“Duncan, Oklahoma”
Written 1 October 2018 in Payne County, Oklahoma.
Brian Fuchs, “Duncan, Oklahoma” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)
Posted 29 August 2020
“Quentin Clingerman Has Died”
Quentin Clingerman Has Died
The winds are picking up
blowing trash into my yard
and announcing a storm that will
fall apart before it arrives.
The worn out flags and crosses
still look as majestic as they did,
but I’m opening by insides
and filling my pages with secrets.
I’m waiting for critiques
by entrenched folks who think
too much about the sex lives
of other people, of my sex life.
I want to reveal myself again,
try to make people see my words
and my techniques and stop worrying
about who I’ve kissed or
who I haven’t, but wanted to.
I want to edit volumes of poetry
about God and America and guns,
poems filled with the lies we tell ourselves
and enjoy them because the author
knew how to write the words beautifully.
I don’t want to read the judgement.
It starts to rain and I’m surprised;
I thought the rain would miss us.
Written 21 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.
Brian Fuchs, “Quentin Clingerman Has Died” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)
“Gleditsia triacanthos”
Gleditsia triacanthos
You were beautiful once, and maybe you still are.
I rarely revisit those moments when we became adults
on Sunday mornings, skipping church for each other.
I don’t think about the length of your neck
and I don’t dwell on the smell of you skin.
I’ve turned you upside down, exposed the roots
and tried to understand how they worked,
rubbing the soil into the grooves of my skin.
I don’t want to return to your kindness or cruelty,
and I don’t want to put you back how I found you;
Your branches are thorny and I’d end up hurt again.
So, I’ll repaint the photos I have of you in new colors
and we can pretend that there were no feelings.
And I’ll send you copies of the new versions
and you can pretend that you don’t remember.
Written 18 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.
Brian Fuchs, “Gleditsia triacanthos” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)
“Pieces of Dissected Butterflies”
Pieces of Dissected Butterflies
I left Tulsa when my friends had died
and we were all set adrift, angry and lost,
wondering if staying meant more of us would die.
I tried to go to Dallas, to a life I wanted.
They boys swarm thickly there,
and I still wonder if my days would have been
spent in the beds of strangers if I’d gone there.
I’ve always longed for the beds of strangers,
to feel taken for granted and awkward.
In moving, I detoured, finding myself in Anchorage,
near the place where my dad spent his youth,
carried on winds I rode for too long, or just long enough.
I was not qualified for life in Alaska,
not qualified for the men who had gone there.
But I was determined to find myself,
or to find Dad in the places where his friends still lived.
His youth was left in an Alaska that no longer exists,
so my mind found new reasons to keep me there.
I found the spaces I understood,
the pockets of the city that seemed familiar,
bookstores filled with other refugees,
of lives that had started to drift.
My mind invented the things I didn’t know
and the people around me became gods.
I didn’t question that, and I formed a religion.
Their lives were spent being perfect
in ways I could never spend my own life.
They are still gods; I pray to them in darkness,
my soul crying out to be acknowledged.
On cold mornings, I liked to price books,
scanning their barcodes and attaching a sticker.
I would think about my friends,
wonder about the shapes of their bodies,
and worry that they could hear my thoughts.
I’d worry that I was saying the thoughts aloud,
and I’d wait for Kevin to go upstairs to inject his insulin
so I could stop thinking about his waist.
I’m still thinking about his waist.
The decade I’ve had to reflect has made me more curious
and sometimes I worry that he can still hear my thoughts.
I have been dissecting butterflies,
stained glass wings pulled apart
by unwieldy spinning steel fingers
as I think about beauty and conformity,
praying to my gods, mindlessly offering
the insects as a tribute.
I didn’t intend this massacre
and in the lawn lie the tiny lifeless parts.
In the hot sun of the places of my youth,
I don’t have new shapes to fill my mind,
new boys to think about.
I dwell on the boys of my past.
I’m reaching back, feeling myself grasping
for people I can’t always recognize,
the names apparitions in my mind.
Some of the gods’ faces have merged & morphed.
I’m taking the ones I wanted the most,
or the ones I wanted to be the most,
and placing their pieces where I can sort them
and try to hold onto them in my mind.
I’m still thinking about waists and hips and shoulders,
still wondering about the firmness of skin.
They haven’t seen me wondering,
their lives have pulled them toward much happier places,
some growing beautifully in Alaska,
others found scattered by the winds
that had first deposited them near me.
The butterflies are whispering secrets,
understandably warning each other about me.
In new cities and states, in their new lives,
they think about the times we spent together
and I go on thinking about their bodies.
Written 12 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.
Brian Fuchs, “Pieces of Dissected Butterflies” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)
25 June – 1 July 2018
This is been an interesting week. I’ve been able to think about what it means to be proud, as LGBT Pride Month draws to a close. What is it about being a gay person that is worthy of pride. So many non-LGBT folks misunderstand the whole issue. Pride is not just about loving who you are. That is certainly important, and factors greatly into the concept of gay pride. The other element is loving who you are in spite of the oppression of society at large. It’s about saying that being authentic is more important than letting society’s negative messages dictate the aspects of one’s life. Straight people don’t have to think about it in the same terms. And now I’ve opened up a can or worms.
Oppression. It’s hard to explain this concept to those who don’t have to deal with it. I did not choose to be gay. It hardly bothers me, but it wasn’t like I was offered options when I was born. I am what I have always been. That said, the fact that I am gay factors into so many of the decisions I’ve had to make in my life. Things have changed in recent years, but I still couldn’t just plan a vacation to anywhere on earth I wanted to go. I’d need to research and find out how hostile a country is to the LGBT community before doing so, otherwise I could find myself in a situation. I have to consider carefully which jobs to apply for, as it is still legal in most places (Oklahoma included) to fire a person for being gay. I have kept my distance from the church I grew up in, and where I would still attend. I don’t want to make other people uncomfortable, and they would. When I read a magazine or watch TV commercials, the message is always that straight people can show their affection in public and gay people cannot. Well, 99.9% of the time, and even then only in places that are safe for the message. If it ever came up, I currently have the right to marry the person I love, but that is a very new thing. And it’s another place where people misunderstand how rights work. I don’t understand what people mean when they say that gay people being given the same right to marry as straight people is giving us “more rights.” It’s really just the same, and the idea that I always had the right to marry as long as I married a woman is dismissive and ridiculous. I would love to raise children, but it can be hard to find a place to adopt children as a gay person. Some ignorant people think it matters, or that gay people cannot have the values necessary to raise children. That’s just misinformation used to prevent children in need from receiving the homes they need. And now we are starting to see government-sanctioned discrimination, specifically those who offer goods or services to the public being allowed to exclude gay people for simply being gay. There are multiple issues I have with this whole thing. First, if you offer things to the public, you don’t get the right to pick and choose your customer. These people denying cakes to gay couples aren’t likely asking their other customers questions to determine if their beliefs line up. And that makes the whole thing arbitrary. If a company want to only bake cakes for Baptist weddings, or for Catholic weddings, that would be a business model that allowed for an exclusive clientele and would not be discriminatory. My other big issue with these “religious freedom” people is that refusing to do business with gay people actually negates their argument. Jesus did not say to love your neighbor, except that one over there. He did not say be in the world, not of the world, unless you see a gay guy and then don’t even be in the world. If you are saying that serving those you don’t understand goes against your beliefs, then I don’t understand what beliefs you are even trying to defend. It’s not Christianity. It seems that there is a new ‘Murica religion, based on the idea that if you are not white, straight, and wrapped in an American flag, you are the enemy. It’s a cult, not a religion. Straight people don’t have to deal with things like this, specifically straight white people. And when I hear people talk about “Straight Pride Month” or things of that nature I get frustrated. Every month is “Straight Pride Month,” and y’all don’t have to fight for dignity.
And so it is sometimes hard to keep my head up as a gay person. The world sometimes comes for us, and being proud is 
about saying “not today Satan.” It’s about showing that what other people think of us is not our problem, and it is about expressing our true selves. Because if we stop fighting and stop showing that we exist, we will be slowly asked to get back into the box and hidden away again. Things have been getting better for a while now, and I hope that these recent slips backward are just a blip, but we have a long way to go.
In other news, I got the new part of the flowerbed mulched. It’s looking good. I will eventually need to add edging of some sort. I don’t really know what I want there. The crapemyrltes I planted have started showing new growth, and the roses are continuing to do well.. mostly. The JFK & Copper roses did not make it this year, and I’ll just take that as an opportunity for new roses next Spring. I’d love to find a Herbert Hoover or a Mark Twain, or maybe even a Mme. Alfred Carrière climbing rose. I did get a couple of arborvitae, which I had intend to not plant until fall, but they were a good price and I don’t mind keeping a close eye on a couple for the summer.
I’ve started feeling more like getting back to the business of living my life. It’s remained a challenge for me, but I’m trying. Just staring off into the distance doesn’t solve anything.
Artists I Featured This Week: Konstantin Somov, Sergey Sovkov, & Ismael Álvarez
Other People I Featured This Week:
Tumblr Posts This Week:
“Seahorses”
Seahorses
We struggle for life, gasp for water
and we die, wriggling and contorting into position.
Our dried carcasses serve as amusement.
Fifty years we’ve been on display,
dust gathering in our rigid and bony structures,
souvenirs for those whose lives were more exciting.
They pull us out to reminisce about their wild youth,
our magic now stripped by time,
and they talk to each other about us and how they miss us.
Some of them forget about us,
about how we thrived in the waters before being rescued,
collected as memorials.
They don’t know about the vibrant reefs like we do,
about the others who didn’t make it or we carried back
to other grey places where they too would be forgotten.
Many of us are labeled for easy identification,
classified and sorted so onlookers can gaze at our husks
in wonderment or disgust… or a bit of both.
Our tiny bodies have become too numerous,
too many have been broken or discarded,
but most of us will fade into the dark obscurity, lost.
The new fashion has been to provide a tank,
to adopt a bit of our habitat and collect several specimens,
lives lived with names and memorialized
as members of families, temporary and disposable.
We exist as novelty, and still a part of their youth,
a part of that colorful past they will talk about one day,
sharing the photos with their children and grandchildren.
They’ll talk about us, about how much they love us,
pulling us from the drawers and boxes to prove themselves,
they’ll show videos they took of the tanks filled with water,
convinced that they are showing great love for us.
But when they are no longer beings asked to show off
their specimens, their carefully curated collections,
they’ll put us away again and go back to their real lives.
We will keep wishing that our dried bodies would stop
finding their way into souvenir shops of those who
do not want to dip into the water and experience our lives.
We don’t want to live in tanks either, playthings of people
who do not understand that our beauty has not been for them,
that our magic was meant for ourselves.
The sun is coming up on the horizon,
Christopher Street is quieter than it used to be,
and I wonder if a generation is coming
who will realize the world that was fought for,
and I wonder if they will long for the days
when they were precious trinkets of other people’s youth.
Written 1 July 2009 in Anchorage, Alaska & 5 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.
Brian Fuchs, “Seahorses” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)
“Open Your Arms”
Open your arms (and welcome Love)
A fervent plea to those people I’ve seen my Church family morphing into, slipping away from me, from Love. A prayer for the many who’ve seen the backs of their loved ones too often, shivering alone because they were misunderstood or openly judged for being human.
My neighbors turned towards themselves
and forgot my face.
Backs towards me with multitudes of assumptions.
My heart feels the hymns,
feels the joy still.
I’m unchanged.
My image fails me; refuses to take the shape of the mold
[the idyllic life]
the person I was supposed to be.
I’m neither broken nor lost.
I’m Love’s child, regardless of whispers and raised eyebrows.
My home,
our home.
I never felt so unwelcome from a family, silently, passively.
Judgments. Silence.
Silence.
From my perch high above the elders,
the deacons, the little old ladies
who wait for death on the third pew from the back,
my mind stretches, finding thoughts far from my body,
dreamily.
I welcome judgment.
Don’t pray for me in anger
or sorrow
or disappointment.
Don’t welcome be back from depravity.
Be family; be true to Love.
Love. Love.
Open your arms — not only to me,
not to selfish or petty concerns of mine,
open your arms because they should be open.
Because they are there for welcoming,
uncrossed and warm,
welcome the children, your family,
forgotten innocents,
the joyful, the content,
the exuberantly happy,
the depressed, and the angry.
Keep you arms open to those whose lives you don’t understand,
whose lives are full of light and laughter,
but cannot find comfort in rigid conformity.
I’ll join them too — march with them
into the auditoriums across distances,
across situational divides.
Be Love.
Kiss your neighbor on the forehead and have them over for dinner.
There is nothing important like Love.
There is nothing but Love.
There is Love.
Love.
And Love will take our hands — yours, mine,
the multitudes huddled in the rain.
We’ll find ourselves then.
We’ll free ourselves and be family again.
And selfish concerns and trivial differences will never be able to keep us apart.
8.21.2008
Featured Image Art: Michelangelo, “The Creation of Adam”
Out, Proud, & Loved (But Lonely)
Two days ago — on the eve of my mom’s birthday — I had a very long conversation with her. I was only recently able to have my phone turned back on and wanted to call and talk since it had been so long. It was a weird conversation, but one that reminded me of just how like my parents I am. The things I say, the way I phrase things, those quirks that tend to throw other people off go unnoticed to them. They get me because I am a product of them. I need to be reminded of that from time to time.
We discussed relationships and how my parents’ is one I use as a model for how people should interact with each other. They have an effortless marriage, carrying on their own lives, having their own friends, but wanting to share those lives with one another at the end of the day. They are inspirational.
Somehow, the conversation turned to me. Mom has never verbalized her acceptance of me being gay. I suspected that she had moved on and was less upset about it, but didn’t have anything to base that on. I do now. She choked herself up, assuring me that she understands me and accepts me. She gave a few examples of how this had caused her some pain — not because she didn’t accept it, but because she does and realizes how others view gay people, specifically in her church group.
I certainly wouldn’t have wished for my mom to know that part of it, but I am comforted that she is more aware of what life can be like for me. She said she loves my life because it is real… and that is true. I can be very real sometimes. I’ve grown so numb to the snickers and looks of disgust that I hardly notice them anymore. Honestly, they aren’t even that common, but it doesn’t phase me when those things do happen.
Finally, she let me know that I can share that part of my life with her. I think I really needed permission for that. Not that I have a love life to share, but now that I know that I can tell my family and they will be supportive rather than dismissive, I think my search might get easier. I guess I have been scared of dating, but I haven’t really been willing to admit it. Now what? 28 is a tough year to get out there. It is hard to find someone when I am so clueless about how to talk to guys or how to date… or any of it. I need help!
Something is in the air this year. My life is morphing and I really like where it is going. I really hope that good things result. I know my financial life will catch up eventually, so I have decided to stop worrying so much about it. Life seems pretty good right now.
Image: Franz Marc, “Füchse” (ca.1913)
Featured Image Art: photo of Brian
3+17+1997=10
3+17+1997=10 or “Relax a little; one of your most celebrated nervous tics will be your undoing.” -Frank O’Hara
This might mean nothing to anyone but me, but it felt important to share it. Today, St Patrick’s Day, 2007, marks the 10th anniversary of me coming out to my friends as gay. It has been quite a journey, but this is an account of what happened before. To understand the full extent of where I am, it is important to first understand where I was. This poem by Frank O’Hara expresses it in ways I couldn’t.
February
The scene is the same,
and though I try to imagine
plinking starry guitars,and while I spend my
time listening to a foreign
contralto sing the truth,the earth is everywhere,
brown and aching. At first
it seemed that this lifewould be different: born
again in someone else’s
arms, after seasons of childhoodand error and defense.
I thought freshly and tried
to change the color of myhabit. New metrics would be
mine in this excess of
love! but I was a braggartto hope so. My old hurts
kept attacking me at odd
moments, after too manysongs, on public conveyances,
in the blue light of bars. Ah!
I cried, do not blame me,save your temper for the
others! and at the same instant
in the same breath cried,break me! I dare you, for
which of us am I? you will
break yourself! And thisbecame only too true, the
worst of all possible vistas,
my lone dark land.–Frank O’Hara
That was me. It still is from time to time, wondering how my life is really different and hoping that I have really changed — grown. I was lost. I had desperately tried to force myself into someone I am not, agrily trying to “not be gay.”
The feeling that I was different started as early as 5 or 6. I didn’t know how, but I felt like there was something about me that wasn’t “normal.” What’s more, as a young child, I knew that there were things I needed to hide from my parents — things they wouldn’t understand. I don’t know how we come to these conclusions. My first crush on a boy happened in 4th grade, but I didn’t think much of it.
I remember a number of times during church activities, specifically Bible Bowl, when I would drift off into my own world of introspection, wondering how much love I would find in these people if they knew this awful truth about me. I pretended to have crushes, marking my papers with the most obvious name, hoping to be caught pining for one of my teammates. I quickly became outspoken over my disdain for the public education system’s willingness to teach homosexuality as acceptable. I was turning on myself and was only 14.
The one thing I took away from that part of my life was self-loathing. And I could have ended up with some great experiences and memories, but the pain of being something you don’t want to be was very difficult to deal with.
A couple years later, I found myself washing dishes daily at my first job. I had gotten in through a series of somewhat unusual events, but was enjoying it greatly. I had started to realize that I would have to face this part of myself. I couldn’t hide behind hatred any longer, but I was terrified at what that would mean.
The climate of the world for gays was very different in 1995 & 1996. From my teenaged perspective, it seemed like the dark ages. I didn’t want to indetify with them. There were no gay characters on television, no role models. If I were to accept being gay as who I actually am, I felt that I would be giving up; giving in to what I had been taught to believe is wrong. Furthermore, I was saying to the world that I accepted that I would have no place to fit in; no safe place to run to when life became too much.
Let me back up for just a second. I don’t actually remember my parents (or their parents) having ever spoken about the issue of homosexuality. I never had reason to believe they had thought about it at all. Neither do I recall any lessons in church concerning it. I remember lessons on love and compassion, but never about how wrong gays were. My lessons on this subject were from specific people, friends, who had “moral” objections to certain “lifestyle choices.” I didn’t want to be anything that would upset these people.
I was feeling rather exhausted about the whole issue and was no longer doing well in school. I spent my days worrying about turning into this pariah I didn’t want to be, all the while sitting in the car with my friends, or over at their house, a little removed from the group… from the situation. I was starting to feel like I was enormous, trapsing around people’s houses, hopind desperately to blend in and not be noticed, but failing. I started to discuss issues with my coworker and friend, hoping to find wisdom in her words. It turned out to not be so easy.
In June 1996, I made one of the weirdest mistakes of my life. I went on a class trip to France for 2 weeks. The teacher going with us was unable to attend at the last minute, due to a medical emergency, and I was left with a group of students, all a year older than me, who wouldn’t even talk to me or include me in their group… and the teacher wouldn’t be there. My 2 weeks in France would basically be on my own. And so they were. I befriended a few people from a group from Idaho, but basically did my own thing. As long as I was on the bus when I was supposed to be, nobody seemed to take much notice.
Everything was going great, until a rainy day in Paris. There wasn’t much we could go do that evening, but the guys I was sharing a room with went to hang out with the girls, so I was alone… with my thoughts… and having been in France for a few days, the newness having worn off, I was thinking about the same things that kept me sad and angry at home. That night I accepted it. I didn’t like it, but I realized that I couldn’t be anyone but who I am. The rest of the trip was very hard; I barely enjoyed myself. I would hang out with the bus driver, Kamal, or our tour guide, Arnaud, at almost every stop. I didn’t feel like I should be there anymore.
My biggest regret about that trip is not hiding my bitterness when I returned home. My family and friends were waiting at the gate to greet me; I was so happy to see them. But I was difficult and cranky and spoiled the mood for everyone.
I spent most of my senior year trying to convice people I was straight. But a huge weight had been lifted. The distraction that made the previous year so hard was gone, but I would eventually need to tell someone else.
Travis, one of my two best friends, had spent spring break in Mexico (I think), leaving myself and JD to spend a fun filled week of working more hours at our jobs. We did want to do something though, so we spent the week at my uncle’s cabin just outside of town. Travis returned that weekend and we all hung out on Sunday. I was a little down; Travis could tell. I drove home, talking to Travis on the CB (yes, it’s true) the entire way. He had followed me and pulled in behind me at my house. He and I talked about things. I wasn’t really ready to tell him everything, but I told him that I could never see myself marrying a woman and having kids with her. If felt like enough for that moment. He was very comforting, much more so than most friends. He told me that JD had asked if Travis thought I was gay. Travis laughed it off as a silly notion. I felt extremely exposed.
The next day was my favorite holiday of the year, St. Patrick’s Day. I don’t know why I love it, but I do. The first thing I did in my first class was to write a letter, expressing to both Travis & JD how I felt and about who I am. I told them of the many days, wanting to no longer live. I told them how painful it had been to let them down. And I told them that I am gay. I couldn’t face them, knowing that I was losing my two best friends.
I had an eye appointment and then work after school. I was almost finished at work when Travis & JD showed up. I tried to avoid them, but they seemed angry. I just walked out to the parking lot, letting them follow me. I intended to go home and forget the day had ever happened. But my car was missing. Defeated, I got into Travis’ car. We drove around a little; they told me they had gotten permission from my mom to keep me away all night. They told me that they didn’t care that I am gay, but they were angry that I had been so depressed and didn’t tell them.
Somehow, we ended up at Red Lobster, where they continued to assure me that they still loved me. It felt nice, but was painful at the same time. We drove around for a long time, talking (I was crying). I think I stayed at Travis’ that night. And that was it. It was done. I didn’t have to hide myself anymore. The last few months we lived in Stillwater were the happiest as a teenager that I can remember. Life had been so painful for me for so long.
A month later, Ellen Degeneres came out, bursting the doors wide open for gay men and women everywhere. It felt good to be a part of something from the begining. It still does.
I didn’t tell my family for a long time after this, but I will save that for another time. It deserves the same attention.
Today, I am very happy with who I am. It feels so good to be me and I am glad I came out when I did. I hope that there is a day when being gay doesn’t break children into secrecy. I hope that day comes soon.
St Patrick’s Moon
St Patrick’s moon shone
gently on us as we left
Texas, back to our lives.
The brief stays seem sad
and this was the last visit
with all of us single.St Patrick’s moon shone
on the new baby — born
to make some forget
the tragedy its birthday
marked — the sadness of
this anniversary of death.St Patrick’s moon shone
through the just-cracked blinds
on Laurisa’s face — the new
life growing within her body.
More family, more joy,
more love to make us forget.St Patrick’s moon shone
through the rear window of
JD’s car onto my face as
I smiled. My life seems
to be getting closer to real.
I laughed a little because
life can be so wonderful.Brian Fuchs (3.17.2003)
17 March 2007
Images: photo of Frank O’Hara; illustration of Celtic knot shamrock; photo of Brian; photo of Brian & JD
Featured Image Art: photo of Brian in Red River, NM
Shortbus
When Heather & I made plans to see this movie, I didn’t think I would like it. It looked like it was self-important silliness masquerading as serious clichéd arthouse cinema. I was wrong.
Shortbus is one of the most beautiful movies I have seen. I was so moved on a number of levels, but I would want to ruin anything by giving away even a small portion of the plot. I cannot think of a greater assemblage of fine actors in recent films; each one flawlessly executed his or her particular role. I cared about every character, even the minor ones.
I will own this one. I highly recommend that everyone see this film. I won’t lie, 87.2% of you will be offended. But for those who can let the film move you in the ways it should, I believe this one will be quite an experience for you. Bonus: Freakin’ great soundtrack!
Up To The Challenge?
Apparently, things aren’t going as swimmingly at work as I would’ve hoped they were. I have been pretty flaky, but I thought nobody had really noticed. Wrong. I was spoken to about getting my work done and was forced to step up and be efficient. I am more than capable. I love my job & really get irritated when I perform below my own standards. I guess I have just been in a funk.
One of these days, I am going to amaze bossman with my talents. Oh, I will.
Meanwhile, I feel oddly inspired by Shortbus, but the things I am inspired to do would actually make me happy. I’m not sure we can have that!
Images: stills from Shortbus (2006)
Of Unicorns & Men
Great Expectations:
I had been looking forward to dinner with my Tulsa friends since I made plans to be in Oklahoma. But when it came time for it to happen, there was nobody around to eat with. I am excluding Jess & Justin, who I love, but talk to fairly regularly. I couldn’t wait to see Meghan, Emily, Jeff, Jill, Molly, Marla… someone. But none responded tothe invite.
I had a great dinner with Justin & Jess. We went briefly to Target, where I got a shirt to wear so I didn’t have to drive home from the club smelling like an ashtray. Then we decided to eat at On The Border. I love that place and was not disappointed in last night’s fare. And I ordered my Sprite, no ice, with limes. Limes, being not expensive here, are generously given. I got an entire glass full. I love it.
I wanted to spend more time with Justin, but he had to wake early, so he had to go. I made plans to spend more time on Tuesday. I can’t wait to see him. He is so important to me. The three of us went to Barnes & Noble, where I had hoped to find a magazine. I did not. I did, however, get to see Bettina, Ray, Jill, & Matt. I really do miss that place, but I am glad I am making Borders my home now.
Of Unicorns & Men:
Jess & I went to The Majestic for some dancing fun. It was just as I remembered it, a loud, dark, sweaty place where shirts don’t stay on for long. Everyone was gyrating and having a great time. It was the Halloween celebration and costumes were out in full force. Many an angel graced the club — one in particular repeatedly poked his sharp wings into my back. I liked it more than I should.
Of course, all of these costumes led to a contest, hosted by a unicorn. The costumes were sad. The gays should be able to do better, but the evening was pretty fun. I love the darker music of Halloween clubbing. Jess remarked that it was a good thing I changed out of my “Unicorn Rodeo” shirt before getting there. I was thinking I wish I hadn’t. That attention would have been okay.
I love dancing and really need to go more often. Anchorage needs a good gay club.
The rest of this week should prove fun. I am very excited that I got to go to Tulsa. I really miss Tulsa. It still feels like home to me. I could easily move back today and not miss a beat. But now Anchorage is also feeling like home and would surely miss it just as much… or at least the people.
Images: Peter Stanick, art of woman; unknown cartoon illustration
Featured Image Art: AI image (created using Wonder AI)
Anyone But Bush, However…
Voting?
I am sitting here listening to this most painful rhetoric coming from my television. I strongly believe in “anyone but Bush,” not necessarily backing any certain person. When offered John Kerry, by way of nomination, I backed him. But I still don’t agree with Kerry 100%. And now I can’t decide if I should get out and vote or just let Bush take Oklahoma without my opposition, which would not make a difference anyway. I also cannot even choose a candidate based on interest in my own life. Kerry is not our strongest defender, as gays. It drives me nuts that this is where we will be for the next 4 years. I am so tired of a group of people with larger numbers than most other minorities is being ignored. With the exception of the Hispanic community, gays and lesbians are the largest minority group in the U.S. But we have no voice — no real support.
I didn’t choose to be gay; I didn’t choose to be alive; all I can do is make the most of what has happened to this world and pray that one of these days (maybe after I am gone), gays and lesbians will gain the right to be happy. It will happen, so why make those here today suffer.
I am feeling very political today, in spite of myself.
Featured Image Art: Kerry/Edwards campaign illustration
originally posted on Xanga
Rewatchable
Boys:
Blah. Where are the boys?
DVDs I can watch over and over:
•Boondock Saints
•Donnie Darko
•Office Space
•Moulin Rouge
•Friends (any season)
•Queer As Folk (any season)
•Will & Grace (any season)
•I’m The One That I Want – Margaret Cho
•Metrosexuality
•Futurama (any volume)
•Zoolander
•Dogma
•Adventures Of Priscilla Queen Of The Desert
These aren’t necessarily my favorite movies, just what I tend to pop in. Now, that’s a list that makes me look gay!
Work:
Our store manager is back from her vacation. Hopefully, she had a great time and will be a joy to work with. She usually is anyway. I think I have decided that I definately want to come into a large sum of money so I will never have to work again. It would be nice to be independantly wealthy, even if I continued to work. Blah. I guess that is the American dream though: to be filthy rich and sit around all day.
Mom:
I am reading Straight Parents, Gay Children to see if my mom would benefit from it, and I really think she would at this point.
Featured Image Art: still from The Boondock Saints (2000)
originally posted on Xanga
Living with My Sins, Uniquely
Mom:
I just received an e-mail from my mom about living with your sins. While the point will not be lost, I will not be applying it to being gay. I just can’t since I don’t believe that this is wrong. She is trying though and I sent a very lengthy e-mail explaining how I feel about several issues, including my position on gays and Christianity and how I feel less loved than my straight brothers. It was kinda crazy, but oh well.
pathetic.org
I posted quite a bit on my poetry site last night! I am excited to be a part of it again.
Self:
I am officially lonely again. I just want someone to share my life with…
Robby:
He had been busy and I am neurotic!
Family:
E-mail I sent to my mom. Her response follows.
From: fuchsboi@***.net
Subject: Mom… a few things
Date: July 23, 2004 6:37:12 AM CDT
To: (mom)
whosoever
This is an online magazine about and for gay Christians. It might be helpful for you to take a look at it.
Mom, one very important issue we do need to discuss is the difference in our individual beliefs on homosexuality. I do not believe that it is a sin to be me. I do not believe that ANY act of love is a sin, including all varieties of love between two men. It is very important to me that Jesus never spoke on this subject.
I have some books I will bring you that cover a lot of what I feel. I do not agree 100% with them, but the basics are there. There are no passages in the Bible which, in the original form, discuss gay men or lesbians. The closest is in Romans. But even this one discusses leaving natural relations with the opposite sex for the same. This makes no sense in my case, as I have a natural inclination to the same sex.
Somewhere along the way, I shook off the dogma I was raised with. I am so glad I did too. Earthly issues and Earthly things will not matter when we die. Not to us, and not to God. Why are we so worried about following some set list of regulations for personal conduct to gain access to a proverbial heavenly gate? There is no such place. Heaven is all around.
Here is the way I see the things we refer to as “Heaven” and “Hell:”
Heaven: A state of pure bliss for your soul, in which you feel the love of God at its purest. Always able to directly communicate and feel God. You become a part of God, in a way.
Hell: A state for your soul in which you have absolute knowledge that God exists, but you may not hear him, feel him or know the love he has to offer. This is a self inflicted existence. Your soul has become corrupted and evil.
I know that didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but there it is. God has bigger fish to fry than who I am attracted to.
Another thing that is extremely important for you to know is how much being gay defines me. I used to think that being gay is just a small part of who you are — like have freckles or blonde hair. That isn’t what someone is about, just identifying traits. I now feel 100% different. Being gay is who I am. Every decision I make is affected by it. I view the world with it on my mind constantly. And my future is dictated by it. I am a gay man, not just a man who happens to be gay. I will not have the traditions, father the children, be a part of any of that normality. It doesn’t bother me like it used to. Sure, those things would be great, but I now know I can live a wonderful and fulfilling life. I just had to redefine my goals. Again, every part of my life has to do with being gay.
I also don’t want pity. I am over it. No, we haven’t discussed it, but I am gay and have known for nearly ten years now. I admitted it to myself eight years ago and I knew something of it when I was a very young kid. I can share those things with you if you want. They are the dirty little secrets and I will understand you not wanting to hear them. But they are precious to me. They are my memories. I knew when I was at Rainbow.
I am glad you want to understand, but I know who I am now… I have for a long time. I am sorry that you missed out on that — you don’t even know how bad I feel for that. I had to do it alone, but I want you to ask questions if you need to, but be careful not to try to change who I am. I already figured it out, even if I didn’t share. This sounds terrible and I really meant it to sound nice… Hmm…
I really love you and really miss being so close. I hope we can take care of that now!
Brian
p.s. I have to tell you the most horrible thing I did recently. I was talking to Lori (because I had a date that didn’t go very well) about how I was tired of not being able to talk about being gay with my family. I basically told her that I didn’t feel like I was as loved as my straight brothers because I had to hide my life — I am the dirty little secret. I was crying as I told her this. I then told her I would never feel like my parents loved me — meaning the real me — until they asked me casually if I was seeing anyone or if I had a boyfriend yet or some other sort of question one would ask about me having a girlfriend if I was straight. And I meant it. This was about one week before you called. I had cried out to God about it… my heart hurt so much… and He answered. I am so happy that you called (even if you had to drive to the top of a mountain) because it showed me just how much I am loved. Equally. That was of such importance to me and I know I should never have doubted it… Thank you again. I love you.
From: (mom)
Date: July 23, 2004 8:34:18 AM CDT
To: fuchsboi@***.net
thank you so much Brian- loved your email and you should be kicked in the butt for thinking your mom or dad thought less of you, we have always loved you-period. … mom
Featured Image Art: unknown comic image
originally posted on Xanga