THE GLASS CLOSET

I'm gay.

Now you'd think something as simple as two words, would explain, identify and satisfy any question on the difference of sexual orientation, wouldn't you? Ah, well...At 14 I found out to my cost that such a simple proclamation can land one in some pretty nasty bastard-infested waters, I'll tell you that for nothing.

This isn't going to be one of those 'lecturey' blogs, where I instruct you and make you feel guilty about not understanding/not caring/being weird around the whole GAY thing... this is more a treatise on the current phenomena of what 'GAY' means to the mainstream, and obviously where I set amongst it all; it's many-varied and multi-layered and bit wibbly and silly in places, but I will try to condense into something quite simple and interesting!

The thing is, I was lucky to originally 'come out' with little understanding of sex/sexuality or connotations, identity and all those other peculiar things. I was 14, I knew I didn't have that much of an interest in girls, and that I found guys attractive, and lovely, but I was pubescent, I didn't have that much of an inclination of sex really... I can't fathom any reason why I said this fact about myself to all and sundry, there was no gain, except to be honest, although the losses were rather terrific.

You see, I had the rather fortunate circumstance, that I went to an All-Boys School, in a rather less than reputable area of South-East London; a heavy, rough and uncomprimising place, that didn't take too kindly to fay, unco-ordinated, philosophising types... and the school population after asking a long loooooooooooong stream of questions decided that I, who would not defend or argue, simply explain, as I was all calm and dream-like floating through school-life, took umbridge to this and began a systematic yet random course of attacking me in various undignified ways; from aerosol-can spray in the face, to stone throwing, spitting, punching, kicking, strange sexual advances... it was a rather difficult seven months of this, to which I never really responded... I didn't know how, or thought to...

I decided to leave this establishment and they found me a new one. Now at 15, rather war-wounded and introspective about this whole life business... further questioning of my sexuality resulted in me not willing to answer, thus a whole stigma and fear arose whenever sexuality was mentioned, in particular gayness, and I sort of developed an internalised homophobia.

When I got a bit older, and heard that there were 'LGBT youth groups' I popped along to them - but (and please, this is no sob story, just 'what happened') a lot of the other young guys and gals, were more interested in copping off with one another, and they were on this thing called 'the scene' which I didn't understand.

This scene refers to a ghettoised area of soho in which the opening gay outnumbers the arrogant heterosexual, thereby the gay population assume a strange parody of heterosexual life by being comfortable in an outside urban setting... thus making it as isolating, unkind and unwelcoming as the rest of society...

So with my self-loathing and their over-compensating self-loving.... I was a lost cause... and it wasn't until I got into a dodgy domesticated long-term relationship and went to college, that I sort of weirdly labelled myself as BISEXUAL.... something which I had to defend internally... how embarrassing I find it now... but just one note, I have had relationships with women - and I have loved women - I do love women and could fall in love with women - it's about love with me not sex so much - and so yes, Bi - ness is probably a more correct term, but I shall outline why I identify as GAY.

The reason is very simple; it is still a homophobic society, that doesn't allow for tolerance, let alone acceptance of alternative sexualities; we do not teach it to our children from a young age, as they do in other European countries, we don't have Gay Marraige, there is still acceptable prevelant anti-gay humour and a proliferation of gay-backlash in the press and tv... people are always interested in people sexuality because people think these 'closetted' people are ashamed and we like to out and shame, it's the modern witchhunt... so until it's such an ordinary fixture of life FOR THE MASSES (I know a lot of you who read this blog will have already, or have been brought up to see there is very little distinction between gays and straights, imperceptable) that gay men and women should show it - loudly....

I, through trauma, have not been able to be as open as I'd like, and I try my best, I'd never deny even in dangerous circumstances, but I, due to complete accident, I think people correlate my behaivour as 'gay' anyway, and this I do not mind, but I worry people think I mind, and want to keep it secret, or something... now this is THE GLASS CLOSET, (I keep nearly writing COFFIN) that I refer too... it is a term that denotes someone who is openly gay yet never refers to it in public and often asks for it not to be mentioned if giving interviews and so on; prime examples of this are Simon Amstell, Jodie Foster, One of Take That (I cant remember which one) so on and so on, ad infinitum.... people seem to herald these as bastians of LGBT-rights, because they 'don't make a fuss about it' and that they 'appear almost straight' how UTTERLY SICKENING, is that! - it sounds very conformist and middle-class; the only way we accept is through assimilation - no, no, no, no!

People, who through their personality are camp or outrageous, I think of Louis Spence here, are derided as setting the gay-rights movement backwards, and modern gay men go 'ya! boo! for shame!' - how dare they, that's very unkind, untrue and all the rest of it, he is just him - he may be annoying for other reasons but it's nothing to do wit hthe fact that he is gay and flamboyant... the real shaming types are the ones that just 'never refer to it' and try their best to not appear at all like a stereotype of which we are so villified and bullied for...!

Well I shant take part in this horrible display of utter conformity, I don't mind if I am mocked or if people secretly sneer, I am well-prepared now for all that....

I genuinely beleive Modern Gay-Rights Activism is as simple as going to societ 'No You're Wrong! We're Equal and seeing as we've demoralised so; we have to waste all this energy of our life in telling you the reasons OVER AND OVER AND OVER"

Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallowed Cynics (Part 1)

Harry Potter is one of things that have contributed to my recanting the twatty cynic chic, that befall all young silly peoples for a time - although I think due to my anger at the world in general, such vibes stick in to the soul of ones shoe like a Great Dane's shite! But, and it's more to reassure myself that you lot, I am not really that much of a cynic and I fight critical or judgemental instincts on a daily basis. I find it hard to genuinely tear something apart unless it something that is going to cause harm to people; I.E: The Jeremy Kyle Show/War/Republicans and so on, and even then they way one goes about it perhaps doesn't really take that much sugar off the puff!

Silly bitchy personae can be funny, especially in stand-up; we love people being humiliated and having the piss-ripped by societies strange outsiders, and that Schadenfreude is a way of life.... but some people can get confused where the lines blur and be insulted, and for that one is always deeply guilt-striken and apologetic.

This goes further than that... Harry Potter was something that passed me by in the great schema of life, not out of bitter 'Oh it's shit' 'It's for kids', that weird thing that when something becomes overly popular everyone wants to give it a good kicking... sort of franchise-bullying as it were... just busy, and then when you miss the first 4 films/last 4 books you get all -'How do I get into it?'

Luckily I have a boyfriend who likes all this magical and fantastical shizz (every home should have one), and the other week, in preperation for the 7th Installment; we watched all 6 films back to back.

Now I've already glazed y eyes over the first 2, and that's fair enough; pretty standard (don't want this to escape up the arse-hole of 'review' or anything dirty and fetid like that!!!) but it did hit its stride by the tird film, and I did enjoy the cornacopia of A-list british film-stars from Michael to Imelda by route of Maggie to Emma via Alan - oh lovely stuff; that's my bread and butter of the films....

By going to the seventh, all the elements tht have bee built up over a decade really come to the fore, with real cinematic elan, it was compelling as a piece of cinema, and well executed; it is irrelevent if Daniel, Emma and (well not) Rupert aren't the best actors in the universe or that there are silly shmultzy bits; it brings lots of joy and loveliness - and it's an aesthetic point that my boyfriend is making in his dissertation - that Harry Potter lends itself to a Dickensian tradition of writing, which in turn is semi-social/political - there is Boarding House Romps and ancient legends and religious allegory, it's the oral tradition of the Celts to The Canturbury Tales - it's the same story of Good V. Evil, echoeing down the ages - it cant be a bad think that J.K is preserving it with a franchise and Multi-conglomerate it's a pleasing shape, of course if its not to you thats fine, it's got Radcliffe in his pants too! - But as all those 100's of screaming boys and girls squeal with delight and fright, alive with the magic. I had to sit next to the overweight bearded twat in a cheap leather jacket, talking derisvely and sneering scene after scene....

His personality lacked subtly and it is a wake-up call to such people that even dignified 'Oh it's not for me' is far more gentler and self-worthy than bollocky waffle! Although as a parting shot... I'd like to say when I sit entranced by some Lebanese Art-House film about the waterfalls of Nepal, which is just waterfalls for three-hours, meanish discourse on such things is just as unfair... why cant all our arty endevours just get along? All is equal in the eyes of Shareholders (so isn't!)


[GOALS FOR NEXT WEEK: Follow football for seven days and try to minimize the comparison both written/speaking/acting to Stephen Fry!!! TUT!]

Remembrance Sunday

I awoke this morning, 10.20am-ish, on the sofa; to the dulcet tones of David Dimbleby; and the vista of London's Whitehall are, deserted for an oblonged throng of people around the Cenotaph. Something compelled me to stay with the images of the procession; the bands, the ceremony and so on.

   Now, I have lived in London all my live, my Grandad fought in World War II, my Dad in the Fawklands; My Nan was a Royalist on the quiet, well not so quiet - so there is a lot in me, without me knowing, that strikes a cord inside. But they never (as far as I know) ever went to Whitehall on Remembrance Sunday, and neither have I. I always buy a poppy, and then subsequently lose it because I cannot do the pin thing right... None of this is of any consequence, what I am about to do, is qualify something that a lot of people secretly think or do but never dare to say.... 

I for a large chunk of my juvenile life been self-obsessed, and therefore had not been equipped to take in the scope of other people's life, the world or humanity in general; in adolescence, I developed a 'mentally-ill' persona, something I became secretly stuck with and couldn't shake off... well I am shaking now; and now I try to genuinely connect with the outside world.

When faced with WWI & WWII and how we remember all those who gave their lives, and I mean the phrase, because it is a service, a belief of the soldier, armaments worker, civil-servant, shop-keeper, night-warden and so on, that not as an indiviudual but a cog, one of many, many cogs in a wheel that will roll towards the freedom, and the emphatic refusal to give in to pervading evil, that's what is awe-inspiring about these people. The dignity in that idea, that being part of something; this even goes up to something such as Afghanistan; although the political ideals behind it may be more complex, the ideology of the soldier itself is the same; such as the soldier who died clearing a bomb-laden pathway for the fellow soldiers to go forward, gave his life so that could happen - in the inner workings of itself - it does mean something for the whole.

  And the process of understanding why we remember The Glorious Dead, is just as important, it is meme, in our lifetime, all the people that were involved in WW2 will be dead, and all that will be left will be a memory, this memory has to endure; because in the end, all their fighting, all the death and heartache and agony and pain, was to preserve the idea of something; of course, it's a highly emotive subject, and people can be very offended at the lack of respect for War Veteran and people currently serving alike. My heart went out especially to the former soldiers who marched suffering from Combat-Stress.

  Trying to emote to something difficult, outside one's immediate surroundings, to something that does not directly affect them, can be hard, but it is benefitial, and it's not selfish, bad or wrong not to understand, I think people just go 'Oh I don't understand or DON'T KNOW HOW I SHOULD REACT to this' that makes us shy away, made me shy away.

But I sat down and had a good think about it, and it's unimaginable to take in the magnitude of loss of life; to think of the number of deaths and take it in; I just imagine the grief you experience when you lose someone you love, a family member, in the full flow of life, through no fault of their own, and times it by 100 million; to g through each and every one takes more than a lifetime. And of course the remembrance serves as a respectful footnote.

I would like to finish by remarking on the sadness in the eyes of The Queen and even The Prime-Minister, it's a shared grief we all have.

P.S - I will make a concerted effort to attend next year. (And get a Poppy that stays on).

The Zen of Poo

After an smashing long weekend in mein little shire town out in the country, Simon has boarded a train for an elegant journey to Londontown, where he will mingle with society and undoubtedly drink vast amounts of tea and port. Being devoid of one of these infernal computer machines, I shall once more endeavour to live up to the splendour that is his blog and attempt to write something that isn't complete and utter shit. But who am I kidding, and inspired by that last sentence (and too hungover to think of anything more complicated), I decided to repost something I blogged about 6 years ago:


I found it one morning, in front of our barbecue. Round, soft, smooth texture, by the look of it.
Looked pretty fresh, but it struck me as strange... who, if that's what it was, would poo in our garden? And not just discreetly in the flowerbed or a dark corner, like the well-behaved cats do, but actually have the nerve to relieve himself in front of our barbie?
I stood there, contemplating, in the warm morning sun, inspecting the insolent pile of excrement which looked too weird to be of its kind.
Sarah, my housemate, stepped outside for her morning cigarette. I turned to her.
"Sarah?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Do you know what that is?"
Sarah stepped closer and eyed the tiny heap critically, but I could see a certain cluelessness in her face.
"Is that a turd?", I asked.
She still looked unsure. "Didn't the guys have a barbie last night? I think Russell dropped a burger."
"A burger?", I said, doubtfully. There are a lot of exaggerated claims about the quality of the English cuisine, but never would one expect for the average burger to look like shite. But then again, maybe it was an an Asda Smartprice one.

A few hours later, Russell got up, and I asked him to come outside. "Can I have your professional opinion on something?" I asked and pointed to the brown heap which had begun to dry on the surface, cracking like African mud in a drought.
"Is that one of your burgers?"
Russell glanced at it.
"Nah", he diagnosed with a tone of expertise. "That's a turd."

Turns out it was foxes. We hear them at night, sometimes. When they scream, they sound like crying toddlers. Like babies. It is the creepiest sound to wake up to in the middle of the night.

And yet this seemingly insignificant poo taught me a lot. About liberation and innocense and never thinking twice about anything but just going with the flow... of LIFE! Of LIFE! Yes of course. It must be a peaceful existence, being a fox.
Except maybe in England. Well, they had it coming for them. If they poo in everyone's garden, no wonder fox-hunting is the big British pastime.
You just don't mess with an Englishman's garden.

No Junk Food

WARNING!!! WARNING!!! SOMETHING CONSTITUTING A NORMAL BLOG WARNING!!!

Yesterday, I found myself having to wander a reasonable stretch to our nearest ASDA superstore, for 'some bits' as they say in the common vernacular, this is the term given to the light falsly-economic shop that the 21st Century has given a ceaserian section to... the poncy language is to somehow alleviate what is going to be one of those 'health'-blogs that are rather fashionable - the irony that endless typing at a laptop is surely does not aid 'ealf.... Anyswayze to cut a long story mediocre... I promised myself a little reward for this journey, a resultant BIG MAC! - It was to be my undoing... as when I wolfed down this double pattied , drippy yellow-sauced, corrogated gherkined sliced bunned monstrosity, that within minutes I started feeling quote unquote 'peculiar'. 

         Now, I have had McDonalds and other Fast Food type place foods on a million other occasions; to think how much money I have spent; usually it's KFC and Subway; perhaps they have more nutritional value than Maccie Dee's but I am not in the business of food snobbery (secretly slighty, but that's just personal guilt) it's just 'feeling sick after', on loads of occasions I've greedily laid out and consumed bargain buckets, three double cheese-burgers, 2 whole dominator meatball explosion dominoes pizza... and the idea of that melted cheese and garlic sauce makes me salivate - but just in the way nicotene and caffeine used to make my synapses twinkle, I do 'feel' sick and wrong and ill when I consume these things - it is a bit of a self-delusion that you 'enjoy' most of this stuff - ciggies do enhance pleasure receptors slightly but only for the next fix - and salt and sugar highs are temporary we know, we know... but it's the bottom line of THINKING ITS BAD FOR YOU AND DOING IT COZ YOU LIKE IT, and actually it FEELS SICK-MAKING; and the penny dropped yesterday - I felt grumpy, sicky and frustrated; I felt wrong. 
         
      And it wasn't until I had a walk, a couple of actimels and a banana that balance was restored. As I said before I gave up caffeine, I had done it before by just having 1 coffee a day in the morning, that seemed okay, but then became 3,2,4 etc. but by replacing coffee with decaff - MIRACULOUS! - substitution is the king, I must say; that's been a real boon - so 1 coffee here and there is okay, but I have really not bothered, I just don't like it, - and it really was something I used to have ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME! - I don't even like it that much, even though I always insist on 'going for coffee'.... 


So now I am looking for an alternative to 'snacking out' or 'lazy food' because I am perfectly happy with salad's and prawn cocktails or some weird egg/caper thing - mmmmm, what it is - and silly as it is, all that junk means to me is QUANTITY, I think I am getting more (even though I am not reaaalllly) - and that's why the bulky savoury wins out.... egads! What's a boy to do! 


        Well the eclectic of tastes and a willingness to ingest just about anything may prove to be a bonus, and perhaps the task of eating in new and outre places - something new on the menu may stop this - although it's become rather sparse with the lack of monies so I needn't worry too much....


Right off to heat up the left-over chiniese from last night........mmmmm....


 

Hero Worship

It's fair to say, that, in the past (and well up to just ere the present moment) I had a bit of a thing for idolizing people. That is to say certain noted performers, writers, actors, directors, politicians and so on and so forth, that caught my imagination, inspired me and made me feel, that there are others who are peculiar and find a natty way of negotiating with the world that keeps them afloat. An added bonus perhaps that they can use their peculiarities to their own advantage - but that's a bit science fiction for me still.

I don't know if you feel the same way? I love to hear of others heroes and heroines, it does warm the pulminary muscles of my heart, it truly does. I used to (and still) feel a little shy at the idea of some of my idols. Especially as now I get older, I realise that I can meet and (for the briefest of moments) interact with said idol - some come at a price and vary strangely. Luckily the highest sainthood of idols are mostly dead, or at the point of no return (Thatcher) so it will be very unlikely I'll ever get to meet them...

Where to start in exposing this desire... I cannot quite fathom. I try and theorize till the sow comes home about WHY? WHY? of it. This insatiable desire to look over the other mans shoulder to see how he's constructing his life, so you know you're doing it right? No, no, to easy.... I like to think I am testing the waters of what one can do with this group of particles we are temporary custodians of (hehehe - love that so much - got to keep using it ;)) - they aren't little templates that I am going to go out and copy.... as I used to terrorize myself with the idea of.....*shudder* *shudder* "MY LIFE IS NOT MY OWN!" I'd howl at the moon...no, I think it genuinely is getting a feel for the many, varied and amazing ways people live, entirely outside or through gritted teeth - the accidental time and place of their birth and what becomes of them.... of course there is an element of preservation of personality long after the fleshy casing of the human has perished, and ego, ego, ego.... but it has a lot to do with being a stickler for that intense flourish of a relationship - even if it is with someone you don't know. Although unfortunately I have a tendency to 'ruminate' as a kindly Doctor once put it.... and the seeds of this are also thrown into this little aspect....

These Heroes I don't pick at random, I see a lot of potential in them and they sort of nourish me, I seek shelter in their lives; the way they've dealt with rough times when I've been going through a dank patch and so on, some philosophize, some have such an outlook, or way with words. The downside is that they intrude my normal function sometimes, they crowd into my head and I end up repeating vast swathes of their ideologies, regardless if I share the view, I will get frustrated that my life does not or never will fit THAT pattern.... they are minor concerns and I think I have just about absolved myself of that oddity....

Lets concentrate on the gooey yummy loveliness of my idols and the whys and wherefors:

1. Stephen Fry = Now he's probably the most famous of my idols, and sometimes compared (which irks) unfavourably but the reason I have adored him since the age of 14, was because at that age I read his autobiography; MOAB IS MY WASHPOT, which I urge you all to read - his honesty, his defiance, his insecurity and anger, joy and sadness, and especially the positive words on sexuality which I desperately needed to read at that time. That really springboarded me out of the closet at such a young age... although perhaps it didn't prepare me for the backlash ;)

2. Dennis Potter = This is a biggie - and one for which came at the time of a big personal struggle in my life - what inspired me about this figure and writer - was the mythology that surrounded him - the fact he was cloaked in a debilitating illness, chain-smoking, a liar, a self-inventor of his life-story that he twisted fact into fiction, fiction into fact, almost wrote scenes and constructed scripts as he was talking to people in resteraunts (usually young actresses) his sensitivity, and obsessions, especially with memory - now this helped (and hindered) and harnessed my secretive nature and also a panache for delighting myself privately about how I went about 'constructing' the conversation of evening meals with friends.... all rather strange.... I do think he is the reason I did a scriptwriting course - and although I tried not to and didn't see it, the influence in a quantity of my scripts is his....

3. Will Self = Now this is the first hero I actually met, asked questions and got to 'ogle the flesh of', as it were, I even wrote a sickening sycophantic essay at college about staring at him during a book-reading in Stockwell; he and his influences (J.G. Ballard, William Burroughs et al) I delight in because of their view of the world as an alien landscape, the association with violence and mutation, also that they also exist in the real world and well the interesting superstitions of writers I always revel in. His geekiness, bad posture and skin complexion also interested me - oh dear - yeaaahsss...

4. Germaine Greer = I always see her pop up on panel shows since the 90's especially HIGNFY, and her no-nonsense 'I don't care what you think' attitude, topped with real learning, humour and personality, I got to ask her a question at a radio recording of FRONT ROW at broadcasting house. Funnily enough I was in the front row - irony - and my question concerned 'criticism' and how she felt about it, she looked utterly shocked and didn't understand a word of it, Mark Lawson had to translate my tongue-tied verbiage for me, such a nice man.

5. Quentin Crisp = Always on the periphery of my vision since I was a child - this again - the fact I have devoured his zen philosophy of 'living in the constant present' and witty ideology of living, humour in faith goes a long way for me, I have read and reread and relistened to nearly all of his books and recordings and so on, it ironically is not his propaganda of th protest of his sexuality that most inspired me - its that mythological lifestyle that is completely his own -he transcended society, time and space by simply BEING as a consious act, and the construction of persona and the identity through uniform - oh, oh god! Such a major influence!

(YES it's all INFLUENCE isn't it - grrrr)

6. Barry Humphries = His private life and construction of public personae is so complicated, so funny, yet so simple, that he has got away with his life of eccentric, intellectual, low-humour, high-concept life, he has lived it so well and with such originality that it defies belief, and when I met him at a book-signing only last week I was a shivering wreck that spoke completele goobledegook and shook his hand twice. I left him a letter telling him how brilliant he was - the shame the shame....

Oh and there are so many more that I have met from Melvyn Bragg to Reece Sheersmith, some brief nods to full-blown conversations, but I would never agree with the opinion that I am simply STAR-GAZING, my strangeness compells me, no propels me into the orbit of these strange noted persons because I feel all my waffle and strangeness if funneled in their direction may wought some sense of perspective and we might really get a bearing on how to live this existence....

Thank-you and toodle-pip.

The Gimage Effect

Hey, not Simon this week. It's someone else...but who could I be? (hint: one of this page's followers)

How many times have you used google image search to try and find something totally innocent and dredged up an abundance of disturbing gratuitous thumbnails of varied genatalia?

Maybe I'm just unlucky but I know many people who've had the same problem. Now to put the theory to the test:

METHOD:
- Enter a word that is neither a 'private' body part or rude activity.
- See how soon a 'dirty' pic crops up...

1: Titular - relating to having a title.
First rudeness - page 3: Arty but still

2. Seamen - one who man's a ship
First rudeness - page 25! (after many puns) Fishy

3. Abreast - side by side
First rudeness - page 1 Look at the Nobel(Peace prize)s on that

4. Uranus - the seventh in planet in the solar system
First rudeness - page 5 Watch out for the axe :S

5. Fallacious - deceptive or misleading
First rudeness - page 4 Pulp

6. Puppies - young dogs
First rudeness - page 4 Bitchin

7. Pussy - containing pus
First rudeness - page 1 That won't help my cist

8. Buns - small bread rolls, often sweetened or spiced
First rudeness - page 1 They're not bakers

9. Milk - a white liquid produced by the mammary glands
First rudeness - page 2 Freudian spill

10. Pole - a long and slender piece of metal or wood
First rudeness - page 1 Search yourself you perv!

Good day readers! x

PS. Normal, mature posts will recommence next week.