Categories
Gay Love Rant

Closure

Some people don’t like being blogged.

I’ve pissed off many people writing this blog .  Joe, Clare and Xan are just a few I can remember being outraged by my representation.  Perhaps they’re right, perhaps I shouldn’t have written about them so publicly and kept a private journal instead.

Of course I’ve edited certain events so they do not include certain people, intimate encounters, lovers… like during my recent trip to NYC.

I’m probably a lesser man for doing this.

As time marches on and the drama of the present recedes into the past we are just left with the written word.  Those who were angry or felt betrayed in the moment for me having shared what I felt or experienced are no lesser friends now than they once were.

In time, when weapons have been laid to rest, or love affairs are truly over those of you who have been mentioned may look back at this blog and remind yourself of a different time, a different space and may think twice if it was indeed a bad idea to have a record of where we once were.

I have kept a journal since I was 19 years old.  There are many leather-bound diaries sitting in a box waiting for some imaginary biographer to decipher my illegible hand writing.   This is my journal now-for good or bad.   It’s no longer the validation I crave.  It is simply that I must.  Every day I write these words and I know that I am alive.  This blog keeps me alive. Sometimes it is all I feel I have.  The blog and the Little Dog.

As for closure, you know we are lucky when we get it.  Some, like Kristian’s friends are not so lucky.  I had a little much-needed relief today from the drama of the past few weeks.  I’m cramming the love genie back into the bottle and as the magic vanishes so I am left in my own skin.  Acknowledging the knowing looks from those who warned me to avoid him… but so glad I got to taste for just a few moments what I’d been craving for a decade.

Tonight I’m going to a party that has been thrown to celebrate the recently removed testes of a good friend.  Some people are having a very hard time right now.  It’s best that I think about them than my own miserable self obsession.

It’s sad when you can’t imagine kissing someone you have kissed, you can’t replay the words ‘I love you’ when that was all ever needed to be said.

Categories
Gay Rant

I am the happy WIDOW

At night.  On my own.  One more time.  By myself.

I am lip-syncing Judy Garland torch songs around my drawing-room.   After Judy I shall perform for the little dog a medley of miserable break up songs.  But actually I am not unhappy.

I am having rather a good time.  Listen, it’s all OK.  I am pretending that I have long hair that I can twist into a chignon.  I am pretending that I have long smooth legs and perfect breasts.

I got a bit irritable today.  Christ what was I thinking?  Trying to hold on..that’s what I was doing.  At least as one gets older and the break ups happen the fall out is less toxic.  I am trying hard not to be mean-after all he was totally out of his depth.  I might try to con myself into thinking that I did all the work but that simply isn’t true.  He fell into a snake pit-unwittingly.  Poor lamb.  Falling in love with me is like biting into something that smells wonderful but is actually totally rotten.   Like an old pineapple.

His life was really just how it was meant to be before he met me.  An ordinary gay man in an ordinary closet just about to have a cast of extraordinary characters unleashed upon him.  It must have felt like he was walking around a movie studio.  The freaks and the clowns and the whores.  And me, the most freakish, clownish whore of them all.

I only told him one lie whilst I was with him.  Just one.  When whoever wrote to me chastising him for leaving her.  I didn’t tell him how vicious they had been.   I didn’t tell him because he was being so brave.  He was already in such torment.  I know what it is to live a lie.  To live in the dark.  I know what it is like to be scared of who you are.

And as I unravel the short time we spent together I have to ignore that he hates me writing this-but that’s how we met.  The blog.

Sad note from a friend of Kristian’s today.   There’s no getting over some people.  Kristian, Dione and Justin will live on in my heart forever.

What a fucking palava!  If I died right now (and I think about that all the time) if I died right now I have had a fucking blast!  Actually, I hope that there is one great passionate love affair before I die.  Some one with as much flair and enthusiasm as I have. As brave as I am.  As magnificent!  Someone who is as anarchic and as manly and womanly and I am.

What a surprise, who could forsee? I come to feel about you what you felt about me.  Why only now when I see that you have drifted away, what a surprise what a cliché.

I am not wearing a black velvet jewel encrusted gown.  I am not wearing a wig.  I am not wearing makeup.  But I wish I was.   When I think of my totally uptight male film industry friends (like the fat pig agent) I take time to wonder how many of them could express themselves like that?  With verve?

You know what?  Every person I have ever fallen out of love with has come crawling back to me.  Every one.  They never somehow forgot what they were first attracted to.   Arrogant huh?  I don’t care.  Not tonight.  Look, my first boy friend was Fred Hughes.  One can’t get more glam than that dear.  He had his chance dear.  He had a moment in the fucking sun.

Maybe just one never came back to me and that was Matty but he was oddly like the last one.  A kind of blank canvas.   An ordinary boy hankering after a bigger life but not brave enough to take what was on offer.  The fact is-I am not a civilian.  Never was and never will be.  The ups and downs are all part of the deal.  Emotional Boom and Bust.  And fuck it I would rather have that than the parsimonious, mediocre life on offer to most.

Nobody expected anything from me and look what they got!

I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me..

Ranting on a Friday night before I go out to dinner.   Perhaps I might take other risks tonight.  Perhaps I might take the truck and cruise the streets.  I have a parking place now.  A Hollywood parking place.  I can go where I want and a have a place to park when I come home.

Take my hand, let me take you love to love land..float on..

Now I am smiling and jigging about to the Doobie Brothers.

No Joni tonight.  It’s toooo depressing darlings.  Not Joni nor the Brokeback Mountain theme.  Not tonight.  Now, it’s time to flush this toilet and go out for dinner.

Thanks everyone, thanks for being there.  I don’t know what I would do without you.

Categories
Hollywood Rant

Wreckage of My Past

There are occasions in life when no really means no.   I am not really the kind of guy who accepts no for an answer but occasionally I hear the word No and I can’t possibly ignore the implications.

When I first got sober I had to make endless amends to many people.  I had to address the wreckage of my past.  It is not always easy to hear an apology so I rarely use the word sorry.  When I had to make amends to people I had hurt whilst using drugs and alcohol I started any apology with these words:  “I was wrong.”  I was wrong to have stolen from you, I was wrong to have lied to you, I was wrong to have deceived you etc. etc.

Some people were simply no longer around to make amends to or some I had made so angry that they could never hear even one word from me let alone an apology so I made, what we call, a living amends, which meant that whatever I had done to the aggrieved I would never do again to another person.  That if I had cheated I would not cheat.  If I had stolen I would not steal.

Obviously they, the other, would not care either way if I cheated or stole ever again but my commitment to the living amends meant that I never need bring more people to the same sad conclusion about me.  This may seem obvious to you but to a selfish, self obsessed addict this is not obvious at all.

I am in an odd mood today.  I am happy but I am expecting the worst.  I am sure about my path but too lazy to take the next step.

Insanely busy day yesterday.  Climbed Runyon.  Popped over to see Amanda and Kay.  Saw Sean over in Malibu at his farm.  Had lunch with Mel.  Drove home, CRAWLED home on the congested 10 Freeway and then couldn’t, for the life of me, find parking so parked illegally.  I was just desperate to get under a hot shower.  Thankfully, I did not get another parking ticket.

Had delicious dinner last night at Osteria Mozza.  Actually, it was an OK dinner but the company was great.   The food was expensive and poorly executed.  I sent the first course back because it was literally inedible.  Bad food made better with inspiring conversation.   I left my phone in the car so when I got back there were lovely text messages to read.

I slept long and hard.

This morning had very long, shitty conversation with HSBC in the UK.  Really bad.  Then, on the way to Runyon, my friend JP called me to make a reservation for him at a restaurant he couldn’t get into but apparently I can.    Made me feel like a glorified personal assistant.  Had long, very long (but delightful) conversation with Philippa about my June trip back home to the UK.  I really can’t wait to get home for a little while.

The NO came after that.  It was so definite and clear but rather than it rattling me I simply asked to get my own needs met and handed the whole caboose and caboodle over to God.

Amen.

Categories
Rant

In Acceptance?

I woke up in acceptance.  I went to bed with a strange man sleeping on the sofa.

Yesterday morning I found myself explaining what made me happy to a large group of men.   I said, “I know when I’m happy because I don’t want to change anything.   I don’t want to change the way I feel with drugs or sex or shopping.  I don’t want to change where I live or rearrange my apartment.   I am just happy with things the way they are right now.”

Lunch with Eric at the Mercantile on Sunset where we ran into Bryan and his friend Carly Chaikin who is the second lead in the film The Last Song starring Miley Cyrus.  A very sweet girl.   Delicious lunch, lots of fun, I ate duck.

After lunch Eric and I drove to Soho House where we sat on the terrace overlooking Beverly Hills drinking latte-yes I was in a latte state o’mind.

As the day progressed I felt more uncomfortable.    There were practical irritations like: HSBC in the UK had closed my bank account for no apparent reason (apparently my crime was dormancy) with money still in it.   I cannot pay bills, transfer money, now I expect long conversations with random, computer generated Indian customer service advisors that must take place before I get to the bottom of this.

I received another nasty email from a woman claiming that she was at Kristian’s funeral and that my blogged account of it is all lies.  The Mother and Father must be furious that I continue to report how they disrespect our friend in death.   I have spoken to many, many people about the funeral and how Kristian’s boyfriend of SEVEN years was told to stay away, how he is now having to fight the family for what is rightfully his-his share of the property that he and Kristian owned in France and his part of the London property.

By the time I took my nap I was feeling decidedly testy.

Had brief chat with NYC friend who seems eager to go bar hopping/hooking up.  Whatever he has in mind for himself who am I to judge?  He wants to be like all the other gay men with penis privileges.

I tried explaining to him the 12 steps, which was as satisfying as trying to teach a baboon how to knit.

Felt WORSE.

So, a friend of Kristian’s came and took me to dinner-once again at the Mercantile. (I am trying to work my way through their delicious menu.)  We talked about Kristian and I shed a tear.  This was the first person I had actually sat down with since his death rather that being on the phone or random conversations on Face Book with people who had been denied entry to the funeral and had watched in amazement as Kristian’s coffin was dragged into the church, as Kristian’s mother laughed at the funeral, as she made Kristian’s boy friend of SEVEN years feel so uncomfortable at the wake he had organized he left rather than them.

As we left the restaurant I bumped into a good-looking strawberry blonde man with huge arms.   He introduced himself and we exchanged numbers.  Later that night the strawberry blond man came over and we talked until 3am.  It turns out that he is a porn performer who wants to get out of the porn performer business.  I told him that I would introduce him to Jennie.  I looked at his work on-line.  Getting fucked by men with names like Xavier and Brett.   Eagerly blowing other men with huge arms.  I thought that maybe my NYC friend would like to hook up with him at a bar.

It was good to talk to him about my own relationship with pornography.

I felt comfortable with him.  We were not about to have a conversation about God, he did not have a complicated story.  He told me about the men he had dated.  The life he has.  He looked tired so I told him he could stay over.  I hid my gold watch.  He slept on the sofa.

Earthquake the following day.  I lay in bed as it rumbled through town.  Dinner with Anna at Canele on Glendale Blvd.  Excellent roast lamb and equally delicious roast vegetables.   Met delightful Amanda and delightful Daniel.

 

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Categories
Gay Love Rant

Fuck you God

Golly Gosh.  I was ready to write an obituary.  Now there’s some hope in the air and it smells so sweet-like winter flowering Jasmine.

To my readers:  I want you to understand something.  You don’t know who I am writing about.  You can guess but you’ll be wrong.   Even if you are right-you’ll still be wrong.

Men together?  I don’t understand how that works.   Can it work out?  Need I worry?  Just go with God’s plan and see what he has in store for me.  God’s plan never ever includes meeting a normal nice man with no issues who can be ready and willing to deal with mine. hahahahh.  Fuck you God.  Have I ever told you just how much I trust how God works in my life?  That whatever happens everything is going to be ok?   It’s all going to work out just the way it’s meant to be.  God, can you PLEASE not torture me by making me learn how to be patient? By making me be the one who has to be selfless?  Can you just give me a frigging break!

The problem with long distance relationships?   There is no comfort what so ever in the time spent apart.  The distance, the anticipation and the disappointment.  It drives me BONKERS.  In the Land of Needy I suddenly become King.

Wonderful times spent together are mirrored with miserable times spent apart.

Added to all of this it feels like I am being given the mighty heave ho.  Why oh why are relationships so DIFFICULT.  It’s not just me.   I know it.  Why can’t everyday be like getting up in the Jane Hotel feeling complete?

Now I understand why you don’t get involved with certain kinds of men.  Well, we all have to make our own mistakes don’t we?  One day you walk away and you don’t look back. But I can’t walk away from this one-there’s still fuel to burn.  It’s not exhausted.  Yet.  As much as I want him to tell me that’s it’s over.  There is something intoxicating about being loved.

It’s not who you think.  It’s nobody you have ever met.  Nobody I have ever introduced you to.  He’s a different man.

Yesterday was rather wonderful despite emotional long-distance telephone calls with this young man that I recently met in NYC.

I had a deliciously long cup of coffee with an occasionally tearful Jennie… tears of joy I hope.  We looked each other in the eye.  We talked recovery and lost love and new love and what it was to have sex whilst being present.

By the end we were hugging and smiling and everything was just how it was meant to be, you see… what ever real friends go through they remain real friends.  The foundation of our friendship was constructed almost exactly a year ago when we entered Sex Rehab.

It is obviously unshakeable.  The Lord and the Porn Star.

So, I arrived at Amanda’s for dinner, she was in a fractious mood but I think she may just have been hungry.  She has lost a ton of weight.

Amanda and Lady Forte had spent the day with their grown up children looking at universities.  There was some unexplained drama around how easy it was to buy yourself into UCLA.   Anyway, had long chat with Charles about helping him make a film this summer, a short film to get into film school.  I would rather like to do that.  In lieu of teaching at UCLA this year which I really miss.

Categories
Love Money Rant

Elvis Pelvis

1.

Time to reconcile, to forgive and forget.  Time to see Jennie.  Time to catch up, to make up, to explain.  Time to confide and wear dark glasses again.

“Let us suppose that I have wept, on account of some incident of which the other has not even become aware (to weep is part of the normal activity of the amorous body), and that, so this cannot be seen, I put on dark glasses to mask my swollen eyes (a fine example of denial:  to darken the sight in order not to be seen).  The intention of this gesture is a calculated one:  I want to keep the oral advantage of stoicism, of “dignity” and at the same time, contradictorily, I want to provoke the tender question (“But what’s the matter with you?”); I want to be both pathetic and admirable, I want to be at the same time a child and an adult.  Thereby I gamble, I take a risk:  for it is always possible that the other will simply ask no question whatever about these unaccustomed glasses: that the other will see, in the fact, no sign.”

Living in love, in a state of grace, in acceptance.   Living outside of pornography, fantasy, catastrophic thinking-living in truth, trust and kindness.

2.

In Europe things, economic things are getting a whole heap better.  House prices climbing, job prospects improving.

It’s funny listening to British people complain about their lot.  They really have no idea how lucky they are.  They are blissfully unaware what is going on here.  Nobody really reports it-no journalist can bring themselves to say these words:  America as we knew it is over.  America where all our dreams would come true.  Where the promise of freedom would be fulfilled, where truth and equality would be respected.  Where innovation and hard work would be rewarded.

What happened?

There has been an economic catastrophe in the United States of America, brought on by endemic greed, corruption and false Gods.  The American people are angry and rightfully so-but because they are so badly educated their anger is totally misdirected.  Because they have no democratic choice their vote is meaningless.  Because their government is utterly corrupt they have no voice.   Their youth are disinterested in anything other than instant fame, fast food, sexual gratification.

The elections have become Corporate America’s great firework charade, costing millions, lights up the night then all smoke and ash leaving things just the way they were before.  Conning the dumb people into believing that they have choice and change they can believe in etc etc.

The last election was the most cynical of all.  Listening to Obama make any promise he could to get those folks to vote for him then watch him and his party of fools renege on every one of his election promises-knowing that the American people will never lift a finger to defend themselves from their worst enemy-their very own government.

Today I listened to Tim Geitner finally admit that the millions of lost jobs were not coming back anytime soon.  Just as I predicted.   When as my ‘smart’ white AA Palisades friends were looking down their suburban noses at me telling me that things would be back to normal in a year or so.  I looked back at them in utter disbelieve.  Who were they trying to convince?  I would gently remind them that nothing was going to return to ‘normal’ any time soon.  They sneered at me.  They laughed because they didn’t understand.  They are complicit you see.  Complicit in the demise-in the USA’s financial melt down.  Do you think they just totally underestimated the depth of the deception?  The greed?  Or was this a risk the rich were prepared to take?

I don’t trust Tim Geitner, I don’t trust Rahm Emmanuel, I don’t particularly trust Obama.  But in a world of distrust I would rather have these bandits than the last mob.  The characters in this administrative pantomime are more entertaining than the last.

This ‘Democratic’ administration cast by Ari Emmanuelle.   Make up by..hair..

3.

The flight back home from New York was 45 mins early, which made up for the 6-hour delay on the way there.   The staff were sweeter too.  One of them gave me free food.  If you could call it that-processed crap.

I had had a lovely time in NYC and even though it rained and rained I felt at home, like I always do, in the big city.   I loved it.  I really did.

For my last night in town Joan took us all to the Spotted Pig.  I sat next to Lady Rizo and opposite Joan’s husband.  He told us how he once dated a girl Elvis was dating and even though I had heard the story twice before I was still captivated.

Jake mooned over Lady Rizo’s husband.



Categories
Gay Rant

Martha Wainwright

Justin Bond at Joe’s pub last night with Jake and Joan.

A slight show but worth the effort because Martha Wainwright sang two enchanting songs.  Two few.  We were desperate for more.

You know that I love and have always loved the McGarrigle’s.

Of course there are extraordinary similarities between Martha and her mother Kate McGarrigle.  Joan, Joe, Jake and I sat there entranced by her great beauty and talent.

Dinner before show at Indochine, still a bit anxious about eating anything that may poison me.  I am on the don’t get poisoned diet.

Briefly…  Justin Bond.  Look, I don’t mean to be a bitch but when you are sharing a stage with a hugely talented person like Martha it can only serves to highlight ones own limitations.

I know that some people think that Justin deserves some sort of divine glorification before his eventual gay sainthood… but I am not one of them.

He’s a decent performer but he is neither a great singer nor actor.  What does he have going for him?  He is simply an all round nice guy.

Maybe that’s enough?

A saint is always someone through whom we catch a glimpse of what God is like — and of what we are called to be. Only God ‘makes’ saints, of course.

It’s raining in New York so stayed in and wrote and pottered around happily in my room over looking the river and looked at the lesbian menopause infomercial Anna and I made at my house.

Categories
Rant Self Sufficiency

New York 2010

Having a blast here-so far away from the trials of Los Angeles.  No car, no worries, just me and a small suitcase and whole lot of hope.

Now, deliciously, I also have a pair of pink and black leather shoes that only I and a handful of truly stylish, brave friends could wear.

Thank you Comme des Garçons, thank you Rei Kawakubo. Thank you style Gods.

How many of you look at charlieissocoollike on You Tube?  Real name Charlie Mc Donnell.  I love him-no, not like that.  He’s only 19, fresh, funny and talented.  My friend Mr S Fry made a charming end credit for him.  I will write more about Mr Mc Donnall soon but do check out Charlie’s Duet with Myself.

Did I tell you that I had TERRIBLE food poisoning after our delicious lunch at The Standard Grill?  The rabbit ragu served with the ‘home made’ pasta and chanterells did me in.  I have not vomited for YEARS.  I mean, hanging over the pan and violently chucking up the entire contents of my belly whilst simultaneously shitting my white comme des garcons under pants.

I love NYC.

I don’t expect much from life.  I really don’t.  But I get so little in LA.  Like so many people I may end up being one of it’s finest victims but…I doubt it.  I am heading east.  I’ll tell you all sooner or later why.

The goat project has been put on hold until I have some more spare cash.  The film I want to make is ready to be born so I will just make it.  I may just be in it.  I am all a quiver about making a new film.  Can’t get it out of my head.

My friend Joan thinks that I am all over the place but that’s how it has always been-all over the place.

I tweeted today about being grateful.  It’s easy to complain about life, then when it gets better forget to be grateful. I am sitting in a warm, well decorated room overlooking the Hudson River, my belly full and friends to see.  What more could I want?

I am really glad that I came to the USA for as long as I have.  I have learned so much from you people.  Good and Bad.

More facts emerging from the Kristian Digby funeral fiasco.  Kristian’s mad mother apparently very dismissive about KD at funeral to his visibly upset father.  Friends and some family members and work colleagues unable to attend the funeral-asked to stay away.   Real friends got together at tree in Torquay and buried box of memories.  One friend reporting that Kristian’s coffin was dragged into church rather than carried respectfully.    I will repeat my earlier assertions:  Kristian’s mother is an insensitive hag who ruined great portions of her son’s life.  The truth will out Mrs Digby.

Met some PR type gay in Soho House the other night.  Single. attractive but after ten minutes of conversation..really ought to have stayed in the closet.  BACK IN THE CLOSET for you young man.  He told me I needed to filter what I was saying-we were talking about politics.  What a fucking boooooar.

Finally, did I mention to you how much I loathe Sophie Dahl?  How she went out of her way to ruin my experience of LA?  That poor sweet crooner husband of hers will see straight through her conniving ways sooner or later.  You can’t marry a woman 8 inches taller than you-why?  Because you never get to look her directly in the eye.

There’s nothing more exhilarating that an unresolved resentment don’t you think?  One day I will recount the entire sordid story for your delectation.

Categories
Gay Rant

Jane Hotel

Staying in Soho House before moving to Jane Hotel.  Soho House is like coming home.  Hand written notes and presents from the manager Pierre.   The burgers we ate last night were delicious.  The staff are kind and considerate and incredibly helpful.

I had bad news and good news yesterday.   The bad news was about going home-the good news was about staying home.  I am being deliberately obtuse.

God, it was a very long day.  Up at 4am for my 7.15am flight.  Up in the air for 15 minutes then turning back mid air with instrument problems-something to do with the altitude meter.  I don’t know.   It meant that we didn’t take off until 1.30pm so I got to know my fellow travelers very well-too well.  I also became acquainted with the appalling customer service on offer-or not on offer-from American Airlines.  American Airlines, shit service, shit planes, vile attitude.  My fellow travelers were so incensed that airport security had to be called.  I, on the other hand, did not lose my temper once. I was a paragon of virtue.

Arrived in New York at 9.30pm, Soho House by 10.30pm.

Slept turbulently in my huge bed, the tossing and turning on the airplane revealing itself as I slept.  Full of fear, dreaming my house in Malibu was burning-the second apocryphal dream about that house.  The last included a bunch of women.  My nightmare was so bad a few nights ago my screaming out actually woke the neighbors.

Sophie Dahl’s cookery show is a sham-so say the Brit TV cook clan.  Not really surprising-she must be one of the most inauthentic people I ever met.  What the hell does she know about cooking?  I threw a dinner party for her, Zoe Tryon and Alecia Moore (Pink) at my house last year.  Sophie was sulky, bad tempered and rude.  Gosh, how the vile are rewarded.

Apparently one should never invite just women to a dinner.

Staying in Jane Hotel on Hudson.  Very basic, but lots of fun.  Full of cute young Spanish boys, half naked in the corridors on their way to the shared bathrooms. My room has a bathroom.  Elevator smells of disinfectant, the corridors of fresh paint.  The restaurant downstairs has been designed to look a little like it was very old but actually just looks unfinished.  The ballroom is charming as is the Moroccan influenced bar.  I have a corner room over looking the river.  I like a view.

Dinner with Joan and Joe last night at Kenmare.   All round disaster.  Food had to be sent back; my chair was pummeled by wait staff that seemed to lack any basic spatial awareness.  The vegetables were simply inedible.  The steak over cooked.  The pudding… instantly forgettable.

Lastly, why are there so many insipid, suburban gays?   When I was growing up all the gays I knew were sophisticated, arty and fabulous-it occurred to me that the dull gays might have tended to stay in the closet.   I wish they’d stayed there.

These beautiful days in NYC were spent with Jake but I wasn’t allowed to write about it.

Categories
Gay Rant

Kristian Digby’s Funeral

I really need to update this post as so many people read it. 

Sadly, after the disgraceful way Kristian was buried (please see below) with friends and family excluded from the church by Kristian’s mother Paula Dubois I receive word that this woman continues her shameful and destructive antics. 

Stephen, Kristian’s long time partner, very kindly organised a memorial for us all at Southwark Cathedral but was forced by Kristian’s mother to cancel the event.  

Paula drove from Devon, stormed into Southwark Cathedral and threatened to disrupt the Memorial Service to be held for hundreds of Kristian’s friends and Family. 

I know that Kristian would have been appalled and saddened that this has happened.   I am confused as to why Paula continues to behave like this toward the friends of her  sweet heart son who in death surely deserves her love and not her bile.

Paula, when she is not in Devon, lives in the house Kristian built with Stephen in East London.   The house she is now trying to steal entirely for herself.

Paula Dubois is not a well woman.  A diagnosed personality disorder.  Alienated from most of her family. Fighting tooth and nail to keep Stephen from keeping his half of the property that he owned with Kristian.  

This woman will not keep any of Kristian’s friends from remembering him, loving him and wishing Stephen well at this difficult time.

THE ORIGINAL POST March 22nd 2010

Kristian Digby‘s funeral will take place tomorrow in Torquay Devon at Midday.

A great friend of Kristian’s let me know this morning that Kristian’s ex-boyfriend Stephen has been told to stay away from the funeral by Kristian’s parents.  In the end he missed the service and stood at a respectful distance at the burial.

I am saddened by their decision.

Both his Mother and Father, who he worked so tirelessly to include in his adult life, cut him out of theirs when he came out to them as a young gay man.

In his own words to me and others: Their betrayal scarred him irrevocably.

I loathe that the man who loved him and shared his life might not be at the funeral.  It’s like a scene from a bad gay movie.  I wouldn’t even think it was true unless I had heard it from a reputable source.

Gay men depend upon their parents, first and foremost, when they come out.  When we speak the truth we need to heard, respected and loved.  Whilst I understand that nothing can prepare a parent for the news, one would think that it should not be a ‘shock’ to the enlightened.

When gay men reveal themselves at what ever age it is a humbling experience but it needn’t be a negative one.

I encourage my closeted friends to let their family know the truth in the most joyful way possible.  Our lives as gay men and women are extraordinary and should be viewed so by our loved ones.  We should live without fear of judgement, without fear of rejection and it is up to our friends and family to make sure that our second birth as gay men and women is made as comfortable as possible.

I am perfectly sure that Kristian’s parents, like many parents, wanted what they saw as a normal life for their son: marriage to a woman, children and the ease that they perceive being straight affords them.

We who are ‘out’ have chosen to tell the truth, even though we continue to be excluded from the most basic and fundamental human rights-marriage, equality, and even the right to attend our loved ones funerals.

Our lives are so often blighted with lies,  forced to lie to those who love us most for fear of rejection.  Encouraged to lie by our own government so we can serve our country unencumbered and remain in the shadows.  Never underestimate the lengths some gay men will go to hide their true nature.   We must always understand that living a lie is never easy.   It is like living in perpetual darkness.

All too often young, devoutly religious gay men, crippled by shame, take their own lives rather than reveal who they are.  Suicide, an option my friend’s parents offered him when he came out.  Religious bigotry continues to be responsible for the deaths of so many of us-mostly by our own hand.  After all, why bother killing the gays like they do in Iran when you can get self hating Christian homosexuals to kill themselves?

So, my gay brothers and sisters, be resolute and fearless and joyful when you tell your family who you are.  Be swift and sure.  Be kind and considerate to those who are disappointed but have no truck with those who seek to rain on your parade.

Remember that you have a legion of us who support you and love you and want the very best for your gay lives.

Kristian paid a huge price for telling the truth to his parents.

Unsurprisingly I bludgeoned mine and gave them no recourse for negativity.  Indeed I was thrilled at the prospect of becoming the next generation of a remarkable tribe of men and women who have shaped the modern world, from Alexander the Great to Elton John, through Carravaggio and Alan Turing.

28 March 2010

Addendum

More facts emerging from the Kristian Digby funeral fiasco.  Kristian’s mad mother apparently very dismissive about KD at funeral to his visibly upset father.  Friends and some family members and work colleagues unable to attend the funeral-asked to stay away.   Real friends got together at tree in Torquay and buried box of memories.  One friend reporting that Kristian’s coffin was dragged into church rather than carried respectfully.    I will repeat my earlier assertions:  Kristian’s mother Paula Dubois is an insensitive hag who ruined great portions of her son’s life.  The truth will out.

Kristian’s Facebook page was almost immediately deleted and his name changed to John Smith. I recently found all of his many emails to me and hand written notes and the photographs of us when we were briefly together.

After my stint on TV here in the USA he wrote:

“I think your one of life great creations thats brings much-needed colour to the world – I am cynical about media but not you.”
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