Young, hung, and full of vitriol...

I can't offer works of staggering genius, but what you will get are my sometimes funny, questioningly intelligent, frighteningly vitriolic, occasionally shockingly sweet, but almost always charmingly grouchy ramblings on music, film, politics, society, pop culture, literature, queer life, travel, Kansas City, and the mundane, yet surreal aspects of everyday.

I'm a queer punk country boy in his late 30s, who has settled back in the midwest after a decade or so of living around the country. My boyfriend, MJ and I moved to Kansas City a couple of years ago after an insanely surreal life in rural, southeast Kansas. This is my attempt at getting back into writing after a longer than anticipated hiatus. I'm still a bit rusty, so be gentle with me...A bottle of wine, some Barry White, and a can of Crisco usually does the job.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Much less emotional today. We finally talked again this morning and things aren't quite as grim as they seemed. He's viewing this more as a separation than a break up, and foresees us getting back together in the near future as long as some things change on both ends. There are things that need to be worked on. We've both kind of lost ourselves this last year. I completely lost focus after being laid off and kind of gave up. I'm now actively job hunting again and I've applied to start school in January. Despite being heartsick about this separation, I also feel good about actually attempting to put myself back on track. We both think that with some work on ourselves, that we'll be back to us in no time. We'll see. I'm trying to stay optimistic and focused. It's still incredibly tough and I'm heart broken. I'd give anything for him to change his mind and decide we can do this together, but I also am starting to understand and see that this isn't final and in the long run may absolutely work out for the better...keep your fingers crossed.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Becoming something that you don't want to be...

I'm trying to deal...and I'm not doing a very good job of it...something I, in all honesty, was silly enough to never imagine happening did. I am, apparently, now single...This morning Michael told me that he was leaving me. I spent the whole day, I'm sad to admit, bawling my eyes out in complete agony. We talked tonight when he got home and he says that he loves me and that it isn't our relationship, but that he is miserable and not himself and he needs some time alone to get back to being who he is. He swears that we'll be back together at some point. I'm not so sure. I have no doubt that he loves me, but I think that once he gets some time away, with no one to answer to, he'll want to stay that way. We sat there tonight, talking, me crying my guts out...he had such a look of pain in his eyes that I can't help but get that he's heartbroken about this. I just don't see how our obvious love for each other, the piles of shit we've gone through to be together, and our history don't equal figuring out a way to make this work. Maybe it's my parents' marriage of 39 years and seeing all the shit they have dealt with and gone through, that makes me ridiculous enough to think that love and the desire to be together is enough...All I know is that, at the risk of sounding like some fucking Lifetime movie, I now know what it feels like for a heart to break. I've been in long term relationships before, including one that lasted 8 years. The break ups were tough and sad, but there was this odd sense of relief or knowing that the break up made sense in those. There is no sense to me in this one. I don't care how pathetic it may make me sound, this break up makes NO sense to me and I am a fucking stupid mess over it. All I want is to put my big arms around him, my hand on his hairy belly, my lips on the back of his neck and for him to say "I can't do're my lil bubba...let's figure out a way to work through everything...I love you too much to let this go..."

Unfortunately...that's not going to happen anytime soon...

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

we're inviting you anyways ...

I'm not sure how well I can put all of this into words. A lot of people think I'm crazy or immature because of my deep, borderline obsessiveness with the music that I love. From the thousands of cds I own, to the hundreds of bands that I have seen in concert, my words, my writing, my home, and frequently my mind are all a testament to a deep seeded love that goes back to my very early youth. My mother jokes that this is all her fault for placing headphones on her pregnant belly.

While my taste has continually evolved over the course of almost 37 years, I have never turned my back on anything I love. Whether it is trendy to love, utter cheese, or something random and obscure, I've never quite grasped the concept of "guilty pleasures". If I love something, I love it, whether it's Kurt Weill, Motley Crue, David Bowie, Boy George, Minor Threat, or Pink.

Although I'm always stumbling onto music that I fall in love with, it's extremely rare to come across an artist that truly gets to the core. That "goose bumps, tears in the eyes, shit eating grin" moment of joy I get when a song or musician kicks me in the gut. I was familiar with The Cure from their videos on 120 Minutes in the late 80's. If you were a little adventurous and weird, they were the go to band during that time. However, it wasn't until I heard DISINTEGRATION that I was absolutely overtaken by an album. It was such a profound moment for me and one that still stands to this day. After 21 years, 2 cassettes, 2 cds, vinyl, reissues, etc, it is still an album that I get lost in. I've seen them 3 times and it's always been such a moment for me. My fiance actually proposed to me during their show the last time I saw them.

I was completely certain that no other band or artist could affect me in that way, to that degree. Sure, the music of The Smiths, Joy Division, Tom Waits, Nina Simone, etc all have a special kind of hold and magic on me, but nothing quite touched that feeling that The Cure gave me.

In the early 2000's, I heard stories about this "weird" band from Boston who were taking Weimer Republic ideas of art and performance and melding it with a do it yourself, we're all a part of it, punk spirit. Being a huge fan of the free spirited, sexually liberated, art vs. camp spirit of cabaret, as well as just a big dorky goth/punk goof, it was something I knew I had to check out. While "Coin Operated Boy" was a creepy/cute little ditty, I put it aside and would break them out from time to time. It took the release of their second studio album, YES, VIRGINIA, for me to really take stock of what they were doing. I began to actually listen. Underneath this truly original melding of influences were two amazing musicians writing some of the most heart wrenchingly clever songs that I had ever heard. Beyond giving Kurt Weill a postmodern spin, these songs spoke to the outcast, weirdo fuck ups. The were love songs for the disenfranchised that while dark, and sometimes very angry, had a non sentimental glimmer of hope. Things may be shit, love is often nothing more than a rapidly drying wet spot on an old mattress, and the world may not fucking understand, but there are other fuck ups who know. There is music, and art, and books, and film, and those brief, often rare moments in life that make being a freak the most beautiful thing in the world.

Last night, that moment lasted two and a half hours. Although, I had seen them a few years ago, last night's performance was like nothing else. After a 4 hour drive from Kansas City to St. Louis, 5 to the car, we were all amped up and excited, but a bit worn out from the drive. From the moment they walked on stage until the final fade of their encore, this was truly one of "those" moments. It's rare to see a band so tight and on, while still being casual enough to carry on conversations with the audience, take requests, and joke around. Their shows are less like "concerts" and more like an amazing night with friends. At the risk of sounding like hippie bullshit, the sense of community and oneness in the crowd and with Amanda and Brian is unlike anything that I have ever experienced at the hundreds of concerts and shows that I have been to. From dark ballads to anthems, from intense walls of sound to playful covers, there was no moment that I wasn't completely involved. In a night full of friends, jokes, incredible music, and emotion, there was one, however, that truly outshines them all. The opening strains of "Sing" gives me goosebumps just sitting in my living room. Coming full circle from their opening cover of T. Rex's similiar in spirit "Cosmic Dancer", hearing a theater full of people singing their guts out to "Sing" and its lyrics about the transcendent power of music, singing regardless of whether anyone thinks you can, and that losing yourself in something that you love, no matter how shitty the world is around you, was, for lack of a non sentimental word, absolutely fucking magic. I stood there, goosebumps, tears in my eyes as one of those "motherfuckers" singing my guts out, today, as well as someday.

Last night I felt like a kid again. Ignoring things like the 4 hour drive back home, my unemployment, money, my weight, being cool enough, that I can't marry the man I love, my frustrations. Losing myself completely and totally in a moment. Losing myself in the music that I love. This may not be profound, or deep. It may even come across silly to a lot of people. I don't care. This is my love letter and my thank you note to my amazing fiance, Michael, my best friend Kendra, and my new friends Cynder and Sam for being there with me, as well as to Amanda and Brian for continuing to stir up that passion and joy inside of me. I am turning 37 next month, but last night, I was 16 years old and full of hope, love, and optimism. Thank you...


there is this thing that's like touching except you don't touch
back in the day it just went without saying at all
all the world's history gradually dying of shock
there is this thing that's like talking except you don't talk
you sing
you sing

sing for the bartender sing for the janitor sing
sing for the cameras sing for the animals sing
sing for the children shooting the children sing
sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn't sing
just sing

there is this thing keeping everyone's lungs and lips locked
it is called fear and it's seeing a great renaissance
after the show you can not sing wherever you want
but for now let's just pretend we're all gonna get bombed
so sing

sing 'cause it's obvious sing for the astronauts sing
sing for the president sing for the terrorists sing
sing for the soccer team sing for the janjaweed sing
sing for the kid with the phone who refuses to sing
just sing

life is no cabaret
we don't care what you say
we're inviting you anyways
you motherfuckers you'll sing someday...

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Human Centipede...The real shit sucking was that this waste of time got made...

Yet again, why I should not listen to hype. The only thing shocking about this was that I actually sat through it all and that people actually thought this was shocking. What an idiotic waste of time. The premise may have been disturbing, but the actual film wasn't. The doctor was a sad Udo Kier wannabe, the film plodded along until the premise came to fruition as the creative writing project of some antisocial 15 year old in study hall. The whole poo in mouth thing was just asinine and done for shock value. Trust me, while it is SO not my thing, I have seen FAR worse in some underground German fetish films. Why is it that I'm constantly disappointed and annoyed by films that I'm told are so disturbing and intense? This was just fucking stupid...

Sunday, November 7, 2010

I was actually lucky enough to see this in the theater when it was a part of the Boy’s Life 2 filmfest. I sat in the theater in Royal Oak, Michigan in tears because it was the most dead on portrayal of being an outcast, queer kid that I had ever seen. I love that he didn't realize that a damned thing was wrong with him or how he felt until he was made to. That is what is wrong with this world. There isn't anything wrong...we're just told that there is supposed to be...

It was wonderful to see it win the Oscar, spur The Trevor Project, and 16 years later, still be an amazing force in the gay community. We just watched it again, and it still manages to make me laugh out loud, smile, and cry like a baby. However, I hope someday, we won’t need the Trevor Project anymore because queer youth will realize how amazing and wonderful that they are, regardless of the small minded ignorant bigots in this world.

It is one of my biggest goals in life, and why I am such a loud mouth make those outcast, gay or straight, male or female, tranny or bi, realize that there is not a damned thing wrong with them. It won't always be easy. It may be hell. The people in your life may turn their backs on you. However, there are people out there that will love you. People who will and do appreciate all the things that make you think that you are weird, or wrong, or that make the small minded idiots take their own ignorance and insecurities out on you. It takes balls to be a fairy. It may not always be an easy life, but as someone who grew up in small town Kansas, competing in rodeo, a 4H member, and a big burly punk guy who has been out for half of his life, I didn't always have it easy, but I tucked in and realized that being different and queer was a wonderful thing. It was part of what made me who I was and who I am. It's something that I love about myself and I wouldn't change it for anything. Despite how tough it can be at times, I wouldn't give up being gay even if it was an option. I promise that there is a better world out there. Just keep fighting...

Wednesday, November 3, 2010


It is 6 AM...I am still pretty much wide awake, have been up for 22 hours, and I am sitting here reading the Huffington Post and National Geographic, playing Fugazi, and listening to my mister and Ella snore...I am a happy, insomniac geek...just hope I don't waste our day off together finally falling asleep...

I wish I could use this time to actually, truly write...or work on the podcast that I keep talking about, as I should have used my last few months of unemployment.

I have such aspirations and goals...ones that I TRULY mean and intend on, at the very least, working on. It just never seems to completely surface. Instead, I sit in front of my computer looking for music, fucking around on Facebook, reading a book, or turned around, watching Netflix Instant Watch...things that I truly enjoy, but not a damned thing that leads to actually accomplishing the goals that I really do want to do...It, sadly, seems to take some fucked formula of lack of sleep times almost too much alcohol to get me to actually pound something out on my keyboard that is more than 3 sentences.

My goals for the ridiculously rapidly approaching new year: Maybe actually doing the things that I say I intend to do throughout the year and sort of do...37 is around the corner and while I'm not unhappy, I'm nowhere near where I should, but seem to hold myself back from, finally be...Maybe this time...