Let’s imagine this is you: 

I know you probably resent this drawing. It’s very round and not very dimensional. I’m sure you are much more interesting than this representation, but all I’m trying to get at here, is that identity is just a boundary between everything that is you and everything that isn’t you:


It can be a square if that makes you feel better:


No? No, of course not, who wants to be a square? How about a star? 

You’ve always wanted to be a star? Oh, good, well you’re a fucking circle, get over it: 

Isn’t that nice and simple? Will, if you’re gay, like me, the circle looks more like this: 

There’s this line down the center of you, and it divides the gay stuff (you know, the part of you that loves cock) from the not gay stuff (wearing a tie to work). If you don’t wear a tie to work, I’m sure you can still appreciate the metaphor. Although, if you’re a Chippendale, the tie you wear to work (and the only thing you wear to work) is a bow tie, in which case, the whole tie metaphor is a little lost on you. 

The point is, you either spend your life on the gay side of that line: going to pride parades, hanging out with your gay friends, fucking your gay friends, seeing gay movies, eating gay food, drinking gay drinks, going to gay parties in your speedo, reading gay magazines, and trying as hard as you possibly can to forget anything and everything and everyone not gay. 

Or you spend your life on the not gay side of that line: screaming emphatically (a little too emphatically) “I’m not gay! See! I have a wife! And kids! And I’m a Republican! And I play golf! And I’m filthy rich! And I invest!” only letting the gay side of the line come out (so to speak) in truck stop restrooms or restrooms in airports or restrooms in general. 

Or you spend your life bouncing back and forth: not gay at work and gay at home, or vice versa, I suppose. If you’re a Chippendale, for example. 

The one way you don’t get to live is like this:


This is the double-edged sword of the gay identity, because: 

Is better than: 

Which is how it used to be. Before “gay” stopped meaning happy, and started meaning “cocksucker.” When gays existed, yes, but no one knew they existed, even the gays themselves. But wouldn’t it be better to just be:


I’m sure it’s much the same for lesbians, but not being a lesbian, I can’t entirely be sure, but that’s the way it looks from here (just substitute cunt for cock throughout). 

Let’s ignore for a moment all the people denying gay people rights. Let’s ignore all the people who think fags are going to burn in hell. Let’s just look at the well-meaning gays and not gays who propagate the line, and you will see how much work needs to be done, outside of just social justice, to achieve true equality. 

The stories that excite me the most as a writer and reader are those that dissolve this line, refusing to come out of either the gay identity or the suppression of it. It's been a journey getting here, but now I live my life embracing everything that I am in one great harmony of seeming contradictions. And I hope that by writing stories from this place (instead of from the line) that readers of all kinds will feel the same permission to be wholeheartedly themselves instead of some manufactured identity.

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