Author: Beto Renaud, Book: A Little Spanish, Category:Erotica, Price:7.99, Length: 128.Buy Now
Hola Amigos! My first novel comes out March 26. It’s a spicy story about an old gay troll who winters in Mexico on a little family farm. I’d really appreciate it if you read it and spread the word.😘👨🏻🌾
The first thing I want to say is that I am not a tried and true fan of poetry, and I know that may sound mildly hypocritical when I have some poetry and some very poetical verse. Still if I am being honest its not a medium that moves me, even if I have been a tourist through the genre. All due respect to my dad, he was a poet, it was definitive way for him to express himself, whereas short form biographical prose in the form of essays has been mine.
Temple of the Down Dog @templeofthedowndog I have followed for a minute, I was oscillating between whether it was Deviant Art or Tumblr where I first saw him, and I think it was Tumblr. I was of course attracted to his naked yoga, and his masterful balancing acts. He is also just an attractive man, who enjoys being nude, I might go as far as calling him a naturalist. From what I can determine, he is my contemporary, maybe a year or two older or younger than me.
He's currently married, which I think is something that occurred between his time on Tumblr and my finding him again on Flickr, my old stomping ground. Marriage looks good on him, it feels comfortable and natural. Him and his husband have a farm on Little Island in Washington, the state. There are a lot of animals, a lot of baths, and still loads of naked time with him.
Look I am a gay person, I can't sit here and pretend I do not enjoy the voyeuristic views he gives of his life in bits and spurts. The moments he shares are very specific. Vocal performances, he has a lovely singing voice. Yoga sessions clothed and unclothed, those used to be his bread and butter on Tumblr, particularly the latter kinds. Farm life, in the form of animals, photos of fruits, vegetables, farm equipment and him working hard on those tomato plants until his hands blacken.
There's sexy time with his husband on Sundays which usually only stays up temporarily so you have to be quick to see those. Oh and he's an avid bather, in the bathtub, we have joined him in many tub sessions. There is also a rocky beach he likes to attend to sunbathe obviously sans clothes. And a small glimpse into his social life with sporadic photos of friends, volunteers or workers, and family members. He seems to share quite a bit, but still keeps us at a arm's length.
Albeit I have been following him easily ten years or so I have no idea of what his first name is. He doesn't usually name any of his post, which also keeps you guessing. Once in a while he will give you a one or two word description but no more. This is what I loved so much about his poem Mason Jar, it felt so intimate in a way that I don't think I have had with him before, notwithstanding I don't listen to most of his poetry post, for the aforementioned reasons.
The only reason I had even went back to this particular post was because when I initially saw it, I didn't realize it was a video. The picture was so clear and crisp I thought it was just a self portrait. But it wasn't, it was a performance, and I am pretty sure someone was holding the camera for him. In all the videos he does he has an easy and natural presence, not at all forced, not overly performative. Just casual, something that immediately puts the viewer at ease, or at least it does with me.
Upfront in the poem he lets the listener or reader know, quite simply, he's married. No pomp or circumstance, just a statement of fact. He starts with a mason jar of zinnia's his husband grew. I already know his husband is a farmer, like himself, its not introduced in the poem yet, but comes into play later in the story. The farmhouse they live in is one hundred years old, I would be lying if I said I could tell that, it looks pretty good when its featured in the background, with Temple sitting on the porch, nude, doing yoga in the room with the couch, or even the parts of the bathroom we have seen when he bathes, always in a state of undress.
His ninety-eight year old grandmother, who is having a birthday today with a party, just had her house sold, one that was alleged to be in the family for a few hundred years. This speaks to the established ancestry Temple has in America, if his family has had a home that has passed through several generations. It obviously speaks to a certain level of intergenerational wealth. I never had any grandparents as old as his abuela, but my great aunt, my grandfather's last surviving sibling, was ninety-eight the last time I spoke to her, which was a few years ago. If she's still with us, she has to be one hundred or older.
I have been told that one of my ancestors had over forty acres of land in the St. Helena region of Beaufort, South Carolina. Not all of that land is intact, but pieces have managed to remain in the family, in part due to my grandparents, but also collectively with some of my other relations from both of my grandparents respective sides of the family. There is a house on the heirs land, that may have a long history, not hundreds of years, but a few generations possibly. There isn't a direct correlation between Temple and I, because generally speaking the Blacks haven't easily and readily obtained the level of financial fluency in this country, for obvious reasons.
His dad was a mason, and has a family business, which may have been a part of this intergenerational wealth if this business was in the family for more than one generation. I didn't know what a mason was, but looking it up, its someone who works in stone, which probably isn't the easiest of work, but is a very specific skill. My own grandfather was a steel worker, which at least in my assessment is comparable to a material like stone, hard and not easy to work with.
My grandfather's dad was a farmer, just like Temple is now. Temple will share later in the poem that his grandfather was too a farmer. I couldn't say the same for my own. Solomon grew up on a farm, but when he left home first to fight in WW II, then to move to New York with his new bride, he worked in the steel working union until he retired. To me this wouldn't make him a farmer. But my great grandfather Solomon Sr. was a farmer, I think grandpa called him a truck farmer, because the stuff they grew they took to town and sold right off the truck.
Temple unlike me seemed to be an only child, now this is most curious, because typically if a family is doing well financially they have a tendency to have more children. A single child is hardly a full litter, there may have been other complications at play, which is why he was the only child of his parents. As such his father wanted to pass down the business and for his only son to get married to a good woman. This "was too rough for him, all this talk of pussy..."
Like me Temple has had crushes on men that were around him, the next part of the poem talks about John, who was fishing with his dad and Uncle Tab in this photo, and clearly going commando. As a boy I too was fascinated with partially clothed or unclothed men or men who were thwarting social norms, by not wearing undergarments. There was something titillating about this personal rebellion, that I also found arousing and enticing in my young mind.
"I remember liking John."
I had many a John during my lifetime, not necessarily a daily part of my existence, men partially clothed in short shorts sans undergarments. I found those distractions in other places.
"In another time, I might have told my dad I liked seeing John's nuts hanging out his jean shorts..."
This time never happened for me.
It seems it didn't happen for Temple either. After his attempted filicide my relationship with my dad disintegrated. We wouldn't get back to a place where I as much talked with him, less share the fact that I was gay. Our previous closeness would never be recovered. Even with what he isn't saying I am sensing Temple had a complicated relationship with his own dad, particularly when he made a different choice than his father did.
He didn't think he could be a farmer like his grandfather, but now here he is with a mason jar full of zinnia's his husband grew.
There is so much I get from this poem. You have to make your own choices for your life, and your happiness, not ones that would make others happy, that ultimately serves no one. You need to be comfortable living your own truth, not necessarily flaunting it, but giving in the same weight anyone else's truth has, no matter how different than their own choices.
There is nothing different, unique or amazing about our love, it has all the same perks and problems as the love our parents may or may not have had for each other. Relationships between gay sons and straight fathers can be complex. Straight dads sometimes get caught up in their own expectations and desires, and aren't always able to see that their son isn't them, and needn't follow in the same path they took. That it is perfectly fine for their offspring to find happiness in a different way that suits them.
The past is present, what Temple remembered in his grandmother's home and what he now sees in his own home are connected to each other by love, memory and time. The zinnias are just zinnias, as the mason jars are just jars, one residing in a straight household isn't any different than one in a queer one, both centurion homes contain love, which we should be clear can now speak its name, as it always should have.
My position on poetry hasn't changed, nor my feelings about Temple. I still enjoy the small window into his life that he shares. I get restless when sometimes he doesn't post for a few months. Albeit it has to be hard work, I enjoy the simplicity and presentness of two men who just happened to be married to each other, living on, working and running a farm together, its more than just romantic, its very very American.
Going upsidedown! The #handstand adventure continues. My thanks to @glamtastico for some excellent playing before class in Clapham last night! #yoga #yogateacher #handstand #inversion #handbalance #upsidedown #shirtlessandshameless #ittybittyshorts #yogafun #instayogi #londonyoga #gay #gaymensyoga (at Clapham)
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