Monday, May 11, 2009

the same difference

human rights are for everybody.
more on that later.

As soon as I got back to Boonville, I sat my mother deskside and had her take the survey at "" to evaluate her ideal living location. She and I laughed through most of the questions, commenting on embarassing memories and our inability to mountainbike.
Then, we get to the question that made my mother needlessly sweat. The jist of it was this- "is advocacy for gay and lesbian people important to you?" There was a long mother knew her answer her "mattered"... it was her first opportunity to show whether she just accepted that I was a homosexual or she accepted that homosexuals were worthy of equal rights (at least as i read the question).

Her response was as follows " i guess it would be nice, you know, for when you visited."

yeah. nice. because equal rights and treatment are about "convenience" and are just fine as a "some times" thing for "some people." sweet.

perhaps this wouldn't have phased me at all if not for a related interaction with my father earlier that morning. while he was helping me move out of my apartment, a friend proceeded to tell him about the nightmarish haircut experience i'd had two days prior.

On Thursday, charlie on jefferson street was snipping away at my hair, talking to two elderly local men about gay marriage. they were blanketly against it and seemed to take iowa's decision to legalize same-sex marriage particularly personally. i kept my mouth shut as i really didn't care to get in an argument with three large homophobic men, especially when one of them was holding a sharp objet to my head. but, charlie asked me, and i timidly shared my opinion.

"um...well... i don't see how two people in love getting married really hurts anybody."

charlie looked at me shocked, then angry, then laughed. he then proceeded to explain to me how homosexuality is "just child molestation, only the victims are a little older" and that "all homosexuals are rapists" in his book.

i responded. how, i'll likely never remember. i wasn't particularly angry; i was just completely taken off guard by such damaging ignorance. i stumbled and backpedaled and stuttered and apparently in the process i outed myself, likely to add validity to my defense.

and so, charlie's parting words to me after i handed him 10 dollars were this "well, i'm sorry, but if you're one of them homosexuals, then you're a child molester and a rapist."

upon hearing this story my father nervously laughed, shrugged his shoulders and said "well, that's what you get for talking about gay marriage in a kirksville barber shop."

hmph. really? your son, who is involved in several programs to end sexual violence, is cruelly and ironically called a molester and rapist, and you blame him? you're not pissed off? you don't want to jump to protect him or comfort him?

yes, the first place my thoughts jumped were to myself, to my selfishness. mom! dad! don't you care about MY right to love who I want, to live where I want, to work where I want.

and then i remembered that this was hardly only about me. all gay people deserve equal rights and equal treatment. scratch that- ALL PEOPLE deserve to be treated with humanity and decency, and only those guilty of harming others need receive any chastizing or punishment. this is not a "fun" or "convenient" thing for when i visit. this is not about putting up with harassment to avoid making others uncomfortable. this is about you and me and all of us living the lives, being the people, and receiving the rights we deserve.

and, with that in mind, i'm so ready to go across the world to learn, grow, and kick hatred in the ass.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

a rvier runs through us

it occured to me this morning that
,if asked,
i could explain the difference
between sex and
"making love"

you see,
the first time i had sex,
i remembered breaking a beaker in chem.
distilled chemicals across the floor
and the sounds of shards and fear
my mother-scared-crying)

the first time i had sex
with a man i loved
i thought about ee cummings

"i like my body when it is with your


this is the abyss that separates love
and games

Thursday, May 7, 2009

a sad child

You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside you head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

---- Margaret Atwood

Nothing goes right here; I just want to go the fuck away until I can find a place where I'm strong enough to make myself happy.

Monday, May 4, 2009

thank god the holocaust is over

I was trapped the entire presentation
behind your fat, bald head.
It obscured the nervous voices
with its shiny, awkward bulbousness.
I considered writing an ode
to phrenology
to shoe polish
to new marbles
to hypoallergenic dogs
but i ultimately concluded that this would be
a waste of time.