PIRATE RADIO: REBIRTH OF DISSENT

It’s my hands,

            Soaking in the after-birth of a rebellion

 – My eyes, stained and greased closed by the mutilation of the fat cat bankers – and the sum of greed –

            Yeah, this is it, the fuel,

The grit and hunger of a generation sickened by the rejoice of destruction and annihilation of civility—

The fat cats and their cat-scratch fever

                                                            This is the rebirth of revolution, Spilling its mutilated guts and cum and piss and bile into the baby-bucket –                                                 -mixing its cocktail and feeding the hunger from above.

This is the ninth reincarnation of Nigger, moving from color to corporate boardrooms –

Where sick white old men tie down art and freedom of expression – the right to believe and every right granted to stop the mutilations - to rape the ass of progress            --

                                                Leaving the body broken and bloody, dropped from the top of the tower of babble onto the impostor “son of man”—

This is every stream of consciousness – the LSD soaked brain of Mr. Leary mixed in the veins of Mr. Burroughs – it’s cultural diversity, driven mad by the Rothschild’s and the Vanderbilt’s – it’s corporate slavery of the human soul—

Every dream, every new-aged belief in equality laid out before the beast with its nine heads of rank religious dogma that clogs the pores – the dumbfounded equality that lies in money that no longer lies in the hand of men- capitalization of venomous destruction has become this cyclical axiom on which we spin—

And this is now my America – Captain of shit,

                         Rebirth of vulgarity from childhood crime,                                                                        a youth revolt renamed criminal larceny and latent prints that left the mark

 Of the striker matches we passed out fighting for the last piece of land that a drunken and belligerent uncle Sam said he was taking as punishment for the war he lost

To build their new multi-complex shop-aholic outlet center

For fat beast women – like milking cows in their factory farms—

And new sperm sack children – cast out by the millions

Occupying nature like the new Hitler youth

                                                            So sip my cocktail. Taste the pool-fresh beginning of a new baby batter army  - That’s spewing forth on their new mission

TO TARE THIS SHIT APART – leave no stones unturned in America the new Anarchy of the anarchy – not some lawless descent into the destitution or disease plagued out and delivered by the blasphemous whores that occupy Washington

But an altogether new approach to the action of life

                                   

                        The reclaiming of words over used and caused to sour

Like ART— 

Like LOVE—

Like UNITY –

                        And the end of this man-fed vision of AMERICAN DREAMS –

Yes, come one come all –to the new TV this fall and see what they want you to see

So, Rise up, freaks and monsters and people on the fringe of a “civilized society” rise up “extremists” and start the caged fights, start the underground fight clubs, the midnight drive-bys and let’s see who stands strong – will it be the left or the onward Christian soldiers that have the balls to take on this fight – we’ll feed the fence sitting politicians to the new national zoo in which we’ll store the ignorant (and the people with no clue)

            SO NOW Make it known where we stand—Make sure that they know

And fully understand—

THIS NO LONGER IS THEIR WORLD,

 It belongs to those willing to shut up and become active and take what’s rightfully theirs

NO longer the daydreamers—

No longer the wishers—

No longer those who stand in the way—

Make way for progression (and for Christ’s sake the 21 century rebellion)

            For god’s sake it’s time we began

K. Foerman

At the Pick and Peel - update 3/24/2012

OK, for the two or three people here who do read this, I just had to get some stuff out of my head. These characters have been kind of just chewing at my optic nerve giving me quite a headache...so I thought that I may breathe a little pre-life into them and just get it out...where it's gong? I don't know but please feel free to write any comments that you may have...thanks  I have expanded the original story and added some new elements and have started writing again trying to finish up chapter three and get to chapter four before I drop dead...

THANK GOD FOR THE BREEDERS -- IT MAKES ME CREATIVE...THANKS BREEDERS (Not straight breeders, but KIM AND KELLEY DEAL BREEDERS) Ta!


                                        CHAPTER 1



   You know that your mind is riddled with disease and deification when the only thing that occupies the space is your own death. It's not a riddle, people, in general, are built to self destruct. Could you just imagine the population pool of spittle if we weren't.  It would be like left-over gravy, still gooey, but not quite liquid. This mass puddle of sticky, gooey and stifling dissent. Wow, what a dream land that would be.
   You, as well, would probably sit spinning your mind into death if you followed and flowed at the ever-exciting Pick and Peel company. That's right, the Pick and Peel...where fat women with over-sized shoes waddle through the bargain basement of existence only to come out the other side with absolutely nothing - and still feel less about themselves than they did before coming into this Hoboken-gristly lit dungeon of last seasons last seasons clothes. I, me, yes the bald guy with the wire rimmed glasses slouching over a glass top cabinet, will be your host here in hell...and you see it's hell as well. Standing at the top of the long descended staircase, you feel like you've left the earthly plane and have moved on...into nicotine stained walls, flickering death of faulty florescent lights overhead, sagging, dusty acoustical tile, pee-stained and hanging from a fake drop ceiling that covers all the shit-lines from other places above. Screeching and gurgling from the century-old copper piping and a smell of some musty mold drenched loose fittings. That welcomes me everyday at six o'clock in the morning as I prepare myself for another exciting and dramatic day.
   It, of course, wasn't always like this, nor was I...just like the Pick and Peel, time has not been very kind to me, either. I moved to New York fresh from college with a definite "can do" attitude. I was going to be the next big thing...the next Dan Rather or, at the least, the Next Ricki Lake...instead, I became the next redundancy in a city filled with cliches and redundancies. They call me Tom, and at this point, and by point, I mean ten years of customer service, six years of which spent in the worn out pit of the Pick and Peel,  I wouldn't care if they called my son-of-a-bitch...I gave up caring for lent, and as a Jew, let me tell you, that's something hard to do.
   I don't really understand what it is with those Catholics, but they come in here by the bus-load. I always try the same joke on the husbands, as they stand chagrined and miserable with tiny sweat beads forming over their trembling ninety year old lips...."So what's the difference between a Jewish mother and a Catholic mother?"...and here I wait, hoping at this point that their is still life left in them, hoping that I don't need to usher down yet another EMS group to Carry the flagellated body of some six-hundred pound pud out of my basement of wonder, and with my famous luck (which, of course we will get to) be reported on in the next Opus Day weekly or something.
   Usually, the Pud just looks, lopsided sometimes, almost like a slinky-neck bobble head of Moses giving a handy to John...and here's where I hit them...Right here between their too-close eyes and the assault of "fuck-yous" that I know are behind them..."A moustache...that's the only difference...a moustache."
   Some Puds and Puddles even (that would be the fat women looking for salvation...it's hard to tell them that Chanel doesn't carry her signature black evening gown in a size 32, but I don't live to break the hearts of the beasts...give a slight chuckle, some gaff - and pretend insult, and I want to shout..."an insult is that size 12 foot stuffed into that size 9 Jimmy Choo..."but I can't...I am here to serve the customer. These demons of bargains that hunt me down like rabid rats escaped from some animal testing breeding plant on the lower south side of Chicago.
   And don't get me wrong...I'm not letting Jew's off any easier...Actually, Jews, Catholics, Muslims, Baptists, Episcopals, Lutherans...blah blah blah...they all get the hammer with me. Me and god, we made an arrangement about 30 years ago....leave me the fuck alone and I won't usher in the anti-Christ and the ending to all his creation. It seemed very fair to me, of course, anything not Pick and Peel seems fair.
       Do you know why it's called the Pick and Peel? No, seriously, it's been here since dust...and with some sincerity, I may be accurate. I always thought it was because after the clients try on the clothes, they are so disgruntle and dismayed, we have to end up peeling the dresses like a fine Grecian grape. Once, I put a sign on the door - "Sorry, no sizes over 18" and go friggin' figure, some fatty called the ACLU and tried to sue. My boss, well, the toupee wearing blob that owns the Pick and Peel, called  right away and said I was a fattist.  I agree - OK, I am a fattist - it happens.
   Not only a fattist, an anti-religonist, an anti-republican, an anti- conservative and probably anti-family/anti-kid at this point...Don't look at me like I just killed your puppy...you work retail for a short season and try to keep some decorum of cleanliness while thirty kids run around snotting on all the items...and even here, even in the Pick and Peel, the items had class, maybe ten, twelve years ago. Look, it's what, 2012 - and we stock a micro-poly blend we call plush - now not to date the store but that micro-poly blend was a great high of fashion maybe 25 years ago...along with tight-rolled jeans, Nagal bright neon's...and think, people buy this shit.
    I used to say that I could revolutionize fashion with the clothes at the Pick and Peel. Hell last year, one designer did a runway show that looked like bag ladies that hang around out back and smoke hand rolled beanies and a little crack now and then...they had the nerve to call it post-apocalyptic...I called it dumpster ready couture.
   That;s how it is, really - last decades trash is this decades new look - inspired by some shellacked Botox beauties that can never be real.
   I know it's Three O'clock. It sounds like a herd of wild wildebeests running down the stairs. You see, here at the Pick and Peel three o'clock madness is a 20 minute sale that takes an additional percentage off the garbage that we need to move because moths are starting to eat at the seems and if it doesn't move quick, people will start to notice the faint smell of formaldehyde either from the moth-balls or from the old ladies with blue hair that just died in the dressing room...and no, I am not kidding. I know it happened again,  you can smell it. A cross between formaldehyde and feces - it's a beautiful bouquet we call "J'adore morte" - it's the cousin fragrance to Dior -
   "Sera, call 9-11 again, please...we've got an issue, AGAIN."
   "Seriously, Tom, I don;t want to clean that up again..."
   "Just call the damn squad."
      Misery LOVES company, Sera and I must be star-crossed lovers. She sits, well, really props herself up at the register, swooping purple (today's colour) hair from in front of her left eye. "The pierced Goddess," that's the nic-name that I gave her on her third day at the Peel. From what I can count, she's at twenty, and that's all above the clothes. She keeps promising (well, really threatening) to show them all to me, and she swearers she has twenty more. Some in places I never could even imagine that anyone would pierce...let's just say imagination or not, I'm not going there...
   Really, Manny, the toupee douche that owns this schmuck of retail hired Sera last year to be my savior, my assistant. Don't get me wrong - I certainly love her as much as one can, say, as much as one loves shingles or some other herpes infection of the soft tissue.
   She came damaged, OK, and maybe that's my personal opinion...well, for chrissake I'm telling the damn story, so she came damaged! I do love her, we get along like Lavern and Shirley except with both of us being gay and defiantly bitter, we don't co-habitate well. OK she's a man hating dyke that loves me for some reason, and I'm a washed out fag that has nothing better to do with myself than watch old fat women die trying on micro-poly blends...how could we not love each other? Together, we've stormed the Bastille and have taken Ms. Antoinette to her chop-job.
   "...Yeah, that's right Pick and Peel - you dick, 102 N 96th street...come to the loading dock fucking moron...what, you think you can carry that fat bitch up the three floors...." and to me she says.."make sure you put an out of order sign on that stall Tom, I don;t want to have some other lady die 'cause she missed some one of a kind thirty year old Vivian Westwood gown that is now ripped at the seem by the dead lady...we dealt with that two years ago...no I wasn't talking to you,..could you just come now...before it leaks...thanks."
   I stand back amazed at my life. Really, this is my life - this slice of rich pie. Here I stand a little over plump (in gay terms, I should be sold to the Inuits for Whale oil) prematurely bald, wire-rimmed glasses, king of my domain...the Pick and Peel, with some dead husky in the dressing room ripping the seems out of a one of kind Vivian Westwood gown...Sera was right about that. How lucky could one man get? Seriously, I have to ask myself what kind of karmic mutilation did I preform in a former life...dear Krishna, dear Jesus, dear Mohammad, dear Santa for chrissake...Calgon - whoever, whatever...take me away...

                                                               CHAPTER 2


   This is definitely my life, no escaping it this time. I am standing, staring into the dressing room while Burt and Ernie do their damnedest to lift Ms. New York onto the stretcher.
     "...Coroner says we gotta' wait 'till they can get the bus down..." Says Ernie, the shorter of the two disasters pretending to be life-saviors in sheep's clothing.
     "How long are we talking? I mean, no disrespect, gentlemen, but I have a store to run...we've already missed the three o'clock madness sale, and now it's getting close to dinner...and that's probably our busiest shopping hours." I'm starting to fidget with my shirt cuff, kind of shifting weight back and forth from foot to tired and worn out foot.
     "...I mean, I don't know...coroner said..."
     "..Yep, got that last time...Sera, call Manny, tell him we're closing down for the night..."
     "Are you kidding me, Tom, I'm not making that call..." and I can see her flip me off across the room. Great, death, mold, dissatisfaction and now, disgruntled employee moral - what a day.
    "For chrissake, Sera, Just call the man....I don't have time..." and as I'm getting ready to just blow, I see the body bags coming out and, for some sick reason, feel calmed. "Never mind Sera, the public servants have decided to work today..." and I swear as Ernie was talking to Mr. High-brow highball, Bert called me an asshole.
   Screaming across the room, like she was using a fog-horn to warn ships before becoming ground on the shoals, Sera says, "She didn't leak did she? Goddamn it, if she leaked, you two bastards are cleaning that room.."
   I'm starting to get a headache, a life ache really, I mean, it's one thing to not like one part of life, but to not like life...and there it goes again, my mind slipping quickly into the warmth of death.
   The coroner looks as if he's done, so I ask, "Any ideas what happened?"
     "Not yet, I'm assuming natural causes, but we'll look at a few things back at the morgue...did you know her..."
     I'm half-listening, something I perfected many many years ago....living with a mother never satisfied. "what...um...oh, no, I didn't know her, she must have come in for the three o'clock sale, really, I didn't even see her..."
     "So, you can't tell me anything about her, married? family? anything like that?"
     "Nope, just she must have known her fashion..." and he looks at me weird, you know, like I just put a hot cherry bomb in his hand and gave him a little kiss... "Well, she at least died in a Westwood...most women would be happy with that.."and already, I knew I was talking to the wrong person.
     "Hey, dip-shit faggy, Manny's on line one..."
    "You didn't call him did you?"
    "Jesus Christ, Tom, leave the poppers alone, you told me to call him and tell him that we were closing..."
    "Then I told you the public servants decided to work....for fucksake Sera...Manny," Now, this call, nothing but "yep, yep...OK, yep, OK, OK, yep..."you know the type. Talk just to talk...say the same things over and over and hopefully you'll answer differently just once so he can jump your shit for NOT listening...a real verbal sadist, if you ask me...I think he gets off on the one sided conversations.
    "Listen, Manny, we lost the three o'clock sale, but they're almost done in here so we'll be going again here in just a few...yep...no, no, she was old....yep...yep...should be, yeah, i mean, i guess on the six o'clock...hold on, I'll ask.." and I hold the phone away like I'm shielding some important computer file from the worlds most fortified magnet. "Owner wants to know if we'll be on the news...or did anyone call the news...does he need to?"
    And Burt, looking mortified, yet somehow perversely amused says "it was called in on the scanner, so they know...don't know if their coming, but they know."
     Now, talking back with Manny, the super douche, "He said it was called in on the scanner, so they know...yep, yep, OK, yep...yep...OK..."this literally could go on until eight unless you put your foot down, basically hanging up on the yoke. "OK Manny, I've got to get off of here...they need a signature or something (total lie, by the way), OK, yep...." and I can feel each Yep come out like fire from a dragon. If I could only melt the styraline and poly blends into a nice rich liquid mass, maybe they could be used as a fuel source and burn this baby to the ground.
     I catch a glimpse of Sera, swiveling in the chair by the register, head back....glittering from the metallic inserts in her body. I \would, if possible, switch with her for the shortest of time....just long enough to go get a diet coke and an Aterol or a Valium and  Stertara...something to burn the nerve ends dead so I could power through the rest of the night...this night, like so many before and possibly so many after.
   And I'm starting to notice people...not the suites, not the Coroner, not the EMT's...the people, the regulars, I guess. I'm noticing that no one is noticing the going ons...no one taking stock that some heffer just choked on life's big boner right in the same dressing room, that, in just short fashion, hopefully, they will be trying on their macrame swim suite. No one...like life is an invisible force that just comes and goes as it damn well pleases.
     "OK, Mr. Reichart, we will need you to sign this release so the guys can haul her off..." Like she's a piece of furniture on consignment...seriously, I know that I devalue life, and certainly couldn't be bothered to take notice of this woman (portly as she may have been in life) while she was living, but something doesn't sit quite right talking about the dead like they are bricker-brack at a second rate consignment store with optional clause.
     "OK, no problem..." that's all I got, can you believe that. All of this righteous indigency and all I have is "OK, no problem..." what the hell is wrong with me...with my life? What made me this self-loathing fagatron...yeah, I said it, it's like a fag robot just going through life. I'll get god damned T-shirts printed that say "Fuck off FAGATRON" and wear it every day - I don't care. I have the balls to do it...
   I'm looking over towards Sera, still spinning, still looking like a disco-ball the way the light hits her thousand pieces of metal as she spins. There are customers lined up to pay, but like usual, she doesn't care...I don't care...we really should change the name of the store from the Pick and Peel to the Go Fuck Yourself. I think it fits better - at least at this point. I stop dead-tracked. "Sera, please take care of the customers...I need to...to go get some air...or get a drink, or something."
     "Yeah, no problem Tom, I got this...go take 5 'cause when you get back I've gotta peace-out to take some meds...and by meds, I mean smoke some pot." That's just Sera...she doesn't care what people hear, what they say...she's got the biggest set of brass balls that I've ever seen, and I've T-bagged a few sets in my day.
     "OK, just give me a few...I really need to adjust my thinking for a few minutes...maybe just get some air and think a little better. I'm...I don't know, I feel like I may explode in short time..."
     And as I start walking up the long dingy, dirty, narrow flight of stairs from the seventh circle of hell to the light above, I start to feel lifted, lighter...yet somehow uneasy, as if someone or something is keeping close watch and eye on my every move...


                               CHAPTER 3:

...And there it was, a guy...not just any guy, either. Not some normal wanna hang out, wanna grease up your feet and cause some kind of funky feeling between the two of you, but a real guy....you know when you can just tell. Here I am looking like I am ready to crack, tired, bored, life ached and ready for something new. Hell, at this point, a new flavor coffee may do the trick to make my life something more than the Pick n Peel and the personal hell that I've allowed it to become. He was just kind of standing at the top of the stairs, trying not to look, but you know he is looking anyway - and I know you know what I mean. One of those quick glances over the shoulder, but repeated, and when you do match eyes, you feel something...something like electricity, something staticy...and juicy, kind of like you just stepped in it, you know? I felt a little uneasy, a little excited and a little cautious at the same time...but he was definitely looking.
     As I got to the top of the stairs, kind of panting, hell I'm not in the best shape in my life, I looked directly at him. He actually smiled...seriously, he smiled, and really, I looked behind me like he had just smiled at someone else coming up the stairs from the dark dungeon of hell, but there was no one else, so he smiled at me. I looked shocked, I know that I did...no need in trying to talk myself into something that I didn't feel.
     Here was a man with all three Casablanca qualities...and what are those, you may ask, but if you do, obviously you don't know that many gays in the world...tall, dark and handsome.
     He definitely looked middle eastern, maybe Lebanese, Maybe Jordanian. He had short, dark hair, and beautiful green florescent eyes. He had to stand six feet tall, although to me, as I climbed out of the dust, dirt and hatred that I called my job, he looked to be the giant that jack climbed the bean stock after.
     I went to speak, to say hello, but my voice failed, and go figure, what a time to fail. Seriously, I can spend all day with puds and puddles, all day yelling at pierced Sera and I go to say hello to this TDH at the top of MY staircase to hell and all that comes out is a squeak.  Can you believe it a faggoty mousy squeak came out of my mouth.
     He looked me directly in the eyes and smiled. He spoke first, "Hello," he said in perfect English, "do you work down there?"
     "Um...if you mean, I mean, yeah, I'm chained to a rock quarry down there slaving away in my pile of really out of date clothes..."
     He gave me another smile, and god I could melt - seriously like the wicked witch of the west after someone drenched her in a puddle of water...well, I was in a puddle alright, just don't know if it's water or not...oh, come on...grow up, how would you see it...this hot man, just big tray of sex standing at the top of the stairs starters talking to me...I've got a corpse being tagged and bolted downstairs, I have an angry man-disliking lesbian almost screaming (and when I say screaming, I mean, I could almost make out what she was saying at the top of the rubble pile), and the sexiest guy I've ever laid eyes on is smiling at me like we've been the best lovers in history - OK, back off, I know I am putting way too much on this at this point, but again, my story, my rules.
     ...And then it happens..."Would you like to get a drink or something sometime?" Was that my voice??? Certainly not...all masculine and macho...nothing like my squeak earlier, and that's why I can't believe that I just said that...and I know that my face is red, my hands are shaking and I must have this scent that smells like mothballs and dirt...must smell nice. You know, though, how they say you can't smell yourself, but I feel like that's how I smell.
     "I...um...actually, I would like that...when and where?"
     OMG seriously, he said yes - just like that. I feel like he was holding back, like there was some hesitation to his yes, but I'll take it any way that I can get it...again, grow up, it's not how it sounds, sometimes, though, I just think words that may seem inappropriate, but really, think about it, it keeps things a little interesting. "Well, what about tomorrow night, say around eight o'clock...here, maybe at this...um well, what about at Shaboo's on West End? Does that work for you?"
     "Yes, that would be fine...I'm looking forward to it..."
     And what do you think I said...ready for this clunker? "I'm not a perv or anything like that..." Seriously, that's what I came up with to say...seriously! It's already too much that I hate my life, but now, I need to act like I am getting some chocolate chip cookies and Chris Hanson is getting ready to walk in and say..."don't fuck children..." And my mind is just wigging out and going all gooey like and I am thinking is it cookies or lemonade that I sound like? Did I just give this hot heaven chills and freak out the only chance that I have had for normalcy in the last three years?
     "Um....I hope not," he says in an all too assuring voice, and I know that he is already regretting the decision that he hesitantly made to go out for a drink after all.
     "Really, I don't even know why I said that. It's just been a hell of a day, I had a lady drop dead down there...I've got an assistant pin cushion that hates men and I'm just on the verge of a  nervous break here any minute...and that, I don't mean...but it's been a day." I don't want to recount everything, because I am going through it all in my head, and really, it's not that interesting...a three hundred year old woman just died...shit happens...and look how I can just slide right past death. I know that I will pay for my callous chalky thick skin that laughs openly at death...but I can't help the thinking that fills my misery.
     "My name is Lenny," he says...and I think isn't that a fucked up name for a middle eastern god of hotness, but I don't dare say anything after all the other weird things I have been saying since we spoke.
     "I'm Tom...and I've never really just walked to the top of the stairs to pick up a guy."
     "Well, why this time?"
     "Seriously, I don't know...maybe..."and I can't answer. I don't know what it was about this guy that made me just hot tamale in my skin, but it was there...and really, I don't even know why he would have said yes...approaching middle age white man (and being down in the pits, let me tell you saying white is an understatement...I feel like one of the vampires from all the big hit movies, I'm not going to put the name in here, but you get the idea.)
     "Well, I think I will be glad that you did. So I will see you here, tomorrow at eight, right?"
     "I'll be here, anyway, I work here, and I hope that you will as well..."
     "I'll be here, really, I am looking for it..." and with that, we said goodbye and I started going back downstairs to my dungeon to the welcoming screams of a pissed off lesbian and a fat pud that was spitting food particles from the local cafeteria where he had just eaten dinner at three o'clock. What a wonderful world it is.


                                           CHAPTER 4




     It wasn't until we walked into the Bistro on 42nd street that I could feel the opulence and the stares of people around us. Even the air itself seemed to cary a creme brûlée quality; caramelized decadence and divine interventions.
     We were seated close to the rear of the restaurant, and at first, i thought, who the hell...but then I realized that i couldn't be happier to have the silence for conversation.
     There were deliberate long pauses between us, an uncomfortable distance that matched the dark burgundy drapery that covered most of the walls and the black leather high backed chairs that we sat upon, fidgeting as often as necessary.
     "Well, this is a little awkward ," i said in shrill tone, and god i hated myself already for even opening my mouth.
     He just gave me a sly smile and said, "it's only awkward if we let it...i'll tell you something Tom," anne I know this sounds just stupid, but i thought he was going to get up and tell me, fuck it, i'm gone, but he said, "I like you...I've seen you several times standing near the top of the stairs, smoking, drinking coffee, talking to yourself..."
     "I do not talk to myself," I interrupted.
     "You do, sp you see. I have been watching you, I just haven't had the nerve to come and speak with you...until the other day, when you looked like things were falling apart for you.

OK, equality takes many forms...today, I am dealing with equality in a long-term relationship. It seems that honesty no longer can move a relationship into a productive path...well, one sided honesty. A relationship cannot be equal if one person is lying to another. There are things in life that can cause fear and in turn cause lying to cover the fear. I am defiantly not saying that I have an advantage because I have been the moral authority - by far! I lied about drug use for years - to everyone, including my partner of almost 9 years (our anniversary is December 1 - just around the corner). When I got off of drugs and started living an honest life, I asked the same of my partner. We had decided that it would be a fresh new start for both of us to rebuild a life that went off track...now, I am dealing with the idea that life didn't actually go off track, we did. I always think that it is important to be responsible for one's self...no one makes you feel or do or think or say anything...you do! Those are your choices. Of course, at the time, one may think that the situation is out of control because of the actions of another, but it never is. So anyone reading this blog please comment and let me know what you would do in a situation similar to this:  OK you know your partner is lying, he lied  directly to you - he is a recovering alcoholic, but goes out and drinks for two days - some stranger calls your phone VERY early in the morning to start asking all types of questions about your partner...YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS PERSON AT ALL - you send your partner texts, and again, this strange man answers your texts to your partner - he says he is passed out on his couch... you do love your partner,  very much - but where do you draw the line? That's the question posed and if anyone at all is reading this, I would very much appreciate answers to that question. Of course this is a real situation that I am faced with right now...and lucky for old Mr. Unknown wanna answer my texts that I didn't have a car, it would have been another example of when keeping it real goes wrong and I already know the inside of a correctional institute...I don't think I want to know another one...lol....

So again, here is the question: HOW FAR DO YOU ALLOW THIS TO GO AND WHERE DO YOU DRAW THE LINE???

I am seriously looking for advise and anecdotes that others have been through...let me know your traumatic love stories and where they lead....

Thanks

a history on Senate bill 272

Welcome to North Carolina, currently the only Southern state that does NOT have a constitutional ban on Gay marriage. All that may change coming up with the May 8th 2012 ballot initiative.

     The North Carolina Constitution currently does not recognize a difference between any one person. Article one states ...

"Section 1.  The equality and rights of persons.

We hold it to be[u] self-evident that [b]all persons are created equal[/b][/u]l; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, the enjoyment of the fruits of their own labor, and the pursuit of happiness."

     There are other issues as well that will go along with the push for constitutional discrimination.  According to Professor Lavelle, the wording of the current senate bill 272 will abolish the domestic partner registry and eliminate same sex partner benefits that are currently available in seven municipalities in North Carolina, these include: the counties of Durham and Orange, the cities of Durham, Greensboro, Chapel Hill and Carrboro. If senate bill 272 passes, it will become illegal for these municipalities and counties to continue to offer these benefits.  But that's not all.  This will also have a serious impact on non-married heterosexual couples as well, and forbid them from entering into any public contracts that deal with partnership. Currently, the laws of North Carolina, when dealing with domestic violence, are set to protect both heterosexual and homosexual couples regardless of marriage, if this law takes effect, the effectiveness of these laws will be in question. The law itself had issues at the house level, where it did not allow for private companies to offer domestic partner benefits to their workers, and actually would have made it illegal for them to do so. In the senate bill, those words were changed so that it would not have an effect of private companies; however there are questions concerning the placement of the entire article on the ballot, or not placing the part that says it is not valid for private contracts.

     Besides the obvious issues raised by constitutionally adding discrimination, there are questions to be raised about property, parental rights and economical problems. If the law passes, since currently, North Carolina does not allow second parent adoptions (meaning that same sex couples cannot adopt a child of their partners) and contracts that are derived from the state for legal guardianship will then be null and void. If people make wills, again, a state supported contract, those wills will be null and void and property and faineances will be turned back to the state law which will then send them to the next of kin, not your partner of how ever many years. This constitutional change will have devastating effects on family law according to Ms. Sharron Thompson.

     In a televised debate between Wake County Rep. Paul Stam and Cumberland County Rep. Rick Glazier, Mr. Stam made comparisons between consensual adult gay marriage and the marriage of two three year olds or three-some marriages. Mr. Glazier said that, other than health related reasons the state should not be involved in consensual marriage between two consenting adults.

     North Carolina already has laws in effect making it illegal for two people of the same sex to marry, however, again, North Carolina is the only southern state that have avoided placing this ban in constitutional form. Honestly, there are many who feel that the constitution of North Carolina already grants the rights for Same-Sex couple marriage, the questions now are how far up the court ladders will this go.

     According to Senator Martin Nesbitt, Minority Leader, and this tactic is just being used to tread on minorities and "toss them in the bottom of the barrel" so to distract people from the real and current issues facing the state of North Carolina. He said this bill is bad for business, and many businesses have contacted him to state their disapprovement of Senate bill 272. Rep. Jean Farma-Butterfield said that it's just discrimination being placed into the constitution and that laws should never be used to repress people. Senator Doug Berger, on the open senate floor, when senate bill 272 came up for a vote compared the bill the Jewish Holocaust, linking the separating and discrimination against one group of people is no different than another, and, again Re. Marcus Brandon said the bill is just bad for business, and many businesses that are currently open to the idea of same sex benefits may move their business to other locations taking even more employment, that is so desperately needed, out of North Carolina.

    The bill passed both the house and senate (September 12, 2011) and is now headed for the primary ballot on May 8, 2012. If you currently are not registered, it is urged that you do register so that you can participate in the May 8th primary and vote to add this issue to the ballot or not.  Either way that you feel, you must look past the emotions, past the religious dogma and see that the state currently has a law on the books protecting marriage...do we need to constitutionalize discrimination now?

                                    MISCARRIAGE

What began in innocence – now decays to death and traps us inside—

A nightmare delivered to our marriage bed, bound up with such beauty and such longing for each other and the joy we could bring – moving as one in this funeral pall and the hidden death mask laid out, touches our bodies—

            We were in some six months

The wiggly worm Squirms from touch – now lays silent and still – like dead weight holding up your alter

            We sit knowing, but not wanting to say

            Somewhere inside, I think we always knew

            And we sit knowing the fruit is rotten and floating in its tidal piñata

So we try to push – filled with tears and memories not yet had

We shut out the monotone death march pretend it’s rock-a-bye baby

            try to ignore the flashing lights

                        We’ve tried to speak, but the words and sounds traveled through your feeding tube

            And the gray-black-purplish life-support system has failed, the components ordered but delivered too late

            They said we were due a refund (I hope only for a retry)

It took us so long to get to the giggles, the secret smiles – and the sharing of a life

            And baby, baby, your pail skin matches the phosphorous center the for so long encased you and our heart bearing love that laid out until it because spoiled – lost in confusion

                        -So we’ve gone to the hatch, opened the portal to let the great and gilded sperm whale escape and float in the start that forever mourn

We’ll love your life, even with none left –my dear son, 

     Last night, while watching some B horror film (which unfortunately, I love) I started to think about a few weird things in Hollywood. I first want to start by stating my excitement about the advancement of LGBTQQIA interest in movies and on television. Shows like Glee and even earlier, shows like Will and Grace.. Movies like A single man and Brokeback Mountain...these have really moved us forward in popular culture. I do, however, have a couple personal gripes about Hollywood and the mastery of entertainment.  Why are there very few gay actors/actresses to play gay rolls? Do they not exist? Is there a double standard in Hollywood - be pro-gay for the cameras and the awards and then shun LGBTQQIA actors into silence? Also, being such a fan of horror, I noticed that very very few (if any) change the normal format of the slasher film. It's always a group of teenagers, right and they usually end up pairing up boy/girl, there is usually sex involved before the slashing. How many of those movies have 2 guys hooking up before getting slaughtered or two girls? or add a transsexual or something to represent that we still exist here in the real world. I think it would be great to take the B horror movie to a new level...six teens, a boy/girl couple a boy/boy couple and a girl/girl  couple are out at some abandoned house being friends, because being together as friends would be just another great tool to normalize homosexuality and sexual minorities, as some psycho killer stalks them down and kills them...and maybe this time, its not a girl that lives but a gay. Something different....make it 8 teens, have one transgendered in a relationship...I don't really care what. I just think it's about time Hollywood took the proverbial dive off the cliff into accepting gay characters in normal movies...we all don't have to be gay florists or lesbian gym teachers for god sake, we could just be normal characters that do normal things and are normal parts of an integrated story....so Hollywood - answer the call...or get some new damn writers that are not afraid to write for gay characters and get some booking agents that aren't afraid to actually book homosexuals or transgender for rolls that are homosexual or transgendered...that's how I see it - It's now time for equality in entertainment. Thanks Adam Lambert, thanks Zack Quintos thanks to every one of the brave and HONEST individuals that have put their privacy on the back burner so that kids out here going through these hard times know that IT DOES GET BETTER> God bless you all.

Wha's wrong with Michelle Bachmann and her "husband"

   Thank God, if you go to the Bachmann and Associates center, with just a little reading and denying and repression, they can pray the Gay right out us! And, if you believe that, I've got a bridge to sell you...or a great new Porche for 99 dollars, or any other made up, misconstrued and really unhealthy dreams that I could mention.  There are some facts that the Bachmann's probably don't want to consider....repression cause self hate, repression in teenagers can cause overtly suicidal tendencies, and as educated minds, we should already all know that Gay teens have one of the highest rates of suicides and suicide attempts. It astounds me that this lady is actually aloud to run for president. Aren't there any intelligence assessments that must be done before you can claim to be a candidate for office? Obviously not.
     And, although this takes the top of ignorance for me, look at the other Republicans running for office: Perry, he can't remember what he wants to cut from government, Cain...OK maybe I can believe that one sexual harassment case may have been made up, but four...and settling two leaves it a little hard to believe that at least one did not happen. Yeah for the Republicans...way to go...
     But let's get back to the idea that the Bachmann's just want to pray that gay away! Who are they kidding? Many psychologists believe that this repressive therapy (which consists basically of reading the bible, being preached to be ex-gays and when all else fails, live a celebrate life) is not only harmful, but a sham. Taking money from parents and gays that are so uncomfortable with their lives that they think there is no other option. Can't you just imagine some crisis in government and there are the Bachmann's sitting in a prayer circle trying to get the gay demons to leave our country.  Why not try to get the ignorant discriminators to leave our country...maybe the Bachmann's could have dinner with the Iranian dictator, Ahmadinejad - they both seem to be on the same wave length in ridiculous fear mongering and prejudice. What does that say about America when not the economy, not the jobless rates, not the ever growing disparage between wealthy and poor are more important than praying the gay away.
     To pray the gay away assumes one large factor - that being gay is a choice. You just wake up one day and say, "God, I can't live without the teasing, bullying, vicious killings and attacks, hatred, fear and being a second class citizen in the land of the free...I think I'll just be gay for the fun of it..."give me a break. Speaking for myself, I was born this way some 36 years ago - and am thankful each and every day that I have an educated family that supports, loves and accepts me just the way I am. How do you think the Bachmann's kids would be treated if one of them said they were gay? I would feel such pity for that. Again, just a personal belief, but I would think that repression therapy causes a lot of "on the Down Low" and a lot of amoral sexual behavior. I don't believe that anyone can repress themselves to the point of total denial, but hey, maybe they can. I would also like to think, again a personal thought, that a lot of the directors or workers at the sham clinics that "pray the gay away" are, themselves closet cases so unhappy and unadjusted that they have no other option than to try to make others feel that way.
     Of course, just reading my blogs, you should be able to guess that I am a full-fledged liberal (I call it well adjusted educated American, but feel free to call me a liberal.) I support an equal rights amendment that protects us all not just some. I applaud the Girl Scouts in Colorado who, after some legal wranglings aloud Bobby Montoya, the seven year old who considers himself a girl, the right to join the Girl Scouts - and I especially applaud Bobby's mother and family for recognizing that transgendered people know from an early age that they feel trapped in the wrong body. WAY TO GO!  We are coming so far in this country - people are actually realizing that, yes, WE ARE BORN THIS WAY - lets just figure out some way to safe guard the country from ignorant "candidates for office" that want to pray our existence away. STAND UP LGBTQQIA and lets say we've had enough...keep being vocal, keep being honest - and for those that have found themselves in repressive therapy, remember from all of us who have made it out and become well adjusted humans...it can and will get better.

What's with the constitutional push to legalize inequality?

      Something mind-blowing is happening in North Carolina that is starting to stink of a previous age of welcome discrimination. The ballet initiative to place a constitutional amendment into the North Carolina constitution to ban same sex marriage.  What is going on? And, honestly, what year are we living in? It seems the hot-button topic this year (as well as the past few years) focuses on one basic issue - are Homosexuals considered equal in the eyes of the law? Reading our founding fathers' documents it clearly states that "...All men are created equal..." nowhere does it say as long as you fall into a traditional family mold. It seems all too comfortable for the "moral majority" (although in my opinion, there is no morality in discrimination) to push for legalized discrimination.  Imagine where we would be today, as a country, if that had been aloud to happen in the 1950's and 1960's as African Americans were pushing for their rights to be treated equal - not different, not special, JUST EQUAL. Gays today want no more than that, and, if we haven't learned by now that SEPARATE is NEVER EQUAL,  I suppose, we never will. The idea that civil unions are paramount to equality is a farce. If we need to get a civil unions license, then so does everyone else.
     Looking at the vast majority of protesters against equality, I find myself shell-shocked. A large number are older (obviously religious) African Americans, and I think, didn't you have the same fight for equality 60 years ago? Did Rev. Martin Luther King's speech "I have a dream" specifically ban that dream from everyone different than he?  Why is discrimination of one group of legal American citizens any better than another? I certainly wouldn't ask the political body to ban mix raced marriages, nor age limit marriages (excluding non consenting ages, of course). Would it be fine to say that a 60 year old man cannot marry a 24 year old woman or that an African American woman could not marry a Chinese man? Of course not, that would be ridiculous - so why is it alright for a group of religious pundits to be able to decide if my 10 year relationship is valid and deserves the same legal protection and validity that theirs does?  If we are getting hung up on marriage as being a religious aspect and not a legal right, we can solve that quickly. Our constitution of this great nation demands separation of church and state, so this should be a no brainer...make the legal documents civil unions for all and allow the churches to preform marriage ceremonies, that way churches that do recognize a valid and lasting love and want to perform ceremonies for gay couples can continue and churches that find it revolting, can continue to hate (which, if I am not mistaken really goes against the greatness of religion itself.)
     So this up coming May, make noise...all the GLBTQQIA need to stand together (especially the A - allies). We need to make our voice clear that in the 21st century, there is no place for legal discrimination, and those that do oppose gay marriage, don't have one. We are not the issue for the sanctity of marriage when over 50% end in divorce. How can you have sanctity on your third or fourth marriage when we just really want one. So, again, stand up! Be heard! let the politicians that are so afraid to take this issue on for fear of backlash know that DISCRIMINATION IS DISCRIMINATION! and one day, when an America in the future looks back and sees that in the 21st century they legalized discrimination in any form, they will see the shame and guilt that comes along with that.
     Finally, to the opponents to gay marriage, I would like to just say get over it. I know that sounds harsh, maybe misplaced, but brave Americans have fought and died for the rights guaranteed in our constitution. They did not give their lives to let our civil liberties, our freedoms and the equality that makes us America slip away for fear.  SPEAK OUT

CHECK OUT THIS VIDEO  http://youtu.be/ud6lRH9IKQE