Tag Archives: gay

Bash

Bash: (n) a heavy blow.Dictionary B

I have given it much consideration.

I have finally come to the conclusion that my level of contentment, joy and satisfaction is exactly paralleled by my amount of criticism, frustration and jealousy towards others.

In other words, if I like my life, why in the hell do I care about yours?

I’m not recommending indifference to need, but certainly, if I find myself rejoicing in my pursuits, why is it necessary for me to bash yours?

I contend that most people who pursue religion are angry at the unbeliever because they fear these heretics are having more fun.

I think Democrats secretly know that Republicans make some good points, and Republicans are certainly aware of the value of ideas within the Democratic Party.

We bash because we are discontented.

We attack because we want people to be as miserable as we are, and it appears that they have sidestepped our little rendition of purity without suffering consequences.

I have found that it is much easier to be excited and encouraging to the world around me as I find my place in this time.

Bashing is an arrow pointed at the misgiving and doubt that is in our own hearts.

Since I don’t want to be a ballerina, it therefore becomes unnecessary for me to make fun of them dancing on their toes.

Since I have no desire to be gay, I also have no inclination to mock their situation.

And since my faith is based on compassion and the pursuit of regeneration, I don’t necessarily feel compelled to sarcastically mock traditions I consider to be meaningless.

Yes, the only way to stop bashing is to ask yourself one single, valuable question:

Do I really like what I’m doing, or am I faking it?

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Barber

Barber: (n) a person who cuts hairDictionary B

They called it a “regular.”

When I was eleven years old, my mother made me repeat the word “regular” back to her, so I would know what kind of haircut to ask for when I went to our barber, Mr. Smythe.

I hated to go.

Mr. Smythe was a nice man–small, soft-spoken and now, as I look back on it, probably gay. In our town, it was illegal to be gay, to think about being gay, or even to mention the word “homosexual.” So Mr. Smythe was more than likely hiding out behind his scissors and clippers.

And I now realize that he was probably just as terrified when I arrived at his barbershop as I was to climb up in his big chair and have him snip at my locks.

We struggled through fifteen minutes of conversation, which deteriorated with each of his questions, which I finalized with a “yes” or “no.”

I was always glad when we got to the end of the experience and he began to brush my hair to dispel all the dislodged members.

But then he would ask the most embarrassing question of all: “Would you like me to put some smell-good on you, for the ladies?”

I was only eleven years old, and the only ladies I knew were still forcing their way into my life to wipe my nose with Kleenex.

I don’t remember what I ever mumbled back, but sometimes he smeared me with aftershave, and on other occasions we would forego the ordeal.

I had my dollar and a quarter all ready for him, and as I left, he pretended we had made an amazing connection, and told me to “stop in any time.”

I didn’t. I only went when my mother decided I needed to display more ears.

I think about him from time to time.

  • What was his story?
  • Where did he end up?
  • Was he ever able to come out of the barber’s closet?

Perhaps he just a real sweet guy who liked women and was kind to little boys like me … who had not yet learned how to correctly answer questions.

 

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“The best Christmas stories I’ve ever read!”

From the toy shop to the manger, an advent calendar of Christmas stories, beginning on November 30th and ending on Christmas morning.

We need a good Christmas this year.

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Asexual

Asexual: (adj) without sexual feelings or associationsdictionary with letter A

Tommy was a dynamo.

He was one of my friends from high school, who was constantly interested in making out with girls, and was willing to go almost anywhere to do so.

Compared to the other guys in my class, he was a firecracker, and to some degree or another, the rest of us–fizzles.

He had boundless energy for any romantic activity with women.

I, on the other hand, was poised among the emotions of terror, intrigue, lust and intimidation. If you’re wondering what you get when you stir those together, the best term would be “stalled.”

Matter of fact, I wondered if I would ever actually have physical contact with a woman. What made it worse was that I frequently drove along in the car with Tommy, to have him pull over at some park where there would be a young lady waiting for him. He told me that he was going to fe back in a few minutes. They would spread a blanket not even forty yards away and I sat there for fifty minutes watching them make out.

There’s nothing sexy about that at all.

Truth of the matter is that human sexuality is not nearly so simple as “gay” or “straight.”

Some people seem to have huge libidos, which they use at will.

Other people are anxious to get married so they can carry on a once-a-year sexual calendar.

I suppose those who are hungry for love think the other people are asexual–but actually, we all, in our own way, have an interest in sexuality, and it varies so much that it certainly should not be a matter of debate or scrutiny.

As it turns out, I wasn’t asexual at all–just lacking in opportunity.

Tommy also settled down and married the least likely woman you would have thought such a Don Juan would pluck.

Sex is weird stuff.

Not so weird that we want to avoid it–just weird enough that we need the mercy of understanding from ourselves and others.

 

 

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Anti-retroviral

dictionary with letter AAnti-retroviral (adj) working against retroviruses, especially HIV.

The advantage of living your life and seeing the decades pass is realizing the blessing of coming across moments in time in which great transitions of spiritual awareness and social consciousness are transpiring, and knowing that you have an opportunity to acquire a better path of understanding instead of marching in the “asshole parade” down to spit in the river.

This happened to me in 1983.

Most people may forget that particular era, and I concur that much of it is worthy of a mental lapse. We were in a self-indulgent, pious, uncertain, semi-prospering, silly and trivial era.

While we were all prancing around admiring each other’s hairdos and duds, a virus arrived on the scene. The preliminary investigation of this deadly disease seemed to indicate that it was targeting the homosexual community. (Yes, back then, they were homosexuals, We were certainly not prepared for them to be “gay.”)

This played right into the hands of many opponents of the lifestyle, and there was word on the street that it was a “gay plague,” sent by God to express His displeasure and anger over “huggy-kissy” with brothers and brothers and sisters with sisters.

Matter of fact, I found myself in the middle of several such discussions, as people shook their heads, displaying a bit of awe and wonder over the power of God in expressing His judgment.

It would have been very easy to keep my mouth shut–and I suppose, more profitable for the sale of my books and such.

But there are two things I knew to be true:

God is love.

I refuse to believe that love has to kill anything to make its point.

And secondly, if God is so uncreative that the only way He can express Himself is by cursing those who disagree with Him, I find Him extraordinarily boring.

So since I knew that God was love and I did have an interest in Him, I surmised that a terrible sickness had come into our midst which would eventually affect everybody, so the sooner we found medication or perhaps a vaccine for this horror, the better off we would be.

Knowing that the most intelligent practice in fighting any evil is to engage your wallet, I donated to study and conquer this virus, which eventually became known as AIDS.

Cooler heads prevailed, and once they were cooled down, they began to think again. Isn’t that amazing?

And soon a drastic cocktail of concoctions was mixed together, and even though it was extraordinarily vicious in its side-effects, it addressed an aching need and saved thousands of lives.

So what is my conclusion?

People who believe in a God who is still stuck somewhere on Mt. Sinai, afraid to climb down, are soon forgotten.

And those who believe in a God who walks on water to help His children … live to praise Him and help others.

 

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Anatomically Correct

dictionary with letter A

Anatomically correct (adj): {of a doll} having the sexual organs plainly represented.

Humans share two things in common:

  • the need to have something bigger than ourselves
  • and the desire to always be bigger.

It is a mental infestation.

Because in trying to find something bigger than ourselves, we usually come up with some sort of god-figure who is more cantankerous than helpful.

And with the penchant for wanting to be bigger, we often become petty and fussy with one another.

I remember junior high school locker room during shower time–even though the guys sincerely tried to make it clear that they weren’t “gay” or, as we called it at that time–“queer”–we all had a tendency to peek over to see what manly bestowal had been granted to our neighbor.

I guess with girls it revolves around the breasts.

Of course, in junior high school, some guys had bloomed earlier and others had a similar wee-wee to what was afforded them right out of the womb.

So self-conscious, nervous, frustrated and almost paranoid energy permeated the steamy room. And the worst part of it was that the only comfort afforded to your being was discovering someone smaller than you.

Therefore I’m a little bit put off or even intimidated by the notion of “anatomically correct dolls.” Even though they are inanimate objects, in their own way they seem to scoff at me from their pre-determined status.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s saint or sinner, priest or penitent, or prophet or porn star. We are all unnecessarily preoccupied with our presence and prowess in that limited region beneath our belt.

Matter of fact, the criterion for maturity may be a successful ability to ignore such instinct and push past it, creating something of beauty that just might be everlasting.

Here’s what I think about my anatomy:

If it’s working and not trying to kill me, I really don’t want to give it too much attention.

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Amnio

dictionary with letter A

Amnio: (n) informal term for amniocentesis.

Needled.

Are you familiar with that word? It refers to being chided, bugged and criticized.

I guess we want to do it to babies while they’re still in Mama’s sack. “Let’s stick our needle in there and see what you are. Discover what you’re made of. ”

Are you weak? Sickly? Disabled? Fat? Gay?

We’re not even going to give you a chance to have the benefit of overcoming or changing your circumstance. We’re gonna “needle” you.

It is the abiding misconception that if we can just make better physical specimens we will have a better world. Do away with different; eliminate weaker. And then we all will be strong.

God damn us if we are just so stupid that we don’t understand what makes human beings strong!

We become exemplary as a species when we learn to accept the different, undergird the weak and even admit there are those who are stronger, who can teach us to expand.

In a world of sameness, we invite even more nasty pickiness, because the differences will be smaller–to match our character.

Let’s stop “needling” each other.

Let’s start by leaving babies alone.

 

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Abloom

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abloom: adj. covered in flowers.

I like flowers.

What I don’t like is pretending that I’m uninterested in flowers because if I stated in public that I was, I might be perceived as gay.

With all the necessary and valuable discussion going on about human relationships and civil rights–including equality for the gay community–it has heightened people’s defensive nature concerning what is gay and what is not.

So if you’re a guy, you can be nervous about going to a movie with another guy, feeling the need to worry about whether the appearance of two dudes together sends the signal that you’re sharing more than a bucket of popcorn. If you happen to be the kind of person who just enjoys good movies and doesn’t believe there’s any such thing as a “chick flick” or “macho films,” you can be seen as a borderline case–ready to jump into the rainbow coalition.

If you know your way around a kitchen and like to cook, you have to make sure that you have a beard, spiked hair and talk gruffly about things like motorcycles and football–or people might wonder if your delicacy is Twinkies.

It’s horrible.

I would love to walk outside and see a field abloom and be able to discuss the colorations and sheer utter magnitude of the vision without wondering if people thought I also had a poster of Judy Garland hanging in my boudoir. Is it going to be possible to actually become more open-minded, when we attribute certain levels of appreciation to a sexual preference instead of just plain human enjoyment?

  • Do I like Broadway musicals? Some of them.
  • Do I know how to decorate a room? Yes–even though I welcome other people’s opinions.
  • Can I say that the “fields are abloom” without people thinking that I am queenly? I fear not.

I will know we have grown as human beings when we talk more about human beings than we do about men, women, gay and straight. To me the whole thing is similar to our fourth grade obsession with cooties. Guys really liked girls but weren’t sure whether we were supposed to or not–and because of the eyeballing of our friends, we pretended that touching one of these females would cause multi-legged insects to infest our bodies. Let me be the first to say it: cuties don’t give you cooties.

And reporting that a field is abloom does not make you Anderson Cooper.