Big. Butch. Bottom. Bodybuilder. Bodyartist.
someone should write a song about that; they might make a chips commercial with it someday.
Twink. Top. Tramp. Teflon. Texaco.
that would make a funny second verse, merge gay pop with crass commercialism.
I guess I'm not the first to get fed up at how Gay gay has become. It ends up being not only attraction to men--it's obsession with attraction to the cultural figures that attracted men who happen to be attracted to men.
Uno de estos días alguien se va a dar cuenta que hay más en la vida; quién sabe qué más, pero algo más que hombres, hombres desnudos, hombres fuertes y velludos desnudos; ¿Y qué hubo de la existencia y la vida? ¿Y de la paz en Bosnia? ¿Y de la política externa de Argentina? ¿Qué hubo del déficit? E se eu quiser saber onde fican os corações doentes eu não podería achar a resposta nesta favelha, pobre não en termos de dineiro, mas em termos de sentido humano.
This is the manifesto of the disenchanted. This is the scripture of the disillusioned. It is not the fabulously frivolously fucking fantastically fanatical that this describes. There is more to be said about the life of the nobody than of the life of the , that mass produced carbon copy sexual body.
A wise person told me once that the difference between the commonplace and the special is that the commonplace hugs to please the self while the special hugs to please the other.
I need to be held. Does that make me commonplace? Or does that make me human? How much of a fag does that make me? Who controls the definition--the ignorant straight people or the overly conscious gay people? Who decided that getting It is the only way In?
There is decay in my surroundings. The new quickly rots into the trite. The old, recycled and redigested becomes food for the soul better than any NEW AND IMPROVED thing out there. One body's own defenses turn against the body, the infection of complacency spreading with every new cock, every creamy load; every new anibody against codependency becomes more of the tool of the infection. The only form of safe relationship-seeking is no relationship-seeking in the Castro. There is no room for the loving and caring and emotional Bond between two in the sweaty streets of No-woman's-land where the purely sexual overshadows My emotions.
This lonely man picks up the checks for all the loveless out there. The loveless shall inherit the Castro, for the loving ones without love will die of boredom. AIDS won't cause the demise of the community--there will be a dramatic increase in deaths by an older killer called N.U.E. . There shall fall, over the space between 16th an 18th, a thick gray cloud of N.U.E., like a divine punishment for enslavement, and then shall that last muscular chest, that most recently fabulous dick, that rock-hard thigh start feeling less and less special, less and less satisfying, more and more like every other Carbon Copy dick-thigh-and-chest combo that has dared crowd the streets of freedom with its oppressive perfection, its viral desire for replication, senseless replication, mutating every so often to become even more invasive, egregious, debilitating... then shall redemption come for the different, the everyday pioneers of the land of ostracism, those that dared question the hegemony of the dominant paradigm of subverting dominant paradigms and were stoic gourmets of the Helms-lock fed to them by a in his intolerance.. .gaytion won't fight against gaytion and years of prosperity shall ensue.
"The nemesis of ambivalence is not all-out-acceptance of one or the other--it is all-out acceptance of one's existence as a sentient being with emotional independence." (vonGradelhaus, 73). To be happy as a gay man it is not essential to adopt a gay culture nor is it good to all-out reject it. Gay Culture is not created by gayness; it is created by Gay People. As such, our acceptance of it is only acceptance of others' cultural and social patterns. We must understand the distinction. Disliking the Clone is not "Having Issues", it is being one's own, a creature created by oneself in control of one's actions. Those that call the critic a Crybaby (for not NOT CRYING because of not being as pretty, or as stylish, or as hip, or as with it, or as charming, or as fabulous) haven't gotten over their petty, self-conscious selves enough to be other than what everyone else is.
Scream. Cream. Dream.
We are only the products of our self-conscious selves. Self-consciousness is not conscience of the self, no more than being self-actualized is being actually oneself rather than everyone else's opinion of where one should be.
Perhaps this bitter fool is only projecting ideological foolishness. All I'm looking for is someone I don't have to explain things to, someone that wil understand why I seek to fulfill myself with simple desires, simple pleasures. I can live without the BMW convertible; I can deal without the semi-legal euphorics. I wil not go to the personals. I will not seek solace in 3¢/wd. GWMSS4Sx&mayBrel18ship "Big butch daddy seeks tyke to dominate" doesn't cut it with this fellow.
[The hungry for love won't find their meal on a buffet table.]
Fashion does little for me. Style does little for me. Grace does little for me. Me does litte for Fasion Style and Grace. It's Passion, not Fashion. Get it straight... no, get it right...no, not that either. UNDERSTAND THE CORRECT HIERARCHY OF TERMINOLOGY.
It is imporant to be true to the self when one's whole life revolves around being honest. I am no less of an emotional wreck if I refuse to acknowledge my own non-fashionable self. It is being honest to one's background, one's feelings, one's way-of-being. At that level it is a matter of choice--it's choosing not to cater to the mainstream, market-dictated capitalism-based individualist non-inividualism bred by the myth of the guppie.
©1996 by Juan Felipe Rincón
Return to Saddle Sores as the hit.