Simon Thibault

May 1997


"I've walked these streets
in the madhouse asylum
they can be
where a wild eyed misfit prophet
on a traffic island stopped
and he raved of saving me"

-- Natalie Merchant, Carnival

Well, I had written entries for the last few months, but looks like I got ignored. Oh well, Jeff was nice enough to let me come back, so here I am and here is a hodgepodge of what has happened to me in the last few months.

Dec. 6, 1996

In my last posting I wrote the following: " My trip has taken me to places I never dreamed of, and I hope to take you there too. Maybe you're already there, and I'll meet you on the way. Or maybe you were lost, and waiting for someone to show you the way. I know I'm waiting. I am utterly alone. And no, that is not self-pity. It is fact. But I have my writing.

I will say more."

I will and I am.

I have decided to name this column "Identifications". The entire point of this column is so that I, as a human being can explore my identity. I say explore, for I believe that people have many facets in themselves, it is up to the individual to find them. We know we are whole, but we don't always have the capabilities to see it all at once. It can be a pretty scary prospect.

I am no longer alone. Someone came out to me. Someone who is beautiful and I adore and care for him very deeply. He is learning so much, not only from our conversations, but from all his other friends, but most importantly, he is learning about himself. I gave him a small notebook to write his thoughts. They never stay, and sometimes they need to be shown, they need to be brought out. Even if it is only in a little black and gray notebook that only he sees. The words are there, they will no longer stagnate in his brain. I keep telling him to go inside himself and find what is there. He has begun and I see so many marvelous things.

Dec. 23, 1996

All I can think about is him. His suffering. He is at home, and he told his parents. I told him not to. They know about me, they know my name, and they know that he sleeps at my home. To think that he is truly gay will make their minds erupt like angry volcanoes, I thought, for they believe that their son is a vassal of sin, and that they will not meet in the afterlife, that they are going to different places. Who's going to tell them where they're going for making their child suffer....

I see so many things inside him, and I fear that they will be crushed. I see him in my dreams, he is made of putty and I can see his mother's hand smoosh him like cheap plasticine, and smearing him like a child does with water paints in kindergarten, until he is no longer what he was, nothing but a physical essence, nothing left of the boy I cared for, and wanted to save. I fear that no one will have him.

Jan. 6, 1997

The new year. My first day of class. We will be reading James Joyce's The Dubliners. I remember reading The Dead this summer. I sat there, reading this story of an utterly mundane party, idle chatter and gossip, then, at the end, when the protagonist and his loved one are at home, she bursts into tears and remembers her lost love, and weeps for him. To me this is the way life is: WHAM!. Everything is fine, life is simple, and then all of a sudden a thought comes in out of nowhere, and you get lost, you're gobsmacked by something and you have to catch your breath before anyone sees you. I think that is my greatest fear. That someone sees me.

I am writing this, and you are seeing me, part of me, but not all. I still hold great fear in the idea that someone could truly know me, in all my parts, even the naughty ones. I try to acknowledge them, but it's hard.

Like last nite, the boy and I were in bed, touching, being beautiful, and I could not make myself kiss him. I wouldn't let him. Kissing to me is not something simple or that has no meaning. To kiss someone is to physically let them in, to let them go inside you, and to me, when you kiss someone, you are giving them something too: you chose to kiss them, you chose to make them feel good, you chose to in a small way, to tell them that you care for, or love them. I was feeling odd, and it took a long time before I let him kiss me, and even at that, I still stopped and said no. I wanted to just sleep, in his arms, and we did.

But it is not meant to be. I must leave him, for my thoughts are dominating my feelings, and he does all these petty little things and if my feelings for him don't dominate those petty annoyances, then we should've never been together in the first place.

Jan. 27, 1997

So many things to say, I have been writing emails to friends, and I will show them to you, show you what has been in my mind, instead of editing it, now that the initial feeling is gone. I left my boy, and I guess he is walking around, lost. I went to the city and met a new boy, now that I am single. We kissed, and for days I felt drained. I still do. Naked and bruised, I am, and I am in front of you.

and this is a letter I wrote:

so many things to say.... who remembers this child, the one who loved inside a glass house where he took care of glass dollies who exploded from my screams..... ...all I can do is listen to Tubular Bells and read Rimbaud and try to imagine what it would be like to have someone take care of me like his lover did.... but I can't do that...I have found I need my own blood. Yes, I had a relationship with this boy and I cared for him deeply, but we should've stayed friends and so I broke it off, for I felt absolutely drained by everything, I just wanted to stay in my room reading comics and watch Japanese anime cartoons while sipping licorice tea and have millions of candles burning in the room like the thoughts in my mind that went around for days and I never knew when my thoughts would stop and let the emotions come in, let those demons and faeries in... please let them come in.... I went to the city and I met this beautiful boy, and I was asked by 8 different men to go home with them and I went home with no one, but I went to a party and met this boy who seemed so lost and he would hide in the crook of my arm, and I told him I could see inside him and I could see all those places that he neglected and so I told him yes, he is beautiful and he wanted to do things to me, and I said no, not yet, and he kissed me with his cold tongue and I died, and I came home and craved him, and I wanted to cry in my philosophy class and he told me that kissing me was yummy and I was so excited and I met so many beautiful people with so many beautiful thoughts and places in their minds and I just was so lost in their worlds and I loved it, and I came home and my room was trashed and I didn't care and I wanted to cry while I sat eating oranges on the floor and listening to Patti Smith scream and I thought I was going insane, and I felt like I was being choked by my own thoughts and so I went away, went away and hid, inside my comics once again, for my mind wasn't safe......

and now I am here... losing my voice.....

March 1997

I went last nite on a web chat line (something I never do), and I used a friend's computer and everyone was just so nice to me, it was unreal, and I was talking about this boy on my campus (not the boy I went to the city and kissed, there is more to that) that I like....

the boy...

I wrote about him:

"lately, I can't get my mind off this boy, he is so tiny and I don't usually dig a person's eyes, but I love his and his eyelashes are so huge and he looks at me and I just want to cry! I don't know, I never get crushes like this, I mean sure, I get crushes on soap bubbles, they're so fun to make, but I really dig this guy and I have never spoken to him, I just look at him sometimes and I catch him looking at me, but never maliciously, always with an open stare, and all I can do is scream "Don't look at me" in my head.. I don't even have the balls to say hi, although last nite, I let him go ahead of me at the bar, and he looked straight at me and I died, and he thanked me and I am sure he is probably straight, but I just wish that he was a goober and had no brains."

I dunno, maybe it's just that I am stuck here with no one to focus my energies on, and I concentrate them all on him, and I just want to get to know him and I can't do it, and I hardly ever see him, and I think I know what residence he is in, and he might be nice, I think I ramble on sometimes, but hey, that's what makes everything so interesting! Like on that chat line, oh my god, I completely forgot to finish my story about the chat line! Anyway, I was telling all these netizens about how I feel about this boy, and they were so nice to me, except this one guy, and he was really mean and everyone ganged up on him for him to shut up, and so no one listened to him!

April 13, 1997

So much has happened since then.... I had a fling with the boy that I kissed, but that would be too much to get into, so I won't. I did write a story about it, which I am hunting around looking for publishers. I showed it to a friend of mine, and you know what he did? He wept.

Lately, I have been extremely sensitive about many things. I have been having major mood swings. It has been brought to my attention before, and I think that it is true. I think I may have a chemical problem, such as manic depression. Funny, a friend of mine says that I am just really sensitive.

My year has been an interesting one. On a scholastic level, I have had very few interesting moments, save for my lit courses. On a personal level, it has been a very interesting year. My best friend was gone, and I still survived (thanks to my friend Nadine, who found herself a nice little niche in my world, which will never be replaced or filled). I also didn't fall in love.

I know most people want to fall in love, but I did it once, and it's not something I want right now. I have too many things going on. I'm not ready.

April 17, 1997

screaming inside with too much tired energy, I decided to go out last nite ( a bunch of students who are taking French immersion at my university were done, and so they were celebrating) and the boy who I have this crush on was there. I finally had spoken to him two days before. He had come to work and he asked me to show him how to use the CDrom, and I showed him how, and this little faerie inside my head said "talk to him, what can he do bite you, and if he does, so what? You might like it... ;)" So I went up to him, and asked him, "Are you CB". He answered yes. And I told him about how I had sent him an email by "accident" (it was no accident) containing JPEG's of Death (from Sandman comics) and Tori Amos, and two poems (one of them was about him, but will he ever know that". And he said yes, and he said that for some odd reason, he thought it was me. I think that's nifty... you see, I don't sign my name on the 'net, I have an alias, and when I send out my email, there is an alias used, not my proper name... so I saw him last nite, and I was talking with him and my friend NS. My only problem was that he had taken an interest in _her_. Yes, her, so that completely proved my tragedist idea that he is straight.

Why do we, as gay men and women do this to ourselves... why do we say that we never want the straight community, but once in a while, "Oops, you're my dream man, but you're straight".

When my friend dropped me off, she assured me that she had no interest in him, and I believe her, but that's not the point.

The point is that I wanted to cry in her car right then and there and I didn't.

The one time in my life when it would've been so easy to cry, something I have such a difficulty doing, and I missed it. Just to save face...

I will leave you with one last thing: Sometimes I like to look at things and describe them as if I were a child. Children dare to go up to people and say "Wanna be my best friend?".

When is the last time you did that?

[About the Author]

©1997 Oasis Magazine. All Rights Reserved.