Barebacking Feels Like Resistance

I'm so lonely for friends, and for comrades in arms.  I've given up on the latter, but I'm still seeking the former. 

Another guy  whom I thought was just a friend, whom I tried to make a friend, now has me bent over a small stool and is asking, "Can I come inside?"  He's saying, "Tell me you want that load!"  

I'm not sure I do want it.  I mean, I'm ambivalent. I've just recently had a conversation with another  guy who had run out of options for treatment of H.I.V. disease, and who had come to the desert to die.  I don't want to acquire a virulent strain of H.I.V., or something else even temporarily painful.

But his dick is fat and hard, and I'm so lonely.  

Already, my loneliness for friends is a compromised one.  Really, as a revolutionary, one needs one's friends to also be compatriots, to be comrades, to be fellow revolutionaries.  One of the hallmarks of the revolutionary is the inability to separate personal life from political mission and from the lust for justice.  But, I've mostly given up on finding the combination of the two.  

Before he started to try to fuck me, when I thought we were going to be just friends, this guy had actually expressed some ideas that did not evidence the typical American gay man's desperate avoidance of all serious political criticism, and he made me feel the possibility of real resistance again.

But, I know that this kind of talk that he was doing often turns out to be empty talk, now, in the year "2016", a year when we are so far from queer revolution that it seems unimaginable, and yet also a year in which it has never been so necessary.  

I'm desperate.  I'm lonely.  For older gay men, the revolution is a moribund memory.  For younger ones, it is something incomprehensible, unnecessary, old-fashioned, and passé.  

Oh, how I wish I could give it up, this silly revolutionism. This awful revolutionism which makes me lonely.  But inside me it still lives.  I am just too old.  And too young.  I'm too old in that I have to carry with me the memory of strong, brave,  angry, gay men who stood up for themselves and who were highly politically conscious - the ones who served as my heroes and exemplars.  And I am too young to have experienced the revolution when it was powerful, when we had the G.LF. and the G.A.A. and Stonewall and the Black Cat and Barney's Beanery, and when nobody was a sellout. Too old to believe the false reformist and conservative narratives of gay progress, yet too young to just relish the revolution and remember it directly and fondly reminisce in my easy chair looking at my war laurels;  too young to just give up, to be content with "once upon time". 

 

How I wish I could be free from the awareness, from the desire for justice, from the knowledge, from the integrity which makes one a revolutionary.  But I cannot.  I keep acting for the revolution, alone, or essentially so, and in spite of myself.  

The revolution is forced to live in lonely, odd, and dark places, the places where one can still find danger in this crazed, counterrevolutionary society where everyone now espouses the manufactured desire for absolute safety and security.  

I do not want security.

I do not want safety. 

I do not want delusional and incompetent heteronormative "public health policy".

I want justice.  

I feel it,  I feel the unarticulated rebellion and lust for true freedom that revolution brings about in the aggressive barebacking that gay men are doing in dark places.  I feel the anger, aggression, and joy. The forgetting. The extension and enhancement of le petit mort.  Inside that unsecure, unsafe world where revolution lives.  In that world whose foundations are in love and resistance.  In my mind the old Alison Limerick song plays "Follow me down. Deep down. Where love lives."  

"Tell me you want it baby" he says. 

I want in on this conspiracy.  I take the revolution where I can get it.  Where danger, and freedom lie, where they live.  

His hard dick is starting to pulse powerfully and he's moaning, asking again to hear that I want it.

And, as I risk death, and reject safety, I stamp out the reformist, safety-mongering voices in my head, the voices of the weaklings who have destroyed the good life and revolution, by demanding safety and security - the voices of reasonable and respectable people. 

I strike one for the revolution. And I can't help it.

I'm doomed to believe in the revolution. 

I answer him.

"Give it to me!" 

HOMO SUM[1]

          Question:  Who has the power to define humanity? 

          Of late I have been thinking about two concepts related to humanity: the subhuman and the post-human.  I sometimes use the term 'subhuman' to refer to political figures like Betsy and Doug De Vos and Mike Pence, to refer to their intellectual masters, persons like Harvey Mansfied and Harry Jaffa, and to refer to anyone who attacks LGBT persons in the crass-cum-civil public and masturbatory way that such attackers do.  Despite the fact that right-wing media in the U.S. (the only media Americans are allowed to consume) legitimize these types of persons, there are many of us who know the degree of vulgarity, ignorance, backwardness, petty cowardice, and disgracefulness to humanity that these persons indicate, and these are those of us who are not fooled by the legitimization of persons for whom no term seems to capture the reality of what they are other than the term 'subhuman'. 

          I am taken of late with another term too, a term which seems to be an attempt to relate the changes in the cultural production of persons and personhood to the concept of the human, and that is the term 'post-human'.  One of the ways in which this term comes up for me as a concept is in work or discussions of (traders, speculators, financial figures, governors) who are understood to be "psychopathic".  Despite the serious shortcomings of the general construct "psychopathy"[2], its particular, described elements, elements such as egomania and calculation, seem to show as disproportionately present in some prominently powerful and influential social groups, such as financial speculators and governors.[3] 
         
        The concept of the "post-human" to me refers generally to the new type of person who is being produced by the manufactory of culture, and this person has characteristics which are described in the literature on the concept of 'psychopathy'.  This type of person is also perhaps characterized by a media and church and government manufactured attraction to crude violence and abuse.  Michael Alig and Ernie Glam address this in one of the videos in their video series 'The Peeeuw!' (their guest JJ actually brings up the concept of 'posthumanity'):

          In any case, what is being produced socially is a type of person whose humanity is called into question by terms like 'post-human'.  One could even imagine that what is posthuman could be radically liberatory or progressive, but if so, such a posthuman progression would certainly be created by queers. 

           And, there is a specifically retrograde and anti-gay element of this current distancing from humanity of which I write here.  This element can be found in, for example, attacks on queer persons which use the pejorative 'homo'.  Heterosexists who rest on power that is not earned but rather lazily fallen back upon by those who could not create their own power, that is, those who benefit from the heterosexual political regime without doing anything to earn their power, use this term to attack gay persons.

          What is missing from many discussions of changes in humanity and in society is, as usual, the queer element.  We are still buried in silence constantly, especially now that the ridiculous idea that "diversity" means that queers can be just like straights, and that creepy and extremely sexually aggressive heterosexual families can invade our physical, communal, and psychic spaces and masturbate their family values all over them.  Are such types even human?  I'd like to ask that question.

          The cultural production of persons now rolls off the assembly line persons who think that the 'gay question' is now solved, and that liberal-conservative ideas of gay progress are accurate and correct.  History is being written right over our lives with lies and even with ignorant and traitorous gay complicity in these lies.

           I would like to assert that the ideological manufactories of personhood, such as Hollywood movies and the educational system which teaches 'acceptance' and 'tolerance' and other ridiculous and pathetic ideas about gay personhood, that these manufactories are producing a post-human type who is anti-gay as well as being sociopathic in other ways. 

           When I have been called 'homo' by some creepy straight guy (and there are very few left who are not creepy), one of the things that I think is, "Yes, that is right."  I am a person in the genuine sense, a "homo", and you are not.  I am not false and cowardly and highly affectatious; I am not a cowardly adherent to power structures that I did not myself have the power or courage to either create or reject; I am not a creepy person who is constantly in a mode of public masturbation and who defines his identity at the expense of others.  In other words, I am a 'homo', a true human being in the original sense, the proper sense, in the ideal and correct sense. 

           I am not a willing and acquiescent product of the manufactories of personhood. I reject these in a violent, radical, and revolutionary way, and I fight endlessly against undeserved power, like the false, incompetent, and cowardly power to define humanity that has been acquired by the heterosexual political regime and its slavish adherents.  I do this because I am a human being in a true sense.   Homo sum.

T.S. Bandito

---

[1] Latin for 'I am a human being'.

[2] For an alternative but related conception of the 'posthuman' pathology which focuses on the growth of narcissism, see the work of Michael Holloway King:  https://www.michaelhollowayking.com/blog

[3]   Noll. Thomas, et al.  'A Comparison of Professional Traders and Psychopaths in a Simulated Non-Zero Sum Game'.  Catalyst. Vol. 2, No. 2 2012, 1-13;  Silver, James. 'The Startling Accuracy of Referring to Politicians as Psychopaths'.  The Atlantic, July 31, 2012: https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2012/07/the-startling-accuracy-of-referring-to-politicians-as-psychopaths/260517/  .   For a defense of the reification of 'psychopathy', see Hare, Robert D. 'Psychopathy.  A Clinical Construct Whose Time Has Come'.  Criminal Justice and Behavior. Vol. 23, No. 1, March 1996, 25-54.

I AM OUTRAGED THAT QUEERS ARE SURVIVING[1]

          I am out at a gay bar, and it's a convivial atmosphere.  Guys are friendly and flirtatious.  But as I look them over at some length, I don't ultimately feel too compelled by any of them, so I go to sit on the outside patio on a bench, by myself. 

          There are still guys out here, though at a comfortable distance.  The music isn't really moving me hard or fast enough (I'm a rock and roll gay boy who actually really likes hard rock and sometimes needs it), so I put on my headphones.

          It's then that I notice a guy who is so beautiful to me that he makes me upset, makes me panic a little about what to do about it - in a way that people you find really beautiful and attractive can do.

          I'm upset because I don't know how to react to him, and I'm flummoxed by his offensive beauty - offensive because I was doing just fine with my distance and my music and my watching, and yet now I feel consternation over what to do about this beautiful guy I've seen.  What would I or could I even do with him?  Lie down next to him and just behold him?  He had the kind of beauty that makes the desire for sex move into a subordinate position to the desire just to be in his aura - to merely be near or with him.

          I go through the vacillations of trying not to look/looking, trying to forget about him/thinking only of him, deciding to try/deciding not to try.  During one of my failed attempts to not look, he catches my eye, and smiles in a way that shows marked notice and interest.  I'm shocked and horrified and panicked.

          Now the stakes are higher, and I'm more upset and flummoxed than ever.  What the hell and fuck to do now?  I'm nervous.

          He is dark.  He has black eyes and black hair.  Thick and long eyelashes.  An exquisite face with a small but elegant nose and incredible cheek bones. His eyes are both extremely dark and extremely alive and bright, but without any luridness at all, and his bearing shows what seems to be a confidence and poise in the bearing of great beauty. His hair is thick and wavy. He's dressed a bit dorkily, and I'm not sure how much awareness he has of this. He's wearing long shorts and cream colored socks that are of medium height.  He's muscular and a bit hairy in certain places, but with no signs whatsoever of the common gym or sculpted looks or of the "bear" look.  He has a naturally tight body in the manner of a foreigner and of a young man, and not the overfed look of an American in his second youth, like most of the guys here. I finally decide that his socks must not be contrived, because he otherwise shows no signs whatsoever of contrivance.

          I look.

 He looks, and smiles easily.

   I look away.

     I look back.

      He looks. 

  His friend sits down near me and then he himself moves closer.

             He speaks to me. 

          [Happiness, Excitement, Possibility, and Panic all enter from stage left and fulminate]

My expectation is something like that his life and thoughts will consist of things befitting great beauty as a variety of greatness, the kind of thoughts and living one reads about in ancient literature - the kind of thoughts that one should be able to impute to someone who possesses great beauty.

So I am surprised when, after his lengthy asking about me, I get to ask him about himself and hear his response.  I ask him what motivates him, what excites him, what gets his motor going these days. 

He tells that he is merely surviving. 

He has a mundane job, lives in the Valley, and is merely surviving. He actually uses the word 'surviving'.   

I have told him that I am out that night because I did not want to go back to where I am staying - where I am merely staying.  And that I came out because, being in survival mode, I had not wanted to go sleep with the handful of people with whom I could trade sex for comfort and camaraderie, for a place to sleep, for weed.      

He told me that he understood completely and that he had recently passed out of such a phase, and was holding on to his slightly improved state of survival.  He seemed terrified of going back to that state that I was in, and yet, for him, where he was now was clearly still only just surviving.

 It became evident in talking to him that I was hearing what I had heard many times from honest L.G.B.T. persons  - that they had ceased to dare to dream after being forced into survival mode for a rather long time.  This ceasing to do anything but place cautious stock in survival was then too familiar, and also personal. When people ask me how I am doing I often answer that I am surviving, since I am not one who favors either dishonesty or small talk, and who thus prefers honest answers, even if they interrupt the requisite politenesses that people want to get through quickly in any conversation.

But in this boy, with his great beauty, beauty that one might write about, beauty that made me think that he could be a king or a god, there was, so incongruously, a depressed demeanor that the people often call 'realistic', one that is a particular cohort of L.G.B.T. persons now, despite heteros' labeling of us as 'fabulous'. 

We are somewhere between fifty and sixty per cent of the homeless in the United States, and we have lost so much of our independence and freedom.  

Being an older queen, I can actually remember the 80's.  "In the late 80's, all the young gay guys that I knew had their own apartments, a car, and enough money and freedom to go out to dinner once or twice a week and to go on at least short vacations pretty frequently", I am saying to my friend one day. He concurs, saying that he remembers this too.  Today though, I know almost no gay guys in their twenties who have such means or freedom or independence.

This is to leave aside the social and political facts of our lives.  And, no one wants to mention the needs of gay men. How we have lost our sexual freedom and independence, and thus free determination of even our sexual, romantic relationships and friendships.  How our needs are not the same as those of straights, and how our economic and social abuse and degradation are related. 

So many of us are in survival mode, deprived of independence and of the freedom to develop our own lives and communities,  and I am enraged by this.  Outraged.  The words of Dorothy Allison run through me, and I repeat them often and everywhere.  She wrote better of this problem than I, and wrote in an earlier time, wrote to us as queer persons "I need you to do more than survive."[2]   

I am outraged at the lost potential of queer persons.  I define oppression in somewhat the way that Terry Eagleton defined it[3], as the forced loss of development of possibility and potential. 

The beauty of this boy bespoke a potential that his resignation seemed to confirm had been there but had been relegated to the shadows by his forced entry into survival mode. 

Beauty's potential, intelligence's potential, the creation of culture and new social forms, voluptuous living:  all of these, are not really possible under the heterosexual political regime, which speaks out a discourse of "gay-friendliness"[4] and of "progress"[5] for queers, when all the while our potential and our possibility ends up in the gray, depressed, tiring and deflating world of economic survival.  Survival is worse for us because we're not the prosaic ones. We're not the ones who make life dull and stupid.  We are not trying to define or prove ourselves at others' expense.   We are not sexually assaulting everyone publicly with our fascist "family values" fetishism, or with our desperate, hysterical, sexually aggressive and assaultive sanctification of children. We are not somehow at the same time delusional and insipid.   

We are not the common fodder and exudate of the heterosexual political regime. 

We are not made for survival.

We are capable of living so many possibilities that are buried under the mode of life that surviving under this regime is. 

It felt to me like this boy's beauty deserved better.  It feels to me like so much queer extraordinariness deserves better.

Forgive me as a corny old queen with a memory of a time when queer life was not about survival, and for being one who waxes nostalgic about this. 

But, if I am allowed to speak as such, I would like to claim that we should no longer talk so much about being "out" but rather we should speak about survival, but that if  we speak of being "out" we speak only of it with its proper suffix appended, and thus speak only of outrage.

Action Jackson

( My heartfelt thanks to T.S. Bandito for inviting me to be a guest blogger)

         

---

[1] This blog post is by guest blogger Action Jackson.

[2] Dotz Allison, 'Survival is the Least of My Desires'

[3] Eagleton, Terry.  Ideology (Don't make me go find the page number and the other bibliographic stuff  yet; or do make me go find it, so this can get published).

[4] Gay Friendliness:  1.  A mode of the invasion of gay spaces by heterosexuals  2. The euphemism which is intended to disguise this invasion.    (These definitions from the Gay Dictionary).

[5] Progress here means the supposedly improved ability to live without being attacked so long as we live and act like conservative or commonplace heterosexuals.  

LGBT IDENTITY AND TIME

(The following is a modified version of what I wrote, at the request of a photographer, about a series of photographs he has taken of me over the years)

When I look at the pictures of myself, I see my relationship to time.  Not to time in an abstract, metaphysical sense as much as in a historical sense

History is a story we tell using time, or, way that we as humans interact with this phenomenon we call 'time'.

So, history. 

We have our own history as LGBT persons, but we are forced to exist in another history too. That of the heterosexual political regime.

One of the photographs in the series

When I look at the photographs of myself over many years, I see that my outfits (and 'outfit' is a fitting word because it seems to carry the sense of being equipped for both battle and adventure) are responses to historical time.   I bring back looks from the past, and this bringing back is rebellion against the raging desperation of  heterosexual delusion, and a tribute to and mnemonic for the recollection of a time when there was more hope because a gay movement still existed, before it was subsumed and killed by heteronormative co-optation and conservatism. 

I also bring in looks from the future, in the sense that my constant attempts to evade or respond to the regime sometimes produce odd combinations of affective responses in the form of clothing, hair, and makeup styles.  These oddities are responses which cannot yet be articulated well verbally . They are the potential future of fashion and rebellion.

Trans identity might also be a response to time. It comes after the identity deconstruction of postmodernism, and is perhaps an attempt by queer persons to adopt and own the discourses of postmodernism, one of the most prominent recent historical modes of philosophy.

Time now -  losing the Sexual Revolution and the sexual center of gay life. 

Time now - younger LGBT persons and their placement in the historical narrative (time in its real and relevant sense, in its political sense). 

 

Time now - continuity with the revolutionary LGBT past, loyalty to it, while also negotiating a relationship with today. 

All those other things that heteros experience I experience too in some sense - I take in and see and feel and sometimes make use of their templates for the human experience of time (i.e.  what it means to be a man of middle age, what it means to age, what beauty and sexuality are allowed to be at certain ages, in which ways wisdom can be said to grow with time).   Figuring out a space of identity that takes in even their bad ideas, in the sense that even bad ideas can be seen as artful and good if they eyes of the seer are not prosaicizing eyes). 

So, personal change and development through time, but in the context of historical and political change in time, in the context of being gay, of being LGBT, of being queer, of a context that is changing but enduring ?  What's important to gay identity is this historical and political context.  There is no social or metaphysical time or history or identity which escapes this political history. Political history is the primary  aspect of time.  LGBT life is the most important political dimension.  The Sexual Revolution and the Gay Revolution  were the most important elements of our 'time'.  The photographs are a testament to a personal life which is a life conscious of not existing outside of the historico-political narrative, and conscious of the fact that this is the most important aspect of what we call 'time'.  My outrageous gay fagmale homosexual pussy is the most important aspect of time. 

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'Acceptance' Is A Defeat for Queer Justice



      The right-wing gay media, right-wing gay organizations like Human Rights Campaign Fund and the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force in the U.S., and most heterosexuals are pushing the idea that 'acceptance' into society is good for L.G.B.T.Q. persons and that it is something that we as queer persons want. That our enemies and those who have oppressed us and commit treason against us now want this for us should be a first warning that there may be danger here, and indeed there is grave danger in this valuation of acceptance as a goal for queer persons.


How preposterous a question acceptance is for LGBT persons is evidenced by the reversing of the question: Should we accept heterosexuals? This reversal points up the absurdity of non-revolutionary expressions. The point about acceptance is really something quite different.


When something (e.g. a social group) is accepted, that something is accepted both as something by something else and, when one is talking about a social group such as the queer community, the something accepted is accepted into that something else. But, in order to present oneself for acceptance, one has to value the opinion of the person or society to whom one presents oneself. Any valuation of the heterosexual regime is inauthentic in that it is forced, and comes from desperation and low self-esteem brought about by that very regime. Thus, the regime of heterosexuality manufactures the idea that LGBT persons should be "accepted".


The point that queer leaders should be stressing is that we should NOT accept the heterosexual political regime.


There is no such thing, currently, as a gay person or as a heterosexual person who exists outside the hegemony of the heterosexual political regime. The two always go together. Yet it is essential for queer persons to reject this regime at all events, at all turns. We do not want acceptance into something false, malignant, delusional, boring, and narrow. The end of the heterosexual political regime is what we want, an end which will liberate all non-delusional, intelligent, honest heterosexual persons as well.


We do not want this regime of fraud, ignorance, slavery, delusion, abuse, attack, and fear. We don't want family, family values, marriage, privatized sexuality, Judaic religion, or creepy chauvinism, and we are disgusted by men and women who expect everyone to be a plaything for their tedious and slave-class heterosexual desires.


Asking to be accepted is like asking to be allowed to be a slave. The owners of heterosexual society manufacture desires by force and fraud, and many queer persons have not been allowed the education, freedom, camaraderie, communities, and power which can surmount these manufactured desires, these things that heterosexuals want us to want. They want us not only to be slaves, but to beg to be allowed to be slaves. If there were such a thing as a natural order, a hierarchy in which queer persons were slaves and heteronormatives the masters would seem to be the opposite of it, yet that is exactly what we have right now. But you can refuse to tell their lies. As queer persons, we must believe in our own world, even though the cheerleaders for heterosexuality are loud and desperate and want so badly for us to believe that they have something valuable. We know that existence on this heterosexual plantation is something we will never truly want. If one wants to keep the idea of acceptance but turn it into something that makes sense, one could ask, "Why can't heterosexuals just accept that we don't want and will never want what they are offering?"

Child Molester

     Scenario (With Notes and Script):  I have just walked into a McDonald's restaurant in New York City which is rather crowded. Shortly after entering the restaurant, a boy who looks no more than fourteen or fifteen locks eyes with me and looks at me with intensity.  He is blond, but with large brown eyes.  He is sure and confident and tall and boyish, but the kind of boyish in which one sees a manliness already in the visage. He has hairy legs.  He is holding a baby girl in his arms, and this is what throws me at first. This, and the fact that I am never ready when these children  make their move.  While still looking at me in a quite confident and serious way, but without smiling and with a touch of the mesmerized stare of one who wants to be sure to convey attraction  to another, he hands the baby over to a woman.  The array of persons he is with and their ages and interactions lead me to guess that the baby is his sister, and that one of the women is his mother.  He nods confidently toward the back of the restaurant while still staring at me, then walks in the direction toward which he nodded. 

       Family: [Exeunt]

       I am flabbergasted, caught off guard as always, and bewildered - bewildered  by his beauty, and by the suddenness and boldness of his salvo against the lie that is heterosexist society and its proprieties.  In this bewildered state, and intimidated by his boldness, I still somehow manage to walk toward the back of the restaurant, where the men's bathroom is.  I see him  entering  the bathroom while nodding from a distance for me to follow.  As I am walking back toward the back of the restaurant and the bathroom he has entered, many thoughts are running through my mind, thoughts like,  "Is this happening?"  "Do I want this?"  "How could he want me?"  "Why here?"  "Why can't we be alone to talk or slowly lead up to something silently and sensually, somewhere where the heterosexual police forces in the form of nosy and envious women or of angry old men or of church-trained  dolts wouldn't  ruin, as they always do, something beautiful?"; "Why can't we live in the ancient world, before heterosexuality and pedophilia were invented?"  "I don't like bathrooms - they're not sexy or comfortable"  "What does he want?" " Is he working for the enemy forces?" "Does he want to embarrass me or beat me or make love with me?"; "Should I be prudent even if he isn't?"; "God damn it, this poor child is trapped in the prison of family", and  "Don't lose this chance!" 

     I am scared to death as I enter the bathroom, but more because of his attractiveness and from thinking that I might have misjudged his intentions than from being attacked by the family values forces.  When I enter the bathroom he is right there in the middle of the room and looks at me with a little smile which is not at all salacious or devious. Despite the fact that there are other men in the bathroom his boldness knows no limit, and he motions for me to enter the largest of the bathroom stalls with him.  We are in the stall together before the last of the other men is out of the bathroom, and I am very aware of this.  I am standing a couple of feet away from him there in the largest stall of a busy McDonald's restaurant bathroom.  He pulls down his shorts, displaying his penis in an almost impatient manner, as if to tell me that I should know what to do and that no time would be too soon to do it. 

     These children who molest adults!  These child molesters.  These children take us by surprise with their confidence and boldness and, in the original sense of the word 'molest', take us out of our preoccupations by the outrageous honesty of their actions.  My sense of being molested, of being disturbed in these situations, really comes from this, from the sudden sense of a truth being boldly and beautifully spoken, a truth that it is ridiculous to deny.  I feel cheated and ashamed.  I suddenly feel again that I have been cheated out of reality by the lies of the heterosexist regime. I feel ashamed of myself for having allowed myself to, even as an out gay man, walk some of the walk and talk some of the talk of that lie life that consists, among other things, in the invalidation of the sexual desire of children, especially when they are LGBT children, and in the invalidation and incrimination of sex which crosses the line that delimits the false concept of adulthood.

     Soliloquy:  Oh, why did you have to molest me, blond, brown-eyed boy?  Why?  I was, if not happy, at least content and comfortable walking their walk and talking their talk.  You again exposed the lie, and did it boldly and beautifully.  You made them look like pitiful cowards and desperate frauds.  And now, I am disturbed in my comfort zone . Why did you have to molest me?  You.....child molester. 

Excerpted from the play "Let's Drive A Stake Into the Heart of Heterosexist Psychology" written by Hung N. Yung.

Dedicated to the memory of Shawn Devlin.