a thousand words a day or so, because it’s frustrating me sometimes, but at least I’m writing.
At least I can still write.
It could be so much worse.
I encourage you all to remember that as things happen in your life, whether they are craptastic or easy as apple pie, look at what you can learn from your situation. See how the lessons life is teaching you can actually improve your life and the lives of others around you.
Have a good weekend everyone.

~Vicktor Aleksandr B

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Wanting to Quit: Weathering the Storms of Life

Not sure if any of you have noticed, but I have not been around for quite some time. That is because I have gone blind.  We still don’t know why, though we have some ideas, but that is not why I am using my speech recognition and narrator software to write to you today. I am blogging today because I want to tell you all about the days that I almost gave up. I wanted to give up writing, being online and do nothing but lay around all day and bemoan the loss of my eyesight and the loss of my faith in certain people.
Really, that’s the reason behind this post: loss. Back in February the pain that I’d been experiencing in my back and hip, from being injured in the Army, got worse and were only surpassed by the dizziness and pressure that I experienced in my head every day. When that dizziness and pressure turned into words no longer making sense to me—leading me to feel like I was becoming stupid—I knew that something was definitely wrong. The first time I lost my vision it was only for five minutes and it was more everything went completely white. I stopped in my tracks and immediately sat down, putting my head down and blinking rapidly, hoping against hope that it would pass.
It did.
I called the nurse manager for my former primary care doctor and left a message on her voicemail detailing that the symptoms were getting worse and I needed her to contact me.
That was about two months ago.
When blurriness and flashes of white turned into melted colors and finally to the morning when I woke up and was completely blind for two hours I prayed. I prayed to YHVH and I prayed to Jesus. I cried for my Granny to help me and desperately wanted to talk to one of my parents. I even considered calling my biological mother. I thought I was being cursed, punished for being transgender and gay. I thought it was because of my penchant for standing up against bullies, perhaps because I’d just had an extremely stressful time online only months ago.
I was grasping at straws.
When my sight returned I told my sister, Cherie, and we began stepping up trying to me in to see the doctor. Weeks passed and my periods of blindness extended, each instance becoming longer with less periods of blurriness or clear sight.
Then two and a half weeks ago I woke up and was totally blind. My sight hasn’t returned at all.
I’m not ashamed to say that I’m scared.
I’m absolutely, totally and completely scared shitless.
I have moments where I want to curl up in a ball and sob my eyes out, ask God what I’ve done wrong to deserve this treatment. I have moments where I want to throw shit around the room and destroy everything around me. I want to push everyone away, scared that this “curse” is going to spread and contaminate them as well. At the same time I want to gather all of my family and friends around me and be surrounded by support and encouragement.
I feel confused and scarttered and not just because of the fact that words don’t make sense to me all of the time.
Writing is harder than it’s ever been before and I’ve only recently realized that I can actually send emails and things, although I’m never sure if things are spelled correctly unless someone tells me. My narrator can read emails to me, in her monotone voice, and read the immediate screen to me so I know what my next action should be. I am back to writing, which makes me happy, but at the same time I recognize much more than ever before the people, the friends, the “family” who are no longer around.
I realize that my life can be filled with drama and very soap opera-esque. I realize that can be hard for some people to take… and because I have so much going on I don’t need people who are leaves in my life, who when the wind blows hard they disappear. I had some who as soon as something bad happened they disappeared. I Don’t need people who are like butter and as soon as the heat turns up they melt. I need solid people especially as I walk through this unknown terrain of being blind and not exactly knowing the cause of it all.
A lot of different guesses and opinions have been thrown around, everything from MS (multiple sclerosis) to stress to testosterone overdose—which is very unlikely as my T-shots have been monitored from day one—to diabetes. No one knows exactly, but everyone knows that support is needed, not just for me but for the people whose lives are being affected right now: Cherie, the Neiceling, and Chipmunk to name a few.
So to those of you who have been sending emails and tweets and Facebook messages and comments to me, my assistant Cinders, Lor or Cherie, even those of you who have been showing support to Chipmunk, thank you so much. It means a lot to me. Now that I know I can use my speech recognition and narrator I will try to be online more than before, but until my sight returns or my accommodations improve, it won’t be completely like before. Thank you, in advance, for understanding supporting and encouraging me, it is greatly appreciated.

Vicktor Aleksandr B
Vicktor Alexander

Friday, July 20, 2012

The Hospital

I hate hospitals with a passion.

I hate hospitals and medication and procedures and being sick.

But more than that, I hate not knowing what's wrong with me when I'm not feeling well.

For the past few months I have been feeling light-headed and having intense pressure in my head, especially around my ears.

For the past few weeks I've been losing my vision.

Everything goes white, colors melt together and/or everything gets blurry. Words don't make sense when I'm having one of these episodes and it makes it impossible to read, much less write.

The doctors don't know what's wrong.

Actually, my primary care doctor is just now being forced into looking into what's wrong with me, she's been a little too focused on my transition and not enough on my pain and other medical issues.

Here's the biggest problem, I'm scared.

I don't scare easily, but I am so scared that all I want to do is cry.

I have taken my 182 IQ for granted. My love and easy learning for languages and knowledge have been things that were just there. When someone would say something about how smart I was, I would shrug it off. Not because of false humility but because to me, there was nothing special about it.

Now I feel like I'm getting stupider.

I know that's not what's happening, but when I can't think of simple words like leg, when I'm someone who grew up reciting Hebrew prayers and reading Shakespeare for fun... well, it's a little scary and unnerving.

The worst thing is that because of what happened a few months ago, because of the reactions of people, because of people pulling away from me, ignoring me, because I don't think I could bear losing another person because my life is too intense, or fraught with drama and tension, too dark or because I'm too controversial, or whatever the reason is, I don't say anything about how bad it actually is.

I don't tell my parents or other family members, I only tell Cherie when she makes me and that's usually when things have gotten really bad, and even then she doesn't know how scared I am.

Words are my life and whereas before I could have written this entire blog post in ten-fifteen minutes, I started writing it at 6:45pm and it's 7:23pm now because I had to keep stopping to remember words and trying to figure out how to spell them and type them properly.

I went to the hospital today and saw the pain doctor and then went to the eye clinic. I was up there from 9am until 2pm and when I left, I knew everything that wasn't wrong with me, but still didn't know what was wrong with me.

And I'm still scared.

And I can feel myself, or at least that part of my brain that is still functioning, that's telling me to leave and go off somewhere by myself and go blind and paralyzed somewhere away from everyone so I don't have to be a burden. And I know Cherie would be pissed off if she knew this, but at the same time I have to think of how much simpler her life would be. I mean, obviously those who have walked out of my life (or signed out of it, typed out of it, whatever) are happier and better off than those who stayed right? And yes, I'm doing well since they've left, better actually than I was when they were in my life. I'm still a bestselling author, my books are selling like hotcakes over on Amazon/Kindle. They're selling like fire over on ARe and Mickey's Duke is #20 on Bookstrand. I'm doing well professionally, better than I could have ever dreamed of.

Except for the whole loss of vision, comprehension, dizziness, pressure, pain, inability to walk because of dizziness and pressure thing.

And I'm looking at the clock now and it's 7:35pm and I'm upset and disgusted and so disheartened because I have to go back to the hospital on the 24th and I'm wondering what they will tell me. What they can tell me. We think it's neurological, or that there's a cyst on my spine. All I can think of is the fact that I'm having such a hard time actually thinking.

Seeing. Reading.

Most of all writing.

I hate not being able to write.

Since serving in the Army I've lost the ability to dance and now reading and writing.... these are the things that keep me, kept me, sane all of these years and while I don't regret enlisting in the Army and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, because I loved serving my country, I do wish that I wasn't losing so much.

So, I'll be going back to the hospital soon. Not looking forward to it, but hopefully coming home with some answers, a diagnosis, a treatment plan.

A fucking cure.

That would make all of this a whole lot easier for me.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B (7:53pm)

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Introducing Chipmunk to Gay & Lesbian YA Books

I am the parent that promotes education and reading above all else.

It's what my own biological parents did for me. With all of their flaws I'm glad they did so. I'm happy that I have an IQ of 186 and that I've been reading since I was four. I'm proud of the fact that at the age of 10 when my teacher asked me what my favorite book was, I stood in front of the class and told her that it was "The Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare, though it was more of a play in book form rather than just a book.

I was a nerd.

I am a nerd.

I'm proud to be one.

It's me that friends come to when they want to know something about history. I'm the one they come to when they want to spell something or if they need a mathematical equation or taxes done. I'm not typical. I am so book smart that according to the bio mom I have no common sense. LOL.

I know that's not true, but I do know that I'm really smart. Maybe not all the time. And with what's going on health wise with my body [Dizziness, Lightheadedness, Blurred Vision, white vision, letters swimming on the page, words not making sense when I read them, getting a headache when trying to read] I'm starting to feel stupider, but one thing I can always do is encourage my daughter, my Chipmunk to read.

I did it when I had custody of her. I encouraged her to go to her school library and read, bought her books, and whenever she said she was bored I told her to "go read the Bible," because obviously she'd ran out of books to read right?

So today I sent her a copy of Cherie Noel's book "Shadow Dance" because I know that it doesn't have any sex in it. At least not the free part of the story. But now I'm stuck because I don't know any YA books out there because I don't read them.

So I'm asking all of you. Those of you who actually read my blog [thank you!]:

Can you recommend some good Y.A. novels? Gay, lesbian, paranormal, fantasy, science fiction, contemporary. Doesn't matter. My child loves the Twilight novels but she also loved something called Snake River or something like that. Any recommendations would be greatly appreciated. I want to try and get her a NOOK or a Kindle so I can put them all on there and then send it to her. But for now I have to send them to her email addy.

So, can you all recommend some good YA books?


-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Saturday, July 14, 2012

It's Not Personal, It's Business... For You, Not For Me

Had a few conversations with two of my sisters about how I've been feeling with certain people and their treatment of me and the sentence: "For them, it's not personal, it's just a business move. They're just thinking of their business or their career, they're not even considering how that move affects you, no matter what your relationship is to them," got thrown out there to me.

Rather than go into the selfishness, ignorance and total fuckery of that statement I decided to share the video that popped into my head when I heard it, because it's just so fucking true:

What did I learn? That whatever I do, whatever I say, it affects someone in some way, whether that was my intention or not. I also learned that if it did affect them negatively and that wasn't my intention, or if it was an action for or against someone else and it affected someone I loved or cared about in a negative way then it's up to me to apologize to them, not the other way around.

Anyway. Dammit, no matter how many times I tell myself that I'm going to stop being so "real" and "dark" on this blog, I just can't help it. I will always be real on here and if that means writing a post where I just say fuck everyone because I'm in a bad mood, then that's what I'm going to do.

Okay, maybe not, but you know, I'll always be myself and vent on here and work shit out or whatever you know?

Anyway. I hope everyone has a great weekend.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Vicktor Aleksandr B... College Student?

"We are happy to inform you that you have been accepted as a student for the Fall 2012 semester."


I got my letter in the mail today and this upcoming semester I will be returning to college.


And because I am an overachiever I will be double majoring in Business and Accounting and minoring in Foreign Languages.

My parents (the real ones-not the biological ones) would be so proud.

And they are.

My parents, my older siblings, friends.

Even Chipmunk.

So I'm ecstatic that I'll be back in school come September 4th, when classes start. I already have the schedule written down that I want and it's about six classes (18 credit hours) and that on top of writing and Rooster & Pig stuff and being an uncle, dad, younger bro, bestie, bf, etc. means that the number of blog posts from me is going to seriously diminish.

No worries though. I seem to thrive under pressure and with little to no sleep ("I'll sleep when I'm dead."-Tupac. Granted he's not the best role model for a guy like me to have but still.), so I'll still be blogging and though there are some who try to point at my openness and honesty as being a bad thing, I'll still be me. I didn't come tumbling out of the closet only to wear dark clothes you know what I mean? I won't fade into the background because there are people who wish I was invisible or who wish I didn't speak and make them feel so damn guilty (oops, I'll stop talking about that now). I will forever and always be me. I'll always be REAL, never fake.

Just Vic.

And now I'm Vicktor Aleksandr B: dad, brother, uncle, son, friend, bf, lover, Veteran, writer, business owner.... and college student.

And I couldn't be happier.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Friday, July 6, 2012

Some Happy (NSFW)

So I had a day where I almost quit writing, when I decided not to quit (because dammit, I fought hard and went through too much to get here) I decided to put up some happy because that's what makes me smile.

And nothing makes me more happy than Will Ferrell, Chris Tucker, Shemar Moore, John Barrowman, Scott Hoying and nekkie men.

Not necessarily in that order.

So share in some happy with me: