I was sucked in.

I was tearing my hair out over that video.  I bet the creator would like to know that.  Maybe I should send him a link to the blog.

I do not hate gay men who take hostages to help them hide.  I hate being the hostage.  I hate that they think they have to.  This was all sorted out, written about, “worked through” in 1979.  It was the erotica more than the emotions that got me stirred up today.  The images of Stephen Colbert and Paul Dinello are so erotic I can’t stop thinking about them.

What I need is something to get wild about that doesn’t involve Colbert.  But meanwhile, it was good to feel the old fire again.  I thought it had been extinguished.

Get up, stand up/ Stand up for your rights!/ Get up, stand up/ Don’t give up the fight!

We shall overcome!

Any day now, any day now. I shall be released.

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Published in: on April 28, 2011 at 7:28 pm  Leave a Comment  

Why I Fought for Gay Rights

Copied from a message board I belong to, after viewing a “montage”  fan video of Stephen Colbert and Paul Dinello in their roles as closeted gay lovers in the show Strangers With Candy. 

Can I be real here?  I cried and cried over this.  Not for the reasons I should, but in bitter anger at men who lie and decieve us, promise us lives of partnership, bend over backward to “please” faithful women, even give us children, then suddenly PULL THE RUG OUT and leave us broken and stripped and wounded and gushing the blood of our souls and expect us to say, “Oh, how wonderful that you no longer have to live a lie!”  NO!  YOU BASTARD!  Where is my husband?  Is he in there at all?

This is why gay men and women need to come out. You hear a lot about what they have to deal with, but nothing about the people they take as hostages while running in terror from what they’ve learned.  The more people come out, the more “normal” it will seem to our gay children who come after us.  Maybe our kids won’t make the mistakes we did.

Like everything else, I believe one way to deal with this is laughter.  I insist on laughing at things, tragic and ridiculous alike.  But the juxtaposition of the image of Mr. Noblet crying on his desk with words like this —   

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love 
. . .  I’m living in an age
That screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There’s no one in sight

— was just too fucking much to bear.

Published in: on April 28, 2011 at 11:52 am  Leave a Comment  

Poetry on the Porch

Coming soon.

Published in: on April 24, 2011 at 5:50 pm  Leave a Comment  

Books, from ColbertNation — edit this

The end [of Watership Down] was well-handled in the movie version, which I admit surprised me.  I would recommend the movie version only for children, and only those whom we magically know will never read the book.  An epic like Watership Down can’t be fit into two hours.  But I give them credit for trying to convey the spirit of the book.

Franny and Zooey, by J. D. Salinger.  I despise the entire Glass family except Buddy, but I was shaken to the foundations by the end of that one.  Out of the mouth of an asshole like Zooey Glass come the words I needed to hear.  Salinger was a wizard, a seer.  He left us many years before his physical death, but what a legacy.

The Book of Certitude (Kitab-i-Iqan), revealed by Baha’u’llah.  “. . . man can never hope to attain unto the knowledge of teh All-Glorious, can never quaff from the stream of divine knowledge and wisdom, can never enter the abode of immortality, nor partake of the cup of divine nearness and favour, unless and until he ceases to regard the words and deeds of mortal men as a standard for the true understanding and recognition of God and Hhis Prophets.”   So much for making fun of the hypocrites.  I shall leave that to Stephen Colbert.

Alcoholics Anonymous.  Since I don’t use my name here, what the heck. 

Small Hands, because I wrote it.  It isn’t available.  It’s one of the few things I’ve actually completed in my life.  There’s also a novel I’m still writing, whose characters keep saying things that amaze me.  I recommend trying to write a novel.  Seriously.

On another topic, not a book per se:  I wrote a Fan Fic about SC that I liked so much I changed his name and identifying characteristics (for the most part) and I learned a huge lesson:  Porn is pretty easy to write.  Dan and I have been having an especially thorough conjugal relationship.

Published in: on April 24, 2011 at 7:47 am  Leave a Comment  

Easter Morning, 2011

The tormented Baha’i woke up beside the Athiest Jew and praised God for him.  Then she went to shake the Christian, whose alarm was sounding throughout the apartment.  Alas, he had again been up all night and now wouldn’t be going to church on his first Easter as a Believer.

There are a few eggs in the fridge, there is an empty basket on the kitchen window sill, grass outside, and no Peeps — I held them in my hands at Redner’s but didn’t buy because the Christian is on a regimen and doesn’t want to be tempted.  Also they contain gelatin, which the Athiest Jew can’t have, being a vegetararian.  Not a  vestige of Easter  or what it celebrates, except in my heart.

I want to hold these two guys in my arms forever.  I want to take their hands and lead a prayer that starts and doesn’t stop.  I want them to feel their Goodness reborn.  I want Jesus to remark to Baha’u’llah, “That is one unusual family.”

Hallelujah.

Published in: on April 24, 2011 at 7:07 am  Leave a Comment  

The Pain of Loving

Emotional Healing

11-11-03

I was at one of those mind-boggling AA meetings tonight, where everybody who shared had something I needed to hear. It was also the kind of meeting where drinking was rarely and only briefly touched on. The topic was something like, responsibilities, commitment, and faithfulness. It took off in many different directions! Every woman present had an opportunity to share, and after I talked a little about my commitment to New Beginnings (aka “the Woxall meeting”) and the Sumneytown Women’s Group, I found myself recounting my experience with Dianne and how it affected my life.

Dianne is a woman I became friends with very rapidly in my twenties. We were inseparable for a few years. Besides Margaret, Dianne was the closest female friend I ever had, and I know that at the time I was hers as well. We went through a lot together and both of us made sacrifices for the relationship. She had some serious mental health “issues” such as dissociation, and made one suicide attempt, after which I sat by her bed all night. She was also hospitalized several times. We were roommates for awhile, neighbors for awhile, and co-conspirators in many unrealized business ventures. Our homes were always open to one another, and I was friends with her husband as she was with Larry.

Shortly before Larry died, Dianne washed her hands of me! But when he died, she came to my office to tell me. (Let me mention that his death was a shattering loss for her as well.) A couple of months later she went ballistic and began to “confront” me on an addiction I was in recovery from. She made a scene in a restaurant and later came to my house and telephoned a psychiatric hotline and told them to come get me right away. It was awful. What I did that she couldn’t forgive was to say, “Dianne, get out of my house.”

I decided on reflection that my relationship with Dianne was worth mending at any cost. I tried to contact her, but she wouldn’t speak to me. I wanted to hire a mediator. I was determined that nobody’s Pride, not hers or mine, was going to destroy a friendship built on such a foundation. But Dianne continued to act out, making scenes when she saw me, leaving hateful messages on my answering machine, and generally putting quite a lot of energy into me. Eventually the crisis subsided, but the sense of emptiness did not.

The reason I’m going on so long about this is to make it clear that this was no fly-by-night girl-talk acquaintance. The loss of Dianne was like the loss of a partner, and so soon on the heels of Larry’s death the only way I could deal with it was to shut down. I closed my heart — at seven years sober, I closed my heart. That may sound strange, even to those who know me well, but other than my family members I continued, for nigh on ten years after that horrible winter, to by any means necessary not let anybody close enough to devastate me like I was devastated in 1990. Even though I continued to be social to an extent, particularly with other moms, and to mill around after AA meetings and sponsor people, I let them get just so close and no closer.

(Parenthetically, if it weren’t for Harley being born and needing mothering, I believe my heart would have dried up completely. But I digress.)

About three years ago I made a change. Through a series of events, it became clear to me that I had to learn to forgive and to open my heart. It was a chance I was granted, and I took it. As scary as it was, I began to write affirmations like, “I will answer hatred with love. I will answer meanness with compassion. I will embrace my enemies.” (And I did, literally.) I remembered a journal entry I’d made, that said, in part, “God keeps telling me that His Will for me isn’t this choice or that, this path or that — for I can be equally happy either way — but simply that I live my life in a certain way. Do my work. Be kind. Serve with love. Flee fornication. Forgive. Forgive. Forgive.” Three years ago I began to deliberately make those changes, not knowing how much my life would change. All this I shared at the Sumneytown Women’s Group tonight.

After the meeting another member came up and began to express how like mine her defensive I-won’t-let-you-hurt-me stance had been. She was sharing about how she too used to keep people at a distance. After something she said, I replied, “Yeah, and you know, it’s not that I don’t feel that pain sometimes, it’s that I don’t mind it now! I embrace it.” And that’s when it hit me: I was embracing the pain of loving. Not only was I not building defenses and retreating from it, I was embracing it. It was like a light was turned on.

In the car, driving myself home, I suddenly remembered a line from the chapter on love in Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet,” which I have not read in over twenty years: To be wounded by your own understanding of love, and to bleed willingly and joyfully.

And that’s where I’m at today.

Published in: on April 23, 2011 at 11:44 am  Leave a Comment  

Enabling E-Mail

Just what I need. Another way to send things to myself.

Published in: on April 23, 2011 at 11:04 am  Leave a Comment  

I Hate This

I can’t get the Computer Powers That Be to let me copy and paste an essay from Word.

Published in: on April 23, 2011 at 10:55 am  Leave a Comment  

Dan coming today.

Harley sleeping.

Mark Knopler (Wild Mountain Thyme) in my ears.

Folgers in my cup.

Life is good.

Published in: on April 23, 2011 at 8:21 am  Leave a Comment  

Perspective

Published in: on April 22, 2011 at 3:05 pm  Leave a Comment