Hate’s in the mind

What goes on in the mind of someone who’s so eaten up with hatred for gay people that they resort to killing someone they believe may be homosexual? Yesterday, Mark Malone was sentenced to 30 years in prison for murdering Jeff Akers in Walton-on-Thames, England in February of this year.  More on that story here.

Mr Malone had stabbed Mr Akers so deeply that the entire 8 inches of the knife used in the ferocious assault was embedded in his back, completely severing his eighth rib and puncturing his right lung. He staggered from the toilet where the attack occurred before collapsing.

I cannot comprehend the mindset capable of such savage brutality. It’s completely lost on me. At what point did the programming start which resulted in an act of such barbarous inhumanity, leaving one man dead and another rotting away in an institution not to mention the negative impact on the lives of those left behind who loved Mr Akers, not least his partner of 22 years, Mike Drew.

Was Mr Malone perhaps homosexual himself? They do say that those who have the greatest hatred for homosexuals could very likely be ‘that way’ themselves and are unable to deal with it. So, seeing people out there living the lives they are too cowardly to carve out for themselves, are seen as targets who are ‘flaunting’ their sexualities and therefore fair game to be vilified.

Looking closer at Mr Malone’s criminal past, it seems he had a history of violence against people he perceived to be gay. Where does all this anger come from though? Growing up, I often heard homophobic taunts in the playground from other kids and you’d hear it from teachers who wanted to ‘make a man out of you’ on the playing fields. What has manliness got to do with sexuality anyhow?

There is an assumption that homosexuals aren’t ‘real men’ but what does that mean? It’s like saying that all lesbians are butch, wear hiking boots, possess a toolkit, own every album by the Indigo Girls and strum acoustic guitars at all-women camps. The same kind of drivel surrounds gay men, who are perceived by many as being sissies who dress up as women and hang around public lavatories soliciting other men for anonymous sex.

We need to educate people as to what being gay really means and we need to start early, in schools and through community-based initiatives. We need to show people that being gay is entirely to do with who you find attractive and are able to fall in love with. Love is rarely mentioned in conjuction with the lives of gay men, bisexuals and lesbians. By breaking down the misconceptions and preconceptions, we can foster a society based around acceptance of others and maybe, just maybe, incidences of this nature will stop happening altogether.

A website dedicated to Mr Akers can be seen here.

35!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, here I am.  I’m 35 and so what if I haven’t ticked all the boxes I ’should’ have by now in terms of life, love and all else besides.  I’ve been thinking about myself, my life, the way I dress and a load of different things and when I take out what others think and feel, I’m pretty okay with myself and how life’s panning out.

An old man in a new fleece!

Mum bought me a fleece jacket for my birthday from a department store in town yesterday and I love it.  It’s so cosy and warm it’s unreal.  So what if what I wear can hardly be termed haute couture, who wants to buy into all that superficial shit anyway?  I’m me and I like who I am, thank you very much.  35 isn’t so bad when all is said and done …. yes it is, it’s bloody awful!

Almost but not quite….

It’s now after midnight and it’s the 11th December 2008.  I’m ONE day away from being 35!

35!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Who’d have thought I’d have got here?????  Alright, as compared to being 90 it’s nothing but I’m no longer young young and I hate that.

When I hit 30 (which was horrid) I was saying goodbye to my Twenties but tomorrow I’ll be saying hello to my Forties because that’s the next landmark number.

I don’t like this at all.

By now, I should be settled down with a significant other, in full-time work with a mortgage, a car and perhaps a pet or two between us.  I don’t have any of that.

What I do have is a lack of hair on my head, the remainder of which is rapidly going grey; a shit dress-sense; an encroaching waistline and an interview next week with a fast food company.  Things haven’t exactly panned out as I thought they would.

I’m over-the-hill!

Halfway through…

Growing up, I’d often hear the term “3 score years and ten” bandied about to denote the span of time us humans get here on Earth. It’s odd because we know that most people live far longer but it’s Biblical so unreasonably it’s held on in people’s psyches for far longer than is healthy.

As a small boy, I’d often look at people who probably weren’t much older than 20 years of age but who seemed like ageing giants to me. 20 seemed a long way away and 40 was positively ancient. In a week’s time I’ll be 35 and halfway through going by the archaic prior reference.

I actually feel old. I have some deep lines appearing around my eyes, my skin has taken on a rougher texture, I’m currently sporting a full beard and my nose hair has taken on a life of its own. My right knee aches and several joints click so much it’s like my body’s housing a miniature maracas band!

By the time I’ve got a boyfriend and I’m out there getting ‘a bit of bummage’ as they say I’ll have more hair on my back than on my bloody head and that’s enough to quench even the most fervent ardour isn’t it?  It’s all so depressing. Still, things could be worse, I could be 40. Oh joy, that’s the next milestone isn’t it?

The knowing look…

I’ve always been able to spot other gay people, whether they be men or women.  I know loads of gays who can’t tell and it amazes me.  I don’t know what it is about ‘us’ (getting all tribal here Ulla!) but I can tell.

Yesterday I was working about 30 miles away delivering leaflets around a village, for some extra pennies.  I had my media player on, was listening to the Rolling Stones and intermittently jerking my body along to the music and just getting on with the work really.  About halfway through the ‘drop’ (technical term there for a leafletting round!) I saw him.

A gay man!

He was walking towards me, he saw me and I saw him.  He kept his eyes straight ahead as did I until we were almost on top of one another (in my mind we already were but that’s another post entirely) then his eyes met mine, solidly and steadily and in that moment, two gay men were fully and completely aware of one another.

He knew I was, I knew he was and there was that point of connection.  I could smell him, taste his mouth, his sweat, his body underneath my fingers.  I felt a rush of tension and excitement course through my body.  For that brief moment we were locked into one another and then his gaze shifted as did mine and we went on our way.

The colleague who was walking behind me noticed nothing nor did my other colleague who was walking just ahead and who turned round to tell me something in that moment.  I glanced back to where he was and he did also.  Once again, there was eye contact.  A second or two longer than would be usual then he turned away as did I but I was still aware of him.

The way he walked. His full, sensuous and eminently kissable lips. The sound his boots made as they connected with the gravel. The way his sweater clung to his chest. The nape of his neck. Mmmmmmmm. That look, which means everything to a fellow gay person yet which remains elusive to just about everyone else is just beautiful.

We’re everywhere and it’s marvellous!

Age or apathy?

I used to be really into what I wore. Mind you, back then I also had hair which not only didn’t show large parts of my scalp but was of a uniform texture and colour. Salt and pepper I believe the term is for what I have left of my hair in terms of shade, a description more apt for condiments I feel.

I wore clothes then which not only felt but looked good. I was adventurous, I took risks. Now I seem to be walking about in the exact same things day in and day out. Okay, so I never wear the same clothes twice in terms of t-shirts, undies and socks but it’s all starting to blend into nothingness. I wear brown suede Kickers ankle boots, blue jeans, a sweater and a fleece.

I’ve also taken to wearing scarves.  What is that all about?  Even in the late Summer, under my trusty brown crumpled Marks & Spencer corduroy jacket (which I’m inordinately proud of) was a stripey woollen scarf. I wasn’t that cold so why was I doing it? What I seem to be aiming for is becoming a kind of walking bed, all I need is a switch to flick giving me all over body heat and I’m sorted.

As an out gay man, I feel I should be strutting about in cashmere sweaters, Versace jeans, expensive-looking polished leather boots which it has to be said, would look good with the one item I possess which has some fashion merit, my Red or Dead designer specs.  I should be touching my hair up with the odd tint here and there courtesy of rip-off salons like Toni & Guy, not looking like I’m about to go on a sponsored walk!  Still, I’m yet to look like Bruce Vilanch so there is some hope at least.

Is all of this a sign of getting older or is it more a sign of apathy surrounding my physical appearance borne out of looking in the mirror and espying more lines and creases on my face plus of course the encroaching inches around my waistline? I really should buck my ideas up before it’s too late but then maybe I really can’t be bothered to.

Anal hex….

What is it with straights and their obsession with anal sex?  This week I got my first pile or haemorrhoid if we’re being posh or bunch of grapes if we’re being gross!  To be fair, it was just the one and I got it from straining.  Yes gay people can strain, they don’t go round shitting themselves from too much bum play!

I happened to mention to a friend who also suffers with piles (and in fact has had them for many years) that I had a pile and he said “you’re gonna have to get used to that mate.”  I said “what do you mean?”  His reply “well, that’s to be expected in your game.”  “My game?”  “Yeah, you know being a bum boy and all!”  It was said in jest and there was no malice whatoever but there is this assumption that every gay man is out there stuffing things up their bums all the time.

What is that all about?????

Piles are caused by pressure exerted downwards not up so although having anal sex is hardly going to help if someone has a pre-existing issue with their dirtbox, it’s not going to be the primary cause.

I would imagine in sheer numbers, there are far more heterosexuals involved in anal play than gays.  I’ve heard that as many as 40% of gay men don’t have anal sex at all though as many as half of those have tried it and didn’t like it.  Does that ever get mentioned?  Hardly.  To some people, being a gay man is simply about bending over and taking it up the arse.  I don’t know what’s worse if I’m honest, the assumption or the preoccupation with it.

Queer scenes….

There have been many gay-themed films and tv dramas but the one which means the most to me is a miniseries which was aired on Channel 4 in the mid-90’s – Armistead Maupin’s Tales of The City.

It revolves round a boarding house in San Francisco, run by Mrs Madrigal (played expertly and intuitively by Olympia Dukakis) and tells the story of the tenants who are all fortunate to live there.  It was the first visual portrayal of gay people where they were out there living and loving and not dropping like flies.

The scene where Michael ‘Mouse’ Tolliver gets on the tram dressed as goat god Pan and chats away with Mary Ann Singleton (played by Laura Linney) and nary a single person looks up or around sums up the whole programme.  It’s unself-consciously gay positive in its outlook and I think that’s fab!

I guess each of you will have your own favourites from queer tv and cinema.  There are many reasons why we latch onto certain films, programmes.  In my case, they remind me of a time when I finally got to see ‘myself’ out there in the world and didn’t feel quite so alone or depressed.

Which ones mean the most to you and why?

The rainbow’s bluer today…

Yesterday, I did something which surprised me.  I denied my sexuality to someone who really doesn’t have a problem with it out of a fear of them perhaps viewing me differently.

I was chatting away with them and the subject of gay people came up.  My friend said “I’m not being funny here Jon but you mention gays a lot.  Are you gay?”  He was smiling when he said it.  I suddenly felt totally ashamed and guilty.  I said “no but I’d like to be” and he laughed.  “I’ll have to write that down, that’s a great response” he replied.

I don’t know why I did it.

Well, I do know why I did it because it would change the dynamic between us on some levels and because he has spoken of people not coming out until later in life and how he can’t comprehend it at all because “we all know what we are don’t we Jon?”  Yes, it’s true.  I have always known of what I am but dealing with it has been another thing entirely.  Anyhow, the conversation changed and I was relieved but the feeling nagged away at me.

I got back home, Ulla was online and I spoke with her about it.  I was totally and utterly disgusted with myself, I felt like a complete letdown.  She told me not to be so hard on myself, that coming out and being comfortable with one’s sexuality is a process.  She’s right, it is.  What shocked me I suppose is how I not only denied it but wanted to push the whole thing away from me and kind of disown it.

I thought because I had done the Coming Out interview, had fantastic gay friends and in many ways had made peace with who I am that these awful moments were gone altogether.  Having spoken to someone the other day about just this, he said it’s hard to free yourself of all the negative ideas and opinions and that occasionally, there will be tough days.  He talked to me about Internalised Homophobia and how that plays a part in eating away at a positive gay self-image.  He’s right, it does.

My head’s in a bit of a spin at the moment and I don’t know where I’m at on some levels. I do know that I’m gay and in the main I’m happy and comfortable with it.  I just sometimes get the sense from wider society that because I’m homosexual my sexuality is in some ways inferior to heterosexuality because it’s not about anything more than intimacy and having fun!  How fucked up is that?  I need to stop thinking and playing things over and just get on with it.

Thanks for listening, I appreciate it.

The lowly suburban queer….

When I think of suburbia I think of neatly trimmed hedges and lawn lines; pretty flowers in pots, baskets and borders; the sound of petrol mowers on a Sunday afternoon; people-carriers parked on driveways; children playing outside and older people tending the vegetable patches in their back gardens.  The suburbs are often viewed as middle-class, conservative both with a big and small ‘c’ and predominantly white in terms of ethnicity.

Yet within all this blandness lives a species we shall call the ’suburban queer.’  I know this person exists because I’m one of them.  Do I look any different from anyone else in my road?  Nope.  Does my presence advertise the fact I’m ‘on the team’ as it were?  Nope.  Does anyone know about me?  Well, Mum does but you could hardly call her the typical suburbanite.  Or is she?

That’s just it, because suburban living is so seemingly sedate, no one knows what’s going on underneath the ultra-ordinary exterior.  Growing up, I often heard gossip about “him at No. 37″ or “her at No. 6″ and “have you heard she’s only got pregnant by the milkman?  Yes, her!!!!”  This was often accompanied by vigorous shakes of the head from others present, looks of disdain and the set response “you’re kidding me?!?!?”  So, there must be all sorts of things that occur that very few of us ever have an inkling of.

Take for instance, the chap across the road from us.  His wife left him 3 or 4 years back now but because I see her daily in her car driving to and from the house, I assumed everything was hunkydory.  It took our neighbourhood gossip to inform me recently that “oh no, they haven’t been together for ages now” before giving me all the ins-and-outs pertaining to their break-up plus some associated venom which I could have well done without.

I would never have guessed that what I was seeing was in fact a mirage, an illusion.  Who knows then what is going on in the rest of the street?  There are more than likely other gay people.  There’s bound to be a bit of transvestism going on behind closed doors.  Affairs.  Maybe even a bit of bondage thrown in for good measure.

Do the neighbours know that I’m gay?  That I keep a blog pertaining to my homosexuality?  That I have a weekly column at a queer website?  That I’m in close contact with a South African dyke whom I think the world of? That I like watching gay adult movies where guys are doing all sorts to one another? That I’m friends with, gasp, another gay guy who lives not a mile away from here? I doubt it.  I live in suburbia and that means giving as little of myself away to the outside world as possible.  Is that a good thing?  I’m still deciding on that.