Collection of short stories, poetry and social observations. By Laurent H. If you have not figured out that money is unimportant then I cannot help you. If you have not figured out that organized religion is shit and the best you can say is that we have no idea then I cannot help you. If you have figured those two things out then we know the same truths and since I am otherwise quite stupid I cannot help you. Created this thingy in order to get some objective feedback and eventually turn in to another fraud behind a pen. HELP ME! Give me your honest feedback.
If some crazy right wingers went to a BLM protest and started shooting into the crowd, its likely that those same protesters who were screaming “Fuck the police!” and spitting at cops would run towards those same cops for protection. And those same cops who were just getting spit on and cursed at would run towards the shooters and put their lives on the line to save the lives of those protesters. That is as good a space as any to recognize that police can serve an important purpose that when done correctly and justly is necessary, courageous and deserving of respect.
HOWEVER
If you are working that job for the right reasons THEN in the same way that when a teacher molests a student other teachers don’t stand up and say “We stand with Steve.” But instead say “Fuck Steve. He took advantage of his power and did something disgusting, he doesn’t represent us and we want him held accountable.” A respectable police force would do the same. So until the police acknowledge the issue take accountability and make the changes, they will continue to be an organization that as a whole proactively represents and perpetuates abuse of power, racism and brutality.
I want to respect the police. Give me a fucking reason.
If some crazy right wingers went to a BLM protest and started shooting into the crowd, its likely that those same protesters who were screaming "Fuck the police!" and spitting at cops would run towards those same cops for protection. And those same cops who were just getting spit on and cursed at would run towards the shooters and put their lives on the line to save the lives of those protesters. That is as good a space as any to recognize that police can serve an important purpose that when done correctly and justly is necessary, courageous and deserving of respect.
HOWEVER
If you are working that job for the right reasons THEN in the same way that when a teacher molests a student other teachers don't stand up and say "We stand with Steve." But instead say "Fuck Steve. He took advantage of his power and did something disgusting, he doesn't represent us and we want him held accountable." A respectable police force would do the same. So until the police acknowledge the issue take accountability and make the changes, they will continue to be an organization that as a whole proactively represents and perpetuates abuse of power, racism and brutality.
I want to respect the police. Give me a fucking reason.
at the gym
so badly
that if one person smells it
I'll have to seriously consider moving to an entirely new city.
But nobody does,
cause ain't nobody here.
Thanks coronavirus.
The streets are weird man.
Fuckin weird.
People hoarding groceries next to drunk laughing lovers next to a small woman in a face mask next to some dude wearing shorts?... Oh yeah, it's spring.
I keep forgetting that it's spring.
I love spring!
Its my favorite season in NYC!
Woooooooo SPRANG!!
(another facemask walks by)
Fuck, we all might die.
This store has some dope ass sunglasses.
And I just put them all on my face....
Whoops.
I hitch a ride with a very talkative and optimistic cab driver.
We discuss how beautiful life is
and the power of positive thinking,
and right as I get out he says some ignorant homophobic shit that ruins the whole experience.
Oh well.
A homeless man has a face so worn down that it stops me in my tracks
and reminds me that there is so much else going on in the world.
I consider sitting with him a while.
He might make a good companion for the end of the world.
But I just keep walking.
My grandmother...
If she gets this.
Fuck.
What to do? How to feel?
If nothing else it's an interesting moment.
A bizarre, unique human experience
that shows us just how fragile our entire society is
and reminds us that we all gon die.
There's fun to be found in this weird ass frequency.
Shit!
I just touched my face!
Suck-A-Dick coronavirus.
I'm definitely gonna die.
I may have had an edible
hanging out at this bar
that's completely dead
on a Friday
minus the 5 of us dumb enough to brave the storm.
This talk show is playing.
There is a beautiful black hostess
and she is interviewing a beautiful young, black girl
who has been given this cute black doll
while sitting next to two other beautiful black women who all smile and talk about positive, empowering things.
And I realize just how rarely I am exposed to media that is a fully positive, empowering, non pandering, non victimizing reflection of the black community.
Damn.
We still have so far to go.
(Somebody walks by in a facemask. I jump up.)
"Yo isn't it fucking crazy how quickly we adapt?!!! Like people are walking around in masks. And that shit is just normal now! What? What the fuck? It's not good. Naaaa!!!"
So we all talk about it.
And conclude that it is what it is.
We're governed by idiots.
Some of us might die.
Most of us won't.
Cool.
I look back up at the tv and it says "National Emergency declared!" With images of rows of people connected to breathing machines.
Cool.
If I died would I be okay with how I lived my life?
Love how some of y'all point and giggle and yell "triggered", meanwhile back in reality you've been walking hand in hand with a comic book-like supervillain through three years of trash fire just because we had a black president once.
It's some day of the week
that’s wedged too far between days off to matter much.
I’m on auto-pilot.
Delivering packages
via bicicleta
in the cold winter air
of downtown Manhattan.
My phone startles me
with a noise that only exists in this world
because a bunch of assholes sat in a room somewhere
dragging nails across chalkboards
and throwing kittens at drumsets
and listening to brunch conversations
about intermittent fasting
until they engineered the single most obnoxious sound ever heard.
It's an alert that I thought
we had all agreed
was only to be used
when someone stole a kid.
But no,
instead this sound scares the absolute shit out of me
in order to let me know that “a winter squall is approaching”.
It might as well say a “scoopty poop is coming”
because I have no idea what the shit that means.
Either way
the sky almost immediately falls dark.
The temperature drops.
Winds pick up.
Snow begins blanketing down,
which is just the cutest of all severe weather
unless of course you’re the idiot in your family who didn’t go to law school
and so is currently riding his bike around New York
delivering packages.
Okay. Fine.
An hour or two pass.
I’m cold
annoyed
and considering applying to law school.
But I'm alright.
It’s what I signed up for.
Until some young meat popsicle
who clearly attended business school
walks directly into the bike path
without looking
which just has a terrible ROI
as I'm forced to swerve
brake
slip
and tumble
across the pavement
and into a gaggle of other business humans.
Okay. Fine.
I lay there for a minute
more due to the cumulative shittiness of the day
than the bumps and bruises of the fall.
I am a bit shaken up though.
Never fun to fall off your bike in the streets of NYC.
It's sort of like the world’s longest, stupidest game of russian roulette.
Fine.
The only way through the day is through the day.
Back on the bike.
Back to work.
I can be resilient.
Take it in stride.
I’m riding slower now.
But not too slow because it’s absolutely freezing.
The snow is still piling up with no signs of stopping.
Thank God no children were actually taken, because you're not finding no kids in this squall.
So I’m working.
Shaking off the gitters of the fall.
Finding shelter where I can.
My phone goes off again.
This time far too softly for the message it's delivering.
It’s a text that reads:
“Abby is stopping chemo.
She’s going into hospice.
She’s not going to make it.”
……………….
Shit.
…….
…. Bu……
…………….
Fuck.
I get back on my bike again
trying as best I can to compartmentalize my feelings.
Not be overwhelmed.
Don’t be overwhelmed,
Don’t be overwhelmed.
Focus up.
The snow doesn't matter.
The physical pain doesn’t matter.
You'll have to think about Abby later.
I can't.
I can't.
The harder I try not to think about her the more overwhelmed I become.
Until she is ALL I'm thinking of.
I’m not even looking at the street anymore.
I fall from my bike again.
I’m crying.
Keeping my head down while delivering packages
so the recipients won't see my eyes.
I can’t control my feelings.
I'm drowning.
Thinking of Abby.
She's been battling ovarian cancer
for some time
and is now
apparently
preparing for the end.
To be fair
her and I were never all that close.
We went to a small boarding school together
had some close mutual friends
kept in sparse contact throughout the years.
And in typical Abby fashion
she never cried for help
or asked for attention.
It was only when things got too bad to ignore
that her friends betrayed her orders of privacy
and let those who love her know her situation.
I’m thinking of this Woman.
This Beautiful
Vivacious
Kind
33 yrs old Woman,
who in every cliche way that people talk about the dying
IS
TRULY,
HUMBLY,
WONDERFUL.
In high school
everyone seemed trapped in their egos.
Consumed by insecurity.
Abby didn't.
She wasn't too cool
or more mature,
just refreshingly devoid of teenage self-centeredness.
She was always genuine.
Inquisitive.
Joyful.
Real.
She has the type of smile
that only free people have.
And she is.
A free soul.
Every step along the way that I've been fortunate enough to share with Abby
she always seemed free.
She always seemed connected.
And so I think of Abby
with her whole life ahead of her.
That bright, infectious smile.
That spirit to really live.
Going through this.
Falling ill.
Getting the horrible news: You might die.
Putting on a brave face.
But life looks different now.
All your friends are traveling
getting married
having kids
going to the beach
talking politics.
And you’re just surviving.
In and out of chemo.
All the medication.
The fear.
The loneliness.
And I wonder,
beyond all of this unimaginable
physical pain and suffering she endured,
when it was that she first truly allowed the possibility of dying to enter her mind.
A young, vibrant, talented, joyous woman in her early 30s now coming to terms with the realities of her illness.
Think about that.
It’s worth your real consideration.
What it must be like to face that.
For no good reason
your
life
might
be
Ending.
How does that feel?
What do you do?
How could she find the strength to fight with that looming over her?
What did she think about every day?
How insanely scared are you?
It’s unimaginable.
It’s not fair.
And now
to know
for certain
that
this
Is
the
End.
At 33.
To go into hospice
and literally prepare for death.
It’s FUCKED.
It’s a concept that fills ME with so much anger and frustration and sorrow that I can barely breathe when I think about it
and I’m just some asshole who knew her 15 years ago.
This poor, amazing woman
who I sincerely believe deserves to be alive more than I do
if life was fair,
has to actually go through it.
It’s FUCKED.
And so I’m biking
in the squall
in the cold
scraped and bruised
crying
thinking of Abby
absorbing the news.
I am miserable in a way that I haven’t known in a very long time.
But then I think about just what Abby would give
to trade places with me in that exact moment.
To be riding a bike
out in the world
in the beautiful snow
in a beautiful city
with her health and her life ahead of her.
She would be smiling
that bright
beautiful
effortless smile.
She might be singing.
She might stop to take a photo of the large white snowflakes falling
in the light of dusk
on the east river
before getting back on the bike and navigating the world.
Her beautiful blonde curls floating in the air behind her.
She would be living.
That realization helped me a bit.
There is a thing that happens any time we hear about tragedy.
About death.
When we are forced to acknowledge
through other’s pain and suffering
our own mortality.
To recognize that we are just a bunch of sentient organisms on a spinning rock with no fucking clue why we are here or where we go when we die.
Some time after I first learned about Abby having cancer
I was thinking about her
and I saw a beautiful flock of birds flying through the air
doing that weird thing birds do
where they all move as one
through the sky in those quick erratic motions.
It seemed unfathomable to understand how they could all know which way to go
and when exactly to turn.
How do they do it?
Who's steering?
I watched them
and thought about wedding rings.
This million or billion dollar industry
that seemingly everyone has accepted
is just the way we do things.
So much so that a bunch of children in Africa
are literally physically abused
into finding shiny rocks in the ground
that are then sent to these other parts of the world
where people have running water and 3D printers.
And they take these rocks
and put them on top of this very shiny metal which,
I’m sure,
also has some fucked up back story as to how it got to be sitting in this display case at Zales somewhere in Rhode Island.
And then this man
(it’s a man because the bird flock decided this was the man’s job
and so all the birds just instinctively turned left)
goes into the store and buys this metal/rock thingamabob
that costs something like 120 days of his life,
which, again, like, who the fuck is steering?
And he takes this shiny metal rock thing
and brings it to a woman he’s known for two and a half years
who likes the same netflix shows as him
but doesn’t know that he occasionally does cocaine
and he gets down on one knee at the fanciest restaurant in Providence
and puts the shiny thing on this lady he kind of knows finger and they begin a promise to be with one another forever
even though there are something like 2020 years of glaring statistics that the likelihood of all this working out or keeping them happy is like 1 in 40.
All the other bird humans in the fancy restaurant get up and applaud.
They kiss and smile at each other
take in the moment
and at the very-first-socially-acceptable-moment they announce their engagement online with a photo that is cute, subtle and funny,
catches them both at their most symmetrical,
supports the troops
and only takes a full hour of attempts to finally get the shot where they don't look like they are trying.
Then they reminisce about their relationship
call their loved ones,
buy a round for the birds sitting next to them,
she cringes, thinking of how upset her older, unmarried sister will by by the news,
he smiles thinks about all that blow they are going to do at his bachelor party,
but more than anything they just keep looking down at their phones to see how many likes that engagement announcement got.
It ends up being 324,
and that feels pretty good.
And I just hope that something, somewhere is watching all of us do all of this
saying “what the fuck?
Why are they all doing that?
How is it possible that none of them just stray off and do their own thing?”
Which is exactly what I was thinking about watching the birds.
And then thinking of Abby.
And Life. And Death.
What I took from it is that
nobody knows what's going on.
None of these systems or paths make any sense.
Forget about a career. Or money. Or beauty. Or soul mates.
Forget all of it.
What do you want? For you? Not the flock.
Because one day, sooner or later, you’re going to die.
So live you’re fucking life while you can.
I like to believe that Abby did that well.
Maybe I only feel that way because she has passed now,
but I don’t think so.
I really believe that woman knew how to live and who she was.
And if you don’t know her it would only take seeing a photo of her
or by her
to feel the same.
And so I’m left with a painful reminder of our mortality.
Just how important and beautiful and fleeting life is.
That even on your worst most mundane day
in the middle of the winter
in the middle of a squall
with truly terrible news in your mind
there is still beauty to be found
lessons to be learned
reasons to be present
because your friend who is dying
or that kid in a ditch in Africa mining shiny rocks
would love to have that moment.
Every day above ground is an insane gift.
And that is an important lesson to continue to learn.
But it does absolutely nothing to change the fact
that an exceptional young woman
went through hell on Earth
and is now gone.
Nothing will change that.
And I certainly won’t do any justice in articulating just how tragic that truly is.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
It’s just unfair.
And so I’ll end by saying
that I genuinely feel very fortunate to have had the pleasure of knowing Abby the little that I did.
You were an amazing person
and I am so incredibly sorry that you had to go through all of this.
You deserved better.
I wish I could have told you this in person.
It used to be the case
that my ceiling for optimism
rested in this very genuine disappointment
with the reality
that no matter how hard I tried
I could never come close to enjoying all of the wonderful experiences this world had to offer.
That was an unusually positive place for me to be
because it meant I was seeing the world as beautiful
and life as an adventure.
But at the time I had a way of making poo poo of everything.
Now things are different.
When I'm at my best;
Riding my bike down Dekalb ave.
Singing out loud
Smiling at strangers
who look at me like I'm insane
which only makes me laugh...
When I'm there,
in my emotional highs,
I am overwhelmingly ENAMORED with the reality
that no matter how hard I try
I will never live
anything close
to all the wonderful, amazing, breathtaking experiences this world has to offer.
Think about that.
You will not even meet MOST of the people that you could fall in love with.
You will never be sure that you've eaten your best meal.
You will never be finished learning.
I mean God damn!
You. Will. Never. Be. Finished. Learning.
Not just about the world and all its little fascinating idiosyncrasies,
but about yourself.
Who you are.
Why you are.
What you want.
Why do I sob during ads for cheap beer but can't cry at funerals?
Why does listening to the Fugees make me have to pee?
You'll never experience every culture.
Read every great book.
Have what is undoubtedly the most profound conversation of your life.
Because somewhere out there is a potentially more profound conversation.
A better book
that makes you consider entire perspectives which haven't ever occured to you in your 86 years on Earth.
Somewhere out there is an even more fun night of dancing.
A weirder moment in the bathroom stall.
A shittier, harder life experience.
That Fucks. You. Up.
Breaks. You. Down.
Till you are absolutely sure you will never come back from it.
And then you do.
And you're better for it.
Stronger.
Wiser.
Like Gandalf the fucking White.
And you are so thankful for that shitty thing that made you a better version of yourself.
There are more refreshing showers.
Cuter puppies.
More you could do for others.
You'll never accomplish everything you are capable of accomplishing.
Flesh out every possibly great idea you have.
Have your biggest burp...
Right? Think about that. What was your best burp ever?
Cause you might still have a better one down the pipeline.
Woooooo!!!
The world is infinite!!
Well no,
its not,
but relative to the window you have, it is.
In that window you will not meet all the people
Feel all the feelings
Do all the things.
You may not have even given your best bean flick or hand job
Worked your best day job
Hallucinated your best day dream.
Then there's sex.
Ya know....
All of that.
All the possible peoples.
Every day you wake up
there is a whole world of experiences you haven't had yet.
Great and terrible.
Mullets and zucchinis.
Music!!!
Fucking music.
You could go your whole life chasing music and never be sure you've heard the best of it.
And always be shocked
and inspired
and rejuvenated
by a new sound
just when you thought that couldn't happen anymore.
How awesome is that??!!!
YOU.
WILL.
NEVER.
WATCH.
ALL.
THE.
NETFLIX.
(bitch)
It could be sad,
but it's not.
It's incredibly exciting.
To know that every day you wake up
there is a universe of new experiences to be had.
The Manager:
Young pride of her small town. Moving to New york sounded sexy. becoming an actress seemed right. living in Brooklyn happened. 20 and alive.
a city so vibrant. people doing as they pleased. drinks flowed. parties never ended. drugs did what they do.
rent is a thing. she became a waitress; means to an end.
headshots. auditions. interviews.
rejection stung like a bitch.
foreign painful motherfucker. A paper cut to the heart; to the understanding of self.
The drinks kept flowing. The rent kept being.
Coworkers came and went. prides of their own towns. alive and stinging just the same. Boy could they fucking party. Boy was the entire world your oyster. Loud and singing.
the paper cuts heal. hearts strengthen. A hometown full of people sets a fire under that ass.
The auditions kept coming. Success! it tasted good. it was happening. more auditions. more paper cuts. some success. alcohol flowing.
She worked her way up to bartender. began to know the faces. the city. the boys. it was becoming comfortable.
5 years had passed.
The town’s expectations became harder to face. inventory was taken. changes needed. She would not be another dying ember holding a tray or a ticket home.
The hard work paid off some, but each step became heavier. train rides now mundane. casting calls exhausting. the romance was fading.
Another 5 years. A management position available.
A hard look in the mirror; small town gems often don't shine under these subway lights.
But there was no going back home to all the nobodies who had become somebody.
She took the job. there was some relief. stability. substance. a part of something.
But mirrors and friends ask brutal questions. honeymoons become half moons.
Failing to achieve your dreams eventually fails to be rationalized.
the tears flowed. the drinks flowed. the tears flowed.
Stuck in this shit hole now. insides aflame. watching her employees fiddling with their own stupid dreams (God forbid they actually succeed). they feel her fire whenever she goddamn pleases.
Especially if there is some wine or whiskey.
this is her perch now.
as high as she could fly. sore neck; staring up. as the shit falls upon her. she hurls it further down.
a dying soul. changed forever. clinging to the little bit of power she has.
screaming for respect.
screaming because it burns.
She floats, in a jail cell of reminders, on a boat going nowhere.
I’m laying in bed
unable to sleep
and all I can think about
is you.
We’re a little fucked up
you and I.
Things haven’t always been perfect.
It hasn’t gone the way either of us probably hoped
or planned.
We’re different people
from different countries
with different views
and different lives.
We don’t see much of each other.
We don’t talk much.
You feel far away.
I guess you have for a while now.
I am a selfish son.
A selfish, selfish son.
I’ve done whatever I cared to do
whenever I cared to do it
with no real consideration
for you
or anyone else.
I was such a little shit
for so long.
I honestly don’t know how you pulled through.
I am the product of a failed marriage.
I think that made it tough on everyone.
I think if things had gone a different way
and I had grown up with you
my whole life,
I would have been a very different man,
with a different job
and less tattoos.
For whatever that’s worth.
I’m laying in bed
unable to sleep
and all I can think about
is how much I love you.
Its been tough.
I’ve been tough.
But you’ve always been there for me.
Almost every part of me
that I like
comes from you.
It comes from you putting books in my hands at five.
It comes from home cooked meals
around the fireplace
talking
and hugging
and loving each other.
It comes from hours
and hours
shoveling the driveway
mowing the lawn
cleaning the pool.
It comes from watching you work
live
and love.
It comes from you walking around the house naked
and the long drives
where you taught me about life
and sex
and to never be afraid of them.
It comes from you forcing me to watch
those goddamn math videos.
You running down the sidelines of my soccer games
screaming like an insane person.
And the years of me
fucking up,
and fucking up again,
and again
must have been so hurtful to you,
so disappointing.
But you never gave up on me.
You’re always there when I need you.
Always.
I turned 30 last month.
That’s 30 years we’ve been in each other’s lives.
A lot has happened.
It has not always been perfect,
or the way we may have hoped
or planned.
But it’s good the way it is.
Its good tough.
We are different you and I,
but I am you.
You probably wish I did something more stable than writing,
but it was your words
“do what you love and you will never work a day in your life”,
it was your constant push towards reading,
it was your spirit
that lead me here.
And I am happy.
Very happy.
To be alive
and in love
and doing what I care to do.
And it’s thanks to you.
I love you with all my heart.
And if I wrote that sentence
over and over
until the day I died
it still could never be enough
to thank you
for the man you have been for me.
One of the most fascinating and unique aspects of the journeys of my LGBTQ friends is the process of realization and eventually coming out. Most people who belong to demographics that endure hate, prejudice, oppression or being marginalized cannot hide their skin color or gender. They have no choice but to exist in their world as they are and absorb and respond to the inequality that comes with it. (not saying this is better or worse. simply different) Members of the LGBTQ community have a choice. To live honestly about their sexuality or to keep that a secret. And in being honest about who they are, these people often take on extreme burdens. Becoming targets of hate overnight. Being ostracized by their communities. Disowned by their families. Kicked out of their churches. Yes this is still happening. We live in a world where our vice president has passed legislation in his home state that allows businesses to deny services to homosexuals. Several states have this law. Murders and beatings happen regularly. The idea that it is a choice or a sin or an abomination is still prevalent. And that is here. Forget about other parts of the world where it is illegal to be gay and sometimes punishable by death. All this is to say that it takes real, sincere courage to come out. Even now. Still. Very much. It is a tremendously courageous act to make the choice to show the world this side of you that is so hated and reviled by so many. To put your life at risk and likely at the very least change the climate of your entire life and communal ecosystem. I write this because I fear that in our circles we have begun to take things like Pride for granted. Think "It's 2019. It is what it is." But Pride is real and we should all be very proud of our friends and family and anyone out there who is willing to live honestly in the face of hate and ignorance and continue to force that line further and further. I am proud of you. Thank you for your courage.
You’re fourteen when you start to accept it.
But let’s be honest,
you’ve known for a while.
Since first time Mike Stall made you smile
in that way nobody else had before.
And there have been many moments since.
But you kept pushing those feelings down, down, down.
Blocking them out.
Ignoring them.
Now you’re fourteen
and those feelings WILL NOT be ignored.
Is there something wrong with you?
Your church says gays are an abomination.
Your father has uttered “fucking faggots” on more than one occasion.
You don’t know a single openly gay person.
Your friends use words like “queer” and “homo” to make fun of those weak
or strange.
You feel afraid
confused
alone.
There must be something wrong with you.
So you hide it.
You pretend.
You feel disgusted.
Embarrassed.
You pray that it will go away.
All you want to be is a good person.
A member of your community like anyone else.
People in your circles say that being gay is a choice.
Maybe it is.
Maybe you can choose it away.
You try.
Hard.
You can’t.
A story comes on the news that a gay man in a nearby town was tied to the back of a pick up truck and dragged to death.
Your family and friends shrug it off.
“Maybe faggots should die” you overhear.
Time passes.
It becomes harder and harder and harder to pretend.
Every moment feels like a lie.
Every day you are afraid you may be found out.
You become angry.
Angry at yourself.
Angry at the world.
Angry at God.
Just fucking angry.
When nobody is looking you research gay communities.
It all seems strange and foreign.
Some part of you wishes to be with them. Some part of you is too afraid. Some part of you hates them.
They don’t know what it’s like to be so desperately alone.
Your government debates gays in the military
with signs of protest that read “God hates fags"
held outside of dead soldier’s funerals.
In other countries it is illegal to be gay.
Gay men are murdered in the street with no consequence.
Lesbians are raped with no consequence.
Surely God would prefer homosexuality to rape and murder?
You begin to question the morality of homophobia.
You are a good person. You know that.
So what if you like men?
So what?
Your government debates gay marriage.
You hear the arguments against it
and they break your heart.
This widespread idea that you are sick.
Mentally diseased.
That your love is the same as beastiality or pedophilia.
You read the comments online.
They break your heart.
You hear what your family says
what your friends say
what your church says
it breaks your heart.
Your vice president has made it legal in his state to refuse services to homosexuals.
So much hate.
Vicious, unbridled hate.
For what?
But the fight is being fought by brave men and women.
Braver than you.
They stand up and openly say they are gay
and they want the same rights as anyone else.
Right in the faces of the hateful.
Brave. Brave. Brave.
Seeing this changes you.
You cannot hide anymore.
You cannot pretend.
You tell your mother first.
She cries,
but holds your hand
and somewhere deep in side
you know that she’s known for some time.
There is an overwhelming sense of relief just to say it out loud.
You feel lighter.
Then you must tell your father.
He does not cry
or hold your hand.
He turns red.
Flips the table.
Comes to strike you, but your mother intervenes.
He wants to disown you.
Your mother speaks to him.
You can stay until you graduate high school in two months.
Then you must leave
forever.
At school word spreads quickly.
Everyone stares.
The seas part when you walk through.
Only your closest friends still speak to you.
In the parking lot your windshield has been bashed in with a metal trash can.
"Die Fag” spray painted on the side.
The school promises to look into it
through gritted teeth.
It is hard.
So incredibly hard.
You want to break.
But you think of those men and women you’ve seen
on the tv
or your computer screens.
They would not break
why should you?
Because of a town full of idiots who will die on the same land they were born and never ask a single question about themselves or the world?
Because of a hateful church
or a hateful father?
No.
No.
You will not break.
You will graduate
and get the fuck out of this town for better places with more enlightened people.
You are free now.
Unshackled from the fear of being honest about who you are.
All that’s left is to be the best version of yourself.
You grind out the final two months of disgusted looks and a distant father.
Pack your bags
take the little money you have
and board a bus for Atlanta.
It’s not easy in the beginning.
Difficult to make ends meet.
Difficult to know who to trust.
Difficult to know who you are.
After all, you’ve been pretending for years.
Who are you when you aren’t pretending?
You meet some others in the gay community.
You share your story.
They share theirs.
Each one has it’s own pain and loneliness.
It feels good to laugh and cry with people who understand you.
A year passes.
It gets a little better.
You are becoming comfortable with yourself.
Less afraid.
You have new friends.
Maybe even a new family.
Gay marriage is becoming legal state by state.
The fight marches on.
A few more years pass.
You continue to find yourself.
You help others who wash up on the shores of the city
alone and frightened
the same way you had.
Some have stories that make you cry.
But you know it will get better.
You get letters from your mother sometimes.
You get a letter from a high school classmate who apologizes for their behavior.
You don’t hear from your father.
Gay marriage is made legal.
Several states pass laws allowing businesses to refuse service to homosexuals.
Some sad woman refuses to sign off on a gay marriage license and is heralded as a hero by many.
Chechnya rounds gays up and puts them in camps.
Uganda kills gays in the streets.
Your fellow Americans write things on a daily basis so vile they make you sick.
But it’s okay.
The fight marches on.
You know now that there is nothing wrong with you.
Only that you were born at a time when many are still too ignorant
and afraid of what they don’t know
to open their hearts and minds.
But you
just by being you
just by standing up and proudly being counted
are part of the tidal wave
that continues to push up against the wall of hate and fear
and slowly knock it down
brick by brick.
Little Hasidic boys are riding tricycles on the sidewalk,
young and cute and unvaccinated.
People are screaming at the subway conductor
because the trains aren't running
while a man's dead body is cleaned off the tracks.
What was his name? Who did he love?
How did he feel about train delays?
A lot of young men have been giving me their number recently,
not sure what that's about,
but I guess it's nice.
Being bisexual would be fun.
Recently I'm closer to Asexual,
so I bought a Ukulele to pass the time.
The world is dying
and our leaders deny it's even happening.
For some reason that's really funny to me at the moment.
What to do
What to do
Who knows?
The clock is ticking
the trains are running
The fix is in.
Lean into your weird
while you still have the chance.
How much of a mind fuck is it for fish? Their friends just randomly get plucked out of their world right in front of them. On top of that some friends are gone forever and others come back?! Steve is like “I don’t know what the fuck just happened. They pierced my lip, brought me into this weird dry world with fat pink hairy animals, let me dance to like half a willie Nelson song and then put me back home.”
Man on acid gets naked and tries to scale the women’s bathroom to evade security at local music venue my buddy works at leaving us with this absolute gem of a photo.
