Before the last revolving year is through

Too much buzzing around in my brain right now.

A quote I'm really digging, from an interview of Tori in the latest out.com: Joseph Campbell was always saying that the myths are always alive in us, but religion has repressed this. So the myth that we have been forced to adhere to is the Christian myth and where is the homosexuality in the Christian myth? And where -- for women -- is the woman who has her sexuality and has her spirituality in the Christian myth? The Gnostics believe that all this was in Christ’s teachings and yet, it got edited out when it was taken over by the patriarchy. So, therefore, mythology is something that we’re starving for. These are our stories -- this is in our DNA.

Been a lot of things lately, but I've been feeling pretty queer aware lately. Not much other way to put it. My libido is shot, for reasons not understood, so it's forcing me to go outside of myself, my comfort zone, so to speak. Seeing things differently. So now I'm getting back involved in my old church? I must be out of my mind. Last time, back in high school, I was a deacon. In the late 90's there was huge debate in letting outed or openly gay men and women be clergy. And I got to vote on that and represent my church in po-dunk Arkansas. That was really cool even though I didn't feel like I had much voice because I felt like the Presbytery had already always made their mind up. Maybe now that I'm older, don't need defending, it will be different. It was hard explaining my hesitation to come back to the church, not my church, but just the idea of it. It's hard to explain how much those things really mean when you need them but how valueless they become when you don't. Maybe not valueless, that reads awfully harsh. But they lose esteem. It becomes different.

Thomas Jefferson, Cindy Sherman. I'm piddling around and keep coming across the both of them. Like they're tied in my internet consciousness. I need to get a few more books. I need to go back. I still have this Nan Goldin book, from back in NYC. Do you remember that? Do you remember back that far? I was so alone in New York. So lonely. I wrote a ton of letters because I guess I didn't have a phone? Did I have a phone? I can't remember. The internet and email was still fairly out there (telnet, ha ha) and I was just completely out of touch. But I had Nan. Nan with her black eyes, drugged lovers sprawled out, gay friends' funerals. I have lugged this 100 lb book with me everywhere. It has really shaped me. And now I guess I need a 100 lb Cindy Sherman book to understand her, me better. I really used to think dressing up made me that different person. But I also used to put makeup on boys just to see how far they'd let me go. How a lion becomes a mouse.

This idea and how it applies. I am so attracted to the idea of Thomas Jefferson. The effeminate power is so different, handsome, sexy. The Velveteen Touch of a Dandy Fop, haha! But probably more that it's just so different. On the cover of said Out is Pete Wentz, who is adorable, but I don't really know his music, except that one song I really liked and Hubs hated so I could never play it. But he's on the cover stating "I am a fag." And I understand what he means. We're all the same. It really doesn't matter to me. I find it interesting though in a time when America is so called trying to get back to our roots, back to Mr. Jefferson, it's cool to call yourself a fag. It's cool to identify.

Let's hope it lasts. The best boys were the ones who could dance, wear makeup and tight clothes, not mind a quickie in the broom closet at JR's. (hahahahahahaha!!!) But they sure weren't the ones you take home to mother. And, as it turns out, that does actually matter. They were the bulging tough boys trying to be men. But they weren't gay. Not in my day. They weren't gay until they were miles and miles away, safe and sound in freedom.