11:16 p.m. - April 28, 2003
So as weíre talking about the safe word concept I couldnít help but laugh some when I considered the fact that there is a discernable lack of sexual activity going on. A safe word would be apropos were I having sex, and relying on this mental referee whistle doesnít make it any easier to go out and get me some. We didnít talk about that, which seems to me like ignoring the obvious in favor of the petits poids; must I use that despicable clichť about the elephant? If vagina sex were proffered on the right and man sex on the left, Iíd have no trenchant cue for one or the other. Thatís inaccurate; one seems easier and less of a hassle and do-able and to me, itís self-evident. But.
It would be easy for me to hate that part of me Ė as if I donít already Ė and to turn away, to be angry and scornful and attain the picket fence and minivan, be Regular. Itís in me to go to extremes and I would be the type that betrays insecurities via unequivocal hate. Like Aaron, my old once-upon-a-time friend who has a problem with gay guys. I have the same problem in many ways. I didnít say so in that entry, but Aaron didnít beat up the guy in high school alone; we both beat the girly-guy. Iíve always felt guilty about that and I donít think about it often though it forms a salient sub-text to everything else, doesnít it? I wonder about the origins of this kind of hate, that ingestion of venom that breeds acrimony and choler. I feel partly responsible for Aaronís problem the same way I feel responsible for my problem with gay men. When we were younger Ė 11, 12 Ė weíd jack off together, get off via frottage, compare size. Later, when we were sophomores in high school, he gave me a blowjob. I donít recall doing the same for him and Iím certain Iíd remember it, but it was shortly after that we beat up the blonde guy who walked like a girl, held his books like a girl, and was all too girly as he walked home in front of us. Maybe thereís a connection, maybe not.
Looking back, I suspect I had a crush on him of some sort. He was the bad boy, I wasnít. You know how it goes. I think about these experiences and I wonder how or why am I having a tough time now with the issue, especially in light of my determination not to fall into it again. But to get back to the point, I understand where Aaron may be coming from Ė from my own vantage point, obviously Ė because I feel that same anger and hostility; is his in response to what we did? I wonder about these connections. Tenuous suppositions, all.
I am disappointed that I canít reverse course and be the way I was before. Cheated, stymied, punished.
I donít want to get my hopes up but thereís something on the horizon far off, something Iím going to pursue. They want a current curriculum vita quickly; I havenít updated mine for well over a year and a half. There isnít much to add since Iíve accomplished little since. Enough flagellation; it doesnít matter what I havenít done, or what Iíve done half-heartedly, but what I will do, right?
Just say that over and over like a Tibetan prayer wheel. Thatís the ticket. [Note to Twids: Bloody hell. Itís everywhere!]