Yes, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, I'm back. Before you all get out the pitchforks and rakes like some Mary Shelly mob, hear me out. It's interesting. I could be cliché and talk about how hindsight is always 20/20 or something like that. And that would be fairly accurate. There were times when I was writing my "final" column for Oasis's November issue that I didn't even realize the extent of my bitterness. And why was I bitter? I don't know. I guess I was fed up with everyone being the same. You know, there are exceptions here and there but mostly everyone's just one big homogenous culture. I thought there was something wrong with that. I was wrong. There's nothing wrong with a homogenous culture with the possible exception that exceptions to the culture are often ostracized. I blamed the homogenous culture for not adapting to my wishes and for not being like me. When I found someone who was like me, I rejected the homogenous culture and left
But a lot can happen in a short period of time. I recently got to thinking about everything. It seems sometimes as though when I was contributing to Oasis my life was happy. When I stopped it all went down the toilet. Correlation? Maybe, but that's not why I'm back. I'm back because I realize that I was an idiot to ever leave. Think about it. I was so bitter about the homogenous culture not accepting me so I removed my voice from being heard. Does that sound sensible to you? It doesn't to me. Don't get me wrong, recently I've thrived on insensibility. But that's too glaring to ignore. So I'm thinking to myself now I'll never be heard because the only forum that would have anything to do with me and treated me with respect has been rejected by none other than yours truly. So I'm back to add my little tenor to the multitudinous choirs, as it were. I'm here because I want to speak for the gay virgin atheist who reads James Joyce and Virginia Woolf even when he doesn't have to
By the time this column is read it will have been roughly nine months since the column to round out act one. Nine months. An intermission, I guess. Except for the fact that all of the really great Elizabethan plays have five acts, and I don't intend to leave in a huff that many times. I don't intend to leave in a huff ever again. When I do leave again, and I will, it will be quietly, not due to my bitterness but most likely due to my leaving for college. In another year. A whole year. I was talking with my mother last night and I really feel as though developmentally I am ready, right now, to go off and live on my own and do things on my own. Unfortunately, I will be a senior in high school this fall. So what can I do? Nothing. That's hard to deal with. I feel as though I need new people. Just two nights ago I was over at a friend's house with some other people. We watched a movie, played hearts, that sort of thing. It was grand. But I need new people. I don't mean a
I was happy for a long time. A lot of that time was when I was writing for Oasis. Oasis is a kind of relaxant for me. Sit and type, sit and type, when I should be reading or writing my novel (October) or doing something else. Oasis, to be quite frank, has changed my life. For better and worse. I wrote, I was happy, I stopped, life sucked. Oasis gave me my first gay kiss. Matthieu, unfortunately, robbed me of it. Do you remember Matthieu? I found him through Oasis. I was happy.
So I left with him. Everything was grand. And as I should have expected it all came crashing down. Matthieu dumped me. Why? I'm not really sure I know exactly. He left me for a younger boy. One who lived nearby. Isn't that silly? I thought so. Still do, really. But that's fine. That was the reality for him, and I didn't have a place in it. There's more to the story but out of respect for him I won't tell it. Mostly you just need to know that the experience left me extremely depressed. Not broken, of course. No, that came later. But I was deeply saddened that I was being passed up for someone who, from the description given, was just another part of that homogenous culture I thought I left with Matthieu. It didn't work out. When I heard I was happy, but that's because I was still suffering from the residual hatred that has gone away by now. Now he doesn't speak to me. He was going to make a zine. I was originally going to write for it. But I don't think that works
So a lot can happen in a short period of time. Matthieu and I weren't together for a year. Not even a year. That's depressing because it's so typical. Let's face it. Teenage relationships don't last. Usually. Gay relationships are even more fleeting. So I shouldn't have been surprised. Oh well. I spiraled in depression but it really didn't affect me all that much in the long run. After he dumped me I was still who I was. I was still Josh.
He dumped me in March. Long about the end of June I had a nervous breakdown. And then I had another, just recently. Why? I'm not really sure I know exactly. Nervous breakdowns aren't all that bad, really. I finished watching "Deconstructing Harry" at my dad's house one night and found that I couldn't move. I just couldn't move. I just sat there thinking of all sorts of things. By that time I had already encountered my thoughtpurethought which is often on display at my web page at gates eighteen and nineteen. thoughtpurethought means that I just think in long long strings and I just write them all down like in Ulysses in the penelope chapter with huge long sentences that transcend punctuation and transcend normal thinking and I just write what I think what I think and that's all I do. See? It's like a switch. The more recent breakdown cost me five hours of sleep, for which I was not grateful. It was after this one that Scott told me I needed a vacation. I was s
But anyway I'm seeing the world more clearly now. I've aged. And I realize that homogenous culture is all right, but it needs its defectors. But who is going to know the defectors exist if they pull holier-than-thou crap and refuse to speak out? Nobody. So here I am again. My name is joshua and I am gay. I read, I sing, I write, I'm different. If I were better known I'd have a special section written about me in the DSM-IV. But I'm just a little guy out to rewrite history.
look at my page