Bi the bi...

I know I only blogged the other day but it was more of a walk through my personal history than anything else. Today I have something I feel is worth blogging about. M - a loyal follower of this blog - asked me the other about Bi-Pride. Does it exist? At first I did what I think the majority of gay people (and interestingly enough heterosexual people - from now on called Hay people in my blogs btw) did. I dismissed it as being mildly silly. Bi-Pride. I mean as if... those people are just confused queers who don't have the guts to deny the cunny or willy as the case might be. But then I got to thinking hang on a minute - that sounds awfully like a denial of a state of sexuality. Something I've been doing for years and have only now (aka last blog) finally accepted. And it wasn't a choice (aka last couple blogs) it was an acceptance of who I was. What's good for the goose is good for the gander or so they say (they = me). 

Well this goose was feeling a little troubled. Bisexuals (bays from now on) are in a limbotic world. (oh be prepared for new words to be developed and nurtured here, because I fucking can. Limbotic = a world in limbo but torn twixt two ideals that seem incongruent and yet are almost identical) They are neither hay or gay, neither here nor there. And then I got to thinking about partnerships. I can't even find one blind, desperate male unable of out running me to shag, a bay would need to find one of both sexes. Who don't mind sharing. And I thought I had it bad? So whilst responding to M I made mention of a new war. The hays had it, and lost it to the gays, who now have it but need to share it with the bays. But unlike the old war where it was the right for same sex, now we are faced with the right for destroying our last vestige of the sexual covenant. Gays and Hays alike ascribe to this practise when possible, and their relationships fail when they don't: Monogamy. 

I'm not implying that a bi-sexual would not be faithful, and I'm not pretending to understand how exactly bays would work in terms of relationships, but from what I can gather there is a requirement for a polygamous relationship (a faithful one). A bay man would want to sleep with women, and equally with other men. A bay woman would need to be filled with man, and woman equally. This, to my mind, implies that if a bay selects the one, there will always be an urge to indulge the other. After all I can only image it as liking chocolate and ice-cream. Eating just the one would create a craving of the other. So the only healthy solution would be to eat both (as some of us do hence the weight problem...). 

But this leaves the bay in search of other bays or very opened minded gays and hays. As a gay would I let my boyfriend have a girlfriend? Sadly I don't think. I'd constantly be thinking - what the fuck does he see in her? I don't understand why I'm not sufficient. As a hay husband could I let my wife go and sleep with another woman? (oddly enough most hay men desire this, so perhaps that is where we should aim our first revolution?) But the story gets more complicated. A hay and a gay can have a single partner, and get by and large marital rights. And one could arguably take a multi-partnered marriage to the courts and claim the cultural thing. But do I see SARS adding: Name of spouses to their already reduced form?

It looks pretty bleak for the bays I'll grant you. Or does it? Granted there are many battles still to be fought, but ultimately it was the gays who got electro-shock therapy in the past, the hay women who were imprisoned for bucking the system. Today's world is more a court battle than anything else, and I'd like to hope - in South Africa, where we have been legally forced to be accepting, that the future for bays is not as desperate as it at first seems. Perhaps the first phase is an influx of openly bay people? I knew of one, and I know of M (but only through this blog I think). If we had more openly bay people, bay people demanding rights and recognition perhaps we could move forward? But how does that resolve my personal problem of monogamy versus multi-partnered, multi-sexual existance? I need to understand it more, and have an open mind towards the idea. In short I need to deconstruct my dislike of women as a physical object. I don't mind women as a species, I just don't see them as being attractive sexually. So how do I now go and reprogram myself to see the virtues of sleeping with a woman so I can understand the urge that a bay has? I don't know. Exposure to bay thought. That's my only solution on this friday morning. And equally, all you hays out there, you need to start breaking down your society ingrained avoidance of sizing up a member of the same sex. 

So the first step we need to take - hays and gays - is to welcome bays into our worlds, circles, groups. I'd like to know more bays to be honest. For we only gain understanding and acceptance of a thing if we actively engage in exploring it through discussion and shared experiences. It's an exciting time in this country for all things, and a 'new' sexual freedom that must be embraced by all of us. So M - like I said I'd love to chat more, mail me (sclanders@gmail.com). 

So, and not being flippant: Have you hugged a bay today?

My friend the alien

Happy New Year. I think. Don't worry this isn't a blog about the virtues of life and New Years and so forth and so on. I'm not going to wax lyrical about my New Years resolutions. I don't have any in case you were wondering. This year I'm going to live my life to the best of my ability without silly goals. No this blog is more about what a new year means in a sense of life on planet Earth or more specifically how that life on Earth deals with the fact that we've spun around the sun once, and are going to do it again, and again, and again until one of us gives up...

So I have a friend. Lets call him Xartan. I will always keep Xartan in a special place in my heart and psyche he is my brother and at one time through-out time a soul bonded cosmic enemy. I met Xartan in standard six - on my first day in high school. I had been assigned to the C class - for under-achievers and general incompetents. I know why. I was a major under-achieving general incompetent. And an arrogant ass. I was incompetent because I had grown up in a protected world where the only sure thing was my mothers love, my love of fantasy, and that I was different from the rest because unlike others I still didn't like girls. Anyway I was feeling particularly sorry for myself because all my friends, and my secret crush were assigned rightfully to the A class. I was in my own eyes, those of my mother, and grandmother a failure. Sorry. Focus on the story. Right so there I was sitting three desks from the front, facing the door. My teacher was... lets call him Mr. Cunt. He really was. So Mr. Cunt is preparing to take register and in walks Xartan. He's laughing and chatting to some lowlife (who really was). 

I don't know what it was about Xartan. But I fell in love with him at once. Not in a sexually lusting kind of way. But I just knew - I knew that he was going to be my friend. It was all that I wanted. Other things happened that day which I don't recall, and some which I do which lead to a totally different friendship with another amazing human, but that's a blog for another time. As fate would have it (not that I believe in fate but it's a useful expression) Xartan and I became friends. We both had the same interests. How wonderful! Romans, fantasy, drawing, creating new worlds in our minds, English. We were a perfect match. Except it was a match made in the story books of old we so enjoyed reading. I was his perfect Villain to my perfect Hero. 

We challenged one another at every turn. Who could be more creative, write better works, do greater, more impressive things in the fantasy games we played. I would get frustrated by how long he took to get something perfectly right, and I suppose he was equally frustrated over how quickly I dashed things offs. Sometimes (with all modesty told to fuck off) I did great things with a mere thought. Most of the time it was pie in the sky with as much substance as a fart. However we came to become great friends. Always rivals, always at the opposite sides of the scale. He was Luke Skywalker to my Emperor Palpatine. He had his Han Solo, and I had my Vader. But it was always in the most boyish of friendships. 

Until I twisted a request he made to a friend of mine to suit my own ends (sadly a pattern I still use today to get what I want). Naturally it acted as a focal point of our animosity. Our friendship collapsed. Xartan moved away for a year but then came back to my world. We resolved our differences as two enemies can and built a new friendship. I'd say it was more honest and open. All was as it should be. We united against common enemies, moved into the A class as we both deserved to be in, and life was for all intents and purposes perfect. 

Xartan was not religious. Neither was I. But in our first year of tertiary - although in different parts of the country - I went into film making (continuing my love of fantasy) and he went into alternative therapies. He began to espouse the power of healing the mind, the body, and the soul. I was - laughing and skeptical. Rocks have no more power to heal us than needles stuck into dark orifices do. Skulls - crystal, Spielberg or otherwise - can no more tell me about my past than a modern calculator. But Xartan was convinced. Past lives became the fad. We were rivals in the past he said. We had some kind of unfinished business. Hence being brought together in this life. Yes celestial powers felt we needed to continue a chat from one lifetime in Egypt to another in Durban, and so had our ancestors move in such mystical ways so as to have his mother and father have sex in the same year as mine, and for ... you get my point. 

Anyway Xartan finally came to his senses. He didn't fit into the world because he was an alien. Placed here for punishment. That was why the human condition was such a mystery to him. I was about as supportive as a house of cards. But apart from the times when he needed to go and meditate (wank?) he was still the old Xartan ready to pick up a sword and come play in the worlds of make-believe with me. It is at this point dear reader that I've had one of those free-association epiphanies. I've just realized that whilst I was gently mocking him, I was as deluded as he was, both of us stuck in fantastical worlds avoiding the real one (why I wonder? what did we fear so much in reality that we needed to hide behind dragons? God now I'm bawling my eyes out. Thanks reader for making me write this. OK, give me a moment.) It is not the first time that I've jeered at his struggle to find himself. I'm sorry for being an arsehole Xartan, forgive me. [In truth this is why I like writing these blogs. As I pour out a stream of drivel sometimes I hit a little grain of truth]. Anyway so Xartan was looking for his mother ship, and I was trying to come to terms with my sexuality. It was to Xartan that I first confessed my homosexuality. I was in my bed, next to the window, and he was on the floor in my room on a silly foam mattress. He typically spent most weekends at my house during our first year of tertiary in this fashion. We'd been talking for hours and I needed to tell someone. He was there for me. He set the tone by which everyone else I have ever told about my sexuality has responded: He was supportive and kind. Thanks bro. 

Moving on. Xartan encouraged me to explore and develop. He helped me through my big crush revelation, and the rejection that came with it. He helped me to show others that side of myself. And in time he came to my rescue when my life was turning in odd directions. But after a while Xartan turned to Buddhism. He was no longer an alien, and rocks were now just bits of geology. As a Buddhist I feel his goal to seek enlightenment was to be achieved by screwing anything with breasts and legs that would open. Then he went to Scotland. I was hiding in the USA from my only boyfriend - of three weeks and one kiss. I feel I need to justify: the kiss was a totally mis-communication on my boyfriends part, and a total misinterpretation on mine. It was also the most wonderful sensation I've ever had. OK, back to sex-mad Xartan in Scotland. 

I was in the USA working on a documentary and it's near Christmas. I log on-line and he's there in a chat room. He's in some cybercafe (because it's cheaper than an hotel room and has hot coffee on tap). We chat. He'd spent three days in some hotel in some little Scottish backwater sleeping with a beautiful Australian girl. And that's it. He shagged her silly until his willy was nilly. Sorry, that was stupid. It was interesting to listen to his enthusiasm and excitement about this, his  most amazing sexual experience yet. Xartan returned home and became a Christian. If you're shocked can you imagine how we were?

It was a shock to us all. He forbade himself sex. Then he got more into the church, and as it enveloped him, he began to shrug off all that made Xartan, Xartan. Drawing, fantasy, Romans... it all became a distraction from his path with God, and was tossed aside. In a way I benefited by picking up some cool books that he was about to chuck. But the day we (his mother and I) found him tearing pages out of the Mormon bible because of it's blasphemy (damn his mother was mad) I knew Xartan was lost to us. His spaceship had left orbit with an MIA. His was the promise  of salvation from ones self, ones demons. Everything that you hated about yourself, all the petty evils you had ever committed could be absolved, all the dark thoughts wiped clear for ever... And for a while I became a slave to that dream.

I say a slave because in order for the salvation to work - you have to surrender completely to God (it actually says you need to die of yourself and be reborn as a son [assumedly a daughter as well but the Bible wasn't gender tolerant... I mean specific] of god). You needed to purge yourself of all the old evils that you sook (past tense of seek?) salvation from. That unfortunately included some of the good things as well. Forget throwing the baby out with the bathwater, this was throwing the whole fucking bathroom out and starting again. For a while I was in this world of sacrifice. Until I realized it wasn't sacrifice. Sacrifice implies a death of something. An end. It was a continual struggle. A continual daily sacrifice. And the sacrifices were mounting. That and part of what makes us Human - our individuality - was up for the chop. I began to see that everyone in the church was trying to become the same thing. Men dressed the same, spoke in the same soft tones, moved in the same soft ways (at one stage I thought I'd found the biggest gathering of closet queens on Earth). The women were ALL the same. Loyal, supportive, mildly creative in card making, and ever ready to help out. Look these are not bad things. But when everyone is the same there is no spark. No dynamic. I got bored. And I got tired of sacrificing virtually everything that defined who I was simply in order to become a worshiping zombie totally reliant on the directives of elders, God's inspirations, and the Word. The clinch came for me after nearly six months of mind-altering worship at Christ's feet.

Xartan had to break-up with a longtime girlfriend because she was not Christian enough. She was Christian but just not the right sort of Christian. At that point I realized that I'd never be the right sort. I wanted to be independent, I wanted to express my 'God-given' powers in my own way. And I couldn't. I began to drown. And then my company - Christian to the core - got me to make a documentary on how and why Christians are right and evolutionists are wrong. I read books from both sides of the battle, fervently biased towards the Christians. Evolutionists however won hands down. The fundamental argument of the Christian (or any religion for that matter) is: Because It [insert deity, tomb, scripture, scroll name here] says so.

I left Xartan and the mindless slaves. Xartan now runs his own church. WHAT THE FUCK IS THE POINT I hear you scream. Who cares? Some of you know Xartan, others don't. Why? Why am I telling you all this? It's my longest blog to date. Why? Well what it raises in my mind, and hopefully in yours a question - Xartan is not happy. He is desperately lonely, snakes his way down from his mountain holy ground into my den of evil to perform evil acts to my computer, or partake in his old habits of playing fantasy games [and having a good time whilst doing it!]. Then he retreats back to his prayers and sacrifices. So what is the new year got to do with it?

I want to ask you - this paradox we call existence - how is yours treating you? What kind of journey have you been on in the past decade? How has your world changed, and who has changed your world for you in the last 3564 days (stop it, the maths is wrong, fuck off)? And are you doing anything differently now? I'm NOT talking about smoking or drinking, I'm talking about life shifts. I'm talking about drawing in your friends and marveling at how they've either changed or stubbornly refused to. And asking perhaps: Is it time you changed? Or have you found yourself and have a plan for this year? I have personally (come on, I'm allowed my own time now, this is my fucking blog after all) changed. Not in how I treat other people, that's for next decade. But in how I treat myself. I'm gay and I'm going to deal with it. And I'm NEVER going to try to change that again. So how have I changed in the last ten years? I've made a singular decision. If all of this has one single point - I've finally made my mind up on one single solitary thing. It's not like I had a choice. I mean it's really like me admitting to having a leg or an arm, and deciding to say: I am a biped. But you get my point. So this year is the first full year for me to start living with that choice.

So dear reader what have you decided? What single choice will you make towards making your own life (and no one elses) a little bit happier? Will you sacrifice everything and live in a paradox of denial, repentance, and rebirth? Or will you take a step outside with me, and accept yourself as having the capacity to make a decision (for better or worse) using your own faculties and no one elses? Come and walk with me on the wild side. Or not, you choose...

The Gay Gang

I want to talk about pride. In actual fact I should say I want to talk about shame. I've often wondered, as I'm want to do from time to time, why it is that the gay community feels such an urge to be 'Proud'. From street marches to carnivals, from beauty pageants to sports competitions the homosexual has developed, is developing, wants to develop, is fighting a legal battle to develop an equivalent to any and all heterosexual displays of Human capacity. The Gay Olympics for example.

We are a bunch of lesbians and gays who want to play sport against one another. So I guess the showers could be quite the place to be during that time... but what worries me about such a show is: Do gay men and women need their own sporting event? Does a gay woman run faster or slower, is she in any way impeded by her love of the cunny that she can't compete with her dick sucking counterparts in the normal Olympics? Is it that the gay guys swim slower than the normal guys? (This I suspect is true. Swimming in a pool in a speedo with a bunch of well muscled speedo wearing men would slow me down. The erection would contribute a significant drag effect I'm sure [this is called wishful thinking. At best I might achieve a little wake ha ha.]). Anyway the point I'm making is not actually a point it's the question: WHY?

And it was up until recently a very, very difficult one for me to answer. Now I know the answer. Or at least I think I do. But since you know my style by now I have to set up my justifications first. And to do that I'm going to need the help of a rugby jock. Lets call him Jack.

Gay Guy = GG
Jack = J

GG: Hello Jack.
J: Watsup.
GG: The sky.
J: What?
GG: Never mind. Ok, on to our first question - There was a big match this weekend, and you guys won by a huge margin. How did that make you feel?
J: Awesome hey.
GG: I see. And when the match had finished the whole school ran onto the field cheering and clapping. How did that make you feel?
J: Lekker (Afrikaans for awesome) hey.
GG: Any idea why?
J: 'Cause like they were cheering for us. For the team. So ja, it was cool.
GG: Then after that you guys all jumped into your dads bakkie (pick-up truck) and drove down mainstream screaming like a bunch of hooligans right?
J: Is that like a Pelican?
GG: What?
J: A Hoolican?
GG: No - I mean like a wild bunch of united individuals with a common cause for celebration.
J: Ja. Like a pelican.
GG: OK. And when you arrived at the local bar drinks were on the house.
J: No that was Shitface. He climbed up on the roof later.
GG: Yes yes. I see what we're dealing with here. OK, so my point is you felt united right?
J: Right.
GG: Then when the school had the parade through town, you chaps led the whole thing in your rugby jerseys?
J: Correct. It was awesome hey.
GG: Hay is something horses eat. But yes, I get your point.
J: What's up with this oke, talking all funny like this?
GG: Never mind, it's genetic. Thank you for your time, I'll let you carry on stuffing the school chess champion into that cupboard.
J: Awesome!

OK. So what's my point? My point is that for most gay people I've encountered, barring a few, it seems that we spend a good deal of our time feeling like outsiders. We don't fit in. Or, in actual fact - as I guess is happening today - we're labeled as 'The Gay'. But this is still exclusionary. And so we grow up desperately wanting to be part of something bigger than ourselves. We want to be recognized as having capacity beyond just our label.

And this is a Human need. We want to demonstrate our capacity to contribute. Otherwise the rest of the cavemen will have no need for us, and make us do normal hunting work like the rest of them. So what I'm driving at is we all, on some fundamental level, after 100 000 years of evolution feel the need to somehow fit in or prove ourselves to our fellow humans. But how does that translate into gay Pride?

Well, in my opinion, it translates very easily. We, as gay people, want to feel as if we belong, and once we feel that we belong - either by being in an accepting community, or through legal recourse (as so often is the case) we then want recognition within that group. I'm not saying that within a bunch of homosexuals there is strong competition to see just who is the best homosexual... (except in the case of the Olympics, Mr. Gay World beauty pageant etc...) or am I? I think there is an undercurrent of gay comparability.

I know I for one, although I'm really, really into men, often times feel that I don't measure up to being gay enough. I don't cook, only started drinking wine in vast quantities recently, hate poetry, prefer male friends to female, hate the colour pink, don't scream like a queen, and I didn't until therapy hug other gay men upon meeting them. Last night for instance I had an amazing Christmas dinner with some new friends, and with some gay friends of mine whom I adore. But upon leaving the new friend (an amazing gay man) he wanted a good-bye hug. Now I've been trying to over-come my reluctance to hugging, and have been analysing my body position during hugging etc. and even so when I gave him a hug, he still commented: "Oh he's a new boy to hugging." To which the other gay lads all laughed, but hugged me some more, as if by way of demonstration. Don't get me wrong. The rush of human contact was unbelievable, and just the fact that they were then fixed on teaching me (over the next couple months) just how to hug properly made my heart warm. But I suddenly felt 'Not really Gay'. Or 'Not Gay Enough'. Daft I know. But I wasn't part of the club yet.

But with each evening or day I spend with my gay friends I loosen up, I become part of the gang. The Gay Gang. So when that pride march comes along I'm most certainly going to join it. Why? Because it affirms who I am. Not because I want to show off to the straights, but because I want to know for myself - I am who I am, and who I am is a gay man, who is now, finally accepting of who and what he is...

*I apologize for Jack being such a typical rugby moron, but it was necessary for the illustration and humour. Jack is now a financially successful businessman with a wife and 1.45 kids. He will die knowing that he was a 'good man'.

I want to help... but how?

I originally intended to post the top 10 happy things of 2008 in this spot, but now I feel it would be a cheap alternative to what is really going on inside my head. I have had the best 6 months of my life. Apart from making my first film, I cannot think of a time when I was happier. I've got an amazingly wonderful future ahead of me, with all the usual pitfalls that one has to contend with, but the long and short of it is, life is great. It's super great. Take for example - yesterday. 

Yesterday I was invited to join a group of friends to go to see an Adult Pantomime - Sleeping Beauty - which is fantastic by the by. Now my initial reaction was 'no, I've got things to do, paintings to work on, and who knows what it'll be like?' etc.  But then I thought - hang on, live the moment, and spend time with your friends. So I said yes. My word, thanks the gods that I did. I went and laughed. And laughed, and fucking laughed. And afterwards went to a wonderful bar/eatery thing, and got drunk. One of the chaps who was in this party was a British bloke who was running a bit of a feeding scheme in Bulgaria of all places. What a character. And what a wonderful way to while away a Sunday afternoon. Watching a bunch of men in drag in a converted church surrounded by gay men. I thought - those Christians had better start praying now. Actually I marvelled at the old beams and the nice door.

But what it got me thinking was how wonderful my life is. It's truly remarkable what has happened to me in so short a time, and how whenever I fall flat my friends all come together and pick me up. When I tell them to fuck off they come back, point out my silliness and help me remember why I love them all. I only hope I deserve it. But then it got me thinking about the boy who killed himself. And another dear friend of mine who's going through a mid-life crisis. I want them to experience life as I am. I want them to have a wonderful world. How can I help them? I can't pay for them - that is sadly my one and only problem. If I could earn just R2000 extra a month I'd be perfectly fine. But I'm not letting it stop me. 

So my problem is how to help my wonderful friends. And I lament because I can't think of how to draw them from the fog of depression. I look at my journey and it was only assisted by me 'wanting' to change. I wanted to be free of the anxiousness, the fear, the lonliness. Obviously for the suicide it's too late. But I want to help prevent that. Is this how mother Terresa started? Just wanting to help others find joy in existance? I don't know. I really, really don't. What I do know though, is that my friends work bloody hard to keep me going. And I shall do the same for them. I will reach out as best I can. 

And so I'm going to start by doing this; I'm going to list the best things about my friends, and those who don't make this list - I'm just warming up, your turn will come: 

1- Hans. His capacity to be so thoughtful as to my well being, to sacrifice his own time for me. Unbelievable. Thanks buddy.

2- Carmen. You are the perfect woman. Kind, generous, but firm, and fair. You are beautiful in all senses of the word. 

3- Hugo. You are my brother. I wouldn't be the person I was if I didn't have you to guide me and show me the right way.

4- Colin. Your amazing talent, your incredible wit. You inspire me.

5- Watson. Your youthful tenacity to being you, you are my constant support, and your loyalty to your friends is awe inspiring.

6- Ryan. You are the silent rock about which the world breaks. I admire your ability to go with the flow.

7- Justin. Your enthusiasm for life, for being you - you are my gay guide, and will always have a special place in my heart.

8- Jurgen. Wherever you are now, you were my role-model. I hope to be yours one day.

9- Leon. Your acceptance of people, and your willingness to help, your ability to be you and to be honest I cannont hope to match. But I will try.

10- Holly. Your support means more than you can imagine. I love you my little sister.

And to all the rest of you, whom I don't spend enough time, whom I haven't written something about here, please forgive me. I'll get to you, I really will. (Also please note that the list above is in no way indicative of friendship status or level, but purely a random numbering...).

So a big thank you to those people who have made a wonderful world all the better just for being in it. Fuck, I've gone all Hallmark now. Oh well, might as well finish the thought: 

MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS.

Suicide and the praying Christians

This morning I got the terrible news that a good family friend's son had died. In fact he had committed suicide. He was 25. I didn't really know him well. We'd spent literally years of holidays together, my broken family and his whole family of four kids and two loving parents. My family broke when I was ten or eleven. I, think like all children of divorce, didn't at the time take it too badly: I slept at the base of my mothers bed for almost a year before I was brave enough to move into my own room. But that's a different story. The story of this young man's suicide is the point here today. 

Suicide to me is a double sided fuck-up. My great aunt and uncle committed suicide. He was about to loose his second leg to illness and old age, and she was bed-ridden and slowly being eaten by cancer. He ended her life, and then his own. When I was told I was terribly sad, but also terribly proud. Such a noble act. What greater sacrifice could be made? What greater request could be fulfilled than to kill your wife, and then lie down next to her and end your own? They had been married for over 50 years, were both approaching 90 and had had a good life. To me, and his sister, my grandmother, it seemed like an act of amazing love and bravery. 

What this friend of mine did though, killing himself at such an age hasn't left me with the same feeling. In fact it's left me wondering what it's all about? Sure he had problems, he was an under-achiever, someone who didn't have direction in life. Coming from a big family I can understand that he may have felt alone or insignificant. Knowing his mother I know that would not have been anyone's intention and purely a contruct of his own depressed mind, she is one of the most loving and caring people I know. I can also appreciate that he must have felt he was saving everyone around him a lot of trouble by removing himself from the equation. Little thinking that his removal would cause more strife than he could possibly imagine. 

In the same conversation with my mother about this horrid event she also confessed to having relented to another old family friend of hers. Aparently this good friend of ours has started a prayer group for me. My own prayer group, I should be proud. It happens to be praying for my salvation and realization that 'choosing' homosexuality is the work of evil. And that I should be saved from my stupid decision and come right and start sticking my dick into cunts. You can probably tell from my language just how I feel towards this woman and her wonderful circle of Christians. She apparently talks to my mother about how the group is doing. Apparently not too well since I've been going out with more gay friends than I can remember, am actively looking for a boyfriend, and have been easing into this new life of debauchery quiet nicely.

But what makes me really angry, is not her misguided idea that I choose to suck dick, and not lick clit. I don't and have never choosen to. I have chosen to try to deny my inner self. And succeeded for quiet some time. But I don't choose to not have two arms, or two legs. Trust me on this, finding the male body amazing and the female body rather badly proportioned, and rather ungainly is not something that I can account for. A strong chest lightly dusted in hair has more appeal to me than two firm breasts of snow white. Why? I don't know. It just does. (Sorry ladies, it's nothing personal.)

So back to the suicide and how the praying Christians are involved. If they are praying for me to see the light, is it not strange that they should exert themselves so much over what I do with my genitals than perhaps what I do with my mind? Shouldn't they be praying that I don't cheat, lie, or decieve others? Isn't it more of a crime to lie to someone and take advantage of them, than to sexually satisfy a willing partner? For that matter shouldn't all of their exersions be directed to preventing kids from killing themselves? It seems to be a constant occurance. Well... so is homosexuality. Oh shut up. You know what I mean. 

So I suppose I'm writing this because I'm frustrated over the Human condition. Not my own this time, which is bizarre, but over others. We take our daily lives and those of others around us with such seriousness that I think we tend to forget the basics: Life and Death. Our evolutionary forefathers were solely concentrated on those two points. Live by procreation and food obtainance, or die by death (?). Did Zorg the caveman stop and wonder if Gog and Krug were fucking each other, and if perhaps he should stop and spend some time praying that they didn't? Or did Zorg realize that killing the tiger, raping the woman, and bringing home food for his children was more important? Guess what - Zorg brought home the bacon, lived life, and was happy when his family were fed. He died, and his children continued the pattern.

Krigger however realized he could get food for free by talking to the spirits who made all those funny things Zorg, and Gog, and Krug couldn't explain and who could ensure a successful hunt (sadly the fact that Zorg and co. have been successfully hunting for thousands of years seemed to have been missed). And Krigger realized that his words gave him power. And I suspect at some point Krigger wanted to sleep with Krug, but Krug refused, prefering his lifelong partner of Gog. Krigger, in a fit of jealous rage invents the Roman Catholic Church and turns homosexuality into just another item on his list of shit to fuck people up with so that they are so grateful Krigger has absolution for them (because as Krigger pointed out, everyone is inherently sinful) that they'll continue to give him free stuff so he doesn't have to do a stitch of work. Marvelous really. 

So we get prayer groups all hoping that Krigger's god will miraculously drive the demons from my consciousness and save my penis. Except then you get kids like my friend whom, ok he wasn't gay, but he certainly committed other sins (as do we all, remember Krigger's rule: All men are born sinful), and it's the pressure of these amazing groups that push kids to the point of no hope. If Kriggers god doesn't want us sinners, and our parents look to Krigger's god for all that is pure and good, then perhaps they don't want us around; horrid reminders of how far we are from their devoted ideal. I'm not saying that this kid committed suicide because his parents made God out to be great and any deviation from God's perfect words was to be looked down upon... or am I? I didn't want to be gay, God had said it was bad and everyone around me had agreed. I was different because Krigger said so, and everyone agreed.

If a non-existant being has more power over humans than other humans doesn't that say something about humans? We delude ourselves into following orders from something that is as material as vacuum. And why? Because that vacuum offers us an option for a better existance. Thing is, the only thing to existance is food, shelter, and sex. Get that right and you exist. Get a marvelous house, an amazing car, a beautiful wife, and a good salary - the only thing that improves is the food, and shelter. Sex is still the same. We have become addicted to the idea that a better house, richer food, bigger spaces, softer pillows are the essentials to life. And we're willing to sacrifice other humans to get it by placating a non-existant God.

The Christian who prays for the queer is really asking that the fag stop 'acting' against the being; so that the queer and the Christian can get better food, shelter, and sex. God doesn't give a fig whether or not we have happiness or not. If he did, he'd stop fucking around and give it to us. If we have to grovel for an all powerful being before he gives it to us - well then, God is my four year old cousin with the TV remote just before a major Rugby game. (I don't actually have a 4 year old cousin, but I needed one for the image to work, deal with it. (And I dont' watch Rugby either.)) 

I guess what I'm saying is that this bloke kills himself and our reactions are extraordinary. We all rally around the family, offer help and support. This is excellent, and something we should do more off. I however finally tell the truth about myself and my personal feelings and the same thing happens. Massive rallies are called, strangers who don't even know me suddenly start asking the most powerful being in existance to help little old me. So the point of this long post is really this: 

Don't stress about anything not directly related to food, shelter, or sex. Especially if it doesn't concern you personally. Learn to let go and rejoice that your roof doesn't leak, or that the food is a little bland. You're achieving the ultimate goal of evolution. You're surviving. Now don't go and ruin it by trying to tell others how to do it. Let them evolve as they want. All you now have to focus on is sex. And from what I hear (having not had it myself yet) it sounds pretty damned fun...

You can be what you want, just not around me.

So this whole coming out of the closet thing has been happening and I've been experiencing some truly remarkable things in the last couple of weeks. Being so drunk that the morning after I had to throw it all back was a wonderful way to spend a weekend. A big thanks to my two friends who nursed me back from the land of the living dead to the world of the hung-over. And I can see the allure of getting drunk. But it was only on wine. I now want to experience a different drunk. The table dancing, doing stupid things kinda drunk. Just because I can.

But that is not the point of this long overdue post today. Today I feel the need to express something which I think we are all victims of, and at the same time, perpetrators of. Tolerated intolerance. The very word tolerance has negative connotations:

"I tolerate this behaviour because you're experimenting with life."

"This is tolerable because it won't last forever."

"I will not tolerate intolerant people."

What these mean is that whomever is on their high horse 'allowing another to do something that they (the speaker) would normally not allow others to do'. God this is complicated. You trying explaining the meaning! My point is that when you tolerate something you are lording your power - as if you have any right to control and thereby allow someone else to do something. OK. Still not clear.

Point in case. A good friend of mine, with a heart of gold, generous to a fault, told me (after my big coming out session) that he was homophobic. At first I didn't know how to take it. But he was being honest and as a loyal friend I decided to not push the subject. I have to admit though, he did 'exclude me' from his phobia. Now I have a phobia about snakes. ALL SNAKES. There isn't a snake on the planet that I'll allow to be in the same room as me. NOT ONE FUCKING LEGLESS HISSER. Anyway...

So I tell my two good friends, who are both gay. The one declares a jihad on all homophobes. The other is more understanding and declares that everyone has the right to be homophobic and he's not going to challenge their right. Enter my therapist. Now I've stopped going because I've run out of money. But when I broached the subject with him he said that I should assure the homophobic that I'll remain his friend, but that he needs to understand that I'm off on a quest to find my knight in shining armour and give him a blow-job. So with the words of the left wing queer's and the right wing gay's (and my straight therapist) still fresh in my ears I did what I'm practically world famous for - wrote the homophobic a letter.

Now I feel letters are great ways for setting up platforms for misunderstanding... I mean communication. I certainly like to hide behind words and like to think of them as shields but also doves of reconciliation. I sent the letter stating that I would still be his friend and ally, but that I was going off to find Sir Gwain to get Gwbent (this was funnier in my head). He phoned me, in typical fashion, and proceeded to tell me that he was perfectly happy for me to go off and shag some squire till the cows came home. Provided that I didn't express any gayness in front of him (this includes touching, a peck on the cheek or sitting closer than 20 cm).

And there's the rub of it. You can be what you want, just not around me. So I'm now left dear reader with an interesting challenge. The left wing and right wing orders of the Queer Queen have united in their mutual hatred against this homophobic oppressor. Now I'm supposed to be immersing myself in my own kind (therapists suggestion) and yet I'm perhaps too much of a coward to throw my toys at the homophobe. At the same time I'm outraged over the way in which my attempts to solve a problem have been thrown to the floor. But the bigger problem, the tragedy, is that he probably doesn't even know that he's done it.

I'll leave you with this thought then: If you want to be free of the shackles of passing judgement on others just make sure that you're not tolerating their actions. Either accept them as they are in all their glory or fuck off and find some other bigots to go wank with. OK, so I'm a touch angry. Now I just hope I'm not like that. I don't think I am. All I know is from now on, I'm not going to tolerate anyone. I'm going to accept them or ask them to kindly go shag a sheep somewhere else, because we'll both be much happier...

The Outsider - bastard from another dimension.

I've been on a natural high these past couple of weeks since therapy began. Since 'coming out' to Facebook things have been looking up, at least that's what I thought. I have been embracing my own personal desires, my wants, regardless of the implications. Thankfully the consequences of those desires are all internal and don't really affect others. My desire for a tattoo for example doesn't really involve anyone else. And it's progressing slowly. I'm now designing it myself (as per the tattooists suggestion). I'm selling a whack of my DVD collection (about 200 discs) based on the fact that I don't watch those discs, and have no intention of watching them ever again. And I'm no longer trying to impress people with my amazing collection of bizarre movies.

Now those changes (wardrobe being another physical change) have been fun, and to a large extent have had no real repercussions on me, or on those around me (although they have been hard, and I've had to force myself consciously to follow through on them). In fact most of the people who I've come across have all being highly supportive in my changes. So as I embrace my real interests and real wants I've come to realize that I still have to embrace my internal wants as well. And that is the real battle. But before I can move forward on that I have to explain something about what I learned yesterday: Homophobia. 

As children we have to prove ourselves to one another. At least the extroverted amongst us. We struggle to see who's top kid on the playgrounds. One way this is done is to exclude the competition. Just as Obama and McCain slog it out in the US, so do kids all over the world. And sadly the one method of excluding rivals is to show up their weakness. Now for some reason (self inflicted I'm certain) being 'Gay', a 'poofter', a 'moffie', a 'fudge packer' seems to be a standard and first line weapon in this war. Any act on behalf of the individual that is not 'manly' (I'm talking about the war within a male group) gets the label of 'gay'. The irony of this is that most women desperatly want men who exhibit more 'gay' attributes than manly ones. Compassion, sympathy, listening, artistic vision, personal opinions on art, a reluctance to follow the norm. 

Now add to the mix: roughly 2300 years ago the strongest fighting force in the world (European world) was the Sacred Band, an elite hoplite order of gay lovers. A phalanx of gay partners formed on the suggestions of Plato. He said any unit of fighting men made up of lovers would fight that much harder if they were fighting to save their lovers standing next to them. The Sacred Band was feared throughout Greece. Here is the strongest phyiscal warmachine on Earth. Of course during it's existance 'gay' wasn't a negative. It was just part of existance. But then we push through thousands of years of religion and we end up today. Where you stall your car: that's so gay. Where you wear bright shoes: that's so gay. Where you don't get totally drunk: that's so gay. So as kids we use that throw-away term as a form of exclusion. We don't even really appreciate what being gay means.  

We grow up in this environment of exclusion based on this 'gay' status. Now for those who are not gay, its a sore point and the impact on self image is terrible. The ramifications are insidious. Either the social pressure is so great for him to prove himself that he throws his virginity away at the age of 14, or he turns inwards, isolating himself and looses touch with his peers. For a kid who is gay this becomes a double blow. I knew from the age of about 13 or so that I wasn't interested in women. I was attracted to all the guys in my class (well personal taste excluding some). So when I was called gay I had to try to actively prove otherwise without sleeping with women, which wasn't and still isn't an option. I'm not an introvert. Nor am I a warrior though;  I negotiate, and then run to the police/law/higher authority (yes, totally gay). The result of becoming the monster that everyone else so villified was terrible. 

So I denied my inner voice. It was 'easier' than standing up against the voice of 'humanity'. There was no champion for my inner voice. It was me against the world, and since I wanted to be part of the world I surrended myself. Now fast forward nearly 15 years and the champions of my inner voice are all around us. From movie actors to public figures, from celebrities to common folk. And yet internally I am still at war. My inner voice is trying to struggle free, to fight off the now internalized phobia of being branded gay. I guess we all have these internal battles. These internal versus internalized battles. At once it's both pathetic and gigantically impossibe. Surely we should be able to realize these self-induced civil wars are just that. Self induced. So we should be able to just sign a peace-treaty and move on. Ha! We're human, and it's never that easy.

So I've now taken the battle outside, let the world return their judgements upon me I've brazenly said. I am me, hear me roar! That's been my message for the past couple blogs. However in a sense I was trying to deny the war. The internal gay wanted just to ignore the internalized homophobe. But it is not that easy. Just as Professor Mature controls my public image, so it seems a new spectre has been revealed: The Outsider. In this case the Outsider is fighting to keep me in the 'acceptable' space of society. Even though the Outsider's orders are ancient, misguided, and in total conflict with the internal me, it's irrelevant. Hand in hand Professor Mature and the Outsider stuggle to keep the last vestiages of the 'good' Guy alive, fighting to keep the gay Guy down.

This doesn't make sense. It's madness. And yet it's part of me. And I have to learn how to reconcile that. Someone asked me the other day when I was going to get a girlfriend. The Outsider rallied and made some bullshit excuse about "Oh never, did you see the report on student X?" I tried to deflect the question. WHY DID I NOT SAY: Girlfriend? No, I'm after a boyfriend, and hopefully soon? WHY? WHY? WHY? As my college left I didn't feel the wave of relief usually associated with deflecting that kind of question that I used to feel in the past. Instead I felt beaten, broken, betrayed, and weak. Professor Mature and The Outsider were smiling. Job well done. My therapist has told me it's fine. Small steps. Take these things one stage at a time. I still feel frustrated with myself. In inner power is not yet strong enough to stand on it's own. I guess that's why he wants me to socialize with lots of other gay people. To help build into that power, and fucking kill The Outsider.

I'm working on clearing out the clutter of my physical existance, changing it to suit me. My internal battles will take longer. And now I have two enemies to fight, Prof. Mature isn't alone...But fear not, I'm here for the long haul, and even if it takes me all my days I will never go back. I'll never again try to deny my homosexuality. And even if I loose a battle here, slip up and let the Outsider win a skirmish there, I will constantly be fighting for victory. My Sacred Band are currenlty in training and one day we will rise up to become that unstoppable force. I swear it!