The Armoire (short film)

Probably about 5 years ago I saw a preview for this movie which featured only scenes from the first few minutes. Two boys are playing hide and seek. One disappears. What happened to him and what does the other boy's armoire have to do with it? It looked spooky, so I was intrigued. But after a few years I was like oh well I guess that poor guy couldn't get funding to make his movie. Then yesterday this appeared on my dash. It was actually way more thoughtful, and consequently, disturbing, yet eerily beautiful, than I could have imagined. Watch the movie then feel free to peruse some of my thoughts about it afterward...

This left me with so many questions, but in the best way possible. Did Aaron have feelings for Tony? Certain things lead me to believe that he did. They were both in close quarters in the armoire at one point. And Aaron pokes a hole in the milk carton right where Tony's mouth is to let the milk fall into his crotch. Also, while talking to the psychiatrist, a plethora of rainbows can be seen behind Aaron's head. These are all very subtle, though, and there is never any mention of queerness or homophobia from Aaron's parents. The only thing they do tell him is that it is not "normal" to sleep in an armoire. In that sense, the film is a pretty creepy look at what can happen when you repress your romantic desires. Did Aaron know that sticking the fork into the electrical outlet would kill Tony? No matter what, seeing as he buried him in his sleeping bag, I'm assuming things will not remain happy for Aaron. And yet, the ending shows Aaron reaching a happy place. Perhaps he had always envied Tony for not needing to play silly games and being a brilliant choir student. With Tony out of the way, Aaron becomes the brilliant choir student. Was this his plan all along? Its probably to the movie's benefit that these questions are not answered. It left me thinking about it all day.

Requiem or Open Letter to the Last Three Dudes Who Broke My Heart & Anyone Intending to Do So in the Future

I'm not sure quite why I wanted to write this. I am generally not a person whose life is an open book. Some things I keep to myself on occasion. A lot of people in real life probably didn't even know I was in several relationships recently. Not that I am closeted or ashamed about it. I was excited in fact. And in love pretty much. But I am just not a person who crows about my life. I often fear that I'll bore people. I certainly bore myself a lot of the time. And neither am I the kind of person who will post a vitriolic attack on former boyfriends basically giving them the verbal equivalent of a barium enema. Not that I won't let them have it. I can be as catty as the next queer guy (don't worry some cattiness is coming shortly). But I usually try for subtlety. Or simple honesty. That hurts sometimes way more than a foul-mouthed diatribe. And going back to the topic of me not crowing about my life, I am also not the kind of person who would post something like this as a show of my strength. I mean, gimme a break. If I was really strong I WOULD crow about my life and be prideful of my appearance and be happy where I am. So why, then, am I writing this? Well, for one thing I needed to vent. And also not to show "strength" per se, but maybe just "perseverance". Sort of an "I'm Still Here fuckholes" message to the dudes who came and went, sometimes sadly, not in that order. So maybe, just this once, I'll do some of the things above. And maybe blow my own horn in the process since it doesn't occur very often (not since eighth grade when I was flexible enough). To be fair, one of the relationships I'm referencing in this post wasn't even a loving one but "best friends", lets say. When you wake up and text somebody every morning and numerous times throughout the day and then don't go to bed without talking or texting with them, that ladies and gentlemen, is a pretty deep relationship in my book. So I don't care that it wasn't love or a boyfriend, I'm lumping it in with the rest because I felt it just as deeply and hurt just as badly when it was ended. The intricacies almost don't matter. Long distance. Being closeted (not me). Having a family that would rather make you miserable by putting you into conversion therapy than make you happy and fulfilled by admitting that you like men and therefore don't fit the religious image they had of you in their heads. And simply being used for money. I don't have much money so lets just say I'm particularly sensitive to this issue. But when I love I love with my whole heart, and consequently my whole wallet. Its only when it turns out later that I was being used that I become bitter. So whether it was a hundred dollars for antidepressant medication so they might stop wanting to kill themselves as much, or a massive care package shipped, or money for an outfit they desperately needed for a fashion show, I supplied them. And I didn't mind. Only later, when not just those actions but also myself were taken for granted, did I regret. But regret is something I try not to revel in. True, I have many. I just try not to dwell. So back to why I wrote this. I wanted to try and salvage something positive out of something that had become very negative. I can't say I never end up hating people. That would be an out and out lie. But I do try not to hate people that I once loved. And for the most part, I don't. But I've been feeling a little despondent lately. So this is to counteract that. This is, therefore, an open letter to my recently lost loved ones:

I still think about you. I often wonder if you really cared about me enough to say the same. Its hard sometimes not to be angry, either at you or at Fate for continuously putting me in this situation. I try not to think badly of you. Or of us. I try to focus on the positive. In that regard, I can't wish ill feelings on you. That doesn't mean I don't want your future relationships (a few of which were the reason I was abandoned) to crash and burn. That's asking a little much. I do want you to be happy just like I want myself to be happy. I suppose in the long run learning that we were not meant to be together was an integral part of that journey. It would be easy to bury myself in cynicism. But that has never been my mandate. I was, is, and always will be a romantic. That was one of the things you loved about me. So I'm still here. Still looking. Still trusting my heart despite the fact that it is misguided an awful lot of the time. Regardless of what you might think in hindsight, I loved you. And that is not to be taken lightly. Just as I will continue to not take it lightly going forward. Live defiantly. Love boldly. And maybe, every now and again, regret that it will not be with me.

Losing My Religion?

Several people have asked about my religious beliefs, or lack thereof, so I decided to write a post about it. A very simple and very not urbane answer would be to say that as a child of bullying my tolerance for and ability to spot bullshit was cranked up to 11 at a young age. When bullies would threaten to kick my ass one day after school then two days later tell me I wasn't so bad or some such bullshit to make themselves feel better for having tormented me, a bell would go off in my head that might as well have been Paul Revere on horseback shouting into my bedroom window in the middle of the night only this scream did not say "The British Are Coming!" it said "Alert! Alert! This guy is full of shit!" So I became adept and sensitive to those moments when people were trying to dazzle me with bullshit. And simply put, religion happens to be a place where a whole lot of bullshit is shoveled about. But I digress. Let me backtrack. When I was about 5 I very clearly remember being sent to Sunday school every week for a period so that I could be "closer to God". Of course, at that point, I hadn't been bullied yet so I wasn't nearly as cynical as the shining bit of humanity sat writing this today. My mother has always been a Fair Weather Sunday Christian, so that was how we were raised. We didn't go to Church every week or very often, ever, but we would go twice a month perhaps and every holiday. Even as a little boy I hated the false pretense of Church. I hated dressing up in a button shirt and a tie and why would God care anyway whether or not I wore that or my Def Leppard Union Jack t-shirt to mass? The important thing was that he wanted me there, correct? But Mom sent me dutifully off to Sunday School where I had to dress up every week and sing hymns and learn about Christ's teachings. To be honest (and fair), I don't remember much about the actual school, just that I hated dressing up and I pretty much hated reading Bible verses but the singing was all right. 1 thing that very clearly does stand out, however, is my teacher discussing the father of one of my fellow students with another parent. The man in question was a drug user who had gone to jail and was trying to get clean. I can't recall the exact words she used, but I remember they were angry and dismissive and pretty much consigned the father to humanity's scrap heap and that even as a child that small I understood the dichotomy between human compassion that Christ supposedly preached and the bitter, cynical tone of my teacher's voice. It didn't make sense. Eventually, my mother relented when I complained that I didn't want to dress up and go read about God but stay home and watch Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein instead and I was never sent to Sunday School again. But a seed had been planted in my young little head. Not doubt exactly. Not yet. But distrust. As I got older and became able to reason for myself, my doubt and distrust grew. They were not helped at all by the fact that organized religion did not seem to want me. At least if I was honest about who I was. Or even about what kind of music I listened to. Or what kind of clothes I liked to wear. Even as a young teen I remember sitting in Church on Christmas Eve and having a quiet conversation with a friend of the family (a very devout, religious person) about the show Hollywood Wives, which if no one recalls was a trashy Jackie Collins book made into an even trashier tv miniseries starring Anthony Hopkins (!) and Suzanne Somers. One of the characters in the book was a gay hair salon owner who takes in one of the main characters. The woman told me how much she had loved the book and that character, but she took great pains to express her reluctance, telling me: "He's my favorite character and he's a very good person. BUT he's gay." That but was sort of like a door closing, if it had even been open any longer. Why would a supposedly caring, Christian person say that this character was her favorite but feel the need to add that "BUT"? And yet, as I got older, I heard more and more of this exclusionary language. We're all familiar with it. God loves you. Unless you're gay. If you're gay, you'd better repent and get on a reality show called "My Husband's Not Gay" and try very hard not to want to suck a dick anymore because if not you've got nothing but fire and brimstone in your future my friend. And yet so many of the people I would be seated amongst every Christmas mass (before I was old enough to start refusing to go) were beastly, horrible people guilty of any number of sins who shouldn't have been judging the family dog let alone another human being. They were bitter racists who complained about not only fags but niggers and spics (their words, not mine) as well. These were words I heard hurled around me all day in the school hallway. Used by contemptible bullies. Why were religious people who were apparently supposed to be living an enlightened life using these same words? Bullshit. Which is one of the major factors in organized religion as I came to find out. Everywhere I turned, a person holding a Bible was either spouting words of hate towards lesbians and gays (and even though I hadn't come out at that point, I knew full well that I had more in common with them than the person holding the Bible passing judgement) or telling me I was wrong to listen to Motley Crue. Judgement was everywhere, and I didn't find it all that enlightening. These staunch homophobic Christian politicians all over the tv didn't help matters any. So many of them were vehemently against social progress of any kind as far as queers were concerned. And yet so many of them would get caught weeks later sucking some young aide off in a Congressional bathroom. Why on Earth would anyone give any credence to what they had to say? And yet so many people did. And still do. It just seems like a massive bullshit story to me. And I've never liked eating bullshit. Not when I was 12 and Russell Keith would slap my face and then pretend to be my friend so he could slap it again a few minutes later and certainly not when I was old enough to know better. I very clearly remember being 14 (and pretty sure that my daily masturbating to David Lee Roth gyrating in assless leather pants on MTV meant more than I was willing to admit then) and taking a trip to South Carolina when it seemed that my step-Dad might be getting a promotion that would move us there. We were house scouting, essentially. We met numerous people during that long weekend. And one of the first questions they would ask would always be "What Church do you go to?" and when we explained that we didn't really go to Church the look of abject horror on their faces was highly disturbing. To them we were doomed. But I knew, ironically, that I had actually been saved. From bullshit. Lets face it, there's bullshit everywhere. Its not like religion has a claim on it. But lets just say they're currently trying to corner the market. I also concede that not all religious people shovel bullshit. I realize there are decent, loving, accepting Christians (and Jews, and Muslims, etc) out there who simply believe what they believe but don't let it turn them into a hateful bigot. I'm proud of them. I imagine it must be very hard. I sort of fell into the agnostic category for all of the reasons I have stated and also because I look at God the same way I look at ghosts and other supernatural phenomena. I believe they COULD be possible, and people I trust dearly have told me that they have seen them so I know they believe it, but never having seen them myself, I have to fall back on "There is no data". I guess atheists would say thats a copout and brand me as someone unwilling to commit, but I don't see it that way. I simply see it as keeping my options open and having an open mind. I sometimes, in times of depression, find myself talking to whomever might be listening up above whether it be God, or Fate, or my Nana who died 5 years ago, and asking for strength. As a rational person I realize that it could be that none of those entities heard what I had to say and simply thinking about them gave me the strength to get through my problems myself. And some might argue that this is the whole point of religion and Faith. But I did that myself, without dressing up and handing out money in a collection plate and hearing other people pass judgement on people like me. Simply put, I don't need religion to tell me how to live. I'm capable of being a loving, compassionate human being all on my own. That doesn't mean I begrudge other people having their own beliefs. I never have. I begrudge any people, religious or not, for hating and bullying and judging. Thats not just against Christian values. Its against human values.

The Legend of NastyBabyBoy

Appreciation post for one of my fav social media hotties. Goes without saying these pics will feature nudity ;P