queer 5.20.03

Sun is coming up, failing to capture my intrigue yet again. This alternate sleep schedule is getting to be a bit too Anne Rice for my liking.

Friday night, I met Brian and Jordan at Neighbours partially against my will. The meat market was packed with greasy torsos and the DKNY Spring Collection. I [unintentionally] arrived in an outfit that would give Aaron Spelling a hard-on. (Bear with the gratuitous pop culture references.) Anyway, it would seem that over the past month, I've reconciled with my phobia of Capitol Hell-uhem-I mean, Hill. These days, the midnight cruising has moved indoors, and thus the pedophilia rate has plummeted noticeably. Now that I've come to accept my homosexuality as an ironic fashion statement, I can walk through the eye-fucking horde of thirty-somethings laughing all the way to the backroom.

Irony, I have learned, implies something entirely different to certain individuals. Jordan, who only last July was a posterchild for the term "closet-case" is now a part-time-hustler. I tried to explain to him that this was not 1973 and that the West Coast was not the proper place to live out your decadent rock-n-roll-wet-dream. Those of you who know me understand where I'm coming from. Later, it became clear to me that this was an obvious trend... meaning that anyone under the age of twenty-five was encouraged to bend over for hard cash, if you know what I mean.

I've said it before and I'll say it again... young gay men are an exploitive and loveless bunch. Some get their two-bit thrills from waking up in a chilly apartment, only to find that their much-older fling is making scrambled eggs and toast for his two-year old son. Not me. Some dart their "come-hither" glances in public places, hoping to beckon a perfect stranger into a bathroom stall with their pants around their ankles. Not me. Some describe their most recent seedy encounters in detail to their weekly circle of brash fag-hags and Gucci-clad fairies. Not me. If I've adapted a frivolous homosexual attitude toward sex, it's only because if I didn't, I'd spend the majority of my time with sobbing all over the bathroom floor.

The reason I can't subscribe to "gay pride" (or any kind of pride for that matter) is because it's so goddamn phony. For me, being homosexual transcends sexual preference. It means choosing to go hungry from day-to-day, warding off socially-conscious stigmas, never "making love" or getting particularly comfortable with one person. I know this doesn't exactly make me the exception to the rule... but quoting Brian, [I'm] even too queer to be queer. But in this congregation of freaks we call "Our World"... we are who we fuck, I suppose. So, I've arrived at the conclusion that in a PERFECT World, there will be war because there will be no sexual frustration... we'll just fuck everybody. Imagine that, John Lennon.