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.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Wheat Fields and Nose Rings...

Nostalgia can be a powerful thing. Sad, pathetic, dangerous...but sometimes a beautiful catalyst. I am so tied to my senses when it comes to remembering. There are so many smells, tastes, and especially sounds that trigger something in my head that remind me of being 5, 10, 16, 22...Being such a music fanatic, songs, more than anything hold the biggest power over my memory and mindset. Some songs can trigger a smile, a sigh, and a tear all in a few minutes. While I usually break out stuff from my past when I want that feeling, sometimes I luck out and something that I have never heard before sparks the same response. Tonight I listened to a band called Be Forest that did exactly that. They took me back to being an outcast, sexually confused, too smart for my own good freak. There was a moment in my early-mid teens when I realized that not only was I a weirdo, but that I fully fucking embraced that epiphany. Maybe it was taking a paint pen and dying my hair blue in 6th grade...or making out with Cindy Lucas to the smell of patchouli and Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me on the stereo. It could have been driving across Lawrence, KS at the age of 17 in a car full of fellow freaks listening to "How Soon Is Now?" or making love to my first boyfriend at 19 while listening to some 4AD album. All, I know is how fucking powerful knowing that I didn't give a shit about being popular or fitting in, and that I wouldn't trade being "weird" for anything in the world made me feel. I'm now 37 years old now and I'm sure many people think that I'm too old for my music obsession, or the tattoo on the back of my head, or the hunk of steel in my septum...The truth is that not only is it not something that I really consider...I also don't care. Despite my self esteem issues, my social anxiety, or my OCD...I'm pretty fucking happy with the man that I am right now. I may not have followed the path that I intended and it may not always be easy, but you know what...the weird punk/goth dork that lives inside the hard working, heart-on-my-sleeve man loves that a scent, a book, a film, an album, and a band can make him feel that all over again...That feeling pushes me to never just accept, but to always push and love where I'm headed...