Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Echo Chamber

Yesterday was alive with wind and rain, and it made me feel small. It's a feeling I've come to love. The front door and back door were both open, as were all the windows. The sun came out briefly, and it made me sad in a way that I can't describe. Then dark clouds rolled in and the wind picked up. It was magnificent.

Annie and I went out into the rain. She was eager to walk in the grass, even though she's not fond of getting wet. A blast of wind signaled the changing mood of the weather. Tree branches whipped around violently, creating a steady shhhhhh sound. It went uninterrupted by thunder. My neighbor, Lynn, called out to me and we spoke for a minute or two before the steady, heavy rain started. We didn't say a word about the weather.

We talked about a friend of mine who has cancer. The cancer makes me feel small, too. All the agonizing, and existential angst, the thoughts of suicide and self-injury, seem absurd and laughable in a world where people die and are killed according to the music of chance. It makes my life less valuable. My substance tainted with an affliction beyond my understanding or control.

That's why I wilt in the sun. Why I used to sit in the back of the classroom. Why my temper gets short when people look at me. Stare at me. It feels like an admonition. To be seen is to be considered, and with consideration comes an estimation over how I've spent my life. Judgment. Illness and the storm reduce the importance of my decisions to nothing. It is comforting beyond words. Otherwise, there is bound to be pain.

Lynn called me a "bleeding heart," and meant it kindly. In a world out of our control, where life begins and ends routinely, it is better to think of life and living as a matter of little consequence. Otherwise, the fear of effect can be debilitating. All that matters is kindness. Compassion. It won't matter to the storm or the illness, but it will make them easier to bear. All other considerations feel superfluous to me. The most expensive education can be rendered meaningless by a stroke, instantly. A healthy body can be reduced to rotten meat in...two days?

The lack of judgment and consideration in an empty universe is usually seen as a cause for cruelty and brutality. But I find it liberating. It cripples vanity by reducing self-esteem to an illusion. Are you righteous? Are you proud? Can't the same be true of the worst and most misguided among us? Is a "terrorist" any less a martyr than a "saint" who is killed for a cause that you happen to believe is noble and honorable? They may see the world differently, but are bound by physical, emotional and/or spiritual pain.

And the smaller we get, or the larger the world gets, the more muted the screams of our brothers and sisters become. They become more immediately disturbing, but are robbed of a deafening echo that will never, ever let you endure the storm in peace.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

The Church of the Fremont Courtyard

Another Sunday morning passes with my barely noticing. The patina of quiescent silence has settled upon the red-brick neighborhood, which I assume indicates how well the people around me beat the drum last night. My lady and I did not "step out," as they used to say. We stayed in, and watched a film. Aside from a panic attack and a modicum of existential angst, it was a fine evening.

And lorazepam kept the 3 in the morning thoughts away, by rendering me asleep.

The courtyard below my window is like an empty playground. Children frequently create quite a din of yelling and laughing, and making noises that confuse the two. Right now, despite a lovely day, albeit cloudy, they are absent. I'm enjoying it. Something on television, or perhaps they are at church.

I've no use for church, myself. There is no god, of that I'm certain. Some people in my life, people I respect, have chosen a belief in Christ and have earnestly tried to relate their enthusiasm to me. My spiritual exploration of the world led me to a very different place. Not a place of melancholy and a lack of moral scruples as some religious folks are wont to say. The unseen magnetic power that guides my moral compass is empathy, which leads to compassion. Mahayana Buddhism is beautiful to me in how it celebrates compassion, more so than any other religion on Earth. But one doesn't need a magic show to know that compassion should guide us all. It is logical.

Christianity has its own pulchritude, but I find it to be a hateful religion, as it is used by Christians. The Beatitudes strike me as elegant and alluring, and the Sermon on the Mount. But too much of this religion is used as a cudgel against gays, women, and most of the world that is not Christian but something else. And the political agenda of many Christians sickens me, although it would be unfair to label all that way. Many Socialist friends of mine, enlightened and kind, embrace Jesus Christ.

The biggest mistake theists make is that they assume too much of non-believers. That we haven't looked for god, that we are not listening carefully to the voice of the almighty, presumably blowing in the trees and glistening off the water on a sunny day. I've listened and looked for god with a quiet, open mind, and I reject any possibility that a Christian god exists. I won't go into why.

One reason that I feel such animosity towards Christianity goes back to my volunteer work at an abortion clinic some years ago. My job was to escort, and shield, women from the verbal attacks of good Christians outside the clinic. I'll never forget the bravery of the women who ran that gauntlet. Who were called murderers, sluts, cunts, bitches, whores and who were sometimes threatened with violence. As in, "I know where you live." That sort of thing is unforgivable to me. To harass a young woman who is already afraid and upset and simply looking for advice (few were actually getting an abortion, many were getting counseling to help make decisions).

For that, and a thousand other reasons, I've had my fill. There are a lot of good Christians, motivated by compassion. Just not enough. Too many are cruel hypocrites and bullies. Why would I embrace a group that has vigorously worked to make so many of my dear friends miserable? Gays, for example, are told that they are an "abomination." I have many gay Christian friends, some of whom are married. They are generally kinder, more tolerant and more thoughtful than the heterosexual Christians I know.

Christianity simply comes at too high a price. Not worth it, by a long shot. There are beautiful aspects, but it's ugly overall. I prefer this quiet Sunday morning, with the wind in the trees, to any dogma. If there is a god, he or she or it is available to everyone, and can be found in nature and the eyes of a loved one. Not in so many small, bigoted minds. Cruel fools who use god as a weapon. A wedge. It is they who need to listen. To the cries of pain their bigotry causes, to the hateful message.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Good Times!

It's been about 15 years since I placed a personal advertisement in the Boston Phoenix, looking for a man to fuck. At the time, I was a student at UMass Boston, majoring in biological anthropology and loving it. A beautiful young actress had my attention at the time, but that went nowhere. Although it went nowhere in an enjoyable way. She was in a play that was written by a professor and performed at the university theatre. We met in a theatre arts class, and I was quite taken with her.

In the wake of that, I decided to experiment by screwing another man. Somehow the word, "experiment" seems pretentious. Like I'm Jonas Salk or something. Sex with another man appealed to me, so I decided to try it, pure and simple. As it turned out, I'm most certainly not gay, or even bisexual. Men are disgusting little creatures. Or in the case of the man who answered my ad, disgusting large creatures. A large African-American gentleman from Hyde Park invited me over for a little sodomy.

He was pleasant enough, with the disposition and sensitivity of an artist. If memory serves, he was in outstanding shape. The fact that I was morbidly obese at the time seemed to appeal to him. Sex with him was sort of like slamming a piece of dough with a titanium hammer. In this example, I was the dough.

Why did I do it if I'm not attracted to men? Well, I wanted to be bisexual, as it was all the rage at the time. Heterosexuality is so bourgouise! My motive to be with this man, however, was primarily about playing with a functioning cock and balls. My testicles were the size of raisins (and were soon after removed surgically due to a pre-cancerous lesion). Having just learned that I could never have children, I was emotionally vulnerable. In fact, I started crying my eyes out in his bed.

He spoke sweetly to me, with kindness and a strong feeling of affection and trust developed between us, although it was brief. He told me I was beautiful as he put a condom on, then he fucked me. His body was simply beautiful. Just magnificent.

Then I got to see what most women complain about when it comes to sex and men. After he came, he got up and showered. He was in there for awhile, and I drifted off a bit (his bed was magnificent). He woke me up a few moments later by rubbing my back and saying my name loudly. "You have to go, Lyle" he said. To this day, I don't know if he knew that "Lyle" is my last name.

Twenty minutes later, I had showered and we were saying our final goodbyes. He drove me to the Ashmont "T" station on the Red Line and dumped me off, with barely a word or two. He left me there, and I never heard from him again. I felt used, even though we were using each other. And I confess that, in his flat, I was a little afraid of him given his size.

Since then, I'm totally and proudly embraced my heterosexuality. It may not be fashionable, but there it is!

Why am I telling you, a bunch of strangers, about a sexual dalliance almost twenty years ago? I don't know. Why not? It has all the elements. Sex, blackness, fatness, and sex. Yay!

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Refugee Camp of Two

In the mail yesterday I received information about the impending legal matter in my life, which came as a result of February 3rd. I'm charged with assault, and face the prospect of a jury trial to start in November. The public defender told me that wouldn't happen, and probation seems likely. It's odd, though, as I admit my guilt. I'll admit it to anyone who will listen. But the legal process is slow and byzantine; we've already had 4 continuances.


The letter is a proposition to the ADA, a disposition. It's well-written and provides an accurate picture. When I read it, I noticed how strangely detached I am from all this. It wouldn't surprise me if they put me in jail for decades. Nor would it if they just forgot about it. As if it is happening to another.


Nancy has been wonderful for me, and one hopes that she is as happy as I. She says she is, and I'll take it. I'm fond of the poetry of Vonnegut's das Reich du Zwei, the Nation of Two, from Mother Night. But methinks it more accurate to say that we are refugees hiding from people. A refugee camp of two. This is because, for whatever reason, we are "mentally ill," and it makes it difficult to interact with other humans. We may end up driving each other really crazy, or crazier, in time. But for now, all are happy and at peace at The House of Four Cats. We each have someone with whom we empathize.

And I do so love her. Our little flat is filled with sunshine and the windows let cool breezes pass inside. Very lovely for refugees.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Liberty

Nobody is watching us, judging from afar. Life is not a test of mettle, or scruples. Adherence to dogma is a feather in your cap, nothing more. And the world will continue on, unfiltered through your eyes, but through the eyes of others. Pain will be endured, but not by you. Love will triumph, or falter, in your absence.

You get the idea.

Being alive is literally everything to you, but of absolutely no consequence to the universe. The thought is liberating to me.