i am not gay

1.

Nope.  Not any more.

I AM NOT GAY.  I am OUT.

Unambiguous?

My New Years resolution: don’t call me gay.

I am The Other.  I am simply… Out.

I have resigned my gay membership.  I renounce the word GAY.

The Other is different from you.  He is neither superior nor inferior.

He is not alone.  He is out.

2.

Are you kidding?  I still like sex with men… but I’m not interested in being gay.

Do you understand what I’m saying… gays?  Yes you.  I’m talking to you.

I’M TALKING TO YOU!  Yes you, the gay in the bar, on the street, editing his Grindr profile.

Let’s face it.  This separation will work out just fine for both of us.

I loathe you and you hate me.

I know, amongst other things, what galls you… you (particularly) don’t like when men in their fifties own up to having a rich and varied sexuality:

I’ve been called a ‘dirty old man’ by more gays than I ever have by straights for wanting or having beautiful younger men in my bed.

The gays write it anonymously.  They post it all over the place, whenever they can.  As If I should be ashamed?

You, you who have cornered the market in nihilism, immorality, homogeneousness, bitchery, selfishness, self-aggrandizement, self-obsession… in fact anything with the self prefix… apart from self-awareness.

I am peeling off the parade.  I am letting the party wend its way elsewhere.

2. (a)

They told me at Triangle House in LA when we were making our documentary about older gay people:  they say that old gay people end up going back into the closet because… it can get ugly… it can get dangerous.

They say that gay men are more likely to end up homeless than in any other demographic… because they have no community.

You gays are the very worst at hating yourselves.  But you reserve more venom for the elderly homosexual than any other group.

It is a sickening idea to many young gays, that we (the elderly) exist.

Some young gay people believe that past 50 our penises shrink appropriately into our bodies.  Retract.

In old age we become like wrinkly Ken dolls with smooth, pink groins.

No longer a threat to anyone.

I thought that when I became old… I would start wearing women’s clothes.

Where do young gay men learn how to be dignified old gay men?

I learned from older men in AA how to be an older man.

The respect that AA old timers get, applauded for their contribution to the community of AA stands in stark contract to the respect that older gay people don’t get from younger gay people.

Unless, of course, they are famous… or comical freaks… or rich enough to buy the boys they used to get for free.

Young gay people don’t want to be reminded that the party comes to an end.

2 (b)

So, today…

I resign my membership.  I am no longer a true believer.  I’m handing back my awards, my medals, my history, my pride.

It’s yours not mine.  Take it.

I renounce: gay pride, gay film festivals, gay beaches, gay basketball, gay bars, the gay ghetto, the gay plague, gay marriage, gaybies, gaydar.com, gays in the military, gay cruises, cottaging, felching, gay news, gay voice, gay face, the gay sub section in the book/video store/Huffington Post.

So help me God!

I’m praying the gay away!

The terms of this divorce:

You can keep it all.  The gay plays I made, the gay films I directed, the gay art I painted/etched/sculpted.

Take everything I ever made in your honor.

If you don’t want it?  Burn it.

2 (c)

When I offered our award-winning film catalogue of gay films to The Legacy Project (the gay and lesbian film preservation project) based out of UCLA… the gays turned it down.

Even though AKA  had won the LA Outfest audience award and opened (and closed) many gay film festivals all over the world with all of my films.

The Legacy Project said no to the free gift.  They wanted me to disappear.

They don’t want any evidence that I existed.  As a man or an artist.

“He’s trouble.”  ”He’s angry.”  ”He’s a parasite.”

Gays!  Look at what you’ve become!

Examine, for just one goddamned gay second…. the mediocrity!  Your righteous indignation! Your mock elegance!

Being with you is like drowning in cold tea.

3.

I don’t drink or take drugs.  Tom blew weed into my face.   He put vodka into my virgin mary.  That’s how the gays bully one another.

Try wearing something unusual when your companions  just want to be invisible.

“Who does he think he is?”

Their artificially deepened voices.  The plaid shirt, the super hero tee.

The cloak of invisibility.

INVISIBLE.

Tom asked incredulously, “What are you wearing?”  A man who wears nothing but ugly jeans, ill-fitting t-shirts.

Tom has an ‘opinion’ about individuality:  He doesn’t believe in it.

These gays are terrified of being seen.  Gripped by the politics of invisibility.

At least that grotesque, lying freak I used to date… he and his boy friend have some sartorial audacity.

Even if it is TOTALLY misguided.

Who are these gays?  These invisigays?

Like Tom, they may appear normal:

4.

How can a gay man expect to age with dignity when nobody gay wants to age at all?

I saw it in LA… my destiny. If I chose to take it.

At first, Adam looked just like any other confident gay man claiming to be 48.

His gay parties are the talk of the town.  Richer than most of his friends, though not very well connected … not to the real gay power in LA.

I mean, David Geffen wouldn’t be seen dead at this piss elegant, graceless house in the Hollywood Hills.

Adam invented the heart valve.

At one of his parties (to his chagrin) I photographed every single one of his guests.

A snap shot of LA gay life.

He has never been elegant, he has never been a great beauty.  He will never be tall.

He is, however, manicured, botoxed, his teeth reinvented, his flawless skin, his demeanor… (that only great wealth lends you).

It was at that last raucous party I attended (as a plus one) I saw him upset (rattled)… why?

He looked like an old, vulnerable man.

“What happened?”  I asked the gays.

They told me imperiously (as if it were obvious) that the young, chiseled boy he imported from NYC just wanted him for his money.

Adam looked… beaten.  Crest fallen.  His frail hands shook, the delicate skin around his eyes failing.

The gays stood around helplessly as their host fell apart.  They stared into the plastic cups of vodka.  They played with their nipples.

The pimps and the whores waited silently by the sodden beer pong.

He turned the music off.  Finally, he threw everyone out.

They lined up on the steep drive.  A hideous parade of grotesquely young boys, graded online or in public bars for their sexual prowess, their social fallibility, their youth.

The man who invented the heart valve, it seems, suffered from a broken heart.

5.

Take the gay man who gave up his 160k surrogate child for adoption because she had a small birth defect on one of her legs.

Yes, you heard me.

When we interviewed the doctor who makes hundreds and thousands of gay dollars from the gayby industry… he told us that the gays want perfection.  Nothing less will do.

Take it all… this gay culture.  This gay community.  Take it.

Take the video of Bryan with 25 Bel Ami boys jacking off over him.

Moisturized with Czech sperm.

Or the man/boy with the huge cock who they pay to sleep with a hooker and unbeknownst to him… tape him.

This tribe of entitled, elitist gays clinging to gay marriage and their smart phones.

6.

I had lunch today with a 30-year-old man/boy who just came out.  ”Why did it take you so long, ” I ask, “To tell the truth?”  He said, “I didn’t… (he paused dramatically) …I mean I still don’t… I don’t want to be gay.”

“That’s ok,” I reassured him.  ”You can describe yourself however you want.”

When, as frightened teens, blooming… prepubescent boys… infants… when we understand that we want to fall in love and fuck and suck and slide into another man… what choices do we have?   To describe ourselves?

Gay is the only way.

And if you don’t know what you are.  The gays will tell you exactly what you are.

The gays are so prescriptive.

He’s gay, they claim conspiratorially.  They claim anyone ‘hot’ is gay.  They all know someone who had sex with Tom Cruise or Hugh Jackman.

“He’s fucking his ‘assistant’.”

Oh Yes!  He’s had sex with a man… he’s gay.  He’s experimented… he’s gay.

Prescriptive.

6 (a)

Hollywood does not lend itself to morals.

CAA agent Kevin Huvane.  When you first meet him, he shakes your hand and pulls you toward him.   Trying to pull you off-balance.

The first time he met me… it worked (I was rocked) the second and third times I was prepared and we set to a gay tug of war, an argy bargy, him attempting to pull me and me attempting to pull him.

The fourth time I let him pull me onto him.  I crashed into him.  His tiny frame overwhelmed by 6′ 2″ me.  He landed in a heap beneath me.  ”Oh sorry,” I said.  ”You pulled me toward you.  I lost my balance.  Sorry… Kevin.”

He’ll put you on a ‘list’ they told me.  ”I’m on so many lists.” I murmured.  ”More lists than Cathy Griffin.”

7.

After claiming on the Dr. Drew show that I wanted to make healthy decisions about sex.  Somebody wrote to me or about me:  If Duncan Roy doesn’t like gay sex… he isn’t gay.

He wasn’t far from the truth.

At first, I was outraged by their attempts to isolate, malign and lambaste me.

They had tried for years.  Without success.  Every time they try… they fail.

This last time… the jail.  What the hell did they expect?  That I would buckle?

Those who throw rocks at me are seldom innocent of that which they accuse.

8.

The Gays, have become so… bourgeois.  Do you understand what that means?  Let me refresh your memory:

Marked by a concern for material interests and respectability and a tendency toward mediocrity.

When I was young… gays like you knew their place.

They stayed in the closet.  I mean.  Coming out of the closet was brave!  Now anyone can do it and become a fucking hero.

9.

Gays… why are you killing yourselves?

You kill yourself because you can’t take a joke, because you can’t hold your liquor, because you can’t say no to crystal… because you don’t want to be gay.

I don’t remember young gay people killing themselves in the UK.

It gets better?

What gets better?

Better than death?

10.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled when any oppressed group gets a bit of equality… but what will the USA gays do with their equality?

I’ll tell you.

They will make it even harder for the rest of us to be different.

There is a hideous conformity to which these young gays feel they must adhere.

Gay life in the USA.  A blushing desire for ‘straight acting’ has become a tsunami of heternoramativity.   The foundation on which this miserable gay monolith now stands.

Who are you?

A greek god, perfectly muscled, forever young… dressed to be ignored, as bland a personality as he can effect.

He is Peter Pan, he is Hercules, his personality as glittering as the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

Do you care about anything other than marriage equality?  No.

He eats what his parents eat.  He would vote republican if they could only find it in their neo con hearts to see that the gays are perfect conservatives.

So.  We are divorced.  I am no longer gay.  I’m OUT.  I’m out of here.  I’m out but I’m not gay.

Happy New Year!

“The King”

This is a reworking of an earlier blog:

So that I don’t break any rules I have removed the names of those I am presently being accused of Attempted Extortion.

Extortion is either threatening to reveal a secret or a crime unless money is paid.  It usually accompanies threats of violence.

I allegedly threatened to blog about a man ripping me off.   That’s what I have been charged with.  Threatening, in the land of the free, the land of the first amendment, to have an opinion about a man who ripped me off.

No wonder my  fellow Brits are outraged.

Firstly, this is a civil matter and The State of California should not be wasting millions of tax payers dollars going through the public courts.

Secondly, the law was obviously written to protect people who had committed crimes or had secrets from being violently blackmailed.

Of course it is hard luck when, in life, one gets fucked over.   In America being fucked over is a daily challenge and those who manage to successfully do the fucking over are hailed as the winners.  Just look at the Wall Street ‘winners’ rewarded for fucking over the entire nation.

Unlike most people who get fucked over, who cannot fight back…I have this blog.

It has proved to be one of the most effective fog horns in the world.

Let’s talk?  Just you and me?  Can I confide in you?

In 2007, after 35 years, I sold my beautiful house in Whitstable Kent.  I started avidly house hunting all over Los Angeles for another home.  I met CN from a well-known realty company.  We looked at hundreds of houses, none of which I liked.

I was a US property virgin trusting that realtors in the USA would behave as I had learned from estate agents in the UK…with honesty and accountability.

Months into our search I had still not found a house I liked.

My recently deceased friend Jean Perramon lived in Malibu and walking his neighborhood I chanced upon my present home.

Two acres of lush, semi tropical gardens.  Bananas, citrus, plums.  Stone paths weaving through the landscape.  A post and beam family home divided into two apartments.  I met the owner KM and he agreed to let me rent the property with a view to buying it.

I told CN about the house and he introduced me to CC the sellers agent.

Well, we scarcely needed introducing as I had, on more than one occasion let CC suck my cock.  But as with most of the power gays in town he had quickly heard my back story and with disapproving, judgmental aplomb…stopped returning my calls.

After our dating disaster I bumped into him again at the Barry Diller pre-Oscar party.  We sat together at lunch and I met his bejeweled Russian friend Diana who claimed to be the wife of some oligarch and her euro trash monster entourage.

People like CC, Diana and their ilk gossip interminably about their celebrity friends…Elton this…Cher that…relating their upcoming agenda in lieu of any meaningful conversation.  Squealing about their yachts, their diamonds, their homes and their spurious charities.

Listen, let’s face it…CC has done very well for himself.  He comes from a humble Malibu family, his darling mother is often seen eating lunch in the garden at Cross Creek.  His fireman father is dead.  He sells more real estate than any other broker in the USA.  For a man who is scarcely literate…he has done very well for himself.

This is what he writes about himself on his very own website:

“Yes, CC’s name is everywhere in Malibu, because that’s what happens when you’re “The King.”  It was actually the Bravo TV program Million Dollar Listing, in which CC was profiled among several other L.A.-area top-producing agents, that coined the term “The King of Malibu”. Perhaps it was his incredible production that earned him the title. Perhaps it owes to the type of clientele he often serves, namely some of the biggest names in entertainment and business.”

As gay royalty goes, CC is certainly the King…the King of the Cock Suckers.  He has a very regal, hungry mouth.

Being a gay man has impacted well on his life.  He tells the story with relish, how he met Barry Diller with whom he allegedly had an affair and in turn introduced him to the gay mafia who claim to run the world.

CC was a handsome Richard Gere type of guy.  Not so much now.  He has sailed the recessionary wave.

The last time I saw him was at the 7.30am Wednesday morning celebrity Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting in Brentwood.

He looked at me in total horror, not because he was at an SAA meeting but because by that time he had colluded with CN and others to defraud me.

Information that now causes me to write this revelatory blog.

After seeing him at the meeting I wrote a sweet email welcoming him to SAA.  It is very hard to admit you have a problem like sex addiction.  I wanted him to feel safe when he returned.

After renting the Malibu house for a few weeks I asked CN to write-up an offer.

The house had been on the market for many months.

I live in a country where houses languish on the market for a very long time, it did not occur to me that a house that had been on the market for a few months may be problematic.

It did not occur to me that I was working with a couple of realtors who were determined, at any cost, to sell me a doozy.   The ex told the police that he thought I was ‘dark and creepy’ and needed to be taught a lesson.  My soppy, inexperienced realtor just wanted his commission and was sick of showing me endless properties.

We had written offers before but they had not been accepted.  I had never ordered an inspection.

With the inspection…or lack of it…the active deception began…knowing how green I was they deliberately failed (using a fake geologist) to disclose the following:

The problem with the house?  During the past ten years there had been landslides on either side of the property and on the property.  That there was un-permitted and illegal construction work in the garden including retaining walls and water tanks degrading the land and making it more liable to land slide.

Neither the seller nor CC disclosed this information.  Information that, by law, they were required to reveal.

Knowing that I would not want to buy the house if I knew the truth, they presented me with an expensive and thorough geological report conducted in 2004 which they persuaded me was adequate for my purposes, advising me that I should have a verbal report from another geologist to confirm that nothing had happened subsequent to the 2004 report.

They assured me that a ‘verbal’ report was perfectly normal.  Amongst other anomalies they also told me that I had to pay their 6% commission.  Also, within two months of the purchase the seller also demanded a further $200,000 that he claimed I had told him I would pay him after the sale.

CN, the Beverly Hills realtor, told me that he could not find a local geologist so hired a geologist recommended by CC…the sellers agent.

The young, good-looking geologist sat uncomfortably with us, CC at his side.  He held the 2004 geological report and I asked him if anything had happened since that report was written.  Anything I should know that would influence the sale of the house.

You know what I’m like!  I asked him many, many questions.  I’m a pedant!  I needed to know everything before I invested my hard-earned $500,000.

Without looking into my eyes the young geologist  told me that the house had a “reasonable half an inch of ‘creep’”  but failed to tell me about either of the land slides or the illegality of the un-permitted work.

The last time I heard from the geologist…or the man who claimed he was the geologist…he had turned to Jesus.  He told me that CN/CC had told him not to mention the slide as he wanted me to buy the house.  The ‘geologist’ felt guilty.  He told me that it plagued his conscience.

After we signed contracts, after escrow, CC came up to me and with spiteful eyes told me that I would, “Own that house for a very long time.”  It was rather baffling.  I thought he was just being a bitch because I came in his face rather than his mouth.

Only after I tried selling the house did I learn what he meant.

Watching others go through the process of buying a house I realize now how duped I had been by both CC and CN.

When I spoke to CN recently he said, “I knew this would come back to haunt me.”

Yes, you’re right CN, it’s going to haunt you until I have been paid the money I put down to buy this house.

The $500,000 I put down as a deposit on this house.

I wrote to CC letting him know ahead of time what I was going to do.  That I would write a blog and give him some time to either do the right thing and find a solution that included a ‘fair and equitable’ settlement…or I would start a campaign against him…including paid advertisements in local newspapers, national news articles.  At no time did I ever threaten to out him as a sex addict.  I didn’t need to, I had already referred to him in earlier blogs as a sex addict.

As for my fair and equitable arrangement, the arrangement that he scoffed at last time we were in court.  They pay me back the $500,000…they get the house.  They can rent it, sell it, do what ever they like.  I just want my money back.

BTW There are very public court transcripts for those who want to read them.

When we subpoenaed the geologist…a completely different man (in his 50′s and morbidly obese) arrived at the court house…a man I had never seen.  He really didn’t want to be there, he tried to wriggle out of it.  I was delighted!  It was proof positive that I had indeed been conned by two unscrupulous realtors.

We will, in good time, get to the bottom of this mess, we will expose those who sought to defraud this proud British Citizen then cynically used the LAPD to turn the tables on me.

We will find out who kept  me in jail even though there was no reason to do so.  Eventually, when all is revealed, heads will roll.

CC thought he might have gotten away with his meticulously executed plan.

Never expecting to see my ugly mug listen to him say, “MY NAME’S CC AND I AM A SEX ADDICT”  or , for that matter, their accomplice turn to Jesus Christ.

This story is so damned…American.

Dennis Hopper

I am still not in the UK where I am meant to be.  I am trying to fit the pieces of my life together so when I finally leave I can feel safe things wont fall apart whilst I am away.

I am in the doldrums.   I can’t wait to get home to see friendly faces, hear familiar accents, wash the last few months of indecision, lost love and tales of ordinary madness into the Swale.

No longer in love my cupboards fill with chocolate.  I look at myself in the mirror and realize that I got what I wished for..the invisible man stares back at me.   Yet, saying this, this morning I was full of hope.  I sat in acceptance and said so out loud.

The little dog and I have not climbed Runyon for days and this is partly because my back twinges and I am scared that it will fail me again like it did earlier this year and I will have to sit in bed for a week unable to move without excruciating pain.

There isn’t much to report.  I am not allowed to write about my trip home in case I say/write things that upset the man I am travelling with.  Needless to say there are good times on the horizon though I am not sure if my companion will enjoy the whirlwind exploration of things past.  My past.  I am getting to show someone I care about the locations I love including the place where, in this now half over life, I experienced as a child a moment of total freedom that, strangely, I never really experienced again.  It is this place that I want to visit most and ultimately end up under the elder, hawthorn and the sycamore of my youth.

I linger in depression when I am alone then, when people knock at my door, all at once I am happy and content.  I know that I am going home to very friendly faces, to the great loves and the equally magnificent disappointments of the past half a century.

I am dreaming eager like a ghost through the Sunday drag shows of the Vauxhall Tavern, the streets of London, the parks and moribund locations of my youth.

There are people I must see who are essential to reconnect with if, as I plan, I am to remain at peace with myself.   A smile on my face.

Dennis Hopper died this week.  I spent a few afternoons/evenings with Hopper in Bucharest when I was directing the ill-fated Method..a truly ghastly film.  We were staying in the Marriott and would sit in the marble bar with hookers, actors and gamblers.   The entire cast of the film Modigliani including Andy Garcia, Udo Kier and Miriam Margolyes.

During one odd excursion we sat in a darkened screening room and watched the last few moments of the lives of Nicolae Ceausescu and his wife Elena who were executed by firing squad in 1989.  I remember her suburban coat and the way she fell.   Bullets into their bodies.  Hopper was unmoved.  The next time we bumped into each other was at a pre Oscar do at Barry Diller‘s.   He told me that rather than being unmoved he was shocked that the man who showed us the footage (the owner of Media Pro film studios) was so gleeful.

The Ceausescu were the last people to be executed in Romania before the abolition of capital punishment in 1990.

Louise Bourgeois died this week.  Another colorful character from my past.  The very same week I sold one of the two works I owned by her.  The auction of some of my art collection went very well.

I had, it seems, invested wisely.