Archives for posts with tag: Harvey Milk

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This morning, before dawn, I began wondering about the Supreme Court DOMA and Prop 8 outcome… as the sun rose over the mountain I considered how important the result seems to so many people.

Marriage Equality.  Something I had grown used to ignoring.  The idea.  The idea of getting married.  An alien notion.

Yet, many ordinary American people seem to really care very deeply that people like me can get married.

Gay men tell me, those most affected by DOMA… that they feel like second class citizens.  How is that so?  Will they feel like first class citizens now?  As we acquiesce into existing institutions.

I wondered about the justices.  Our elders.  Those making sweeping decrees about our lives in this litigious country.

Congress and the Senate hog tied by dogma, unable to make any sort of decision.

They announced on the morning news that DOMA was overturned.  Eight white people stood on the steps of the Suprem Court and held their hands up jubilantly… victoriously.   Melissa Etheridge said she was proud to be an American.   A white man said that this would change the lives of gay people ‘all over the world’.  Don Lemons took his camera crew into a gay bar.  “If you’ve never been inside a gay bar before, this is what it looks like.”  The cameras ambled in.  There were a few white lesbians in their mid fifties and a drag queen playing a piano.

I started ranting on Facebook and Twitter.

I said: ‘I’m remembering queer hero Bradley Manning. He will have to get married in jail. The issues of privacy, hegemony and cruelty remain. Monsanto et al can breathe a sigh of relief as this gay issue deflects attention from them. This may be a great day for lgbtq Americans… unless you are black or a woman. Those inequalities still remain.’

I quoted a friend from Arizona:  “I’ve felt second class or less than my straight contemporaries every day of my life growing up in the US. Guess you would have to have been born and raised here to understand Duncan”.

There seems to be a great deal riding on this DOMA decision.  Self Esteem, A First Class Life, Equality.

He was, however, the first person to confirm what I always feared.  That some gay men compare their lives to the lives of straight people and despair… they despair that they are not as valued as straight people.  It made me sad.

I knew in my heart that DOMA would be overturned.  “You’ve got to give them hope.”  Harvey Milk said.  This is the hope.  After a week of catastrophic decisions for those interested in civil rights:  the evisceration of voting rights, work place bullying condoned, Monsanto unchallenged.  It has been a catastrophic week in America for whistle blowers… for the truth… for the constitution. In Florida it’s a bad week for young black men gunned down for no good reason.

Today was a great day to be pink washed.

A great day to set aside your disappointments for a moment and celebrate.

So, I decided to listen to Keith Jarrett‘s Koln Concert and wrap up warm… I decided to make hot chocolate.

I was 15 when that album was released.

I sat on the terrace listening to the piano echo through the canyon.  I celebrated my single life.

I am not, any time soon, going to get married.  I am not, any time soon, going to propose to anyone.  I am not, any time soon, going to sweep another man off his feet.

Whilst so many around me are.

After a day of fury yesterday I feel much calmer today.

The great thing about anger management?  Legitimate anger.  I have good reason to be angry.

Yesterday was a very angry day.  The neighbors started building their un-permitted retaining walls at 6am.  They are meant to start at 7am.  This isn’t the first time I have been woken by them earlier than they are permitted.  I stood on the deck and screamed.  The white contractor called me an asshole.  I said, “This asshole is going to shit in your face.”  The Mexicans laughed.  The white guy looked horrified.  “Where’s your permit? ” I demanded.  They downed tools until 8am.

I drove to Venice.  I was knocked into by a young woman eager to get to the counter at GTA.  She apologized but it wasn’t good enough.  I said, “This is what’s wrong with your country, you’ll knock over anyone to get what you want.”

The perfectly revolting British Tara Summers arrived for lunch.  Her friend asked me to move my car.  I threw the keys at her and told her to move it herself.

My lunch arrived. Pork Belly sandwich.  I sat opposite a 30′s something guy in a suit with his 60′s something dad.  They were enjoying the day.  I prayed that they didn’t speak to me but they wanted to talk about the dogs.  I kept my answers short.  Then the personal questions came.  Where are you from?  What do you do? How long have you lived here?  So, knowing that I was not in the best mood to have any conversation I asked what he did here in LA.  He was a public prosecutor.

I couldn’t believe my luck.  There was the father and son, a young black man sitting on his own and me with the dogs in the court-yard eating our lunch.

I couldn’t help myself.  I asked if he knew the corrupt and rabid prosecutors I had to deal with.  He did not.

I told him that I knew a prosecutor called Todd R (now an entertainment lawyer) who would get blown by hookers at lunch time when he was prosecuting in court.  Leaving the courtroom to break the law.  Prosecuting others then breaking the law himself.

His father laughed.

I looked directly into the younger man’s eyes.  “Have you got morals?”  I asked him.

His father said, “I used to spank him.”

“You might have spanked him for not wanting to join the KKK.”  I said.  They laughed.  They thought I was joking.

The lawyer was intrigued.  “Why do you ask?’

“Because 80% of the prison population are black.”  I said.  “I wonder how you live with yourself.”

“How do you live with yourself when you know the jails have become mental hospitals nursed by sadists?”

Then I started a tirade that lasted a good five minutes.  I covered as much ground as I could, including work place discrimination and the essential difference between the rights of straight and gay people.  I asked him if he had ever considered the differences?  I asked him if he had ever considered anyone other than himself and his own needs?

I ended with, “I’ve been radicalized by your country.”   He looked taken aback, “Are you a Muslim?”   I smiled into his dumb, entitled face.  “No.  I’m queer. I am a radical queer.”

I met a boy on Grindr.  We had coffee.

I can’t remember where I went next but we all ended up (me, Lily and Chuck) in Duke’s eating $3 tacos.

There are so many straight people on our side.  There are lots who are not.

Remember gays and lesbians. We would not have won this battle without the help of others. People with no stake in this fight other than your happiness.

Now, go help those not so fortunate as they have helped you.

I am everything I ever think about.   You hear that a great deal in the rooms of AA.  We are indeed a self obsessed bunch.

Without the relief of thinking about somebody else I am back to my old ways:  dubious web sites..currently a member of four hook up sites, making plans with strangers.

The only thing that has really changed is the level of compulsivity.  I no longer compulsively look at those sites and I don’t look at porn like I did.  One of the benefits of the last few months, as I have written before, is my attitude toward sex.  I can now meet people and have sex with them without shame or complication.  Perhaps that’s a good thing?

I don’t know yet.  I made up my mind that in lieu of a relationship I will chase another sort of dragon.  Sport Fucking.

It’s amazing just how many of them (as do I) describe what we want as ‘fun’.

Funny.

It’s funny because I don’t regret that I never got into this sooner.  I am sure I would have gotten into trouble.  Already recent past conquests want repeat performances but I have no desire to meet them again, know their names or anything about their lives.

I am not even bothering to write about these men.  They are all the same.  I have become adept at just getting on with it.  They arrive, I do it, they leave.

These are changes in me to focus on and praise?   There’s always..my film.  My film is really getting everybody who hears about it really fired up.  It’s a perfect story with a big idea at it beating heart.

Just in case you’re wondering, the story has nothing to do with him.  I would normally try manipulating recent events into some kind of narrative.  I don’t seem to need that particular catharsis.  The sorry fact is..our story just isn’t that interesting.

The story is pretty much written here…well pretty much.  Many of the wonderful times are not written because I wasn’t allowed to write them.  There are days on end that we spent with each other that remain unwritten.   Waking up in the Jane Hotel…his absurd fear that I wanted to sleep with his best friend.

I did as I was told and didn’t write any of it.

Yesterday, ran around Beverly Hills paying bills (mortgage etc.) and after some deliberation decided that I would donate the money that I received from him to charity.  I sent it to the Trevor Project, every $1, 191.71 of it.  For those of you who don’t know what the Trevor Project is check it out.

Trevor Project

It seemed like the right thing to do in the circumstance.

Ultimately the money I received from him felt dirty and now it has been effectively laundered.

I made the donation in his name.  As a supporter he will receive the following benefits and will get to meet other aspiring A gays at charity events in NYC.

Supporter ($1,000 – $2,499)
All “Member” level benefits plus:

  • A complimentary copy of Trevor, the Academy Award®-winning short film
  • A Trevor Survival Kit sent to the school of your choice
  • Listing as a Circle of Hope Supporter in event program books, newsletters, our annual report and on Trevor’s website.

I imagine he will be able to claim it back against his taxes too.

I had lunch with J&J in WeHo.  Dinner with Ashley at Nobu.  Woke at 4am.  Chased a big buck around the garden with a torch.  Eating my geraniums.  Bastards.

I know now that he had already met someone else before we left for France.  I don’t blame him.  I couldn’t meet his needs.  He wants to be an ‘A’ gay and if he works hard enough at it he’ll get there in the end.

Like a character from an F Scott Fitzgerald novel.

For all of his terrible flaws I enjoyed his conversation.  I loved laughing with him.  I am aiming to remember him with kindness or..and this is more likely…not at all.

We have at least contributed to the happiness of others by making such a healthy donation to charity.

Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.

So, I meet this guy.  He’s age appropriate, he’s sober, he has a great sense of humor and we CONNECT.  I mean..we connect intellectually.  After a few hours I kinda know that (if I wanted to) I could really make this work, that he could easily be the one.  We spend a couple of days together, we eat dinner, we get closer.  It feels GREAT.

So, if everything is so fucking PERFECT why does meeting this special someone make me feel so damned vulnerable?

Let’s try again.

So, I meet this guy, he’s cute and funny and sober.  We connect immediately and I can’t stop thinking about the future.  No..DUNCAN ROY..stop thinking!  Stay here and now.  Be present.  Isn’t that what you wanted all along?  To fall in love?  But, like loving the little dog I am suddenly bound and gagged like Houdini.  I begin to talk myself out of a beautiful time.  I can no longer move freely.  I tell myself that I can..I can be easily wounded.

When the big dog was killed I called my mother and cried.  Later, I felt sick that I’d called her.  I felt so embarrassed.  I called my MOTHER sobbing.  My Mother hates dogs.  What sort of person calls the most hard-hearted person in their life expecting sympathy?  I felt like a FOOL.  Who would I call if this went wrong?  My Mother can’t take a love affair between two men seriously!  Say, for arguments sake, I fell in love with this man..what would happen if he left me?  YOU SEE!   I am already writing the final, tragic chapter.

What happens when I fall in love?  I am as fragile as a Ming vase.   I want to stare into their eyes, kiss their lips.   I want him right here right now.  I want to be we.  I want to be a line in a popular love song.  I don’t want to raise goats on my OWN.

The worst of being an addict is that I can so easily transmute from sex to love addiction.

Today’s big GRIPE:

Why do so many gay men around my age have topless pictures of themselves on Facebook?    Let me tell you.

Most gay men suffer from Peter Pan syndrome.  Forever teenagers, these identical looking men-beards, tats and manscaped pubes seem unable or unwilling to grow up.  They behave like pre-pubescent boys, screaming around the world in half naked gangs looking for the next big cock.

I used to care that these men had no respect for monogamy but now I can’t be bothered what they do or don’t respect.

When we are not objectifying each other we encourage others to objectify us.  We demand objectification.  Gay men are in a constant state of sexual red alert.  We advertise our bodies rather than our minds, constantly comparing our pecs our lats etc.

Let me tell you lads-this is why nobody takes us seriously when we want them to.   If you want equality, put your shirts on.

Start taking yourselves seriously and grow the fuck up.

What about the guys who don’t want to take their shirts off?  The guys who don’t spend hours in the gym?  Are we expected to compare and despair?  No, prepare to be ignored lads.  Prepare to be marginalized.

This is exactly why we will never have any kind of political leader.  Remember Harvey Milk?  I mean, who would vote for Milk now?  His teeth are bad, he isn’t in the gym 24/7.  Who would want to fuck that queen?  Our message has been lost amongst the lotions, hair dyes, gym clothes, and food fads that really motivate the community.

There is a terrible fascism that pervades the ‘gay community’, racism, and ageism-it’s all there.  Sadly, due to our ingrained sense of entitlement, there is little or no regard for the similarities-only the differences.  Which means, that when the chips are down, we are never ready to fight together for our common good.

Funny thing happened after an AA meeting last night.  A gay bloke was squirting hand sanitizer over himself and others after having shaken a stranger’s hand-the same guy who had been describing shoving his tongue up some random ass the night before.

Yay!  Vote no on ‘Prop 8’.

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