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So, I’m Honest About How I Feel About Gay Sex
A lot of my black friends get ticked off when gays pretend that they’ve suffered as much prejudice as blacks. As I Jew, I get pissed off when blacks pretend that American slavery was as murderous as Nazism. Two thousand blacks were hung in the south. More Jews were killed in an hour in Treblinka.
We all have our sufferings. However, most Jews and blacks aren’t perverted. Not that that is reason to be prejudiced against gays. But it does make them different. And if their idiosyncratic sexual behavior makes them different and makes me uncomfortable around them it doesn’t mean that I am prejudiced against them and single them out for harmful treatment. It means that I am honest about how I feel about gay sex. I am not just talking about same sex marriage. I have trouble with gay demonstrations of affection. I am so politically incorrect that I could be a photo on a liberal dart board.
Perversion is perversion. Calling it the new normal does not make it normal. It makes it habitual perversion. Repetition is not sanctioning.
If I see a man picking his boogers and eating them, it does not mean that I am biased against boogers. It means that he disgusts me visually and internally. I don’t hate him for it. I just don’t want to look at the pickings. To pretend that I liked eating boogers would do a disservice to the reality of my impressions.
What is the sudden impulsive need for gays to be appreciated by the masses? Why do they have to be appreciated and loved? I don’t love them as a group. I like some of them. Does that make me a bad person? Does your speaking up for all gays indiscriminately make you a good person? Or does it make you a fool and a liar?
If I were gay I wouldn’t want to be accepted. I would enjoy my separateness from society. I would like the sadness of being ostracized. I would feel special as I do as a poet. I would never want to be part of the mainstream. I wouldn’t want to marry another man. That would be too corny, too domesticated. Back in the sixties most gays didn’t want to get married. They thought it was nerdy.
I got a B.A. and a Masters from Hunter College. My Ph.D. at CUNY. The other day I am walking past Hunter on Lexington Avenue at 68th when I see two chunky gays in threadbare overcoats holding hands. I hate male closeness. I hate that I’m hated for hating male hand -holding. I mean it’s alright for you to accept gayness but why should I? I can’t accept your self-satisfied acceptance of homosexuality and your belief that because I am homophobic that I am less intellectual and less bathed in rightness than you?
I like many gays. But I do not like them because of their gayness. I like them in spite of it.
Bill de Blasio won’t attend the St. Patrick’s Day Parade because they won’t let gays march as a self-identified group. Who would want to march in a corny parade.? I hate parades. Why must gays be so joining, cloying and girlish?
Guinness Stout has even pulled out of the parade. Is that their new image? Men in skirts speaking in high voices and gossiping about fashion? Guinness is no longer a man’s stout. And since when was Guinness so moral and accepting. They manufacture beer. They specialize in making people drunks and alcoholics.
I see the mysterious beauty of women. I am touched on the fringes of my coat by their light. I am sorry for you if you are cut off from their penumbra.
Liberals are proud of accepting gays. They still wouldn’t go to bed with one. They are pretend homosexual acceptors. They are misleaders. They don’t even know what they want. Katy Perry sang, “I Kissed a Girl.” She didn’t like it. I know. How? I don’t know but I know. It’s instinctual. Truth is internal. It is not rational. Belief is in the gut. It is not a fiction of correctness, of political rightness.
When I get close to the two gays walking in front of Hunter CollegeI realize that it’s a father and son. They’re not fags. They’re just familial and close. I’m relieved. I love family. Perversion makes me twitch.
At Sixty-Ninth Street I see a black and a white guy in their twenties holding hands. This time they are not father and son. They are homosexuals. I don’t like their public displays of affection. I am allergic to their overt behaviors. I don’t judge them except for their shoving their odd behavior in my face. I don’t relate to them. They are what they are. I don’t see why they have to display it in a way that’s obviously viscerally offensive to heterosexuals.
They may be nice but to me they are offensive. My body reacts to sh.t like it’s sh.t. It is sh.t. I’m not sanctioning this sh.t. Why do they want my approval when they hate my attitude? They don’t have to befriend the world. I am not their court room. I am not their judge. Let it go. Let me discount them like a sale of perversions in a self-justifying discount store.
At Seventieth Street I am walking behind two girls in jeans who are holding arms. They have snuggly, girlish walks. They are not gay. They are the beauty of girls wandering. They are comfortable rather than sexual in their closeness. They are in another place when they are together.
So, I don’t like gay demonstrations of affection. Shoot me. Don’t. We should accept each other like distant cousins. We don’t have to like what we are but we can like who we be without parading it like a flag.
Acceptance not affirmation. When I was in jail with degenerates I liked them regardless of the crimes that they committed outside. I didn’t have to approve of them. I just had to pass the time with them.
When gays came out of the closet, they insisted that everyone celebrate them. Why? I wouldn’t interfere with them but I don’t have to approve of them. I don’t care if they approve of me.
What’s this mad desire for acceptance? Are gays crybabies seeking the love of strangers? Why do gays act so feminine towards rejection? And if the liberals think that the gays are such mature happy people why are they trying to shove their two cents of support into their pockets?