Category: Gay

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Gay

Pursuit of Beauty

Stayed over at the Lake House.  Woke early.  Made coffee.  Fed Max.

Two sets of novel notes arrived yesterday…both were extremely promising.  One from the publisher in London and the other from my friend who teaches at NYU.  Very positive.  I am still undecided about the end.   Wish I could write about it without spoiling it.  Something good is finally emerging from my time with him.

That pustulent, suppurating, festering, odious, limited…ugly little man.

Something beautiful is being born.  From out of the shadows I will make something glorious!  Eh up lad.  Where there’s muck there’s brass.

Today I am in pursuit of beauty!  In all its many forms.  A row of freshly planted melons.  A perfect cup of tea. A beautiful penis.

I have a friend on FB who takes the most beautiful photographs and yesterday he shared a picture of Thomas Heatherwick‘s Beach Cafe at dusk.  Too perfect.  This man Heatherwick is a genius.  This is exactly what Whitstable needs.  A fantastically bold architectural something.

I met a boy yesterday.  A brief assignation with a 22-year-old from Maryland.  A hotel room in Santa Monica.  He was on vacation with his parents.  He was my height, muscular, masculine.  He had the most enormous penis.  Incredible shape, thick.   He wanted to ‘role play‘ but I refused.  He was deaf.  I did not want to know his name.

Robby waited outside until we had finished.

After I left the beautiful boy we headed to Home Depot where we bought plants.

Spent the rest of the day planting neat rows of cantaloupe, honeydew and water melons..we planted far too many.  We also planted far too many ‘heirloom’ tomatoes.   There are other bits and pieces in the raised beds in front of the house.    Squash, pumpkin etc.

I am perplexed.  There is a bare patch of land where the huge Bougainvillea used to be.  Needs filling.  Needs something.  What?

We weeded and watered and dug compost into the dry earth.  We trimmed the grape vines.  The sun began to set.

Joined the Piettes at The Malibu Community theatre for Hannah’s performance of Tweedle Dee in Alice in Wonderland.  The play was great fun.  The girl who played The Mad Hatter (Sage?) was not only very beautiful but incredibly talented.  Ate pizza during the interval.

We stayed until 10pm.  Hopped straight into bed when I got home.

Tom suggested that I reprise my stage version of The Baron in The Trees.

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Categories
Gay Rant

Teen Wolf

Tyler Posey The Teen Wolf Star and Lil'Kevin Iwashina

Hollywood.  Nice to be back for a few days.  Even nicer to drag myself out of Malibu and up the 10 Freeway to Toby Wilkin’s birthday party.

Miles came with me.  Robby was stuck at work…and sick.

I wore a very chic black suit and tee-shirt with a picture of a scantily clad woman on it.  Hair much longer than it has been for weeks and sporting a fuller beard.

The little dog loves Toby.  He jumps around on his back legs whenever he sees him.

Many beautiful, interesting boys.  Two girls.

Jeff Davis writer of MTV’s new Teen Wolf series told me that he insisted the gay character in his very promising new show be played by an out gay man.

That was brave, or perhaps reckless in Hollywood?  I have no idea.

I applaud Jeff’s audacity.

Maybe things really are a’changing?

Had longest chat with rich gay about US equality politics.  Of course I remember his name but it wouldn’t be polite to mention it.  Even though I told him that I would blog about the party I don’t think he thought I would blog about him in particular.

He is as passionate as I am about gay equality though his solution seems very different to mine.

We agreed that both HRC and GLAAD  are getting it wrong.  But where as I think change needs to start with an aggressive ad campaign that positively validates us, our love and our history…his strategy boiled down to making lawyers richer by changing things judicially.

I suggested that men like him and David Geffen and women like Ellen should publicly stop paying their taxes until they have equal billing..he balked.

I urged him to ‘take the bullet’ if he truly believes in equality.  I reminded him that there were men and women in Yemen this very night risking their lives for freedom, equality and democracy.

I didn’t necessarily agree with his point of view but tried (unusually) to look for the similarities rather than the differences.  I was feeling, shall we say, diplomatic.

Another Ken Mehlman apologist.   Apparently, even though our Ken has been a very bad gay he can help us by getting Republicans to speak out for gay marriage.  Oh gawd.  That argument is nearly as convincing as trickle down economics.

My new friend was a firm believer that all things gay are good and we should not under any circumstance be questioned or challenged.

He seemed perplexed when I suggested that by keeping our own side of the street clean we might attract rather than promote people to our cause.  We seldom ever look at our own behaviour, morals or lack of them.

He told me rather imperiously that he did not have any friends with drug or alcohol abuse issues.  Forgetting of course that his good friend Elton has been sober for many years after many more years of a torturous drug and alcohol problem.

He had not read or even heard of The Velvet Rage.

We parted on good terms.

One young queen kept hounding The Little Dog.  The Little Dog took offence and tried to bite him.   Oh how we laughed.

Generally very good party even though I missed the sausages.

Almost the entire Teen Wolf cast in attendance.

Bumped into my very old friend Tom D who scarcely recognised me.  I must look very old.  He claimed it was the beard.  He has become a hugely successful and incredibly well-respected producer.  We hugged a lot and agreed to meet very soon.

The beautiful Dane and I are going on an adventure.   Watch this space.

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Gay

Gay Idyl

The first time Joe ever took me to Fire Island Pines I was immediately convinced that something I had always hankered existed: a place where gay men and women of all ages could live together, experience life together and express themselves without shame.

I have heard from black friends who traveled to Africa for the first time that they experienced a sense of truly understanding how it might be to live an unfettered life.

There are exceptions.

I have just finished reading A Black Man Confronts Africa.

From 1991 to 1994, Keith Richburg was based in Nairobi as the Africa bureau chief for the Washington Post. He traveled throughout Africa, from Rwanda to Zaire, witnessing and reporting on wars, famines, mass murders, and the complexity and corruption of African politics.

Unlike many black Americans who romanticize Africa, Richburg looks back on his time there and concludes that he is simply an American, not an African-American. This is a powerful, hard-hitting book, filled with anguished soul-searching as Richburg makes his way toward that uncomfortable conclusion.

I am a gay (adopted) American.   I do not belong.  The laws of the land preclude me from being truly equal.  The streets are periodically mine but not consistently.  Really?  I thought things had changed for the gays?  Strangely, post Will and Grace things have not changed.  I urge any one of you (gay or straight) who think things may have changed for gay people in contemporary USA (and I have said this many times over):  Try holding your same sex friends hand in a street anywhere other than NYC or LA.

See what happens.

Returning to Fire Island this summer for the first time in a decade I am excited to see how things have evolved since I lived there and if the idyl I first experienced still exists.

The beautiful beach, the beautiful boys, the sunset and sunrise…no cars.   Dinner prepared by groups of men who sit down together and share.  Share being the operative word.  What ever share you may have in the house you are renting…doing things collectively is the modus operandi.

Have I idealized my memory of this slim sand bank set at the edge of the Atlantic?  Have, within a decade, my memories been burnished?

I wonder.

Firstly, finding a house to rent has been quite hard.  I guess my demands are not normal by gay Fire Island Pines standards.  When searching for a house I made it quite clear to the realtor that I am sober.  I do not drink and I do not take drugs.  I told him that I was not interested in the big gay beach parties (drug festivals).  That I am going there to write.

Almost every house that I looked at was a ‘party’ house.  Almost every person I spoke to told me that they wanted to have fun…read that as excessive drinking, drug taking and sexual unmanageability.

Having a sober person around might mean curtailing the ‘fun’.

I have heard that The Pines has become quite trashy.  I have heard that they have ruined the ambiance.

The über gays have long since deserted The Pines for The Hamptons.  Aping upper-class American straight people rather than investing in the peculiarities of The Pines.

What is it that draws me back there?  What is it that I loved so much?

Well, Joe and I had a wonderful time together in our pretty little house.  It was the nexus of gay culture and me.  For the first time in my life I saw both old and young gay people going about their business (during the day) just like common people.  Fetching their shopping on small, red carts.  Dressing up, holding hands, not dressing up…alone.

For the first time in my life I felt as if I owned the space around me, that I could not be judged in this place.

Until I got there I believed those things to be true but I had been kidding myself.

Just getting there from Manhattan was an adventure.  The car to Sayville.  The ferry ride from Sayville to the island,  the palpable excitement of the passengers.  The great piles of supplies and dogs and suitcases.

Thank you Joe for taking me there.

The first man I saw when I scrambled down the gang-plank was an elderly man with a stick walking slowly along the board walk.  It delighted me.  “Is everyone gay here Joe?”  I thought to myself that there was indeed a place where I could be free when I was his age.  I knew even then in my late 20’s that being old and gay was going to be difficult.  My premonition has come to pass.  Being old and gay is going to be horrible from what we found out when researching The Scarlett Empress.

Unless, of course you have a spare $160, 000 to buy a surrogate child who might look after you.

I had thought about going back to Whitstable in my dotage but not even Whitstable holds much allure to me.  Being the old gay man in town…I have seen the way we are treated.

When I arrived at The Pines I understood how life might play out.  The options.  I looked around and even though the bars were full of very drunk gays (I was one of them) the look on their faces was different.  They looked relaxed, they looked happy.

We went to gay bingo, we involved ourselves with the gay fire department.  We had opinions about dune reclamation.  We walked barefoot to the beach and watched the beautiful naked men play ball and walk their dogs.  We paid for limousines from JFK for our friends and delighted them with our house, our gay lives.

Our routine rarely altered.  Watching the sunset, hanging out on the dock to see who would get off the ferry.  Buying expensive food at The Pines Pantry…the store was just like any store but crammed with fancy queens buying $100 steaks.

When I got sober the AA meetings were quite small on Fire Island…now they are huge.

I really have no idea what it will be like to live out there once again for the summer.

I am excited at the prospect.

Of course there are other places where one might feel free, where YOU might feel free.  Perhaps you have already found your very own utopia elsewhere.

The Fire Island Pines experience is short-lived.  In September this utopia is disassembled.  The grand houses are shuttered, the store closes, the ferry comes but once a day.

There are other places for us to go.  Unless we vanish.  Those of us who look kindly upon our strange ‘culture’ can find our tribe elsewhere.

Not until I got to San Francisco did I have that sense of belonging once again.  Where the streets were mine.  The neighborhoods belonged to us.  Where fear and shame were banished.

Like Keith Richburg I am aware of the anthropological problems but still happy to have experienced the adventure.   Let me for a moment love it all without criticism, let me love what we have carved out for ourselves both good and bad and celebrate our difference.  Celebrate.

Categories
art Fashion Gay Love

Fuck You Penguin/Love You Lee McQueen

Alexander McQueen Fall 2008
Alexander McQueen Fall 2008

After a late breakfast I met Michael L at Mud. He was wearing a DIVINE pair of Prada shoes…an extraordinary wing tip/espadrille hybrid with Nike soles.

I LOVE YOUR SHOES.

I told him that I had seen JP at my AA meeting.

On the spur of the moment we decided to go to Savage Beauty, The Alexander McQueen retrospective at the Met. Sunday afternoon, it was OVER RUN with people. JAMMED.

Jammed with people who may or may not love fashion but certainly not enough to line up for two hours!

Thankfully we were Met members so went directly to the front of the line.

I didn’t give a damn how many people were there. I just loved the show from beginning to end.

This enchanting, inspiring exhibition gave me a great deal to think about.

Firstly, let me tell you that I hadn’t seen McQueen’s work up close like that. Why would I ? I don’t know Daphne Guinness.

Not a single photograph anywhere does his work justice. It really has to be seen to be believed. I was utterly dumfounded by the drama, the workmanship, the unexpected depth of emotion it inspired.

There were a million  obvious references: Balenciaga, Vivienne Westwood, Jean Paul Gaultier (fucked him once after the IRA bombed The City of London).  Regardless, it was uniquely beautiful. Uniquely Lee. Westwood without the bustle.  Balenciaga without the cassock.  Gautier without…

I loved the fabric woven for the Plato’s Atlantis collection.  Fabric woven to look like the re-imagined skin of mythical serpents.

The Razor Clam dress was exquisite.  The dress sprayed by ballet dancing robots…heavenly.

My most favorite costume were from the spring/summer 2005 collection,  It’s Only a Game.  Using burlap, hessian, raffia, leather, crude mechanical embroidery.  I loved, most particularly, an appliqued Japanese inspired, floor length dress.  Lilac tulle softly billowing out of the structured bodice around the feet.  Sublime.

This entire collection (as curated) left one breathless.

Eshu 2000, a simple shift made of tiny yellow beads and black horsehair. The yellow beads spread like caviar on crisp toast, dripping provocatively onto the horse hair.

McQueen bejewels the constellation of dead couturier that include Christian Dior, Yves St Laurent, Paul Poirot, Madame Gres etc.  Twinkling stars inspiring us from above. Isabella Blow is sitting right there beside him laughing with her protégé at how mortals now wait in line to worship at his alter. They were never meant to.  The world of high fashion, like the world of high art, is exclusive by design and inclination.

I thought about the very few times we met. Check on Wire Image for the picture of me, he and Lucy Ferry. If you don’t believe me.

I thought about his suicide. How lonely being that much of a genius can make you. How protected he was by the women in his life who never really approved of any of his boyfriends because they felt ‘married’ to him. Lucy, Sam, Naomi, Kate, Isabella, Daphne, Anna etc.

No one was ever good enough for Lee so he became more and more isolated.

Too embarrassed to introduce the kind of boy he wanted to those grand arbiters of taste. How could he spend all day designing beautiful things and bring that home.

Fag hags think they are doing you a big favor by keeping trashy boys out of our lives…in fact…all they did was keep Lee McQueen lonely. I hold all of those women partially responsible for his death. If he had only been allowed to fall in love…but those kind of women are little bit too eager to have an opinion about a gay love life thinking that Lee was just one of the girls.

Straight women really don’t understand gay men as much as they claim they do.

After McQueen we stopped in at the Ben Cohen event at Boxers. Flirted mercilessly with wrestler Hudson Taylor. Will post pics asap.

Ben Cohen is a straight British rugby player who is making a name (and a great deal of money) for himself by championing LGBT causes.  Beloved by the gays he has a cherubic face and huge chest.

“I can’t understand a word he’s saying…but he’s gorgeous.” One man cooed.

Ben was making an impassioned speech about bullying and homophobia.  The gays just looked on in awe.  Objectifying poor Ben and gorgeous Taylor.  They didn’t give a fuck.  “Take you shirt off!”  They screamed as he appealed to them for a more tolerant world.

GLAAD gave him some award.  ‘Cute Straight People Who Like Us’ award…or something.  Michael (?) the head of GLAAD NY was there last night.  “It’s not political.”  He reassured me.

Then something rather irritating happened. Zack’s really dull friend arrived. The sort of boy who thinks he’s attractive but hasn’t got two damp sticks to rub together to get any fire started….anywhere. He pissed me off sufficiently to make me shout at him.

Apparently my present anger is quite healthy. I am so…fucking angry. With myself. I have NO ONE else to blame.  I used to be angry with The Penguin.  Now I am angry with me.

Livid that I let myself be duped. Blinded by love. Blinded by compassion. I don’t blame him. I can’t blame him. There’s nothing to blame. Other than the CON. I don’t blame him for making me fall in love with him…he is just a child, as was evidenced when I saw him with his parents. Bouncing on his mother’s knee.

Enmeshed.

A sad situation existed in that house. I realised why I found the father so interesting…he reminded me of someone. Rather than concentrate on his son and wife, he was staring at us. Not because he was trying to intimidate…he was just…more interested.

Emotionally absent father, more interested in solving his patients problems than focusing on the needs of his son. The Penguin wanted his father’s love so badly. It’s not his fault. Shame on them! I can imagine that he wasn’t just absent for The Penguin but for the entire family.

Mother and son thrown together in some emotionally incestuous swamp. Hanging onto each other for dear life.

If I can’t have you my husband….I will have him. My darling son.

Enmeshed.

He looked…like an aspergers boy when he was with them. Which is odd because isn’t that his father’s speciality?

Let me tell you how things have changed since I saw him. I blame myself for being so damned stupid. I blame myself for letting a petty conman/thief run rampant through my life. I blame myself for constantly letting him off the hook. I blame myself for convincing anyone who would listen that I loved him. I blame myself for thinking he was beautiful. I blame myself for not running out the door the moment he took heavy drugs from under his bed and asked if it was ok.

I have been a fucking idiot….and I am really, really pissed off with myself.

Hudson Taylor and Duncan Roy
Categories
Gay

Fuck You Rapture

Quite by chance I have fallen in with a bunch of super cool, inclusive gay men.

Men who achieve.  Men who live fun, proud gay lives. Because of them I’m really enjoying my life here in NYC.

Don’t for one minute think I take any of it for granted. I know that a life like this can vanish as quickly as it appears. I’m really enjoying the opportunity to connect, feel supported and breathe.

There are many different tribes of gay men in NYC. There are so many of us here.

As usual I couldn’t stay in bed past 7.30am regardless of who is slumbering beside me. I need to get on with the day.

The apartment is being decorated so whilst the painters set up their ladders and pull down the light fittings we went for a long breakfast in the occasional sunshine. Sitting in the sun, eating scrambled egg. Reading the newspaper. Looking at the cute Saturday runners jogging by in their silky shorts.

Took subway uptown and by chance saw an old friend, an actor from my Dorian days. This is exactly why I loathe and love the Subway, you never know who you are going to bump into. Trapped in a subway car.

Anyway, we picked up his suit that needed altering and met up with the boys for lunch. Lunch from food trucks at Madison and 26th. Everyone seemed obsessed with this RAPTURE shit. I think people were half expecting it to be true. The storm clouds didn’t help.

Thankfully it didn’t happen. Or maybe it did?

My dog and Zack’s dog didn’t really connect.

Kaolin joined us in the park. He is so funny. We went shopping for shirts and other essential items for a wedding next weekend in Los Angeles. I bought a vase in ABC as a thankyou gift.

Walked home with Kaolin. Had nap then met Ian in an Indian restaurant on 27th. Delicious. I ate goat. Talked about Michael Jackson and how he had to take the stand during the Michael Jackson trial.

VIG 27

Birthday party at Vig 27. Very lively, good people. Met the sex columnist from Time Out, we bonded with over our respective health issues. We talked about gay men, how they behave.  Our self-destruction.  A daily fascination.

We talked about Dan Savage, he applauded Dan’s It Gets Better campaign…which, as you know, I think is a load of baloney.

It Gets Better? Better than death maybe…but not much better.

I had agreed to stay until 4 but bailed at midnight.

Stumbled, briefly, into The Eagle.

It is far too early in the year to wear white linen pants. I did anyway.

20110522-092450.jpg
Realness: Pony, Kaolin, Zach, Lil Dog and me in Martin Margiella
Categories
Dogs Gay

Rapture

It’s sunny today and that might very well describe my disposition. We are sitting in the blazing sun eating breakfast. The dog senses that we might be going to the beach. He is jumping around, happy. He, like me, seems a great deal lighter.

Less at the mercy of my dark side.

Another very social, busy yesterday. Began with waking up next to Alex. Walked the dog. My 12am meeting at NYU, sat down next to super cute Danish boy who I ended up spending time with later. The topic was: obsession, the relief of. It made me laugh out loud. To complicate matters who was sitting in the room? JP, one of my great old loves/obsessions and someone I had not seen for 12 years.

He said, “Hello mate…” and gave me a huge hug.

After the meeting JP and I meandered down 10th street. We asked after our respective families, marveled at how we are both going to be on the island this summer. It was a God send. To meet someone with whom one has been seriously involved and now feels nothing. At least JP has not lost his looks. He looked strong. He is as tall as me and suits his stature.

I did not arrange to meet him again. To see him and smile was enough.

He said, “Are you still fighting the world?”

One day, after many years have past, The Penguin and I will bump into each other and the same will be true. Resentments and history turned to dust. We still have our September court appearance to get through. I kinda wish I hadn’t chosen that option. I should have just agreed to the terms. What was I thinking?

On FB looking at my friend Rose’s comments. I like what she posts from The Guardian and The Independent. She has a sensible view of life. She is a socialist, she believes that her principles are correct and proper. As you do, I found myself looking at her party pictures and there she was, one of many middle-aged lesbians dancing with all the lights on.

I thought rather uncharitably that even though she has good principles would I want to be her? The answer is, obviously, no. Would I aspire to be her? No.

We all have our own crosses to bear, our own opinions, mistakes, passions and ultimately death.

For months and months I have thought that death was a better option than living this miserable, unresolved life. Without much effort I am alive once again…so, I better get on with some living.

Dashed home (after a two hour steam) to get changed and meet Zach and his boyfriend Alex for dinner. Delicious pork chop at Back 40 on Avenue B. Conversation lively. Gawker party immediately after (met, kissed and fondled super cute blond) then Lady Rizo’s Rapture Eve event at Joe’s Pub.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KW2jmcfei80&feature=related]

Zack, Alex, Dan and the Danish Beauty sat in the VIP area with some moody dykes and Baz Luhrmann. Stephen joined us and everybody wanted his take on our Family Court Extravaganza which has very quickly become another mythic Duncan Roy adventure. Starring the poison dwarf, his unremarkable parents and a chorus of black and latino battered wives.

Rizo’s performance was sublime. A Nina Simone tribute. Divinely sophisticated. Less camp. Gorgeous. Her Kurt Weille moment was so beautiful it was almost beyond description.

The audience went wild…ecstatic.

Back to Gawker party where Zach got into a huge fight with another guest about a psychic. An altercation ensued and Zach called the host’s best friend ‘Swamp Trash’ so we threw our metaphorical scarves over our shoulders and left the building.

Walked to Bedlam for a last glass of club soda. I ditched the crew and walked home alone. Anonymous amongst the throng of drunken, late night revellers.

Categories
Gay

The Strengths I Imbue

After Stephen left yesterday afternoon for some appointment somewhere…I lay on the sofa and mulled over the days events.  One thing was certain, The Penguin no longer rents space in my head.

I kept marveling at how I had once found him so intoxicating.  I finally saw him as others saw him.  When Charlie said, “He wasn’t like anyone I had met you with before…”  I felt vaguely insulted.   “The boys you usually introduce me to are beautiful.”

Yet, Charlie was right.  My love for him made his fascinating.   The pictures I took of him made him look like a model.   The life I handed him.  The strengths I imbued.  When I took him to Paris all he brought with him was his mediocrity.

I realized that I had never seen him, in all the time we knew each other, with anyone other than my friends and family.  To see him interact with his parents was a revelation.  They looked at his iPad and laughed.  The sham, It might have worked if his Mother didn’t look so incredibly sad.  Amongst them The Penguin looked for all the world like the entitled brat who would think nothing of taking drugs to their house, using their kitchen as a porno web casting studio or telling them bare-faced lies.

Their ‘unconditional’ love created The Penguin.   I had hinted before that this may have been the case but just seeing them together confirmed my worst fears.

I suddenly understood Jessie’s fury in a way that I had never understood it before.

He wrote:

“Well, it’s over.  She came home, got me to confess a bit more truth–that i have had sex with men before–then after a lot of kicking, hitting and screaming, she kicked me out.  I took the train to my parents’ house, where I told my mom everything (my dad is out of town which made it all a bit easier actually), and she held me and told me it will all work out.  Jessie called her to make sure I’d gotten home, which gave me some hope that she might not hate me forever…but after she got home tonight it became clear that there is no going back.  She accused me of ruining her life, of being a deceitful sociopath, of being a bad person who she wishes she never met.  This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.

 Part of me feels like I wish I’d never met you–your were a catalyst of sorts and without that catalyst everything right now would probably be as it was.  But I know that “as it was” was not as perfect as I wanted it to be, and beneath all the pain right now I know I did the right thing.  Thank you for guiding me towards the truth,,,you are so incredibly strong…I can hear it in your voice, your words.  I hope I can be as strong as you and I really want to thank you for being here for me.  I cannot fucking believe this happened today.  Love you a lot.”

The truth is:  he would never have ‘come out’ if I had not been the crazy man I am.  I had threatened to ‘un-pick’ his life and he knew that the truth had to be told.   I forced him to tell her the truth.

His lies made me physically sick.

Whilst he was with Jessie I wrote:

You are making me unhappy.  There is no fucking hope.

 I refuse to be the other person in your life whilst you selfishly shit on other people.

 It is not fair on any of us.

 I refuse to be the levelheaded guy who just puts up with you.   Then, when and if it suits you, you turn on and accuse of craziness.

 I can’t do it.

 Yes, today I felt fed up with you because I don’t trust you.  Why should I?

 Why should anyone?

 What the hell did you expect from this?  That I just have no feelings?  That we just fuck?   That you sit in your room and jerk off on camera and that was going to be enough for me?

 Jake, PLEASE stop living a lie.  Leave that poor woman.  Be single for a while then find a man to love.

 Please.

I think often about Jessie.  How he treated her.

Let’s talk about who I became yesterday.  I didn’t really like me yesterday.  I didn’t like the goose-stepping, mad man who took obnoxiously loud telephone calls in the court waiting room.  It seemed like I just had to be THAT GUY.  It seems like it’s the only way I know how to protect myself.

I was the wrong size when I left the court.  So it was that I had to get back to being the right size.   Not too big, not too small.

Alex called.  We had dinner at Angelica’s Kitchen.  I ate steamed vegetables.  We talked briefly about the day but I was done.  Done talking about The Penguin.

We fell into bed and I kissed him.   Everything felt so different.  Fresh.

Just two men in bed, two men in bed without any expectations.

I am on Fire Island this weekend house hunting for the summer.   Very excited.

http://http://www.nextmagazine.com/nexus/scene-heard-brian-rafferty-and-shawn-paul-mazur-give-royal-treatment-kings

Categories
Gay prison Rant

Bradley Manning

On 29 May, Private Bradley Manning will have been held in USmilitary detention without trial for one year. A 23 year old openly gay man, he faces a battery of charges, including “aiding the enemy” – a crime punishable by execution under US law.Manning’s crime? It is alleged that he blew the whistle on war crimes and cover ups by the US military in Iraq and Afghanistan. If this is true, the man is a hero. He is a defender of democracy and human rights. His actions are based on the principle that citizens have a right to know what the government is doing in their name. Bradley should not be in prison. The charges against him should be dropped. Set him free. Instead, put on trial those who killed innocent civilians and those who protected the perpetrators.

Bradley Manning is a true patriot, not a traitor. He reveres the founding ideals of the US – an open, honest government accountable to the people, which pursues its policies by lawful means that respect human rights. At great personal risk, he sought to expose grave crimes that were perpetrated and then hidden by the US government and military. These are the characteristics of a man of conscience, motivated by altruism. Any misjudgements he made in the alleged release of certain documents are fair outweighed by the positive good overall. Thanks to Manning, we, the people, know the truth.

One aspect of Bradley Manning’s commitment to human rights is his active support for LGBT equality. He has participated in Gay Pride marches and campaigned against the ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ restrictions on US gay military personnel. In 2008, he attended a rally in New York to oppose attempts to ban same-sex marriage in California.

For nearly a year, Manning was imprisoned in harsh, inhuman conditions at Quantico marine corps base in Virginia. He was subjected to long periods of solitary confinement and many extreme deprivations, which amounted to pre-conviction punishment. After worldwide protests, he was recently transferred to a standard medium security military prison at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, where his treatment has significantly improved.

Manning is being held on the as yet unproven allegation that he leaked classified US military and diplomatic documents that were subsequently released by Wikileaks. These documents exposed US war crimes, as well as US foreign policy dishonesty and duplicity.

A senior United Nations representative on torture, Juan Mendez, reprimanded the US government in April 2011 for not allowing him to meet Bradley Manning in private and in confidence. This is the kind of censure the UN normally reserves for authoritarian regimes: http://tiny.cc/nq3mq

Mendez, the UN special rapporteur on torture, said: “I am deeply disappointed and frustrated by the prevarication of the US government with regard to my attempts to visit Mr Manning.”

My friend US congressman Dennis Kucinich and a representative from Amnesty International were likewise refused permission to visit Manning.

Also in April, more than 250 of America’s most eminent legal scholars signed a letter protesting against the mistreatment of Manning during the nine months he was detained in Quantico military brig, arguing that his “degrading and inhumane conditions” were illegal, unconstitutional and could even amount to torture: http://tiny.cc/bs95c

The open letter by these scholars states:

“For nine months, Manning has been confined to his cell for twenty-three hours a day. During his one remaining hour, he can walk in circles in another room, with no other prisoners present. He is not allowed to doze off or relax during the day, but must answer the question “Are you OK?” verbally and in the affirmative every five minutes. At night, he is awakened to be asked again “Are you OK?” every time he turns his back to the cell door or covers his head with a blanket so that the guards cannot see his face. During the past week he was forced to sleep naked and stand naked for inspection in front of his cell, and for the indefinite future must remove his clothes and wear a “smock” under claims of risk to himself that he disputes.”

The letter goes on to question the US government’s motives for detaining Manning:

“The administration has provided no evidence that Manning’s treatment reflects a concern for his own safety or that of other inmates. Unless and until it does so, there is only one reasonable inference: this pattern of degrading treatment aims either to deter future whistleblowers, or to force Manning to implicate Wikileaks founder Julian Assange in a conspiracy, or both.”

The list of scholars who signed the letter included Barack Obama’s own constitutional law professor, Laurence Tribe, a Harvard professor who is considered to be America’s foremost liberal authority on constitutional law.  He taught constitutional law to Barack Obama and was a key backer of his 2008 presidential campaign.

You can read this Guardian report about the mistreatment Manning suffered at Quantico: http://tiny.cc/junb2

In summary, the Guardian report states that was being kept in solitary confinement 23 hours a day, in a windowless room 12′ x 6′, and shackled hand and foot when he was transferred to a room where was allowed only to walk around in a circle. He was fed a daily diet of antidepressant pills which disoriented him, forced to stand naked, forbidden to exercise in his cell, and woken if he attempted to sleep in the daytime. Manning was continually subject to what is called “maximum custody”, and also to a so-called “prevention of injury” order, which among other things, deprived him of his clothes at night and also of normal sheets and bedding in favour of a blanket he describes as being like the lead apron used when operating x-ray machines. He was allowed no personal possessions.

This abuse of Manning constitutes illegal “cruel, inhuman and degrading punishment”, contrary to the UN Convention Against Torture and the 8th Amendment to the US constitution. It has been condemned by many civil liberties and human rights organisations, including Amnesty International: http://tiny.cc/7sr4w

The International Criminal Court should commence legal proceedings against the head of the US government and military commander-in-chief, President Obama.  He bears direct personal and legal responsibility for the mistreatment of Manning. He knew about it, publicly endorsed it and did nothing to stop it.

The transfer of Manning from Quantico to Fort Leavenworth – and the subsequent significant improvement in the conditions under which he is being detained – occurred just days after the legal scholar’s letter was publicised, and appeared designed to preempt plans by Manning’s lawyers to mount a legal challenge to the harsh conditions of his detention at Quantico. It also followed an online petition by avaaz.org which gathered half a million signatures in one week in early April.

Private Manning, a US military intelligence analyst, was arrested in Iraq following the release by Wikileaks of video footage of a US Apache helicopter attack that gunned down 11 Iraqi civilians in 2007, including two Reuters journalists and men who had gone to the aid of the wounded. Two children were also gravely injured when the US helicopter opened fire on their van. The video records US soldiers laughing and joking at the killings, and also insulting the victims.

The video of the massacre can be seen at: www.collateralmurder.com

This slaughter had previously been the subject of a cover-up by the US armed forces, which claimed dishonestly that the helicopter had been engaged in combat operations against armed enemy forces.

It is only (allegedly) thanks to Bradley Manning that we now know the truth about this slaughter of innocent civilians – and about the killings of hundreds of other civilians in unreported and undocumented incidents.

Daniel Ellsberg, who leaked the Pentagon Papers in 1971, which exposed US lies and criminality in Vietnam, has hailed Manning as a hero.

Manning is a humanist and a man with a conscience. When he discovered human rights violations by the US armed forces and duplicity by the US government, he was shocked and distressed. He became disillusioned with his country’s foreign and military policy; believing it was betraying the US ideals of democracy and human rights.

The abuse that first triggered Manning’s disillusionment was when he was posted to Iraq in October 2009 as an intelligence analyst. He was shocked to discover US military collusion with the repression of dissent in Iraq; in particular “watching 15 detainees taken by the Iraqi Federal Police….for printing ‘anti-Iraqi’ literature.” The offending literature exposed corruption in the US-backed government of Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki. When he complained that US forces should not be assisting with the suppression of free speech and peaceful protest, he was told to shut up and that the US armed forces in Iraq should be doing more to silence opponents of the Maliki regime.

Manning is a US citizen but also a British citizen via his Welsh mother. Since he has been in detention, he has received no British consular support. Prime Minister David Cameron and his deputy Nick Clegg have failed to help him. They have never spoken publicly against his maltreatment or, as far as we know, made any private appeals to the US government and military to halt the abuse that Manning suffered at Quantico. So much for the coalition’s professed commitment to human rights and civil liberties.

Manning’s mother requested assistance from UK Foreign Secretary, William Hague, to ensure a British consular visit to her son. This request has been ignored: http://tiny.cc/4e732

TAKE ACTION – What you can do:

1.    Write to Bradley Manning. Send him your support: PFC Bradley Manning 89289. Fort Leavenworth Military Detention Centre, 830 Sabalu Road, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, KS 66027, USA. 

2.    Sign the petition in support of Bradley Manning: www.bradleymanning.org 

3.    Ask your MP and MEPs to urge the British Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary to ensure a British consular visit to Bradley Manning, and to press the US government to drop all charges and release him. You can email your MP and MEPs direct via this website: www.writetothem.com 

4.    Phone or write to the US Embassy in London – 24 Grosvenor Square, London W1A 1AE – 0207 499 9000

5.    Write to President Obama, The White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington DC20500, USA

6.    Please tweet this message: 

If Bradley Manning blew the whistle on US war crimes, he’s a hero. Free him. Sign the petition: www.bradleymanning.org  #bradleymanning

 
Categories
Gay

Genuflect This

I sat quietly in St Patrick‘s cathedral.

Just me and the Little Dog strangely all alone in that vaulted place.

I have no idea how or why I ended up there. I wanted avocado on toast at Gitane not a divine intervention.

I genuflect and bow my head.

I knelt right at the front, first pew, and looked up at the painting of Jesus who in that particular church is part cherub.

I don’t really believe in Jesus.  It’s a lovely idea but nah…Jesus is not my friend.  God, on the other hand, is my friend and it was to him that I genuflect, to him that I kneel and to him that I found myself praying with some adolescent insistence.

I kept on praying for the strength to forgive.  Please let me have the strength to forgive him.  Forgive his childish letter, forgive him for so crudely lying his way into my life.  Forgive him for being ordinary.  Yes, that sounds cruel but I wanted him to be extraordinary and he just isn’t.

We only have a few more days before I face The Penguin in court and all I want is to forgive him, to look into his face and forgive him.  I am praying hard that happens.

I don’t mind listening to anything he throws at me…I know he is fighting for his life…as long as I am at peace.   He made some really, really silly mistakes.  Mistakes that not only impacted on my life but on every person around him.

If only he had the guts to just say that he was sorry, he has no idea how forgiving I can be.

I spoke to John yesterday about unanswered questions and he made a very good point.

If, for instance, I asked my step-father why he did what he did to me, he really wouldn’t know.  He didn’t know.  When I confronted him all those years ago he collapsed into my arms.  Defeated by my directness.  It was the only time I ever saw him vulnerable.

The Penguin has no idea why he did what he did so it’s really no use asking him why.  Even though I want to know so badly.

Last night I rolled around a large bed with a young man I met in the park.   He walked to my house, brought me lilacs, paid for my dinner and as people are want to do, flicked through various photographs on my iPhone left over from when I first met The Penguin.

He said, “He looks like me.”

Yes, I said.  “He does look like you but he’s not at peace like you are.”

NYC is jam-packed with beautiful jewish boys.

Categories
Gay

Amanda Lepore

Amanda Lepore
Amanda Lepore

Another beautiful day spent walking the city streets, meeting friends old and new.

There is so much happening that I am finding it almost impossible to remember where the day begins and how it ends.

Let’s see…hmmm.

Woke late. Walked to Mud for my daily cup of their aromatic coffee. The cute Brooklyn guy was serving in his pixie hat. “Milk, one sugar?” I nod.

Walked the dog drinking my coffee . We stare at squirrels in the trees. This daily Mexican Standoff between The Little Dog and the squirrels.

At 12.30 I go to NYU AA meeting. A very drunk man sat next to me. I was a bit worried that he was going to vomit on my leg. He left early. People cried who had known him sober. We can get very complacent. He’s a good reminder of what can happen. Men like him keep me sober.

The Big Book of AA was written for people who can’t stay sober…not for people who can.

After the AA meeting a young gay new comer wanted my number. I congratulated myself for NOT giving it to him. I know what these boys want. Don’t think I went through all I went through this year without learning something. He can offer his sad ass to some other sucker. Listen, I am not that guy. I may sound like a sage when I speak in AA, I may look like a caring person on TV…but let me make this perfectly clear for anyone who may be listening…those are mere aspects of my personality.

I AM NOT THAT GUY.

I am not boasting when I say this…well..I might be…but, I am looking pretty damned good. I am strong, svelte, confident, happy. I am pleased to tell you that I have welcomed myself back into my own body. It’s great to be back on good form. Caustic humor, acerbic wit..all evidenced yesterday both at lunch with Peter Evans, then with my new cub friend (friend of Brendon’s). All afternoon sitting by the pool..receiveing people like the stately homo I have become.

Hung with actor friends Matthew Rhys (Brothers and Sisters) and Anatol Yusef who plays Meyer Lansky in Boardwalk Empire. Anatol and I are talking about doing the Wayne Sleep bio pic together. Anatol….playing Wayne of course. Meg Ryan as Princess Di.

Anatol and Wayne could be twins. Those two boys were separated at birth.

Joke. That was a fucking joke wasn’t it? It was…wasn’t it?

Dashed home for a quick shower, took dog to park for a poo and a wee…met charming green-eyed boy who made small talk about wanting a dog, then met Zack et al at The Bowery Bar for the final Beige party night ever. I wore the jacket that Hedi Slimane designed for me when he was at Dior. I wore slim pants and patent leather boots and a black tee shirt. I looked fucking GREAT.

We arrived at 8.30 bribed the hostess, tranny person to get us a table but I didn’t sit at the table once. I felt like the Belle of the Ball. I was chatting with dozens of super cool gay men. Flirtatious yet dignified. It just felt great, validated. Comfortable. Some of the men we met at Ken Mehlman‘s apartment were there. Amanda Lepore was sitting in a booth getting her fake tits out. I have met her so many times in so many different locations. Miami, LA, Paris…with David LaChappelle mostly.

There were so many people. It was jammed. So many, many people I remember from years and years of going to Beige.

I must admit that I have never felt at ease at Beige. In the words of my friend, “This has always been a bit of a cunty crowd.”

Last night it was my crowd.

I left just as the party was getting messy. I walked home. Happy as the day was long.

I have been off kilter for so long. Last night, it was different. I felt great, I felt like I deserved the compliments.

That’s a change isn’t it?

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