Matt Mitchell

April 1997

Yeah, I'm still gay. Were you expecting me to suddenly discover my heterosexuality like you think I suddenly discovered my homosexuality? Sorry. About the only thing you should expect from me is a serious beat-down, because I've been who I am for a lot longer than a few months.

I think I have now finally discovered a counter to every anti-homosexuality argument. Of course, my level of insanity might have an effect on the apparent lucidity of these thoughts. But after all, we all must have something wrong in the head to be here reading this anyway, right? (Apologies to Jerry Falwell for the plagiarization.)

I've had plenty of time to think of all of these things because I've been trying to insulate myself from the reality I now face --- namely, that everything other people think about me has been based on either a conscious omission or an outright lie on my part. No matter what encouraging words I may hear from others who have been in the same situation, I know and they know that this is not an enviable position.

Why would anyone choose to put themselves in this place? I ask that question of the people who say that homosexuality is a conscious choice. For what reason would anyone offer their entire social universe up for destruction at the hands of an intolerant world? Homosexuality may be a sure road to damnation, but I know that I'm already damned. I'm damned by an unconscious "choice" and by a conscious one. The conscious one is to cover it up.

At first, I felt like I could live forever beating off to gay porn in the relative privacy of my own room. This was four or five years ago. After reading Oasis, though, I was astounded by the reactions of people who proclaimed that they just couldn't go on "living a lie." At the time, the "lie" bothered me less than the "truth." My problem is, now that I've accepted the truth, the lie weighs on me and cuts me like a tool belt made of barbed wire. The only problem is, I need help to take it off. I've had it on for so long that I'm afraid of life without the pain. I would like to thank all of those who have emailed me for pushing me closer to the abyss. My only worry is that there won't be anyone there to catch me when I jump, if you get my meaning. I just don't know whose arms to jump into.

I had a revelation the other day. I was talking to a good friend of mine (and a real horny bastard) about something or other and of course the topic (sex) came up. (Pardon the pun.) He likes to share his sexual thoughts with other people, and (it seems) with me in particular. Several times daily I get asked questions about this slut or that slut, about breast size versus ass size, about the "paper bag" treatment (after all, you don't fuck the face), et cetera. So it occurs to me: what if he was in my position? That is to say, what if he had to keep every single sexual thought he had every day to himself, certainly unable to act on them but also unable to share them with friends/sympathizers? Shit, the average male has a sexual thought every hour or something like that, right? (Whose number is that and where the shit did they get it, anyway?) So the conclusion I came to is this: my best friend has no idea of what it's really like to be me, what I'm really like, or what I'm thinking 24 times a day (approximately). No wonder I feel so isolated.

All quiet on the guy front. And I'd like to add that I'm getting really tired of hearing people use the word "gay" as a substitute for "stupid" or "retarded" or whatever fucking term of derision they are not intelligent or creative enough to pronounce at the time. Come on. Are your vocabularies really that pitifully limited? And after all, you don't hear people calling things "black" or "woman" or "lower-middle class"...not even at the high school I attend, which was named the second-snobbiest school in the United States by MTV. (I don't doubt it.) Ask anyone who goes there. Their silent glare is proof.

Unrelated news and story: My English teacher called my house the other night at something like 11:00. I was asleep in bed (or maybe jerking off with the door closed and locked and the light off...but it matters not) at the time. She called to tell me that she loved my writing and that she was reading something I wrote and that she put down her work just to call in the middle of the night and so on. My mother told her to never call again and so I had to ask her to get the story. But she wants me to take up writing full time. Apparently I have some sort of incredible talent...and I don't know it. And I'm bitter about that, just like everything else. (I just _have_ to put in a ;) for that one!) If she wasn't always having these LSD flashbacks I might take her more seriously. Seriously; one time in class we were discussing something or other and she starts banging together these cymbals, each of which have the word "phallic" painted on them (I know, har har). The sound of these cymbals sent her into some form of shock -- she just sat there and shivered for fifteen seconds or so. Consider also that the masterwork of mine that she was reading was an AP sample that I wrote in 20 minutes when I had a 102 degree fever. All together now: CRACK WHORE!

So that's about it for this month. Let me take care of some business and then I promise I'll wrap this up.

The song-lyrics contest was a bit of a flop. I suppose my obscure tastes either baffled or frightened enough people that only one person sent in a response (thanks Danny for your valiant attempt). The correct answers are/were:

#1 "Circling Overland" by Front 242 (from the album "Front By Front")

#2 "Through the Eyes of Ruby" by the Smashing Pumpkins (from the album "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness")

#3 "Big Bottom" by Spinal Tap (from the album "Smell the Glove")

There is a very big grin attached to number three above.

My CD recommendation for this month is Orbital's "In Sides". Just get it.

As never,


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