Bearing Witness
FRAGMENTIONABLES
HAIKU
The year is over-
Ex-wife obsessed with papers.
Documents worthless.
LYRICS
I've always tried to hide
the way I felt deep inside.
Never revealing
where I've been,
conceal the real shape I'm in.
Living up to my deception
too much of a strain.
I'd rather not feel the pain.
I'd rather not feel...
Exoskeletal Blues
I need to find the rest of that song.
LYRICS Copyright: Ministers of the New Super Heavy Funk
DID I FAIL TO MENTION...? (Pt 1)
I was talking to a friend a few days ago about my recent date, and I asked him if he knew I was gay. He knew that the date was with a man, but the circumstances were a little cloudy. My friend's response was, "Yeah, but you never told me, so I played dumb." After a few awkward moments we resumed the conversation, but I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that I never told him. I knew that he knew I was gay. I was outed to him by a friend who made it clear to me that he revealed my orientation. For some reason it just never seemed right to talk to my friend about my attraction to men.
It goes back to my reluctance to talk about my sex life. I was in a relationship with my first girlfriend for three months before I ever mentioned it to my family. It took another three months before they met her. I think this lack of openness stems from seeing my parents get westside with my older siblings. While I love my mother dearly, she on occasion has been known to have no tact whatsoever. One minute she is the bastion of southern hospitality then the next she is Torquemada. She doesn't mean anything by it. She's just nosey. As a result I have learned to maintain a certain amount of privacy. Additionally as a boy attracted to other boys, I learned early on how to avoid getting my ass kicked by boys who may not have shared my appreciation for the fellas.
I'm attracted to women - always have been, always will be. You could call me bisexual and I'd say - wrong. My scale only has two needles - heterosexual and non-heterosexual. As far as I'm concerned
bisexuality doesn't exist. It's like limbo or socialism. It's a way station, a stop on the line until you get to your final destination.
My orientation is not so much connected to who I may be having sex with at the time, but my lifeperspective. I think there is a gay sensibility and you don't have to be sexually active to have a gay sensibility. I like guys. I like the way they walktalksmellfeel, and I make no apologies, yet I purposefully didn't tell my friend that I was gay. I was afraid that he would see me differently, that I wouldn't be Larry anymore, I'd Gay Larry. Who wants to be Gay Larry? I knew I had been outed and I still couldn't give my friend the benefit of the doubt.
Internalized homophobia is a muthafucka.
I should give my sister a call.
• • •
NO, MY WIFE AND I DID NOT DIVORCE BECAUSE OF MY SEXUALITY.
MARRIAGE MY ASS
I just read
Clay Cane's blog about marriage and it got me fired up. My wife of six years and I recently divorced and it has left me with and admittedly dim view of the institution. That's not entirely true. I never liked marriage. In fact my ex-wife and I bonded over our shared view that wedded bliss was a big ass lie. No married couple we knew was happy. Our older siblings all had unions that sucked. Our parents didn't like each other that much. Actually we came from households where our moms and dads didn't even sleep in the same beds. Hell, my father was banished to the basement and my mother's pet name for him was IT. Yet we plowed ahead anyway.
When we met our mutual interest in Prince was just too much. I had to be with this woman. She felt the same. We dated. Along the way we had long conversations about marriage. How it was oppressive toward women. How it meant so little in today's society. How if she did get married she was going to wear a black dress.
Initially the relationship was offdahook. We never argued. In fact we would try to fight and fail. We would laugh about it. That didn't last. No sir, we learnt how to fight real good. We would break - make up - break up - make up. Then we called it quits.
Dig if you will this picture. The year is 1994. My ex and I were just starting to talk again. I was missing her something bad. I missed the conversations. I missed going out. I missed her acerbic wit. I wanted it all back. I was tired of dating. We worked in the same office and were in the restaurant at a group outing. I heard her dinstinctive laugh. Damn. We were getting along. How did that happen? In a moment of weakness I proposed. She, in shock, did not answer. I loved that shit. She was playing hard to get. Eventually (five years later) I asked again and she said yes. This is after years of living together and many arguments.
The wedding was beautiful. We were making a commitment before our God, friends, family and community. It felt right at the time. Years passed. We had a baby (my partner in crime in the pic). We grew apart. I asked for separation. She asked for divorce. NOTE: When there are no obstacles like property, etc., that shit is fast. My ex got a layer in August (happy birthday to me) and we were divorced by Dec 2.
Now for those of you who think your life is incomplete without a spouse think again. Marriage does work for some people. Sometimes it is a natural outgrowth of a relationship. Unfortunately our society views it as the inevitable outcome of a serious relationship. Well, I can tell you this. I'm done. I'm finished.
As a matter of fact there are a number of things I'm done with. That however is fodder for later blogs.
LET'S GET IT STARTED
I love writing. I really do. However, it is sometimes very hard for me to take the thoughts from my head, write them down, then assemble them into something remotely coherent. Sometimes slitting my wrists and bleeding to death is more preferable.
As I continually search for the right structure, the right form to shape my thoughts, I am starting to realize that no singular structure or form (for me anyway) exists. I need to write in a way that works for me even if it's a nospacepunctuationlessmess. I have just got to get the shit out of my head.
I sometimes worry about substance. Fuck substance. I need to worry about what's real. That's why the stuff that sucks - sucks. 'Cause it's not real, it's some "oh this is what I think I should be writing bullshit." I've got a lot of shit to write and I need to get started.