JOURNAL EXCERPTS 1994
Journal entries are listed in descending order ~ oldest entries are on top.
Are we so insecure as people, that we need to attach ourselves to others as quickly as possible, to ensure our safety in the pack? This pack of wolves? beasts? smelly... dangerous... heterosexual men? I'm going to HATE this class. They're all straight. I've ONLY met three gay men in my entire time here. There are probably more gay men cruising the piers in pearl harbor. I really don't like the people in this class. I want to sit on the floor. I really do. People probably think I'm so demented... and what if I am? What if I'm borderline psychotic? Is it just an attitude? It's not like I want to kill anybody or anything... not anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore. SOMEONE TALK TO ME! I'm going STIR crazy. I have no friends. No one loves me. NOT. I'm simply sexually frustrated, and that is slowly filtering out into the rest of my life. I'm pathetic. I'm bored. I'm tired. I'm hungry (can't eat, I'm on a diet) I'm bored. I'm really horny. I'm definitely not well. I sound like an airhead . "What will I wear? I am just there. I'm just so NOT impressed."
I hate these people.
I hear the stairs... They're coming. The stairs... They're coming!
They are really coming... Monsters under my bed, mommy!
"Are there really angels?"
REFLECTION: I had issues. LOL. Still on the same diet. I used to love just writing down whatever odd and random thoughts would travel through my head. The process can often be surprisingly therapeutic.
Later that Friday
This guy in my Friday class has a truly amazing ass. I'm really impressed. I don't know if it's the jeans, or what... but it's really outstanding. A truly amazing ass. I'm really amazed. I love the way a man smells. I really like that guy's ass. I wonder if he'll lend it to me, or if he rents it out? What's his name? Who cares... with an ass like that... his name could be "Hula-Mula-Munchkin", for all I care.
I saw Anna, and we started talking about that guy's ass.
I saw Francine, and we started talking about that guy's ass. What was his name?
REFLECTION: He really did have a fabulous ass. Never did find out what his name was. LOL.
September 22, 1994
Last Thursday was the scariest day of my life. I can only thank God that I'm here today. My sister, her 18 month old baby (Bianca) and I went to Rag Shop (a large store dedicated to fabrics and crafts). When she was waiting on line to pay, she told me to go put the baby in the van. I carried little Bianca out the door. Her little arms were wrapped around my neck. I stopped at the edge of the street. My body felt a horrible chill. I stared out at the parking lot. My eyes seemed to fix on a pale beige car. I started to walk slowly towards our van, but I took only two steps. The beige car came speeding out of its space. It turned, went over a side curb, and was heading straight towards me and Bianca. I clutched her head close to me, turned and ran. Suddenly, I felt something hard bang into my leg. The car had hit me. "Don't fall" was all I could think of. Then I saw my sister come out of the store. Her face turned pale. I barely managed to scream at her "Run! Run!". The car was coming straight towards the store. We got inside all right, but I almost collapsed on the floor. The car ended up smacking into a brick column outside the store. We were safe inside. No one was hurt. My leg was fine, not even a bruise. Even the driver, an elderly woman, was all right. The owner of the store looked over at me, his face was pale white. "The car was less than two inches behind you the entire time." He said. I was sitting on the floor now, trying to catch my breath. I looked up. My niece was there smiling at me. Then she smacked me on the forehead, and giggled.
The one question I hate being asked the most:
I don't hear this often here in the city, but back in high school (in NJ), when some people found out I was gay, and the look of either shock or disgust faded from their faces. They said it. The famous question... "How did you get that way?" wondering if something traumatic had occurred to cause my condition. I usually answered, "I fell out of the crib at an early age, and have never truly been the same since."
I guess I was the first real gay person some people met. In high school, I never hid it. I didn't play the "No, I'm straight. I have a girlfriend." -bit, but I wasn't flamboyant about it either. I don't march in parades screaming "I'm queer! I'm here! Get used to it!" Part of me thinks that's annoying. I mean, honestly, If I had some fanatic heterosexual next to me yelling "I'm straight! It's great! Let's procreate!" I'd think I'd go crazy.
I know for sure, that during my "foundation" year at SVA, I was the first "real-not-a-television-character" gay person some people met. And yes, I did hear the typical questions - "Do you like being THAT way?", "Why don't you try to change?" EXCUSE ME? "Why don't YOU try to change?" I dealt with the dumb questions and rude looks... and after all that, managed to change a few people's opinions about gay men. I didn't fit the harsh stereotype. I don't have any earrings (yet). I'm not feminine. I don't design clothing, cut hair or decorate apartments (except my own). I'm just me. It may not be a lot, but it's all me... and if that's till too much for people to deal with - that's fine. It doesn't phase me.
A lot of people I used to know refused to talk to me when they discovered I was "that way". They actually avoided me. Not only was that shallow, but truly sad, that some people still can't see beyond that homophobic wall.
REFLECTION: The need for, and fight for individuality has caused more pain and grief for countless beautiful people. Being Black, Asian, Hispanic, gay, overweight, short, or whatever else is currently not deemed to be the norm - becomes a battle for acceptance for that person. The truth of it is that bigotry serves a purpose: as long as we are pointing that vicious little finger of prejudice at someone else, and zeroing in on what's "wrong" with THEM, we don't have to examine and face our own insecurities.
To All the Men I've Loved Before
(at least the ones who told me their names)
1. A.V. ~ My first, and honestly, considering how things went... I'm surprised he wasn't my last. We dated for about 8 months (an accomplishment in its own right) and broke up twice. We met for the second time at a party, and he must have been impressed, because he dumped his girlfriend to pursue me. The first time we had sex was in my parent's house. His was the first hard dick (other than my own) that I had seen and touched. It was about 2.5" to 3" smaller than mine, and had a really funny hook curve to it (Captain Hook). At the time I thought it was the best sex I had ever had, but then again... I had nothing else to compare it to.
He was a musician, and I was surprised he was able to blow that clarinet as well as he did, all things considered. Bastard never invited me to any of his concerts. I've got a couple of suggestions where he can put that clarinet now... real talent if he could still make music. Do I sound bitter?
Well, we officially broke up in August of 92. I went over to his house. There he was, fresh out of a shower, dripping wet, in a towel, and what were the words out of his mouth? "I think I'm going straight, I can't stand the stress! but we can still be friends." FRIENDS!?!
Looking back at this moment... I don't blame Lorena Bobbit one bit for what she did. Actually, seeing as how the majority of men I've dated have been trash, I think someone should give that crazy bitch a pair of sharp garden shears and set her loose on the streets on New York.
The G. Brothers
2. W.G. ~ We both attended the same high school. I think he was a year behind me. We had a one-time encounter a few months after A.V. & I broke up. I think I was just very lonely. He was a real queen, and not usually my type. If I recall correctly, his motto was "I'll lick you from cover to cover, and you'll never recover!" I still haven't. He had a strangely colored penis too. It was pale gray with a bright red head. I told my best friend, Mabelyn, about it. We called it "festive". After awhile everyone at the high school started using the word "festive" in a sentence around W.G. "My, you look festive today", "Those colors are so festive", "What a festive hat!". He called Mabelyn one day, and asked her if I was telling people his dick looked like a Christmas tree... He still called me several times after that incident to tell me he wanted my dildo up his ass."Deck the halls, honey..." >snap<
3. Big Brother ~ I had met W.G.'s Big Brother while taking a "walk" through the park. He looked familiar to me. Fifteen minutes later... we finished our "walk".
Early that September, Mabelyn had to sign up for her fall courses at the university, she was attending. I went with her. As fate would have it, W.G. was on the same line at the admissions office, escorted by Big Brother. They both said hello to me at the same time and looked at each other with that... "You know him?" glance, as a big "OOPS" grin appeared on MY face.
Now Available on VHS
4. F.C. ~ F.C. was the most beautiful black man I have ever seen. He had a beautiful face, and an outrageously defined dancer's body. Too bad it didn't go any further than that impassioned kiss at Excalibur's on my 19th birthday. His father found his diary, found out he was gay, and wanted him to seek therapy.
REFLECTION: I have since seen A.V. in several "compromising situations" that have proven that his attempt to go straight had failed. (Particularly a picture of him at a club called Kurfew, dancing "80's & Classics Vocal House". Kurfew? Doesn't that imply felony?) The real issue behind my anger towards him is that he dismissed me. He, and every other man in my life since, has been able to simply walk away without a second thought or glance. I guess it's taken me eight years to be able to look back and say my anger was unjustified. I never forgave myself for not forgiving him. I had, and still have a romanticized view of "love". We were each barely nineteen. I didn't know what I wanted out of life, or what direction I was going to take. How could I have expected him to know? He had very strict parents (especiallhy his father), and a rigid upbringing... that coupled with the level of anxiety that dealing with an "alternative" sexuality can bring on WAS overwhelming. I'm sure he did the best that he could, and has continued to do so. NOT. W.G. is just trash. F.C. Is now a porn star.
Monday, October 10, 1994
You know you're a lazy mother-fucker, when you take the elevator up to the second floor.
Wednesday, October 12, 1994
Early in grammar school I was hailed "Gaylord" by all the other little children. They seemed to know I was gay, even before I did. I was a "GAYLORD" - Not a FAG, or a QUEER, or a QUEEN - No! - I was a GAYLORD - I was "Lords of the Gays"... not to be mistaken with "Lord of the Dance" which is even gayer! It wasn't until high school that I was finally crowned FAGGOT.
REFLECTION: Humor is a great icebreaker. It also serves as a cloak to hide a great deal of pain.
Why are people so anal, that if we discover something... it HAS to be named after them?
Hints for Happiness
(Not in any particular order)
1. Always say "Thank you" to the bus driver and/or train conductor.
2. Take pictures of parks and pretty things.
3. Smile at ugly children. It makes them feel better.
4. Shave your head at least once in your life.
5. Shave your ass at least twice.
6. Call your grandparents. Call them something nice.
7. Shamelessly enjoy erotica.
8. Give every homeless person you see a quarter... then ask them for change.
9. Keep fresh batteries in your flashlight, and keep it handy.
10. Always carry your own toilet paper.
Why do I always sit next to the most irritating people? Is my gay-dar defective? He is so irritating. They are all irritating me. These people are all... wait... can everyone in this room be irritating? or is it... me?
Understanding is a golden chalice.
Why do we do the things we do? Why do we say the things we say? Is that a Beetles song? Why am I single? Am I ugly? NO, I've seen ugly. I'm not it. I wish I was on the bus going home. I have to fart.
Tuesday, October 18, 1994
My mom woke us up. She felt she had high blood pressure. So, we are at the emergency room at Palisade General Hospital. The Surgeon already spoke to us. She's fine. Her nerves are shot. She is such an exaggerated human being. I look like shit. My hair looks like a mushroom. My clothes are dirty. The ER is full of the ugliest people in NJ. My dad is looking over my shoulder to see what I'm writing. I missed class today. I'm so bored. The TV is on. The Crisis in Haiti is on television. I'm so bored. I hate the hospitals. I'm amazed how calm I remain in crisis situations. That's nice to know. The security guard is really good looking. The news is boring. My father is anxious. He wants to know what I'm writing. Why I'm writing. The Queen of England has visited Moscow. I don't want to sit here and watch this TV.
REFLECTION: Detachment seemed almost second nature at one point for me.
A wall of fire burns
A wall of stone barricades
A wall of ice shimmers
A wall of water cleanses
A wall of air blows away
A wall of hate destroys
A wall of fear oppresses
A wall of ignorance represses
A wall of pain surrenders
A wall of strength defends
A wall of hope rebuilds
Madison Square Park
park benches covered in pigeon shit ~ the taste of orange juice in my throat ~ sunlight splattered on buildings ~ man on bike ~ sound of bike wheels ~ squirrels run around ~ lady and a carriage ~ Geri's voice ~ green grass ~ crusty leaves ~ gnarled tree ~ cute guy ~ nice ass ~ ugly guy ~ no ass ~ benches ~ homeless ~ air ~ trucks ~ baby crying ~ tire screeching ~ flowers ~ bus ~ benches ~ homeless man ~ red jacket ~ fine man with a limp ~ pigeons ~ old people ~ splat of pigeon shit ~ a homeless couple ~ pigeon shadow ~ dreadlocks ~ leaving now.
October 31st, 1994
Why am I even here? it's Monday - I hate this class - I truly think this teacher is an imbecile, but I need the two history credits. Cute guy just walked in - that's why I'm here. Was everybody part of some great big cosmic band that flopped & I never heard about it?
These were on the board, so I wrote them down:
Wang Shimin ~ Wang Jian ~ Wang Yuan ~ Wang Hui ~ Wu Li
Yun Shouping ~ Kung Hushen ~ Tao Chi ~ Tai Chi- Tan Tien ~ Wu Wei ~ Wee Wee
I miss Michelle. I haven't seen her in over three weeks. I really don't want to be here. I wish I was in the lounge. I want a "funky big band".
Tuesday November 8th, 1994
I used to be so friendly. I would make it a point to know everyone's name. Now I could care less. Have I become an asshole? No... I still cry at sad movies, even at sad cartoons. I don't know why. I haven't lost my emotions, they've just become shielded. Still, I wish I was friendlier... more approachable. Perhaps, there is so much within myself that I disapprove of (the constant flirting, the one-night stands) that I feel that no one can really look at me and respect me once they actually know me.
You will find that the shame is like the pain ~ you only feel it once.
I can fit my entire fist up my jeans are new york is not as bad as mother believes
in God lives by the lake side of Geneva. I want to funk.
I hate life. I feel like everyone is looking at me... waiting for me to do or say something spectacular.
November 9th, 1994
The shadows used to move. I remember crying, alone in a corner... afraid of the dark; of what was hiding there... of what was going to come and get me. Now, I love the shadows, the darkness that wraps my room, and the warmth that those shadows bring. I fear the light... where everything is exposed, and we stand as who we are, and everyone can see what would otherwise be hidden in shadow. I fear violence and death, and cruelty... which now exist out in the light, with no place to hide or escape to. I fear time and regret... to look back in my old age and see nothing substantial looking back at me.
November 11th, 1994
Anxiety has yet to dominate me. My Discover Card payment is due and I have no money for it. I'm single, I'm incredibly horny, and I'm sitting in the lounge with just my journal and handsome, nameless strangers (there is a Goddess after all!).
REFLECTION: Ironically, as I am typing this - I have realized that my Discover Card payment is due and I have no money to pay for it. I am STILL single, still horny, and I'm sitting in my living room with just my journal in hand.
At night he holds me in his arms and says "I love you", and kisses my lips as his hands grab my legs. My neck is made wet and warm from his kisses. My body is sore from his caresses. The first time we made love felt like being caught inside a storm. He lives only at night, and in the morning vanishes with the ring of my alarm clock. I've never seen his face, or his eyes, or his lips, or his arms. I've never felt his hands, his legs, his thighs. He is a dream I have never fully dreamt... a faceless name I heard as a whisper in my ear... the lover of my deepest soul. I am afraid that he will always be there, but I'll never meet him.
November 23rd, 1994
I'm not jealous of anything. I'm currently single... so, there's no one to be jealous of about. I'm not jealous over things people own. I'm not really the jealous type. I'm very secure with myself (who was I kidding?), and jealousy is brought on by insecurities. I guess, I'm just rambling ~ La La La ~ BULLSHIT I have been jealous... Last time I was jealous, my x-boyfriend started seeing this basketball player with an I.Q. of 2 behind my back. When I found out I gave him an ultimatum. He ended up dumping us both 4 months later for his x-girlfriend. I'll never date a bisexual again! No, I hope they move to Ohio, and that he and have hundreds of degenerate children who grow up to leech off every cent he makes. I don't think I'm the jealous type. I am SO bitter. I should send them a Christmas card: "Merry Christmas to Mr. Little Crooked Penis and his wife. Honey, are you aware that your MAN has had a nine inch dildo up his fucking ass?"
Handcuffed, tied and blindfolded, naked and sweaty, where am I? In a house that's been swept away in a hurricane. Dorothy on her way to Oz. I've landed. Hundreds of naked little munchkins dancing around a sparkling drag-queen... it's Glinda, the Diva-bitch of the North. I wanna go home. Follow the yellow dick road to the Emerald Clity.
November 26th, 1994
I feel like I haven't written anything profound. Do I have to be profound?
Tuesday, November 29th, 1994
I blame myself. The way my life is now is due to my thoughtless actions. I've tried playing the roles of ever-happy, always smiling friend, brother, trusted confident, submissive lover and failed. I've turned around to find myself alone. I have few friends, few good ones. My best friend has her own life, and I'm no longer an important part of it. I'm not jealous that she's in love. She's found someone wonderful. I hope I will too someday, but right now I'm alone. I've reached out to so many people in friendship, only to have my hand slapped aside. I'm not saying that I need to be the center of everyone's attention all the time, but I'll admit - having the spotlight shine on me once and awhile again wouldn't be so bad. Everyone needs their fifteen minutes of fame. I've always wanted to be the center of someone's world, you know. Someone who would care about my needs, my wants. Someone to love, just me. That's possessive, I guess, and that's wrong. I don't want to control someone. Just feel important. I just want to be special in someone's life. Is that wrong? Is that selfish? I hope it isn't. I wish I was pretty. I'm not. I wish I had a perfect body. I don't. I guess I'm a nonconformist. I want what I don't have. I want a job. I want more money. I have so many bills. Why am I gay? I've suffered so much in my life because of it, I can't lie and say I've been strong, and nothing bothers me. I've been spit at on the streets of my hometown. Speeding cars have yelled at me calling me "faggot" or "homo". I came OUT in high school, but honestly, I was never really IN. What is pornography? I am a human being, and I deserve respect. Why have I been denied that? I've lost literally a hundred friends. Someone, who at the time was my best friend yelled at me. "Do you think I would hang out with you if you were gay? Do you think I would let you near my little brother?" I died. Our friendship ended. She failed in her role of a friend. My Mother has always been a rubber stamp, always agreed to what Daddy said... but curses him behind his back. Dad is just a checkbook.
My sister has her own life now. A new life. A better one. I'm happy for her. Her baby is beautiful (she has two now). I wish them only happiness. Where are my people? Where is my happiness? My art is all I have. The only one thing I can say is mine. In there, I create a world: a world where I am God - controlling everything and everyone the way I want things to be. I am ashamed. I sit in the back, alone, away from everyone. No one says, "Hi Robert". The phone doesn't ring with "Good morning, Baby". Alone. I want to scream and say - "I'm here" I want to be acknowledged. Here I am. Sit next to me. Do I know what I really want from life? 1. A lover / life companion 2. My own apartment 3. A good career 4. Happiness. Is that asking a lot? I hope not. That's all I need. A life for myself, free of trouble, of pain, of concern, of trauma - who am I fooling? I'm tired of the pain. I'm tired of crying. I want to be free. Free of the chains that have held me down for the past twenty years. I'm so needy for love that I'll look for it anywhere. I won't turn it away from anyone. I don't want to die - I don't want to get AIDS. I want to live. I want to live. I want to live.
Why are some serial killers motivated by sexual desires?