Sunday, October 10, 2010


You know, probably the hardest thing for a gay American man to do in this country is to be the person he is. I'm not talking about the "we're here, we're queer" types -- the ones who are to the LGBT community what the Religious Right is to Christendom, the ones who get all the media attention during the gay pride parades to the continuing detriment to the rest of us. I'm talking about... well, myself.

I am much interested in and feel an affinity with and attraction toward certain types of guys, especially other gay guys. I have similar feelings for certain types of women as well -- redheads, for some reason, in particular. But in my world, it's other gay guys first, redheaded women second -- at best. So basically, I think of myself as gay, if not 100% so.

What I don't think of myself as is someone who has to choose between dressing in drag or dressing in leather because I'm gay. I have no interest in either those kinds of clothing so gaudy and outrageous that even a lesbian wouldn't wear them or the S&M gear that would have been stunningly and distressingly appropriate had it appeared anywhere in Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. I do live in a society that, to a still great extent, views homosexuals and homosexuality as aberrations at best, evil manifestations to be destroyed at worst. But that's the enemy without -- the enemy within demands that I adhere to the "we're here, we're queer" way of living, no matter that the homophobic part of the rest of the world looks at how that shit often pans out and invariably concludes, "Well, there's your proof that the homosexual lifestyle is a one-way road to death."


What I am, is a 40-year-old guy whose body is beginning to break down on him in numerous ways, and like it or not, he is fully aware of each and every change and sensation in his body that is messing with his head, and metabolism. I don't give a fuck about drag or leather -- what's pissing me off are the cool flashes in my lower back and ass, the chronic ache in my left shoulder and down my left arm that mess with my concentration, these strange sensations in my head that don't make me dizzy, blind, or weak, but nonetheless bug me to no end, and what the fuck is up with this recurring spasm in my left leg? My body is slowly but steadily going batfuck on me -- but what does me wanting to find the fellow gay man I want to spend the rest of my life with have to do with any of this?

I repeat, all I want to do is be myself. Preferably with the one I wish to spend the rest of my life with. Now if I can just find the gay bastard...

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