Shout out to the youngin’s there have been OUT athletes long before Jason Collins.
Arthur Ashe, Billie Jean King.
Back in the day when kids were raised to go play by the open fire hydrant and/or build forts with mud and sticks, there had actually been ‘gay’ children.
Kids of many backgrounds hiding in the shadows of the straight and narrow-minded.
Raised on the gaggle of Catholicism, I learned that ‘Catholics do not start much too late. And, that only the good die young’
My Mother bless her soul watched as I struggled to come to terms with being QUEER by nearly drinking and drugging myself to death.
She glanced on knowing that if she were to intervene and push my indecisiveness too soon, it would be an end to MY ERA of questions and confusion.
There were no rainbow flags and no acronyms for uniqueness. We all unearthed our strangeness through Rita Mae Brown poetry and Indigo colored music.
Crying at night, why am I? Who am I? Who do I cling to? My models of role-playing were earth people; happy, heterosexual and oddly different from the thoughts that lay inside.
Times were rough and they weren’t changin’ when you found difference in between the games of spin the bottle and hide n seek.
I wonder now, where did those rainbow flags come from? The closet doors that so many of my kind insist on closing by hiding behind the GLAM and SHAM of stylishly gay thoughts require me to check my history books.
Hey, kids, we were OUT long before it became the IN thing to do.
…to continue to unearth our own is merely to serve ourselves injustice
The Other Side of AIDS (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“He removes the greatest ornament of friendship, who takes away from it respect.” by Cicero.
Way back yonder up ’round the Blue Ride Parkway pass the turnpike of twenty-two…back when adults were adults. They were neither old, nor young nor anything in between.
I had the privilege to become acquainted with a vast array of individuals. It had been during the peak of AIDS season and all hands on deck were needed.
Weaverville North Carolina seemed like Mayberry on Crack but still as friendly as can be when your back wasn’t turned.
A fresh-faced but frightened lesbian in a new land, volunteering seemed the only way OUT per say.
After all I had been semi-OUT for quite sometime. Matter of fact the city of Asheville North Carolina and their wives have offered to write me romantic references.
W.N.C.A.P., Western North Carolina AIDS Coalition Program needed persons to be buddies, caretakers, nurses and all around, some one to lean on.
It was there in the Blue Hues of the Pines nestled amongst a cityscape that I met, Ricki.
Ricki had been a drag queen, a latent flamer and a wonderful story-teller.
So severe had his case been that during one ‘ignorant’ dentist appointment, the examination room had been covered wall to wall with tarps. Oh, the fear of those damned homosexuals. The unwarranted hatred smelt like a fishery during a heat wave.
I took Ricki everywhere for at the later stages of AIDS and way before any age of slowing down the horrible and debilitating process; my young friend turned oddly ancient had every infection known to man or woman.
On one particular trip down off the Blue Ridge Parkway, struggling to get the over sized wheelchair out of my beat up Escort, Ricki began to weep quietly as I picked him up and steadied him for transport back to the dungeon called ‘poverty apartment’ living.
“I have just one wish…One wish and I’d be happy to go tomorrow. I want my ashes to lay upon Mount Mitchell. I want to soar with the eagles.”
Hard core, ridden roughly and hung up wet had been my typical demeanor. But at that remark I too could not help the tears from falling.
“It’ll be taken care of! Don’t you worry.”
With that I gave him a kiss on the cheek and shook his hand in promise of a better day.
The next day Ricki had passed away due to every complication there is to be complicated by.
A service had been held. Members from the project, friends, lovers and dreamers gathered to pay heed to this gentle man.
Not a single relative arrived on that day or any other day.
A letter had been sent.
To Whom it May Concern:
Ricki has not been a part of this family for many years. And, in fact, has been considered not a part of this family the day he told us he was a homosexual.
Please do as you see fit with the body.
Blah, Blah, Blah
Ricki soared with the eagles. I see him every spring when a fresh batch of winter birds fly north for the summer.
Perhaps, the loss of his soul to homophobia. The loss of others due to suicide via the shaming of our OUT preference by those who are indeed, also, closeted-ly gay. Perhaps, all of the above stops me on many occasions. Causes a stir of anger and a thrust of distrust amongst our own.
When the Ambiens’, the Annie‘s, the Gracie‘s of this world. The young adults as we call them.
Hide from their own fear and take the whole lot of us ten years back; I cringed and vow redemption.
A daily prayer that I will not forget those who have gone before me and made my closet easier to open.
A mantra to bring into the light those of keep us still well hidden.
What are you feeling right now?
Tell me honestly
Are you crying? And, did you take something for the anxiety?
Trying not to cry…
She just doesn’t understand how miserable she made me…a good reason why I drank so much was because of her!
She’s always turning the tables so it’s about her and not me!
I might cry because all I want is to be with you and I will never have you fully. My mother doesn’t get me, my friends just want me to get drunk and I have nowhere I can go. I don’t know how to live on my own.
Let’s just skip the Skype tonight…
You were right; it does suck to have hurtful things said. So I will see you tomorrow.
I can’t take back what I said
I can only try and make it up to you…
So, then I stood back and tried to understand her better.
Sometimes she liked it rough, sex, that is.
Sometimes she liked it, quiet and meaningful and lasting, anything but the sex.
Most the time she wanted me to take control until she was ready to steer the wheel.
That was how our relationship had been in and outside of sex.
I understand it better now…
What is difficult for every adult? I mean persons with an ego, making decisions, taking care of others more than themselves, persons unlike those born in the last twenty years or so.
What the drastic difference is and always will be; the lack of complete and total engagement in ideas that seem so remote they couldn’t even start a fire doused in kerosene.
Ambien Grace’s and Gracie Williams and Annie’s and Brittany’s and Mercedes and Kayla’s seem to believe that being different can be as common as a cold and should be taken easily and with it’s my right, I earned it attitude. While all the time buying into the propaganda of live streamed life.
“Vast as the sea and deep as you can be!”
Is not a statement that revolves around the Skype Junkies and the Toilet Queens of Bulimic Bigotry? These children who profess to want deep and meaningful relationships spend all their money on love and not an ounce on foresight.
Prime example, take one twenty-something who says something along the lines of ‘I just don’t want to talk about it tonight…I want to go get some ice cream…you know talking about my mother upsets me!’
Life is upsetting. Relationships via platonic or lasting are beyond upsetting. Yet, they are what hold us together. Makes two seem like one and even when the division doesn’t seem to work, you find another way around the equation.
Frightening as it seems the generation before mine, the Baby Boomers; are left in the hands of scads of adults still fighting for a cause. The scenario that dismays is not that we cannot change the world we have been given. It is that the generation trailing has put all they have learned into acronym boxes and sent them via text to others with the same mindset.
If it’s a broken relationship don’t fix it. If it’s a busted heart do not mend it. If it is a matter of two roads diverged in the woods…always, always, always, stir clear of the path with roses for there may be some thorns.
One more item before, night, night…Actually, two more items on the list of things to do:
1. Stop Googling my own name to see the tarnish that is on it. That only amplifies the need for sedatives and I only have a sparse few left.
2. Find a song to dedicate to those who have fucked me hard! Granted I asked for it rough, but give me a break.
Congratulations for breaking my heart
Congratulations for tearing it all apart
Congratulations you finally did succeed
Congratulations for leaving me in need
This morning I looked out my window and found
A bluebird singing but there was no one around
At night I lay alone in my bed
With an image of you goin’ around in my head
Congratulations for bringing me down
Congratulations now I’m sorrow bound
Congratulations you got a good deal
Congratulations how good you must feel
I guess I must have loved you more than I ever
My world is empty now cause it don’t have
And if I had just one more chance to win your
I would do things differently but what’s the use to
Congratulations for making me WEAK
Congratulations now it’s too late
Congratulations you came out on top
Congratulations you never did know when to stop
Engaging a Disengaged Generation (Photo credit: drinksmachine)
Social Media seems a contradiction in terms. I may not know the true definition of vast or deep but I can grasp the basics when it comes to cyberspace. I am, after all, the internet generation.
At the young age of almost 23 there are things I know and as shown, a shit load of things I will never get. For example, the Bears as my F-troop, likes to call themselves, are appropriately named. For the women I’ve come across in the barracks showers are in need of a shave and a mowing! Most stand proud of their heritage, but, down in the bushes, the trenches with these gay gals, I would get myself to the nearest pair of scissors and razors I could find. Bears indeed. Personally, as stated before, I hate pubic hair. I’m not a fan of vaginas and I am a horrible excuse for a lesbian.
That is where social media in likes of Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Buzz net and whatever come into play. Typically, as I am doing right this very moment, I am grabbing hold of every socially unacceptable outlet I can find. I am jamming the airwaves with these thoughts:
‘I can’t believe I am stuck with these hairy and homely back alley losers!’
‘Wow, I thought my breasts dragged!’
And, my favorite tweet to Zoey:
‘Girls like the one’s I’m seeing make me want to bat for the other team!’
There you have it.
You have me, Ambien Grace, Bared in Bear Blue, being social. And, you also have me, giving the whole inept twenty-something generation, something to mull over.
Perhaps this is the problem that the weird and older generation fears the most. My lack of sincerity when it comes to issues of importance.
Really does it matter if Bella from the Saga is real or not? Is it significant that I had sex all over the linoleum of my former place of employment?
Should it be of more importance that the breezes of change could come up to Winchester Virginia hit me in the face like a wet thong and I would only feel the need to put on a windbreaker!
Supposing my now defunct best friend, Beckett Couvillioin the third, went up to a stranger and made an attempt to befriend them. Wagged his tail and bowed his head. Say, the stranger, stayed aloof and put off. Do you really think that the dog would go back for some more indifference the next time he spotted the Not Animal Advocate? Shit, no, Beckett would ever so gracefully turn to one side and lift his leg…and, leave a legacy for all to smell.
Perhaps it would be best if my decisions with social media were left up to the dogs. LMAO…could be some truth in that statement.