ABOUT THIS TIME LAST YEAR II...
APRIL 7th...
THE ROAD TO HELL
So much for my ability to stay away from the blogosphere; I am not only back here, but I have been waiting outside my gmail address with my tongue hanging out. So, my intentions never come to much except another mile or two on my own personal high-speed, high-occupancy-vehicle-only, limited access, eight-lane freeway to hell.
I could say that I am even beginning to acclimatize myself to the general ambience of the final destination, after the last few weeks.
Some words to reflect on, to take on board: bisexual [is it sexual? in any case, it's a cop-out], gay [still positive these days, though it started out as a word for a female prostitute's availability], sissy, limp-wristed, nancy-boy, bent, queer, faggot, cocksucker, punk, bitch... well, you know the list. Add your own.
I am beginning to think that several things are unavoidable, and it is only a question of when... I find I can live with the idea of myself risking everything for honesty more easily than with the idea of never knowing what I feel I simply need to know.
Today then, at least, it seems that:
I will leave, or be asked to leave.
And if I do leave, or I am asked to leave, there will be no celebration. If it is liberation, it is liberation that leads into the wilderness. I don't know what that wilderness will look like, but I know it will be different from the one I am in now. It won't be forty years in the wilderness with only the promise of a land, I know, because I won't last that long, physically or mentally...
But if I am driven into the wilderness, after a year, or maybe two, I am going to find some tents, pitch them at an oasis, find a loaf of bread and a jug or two of wine and throw one hell of a party; I would love to find some way to get you who have been my rock and salvation in all this mayhem in one place. Otherwise, I'm not sure who'd come, to tell the truth. Well, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
If the inmates stationed to feed the ovens at Auschwitz could stop when they realized the High Holidays had arrived, stop and praise their LORD, and in that place, then I too can say:
This is the day the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.
.
So much for my ability to stay away from the blogosphere; I am not only back here, but I have been waiting outside my gmail address with my tongue hanging out. So, my intentions never come to much except another mile or two on my own personal high-speed, high-occupancy-vehicle-only, limited access, eight-lane freeway to hell.I could say that I am even beginning to acclimatize myself to the general ambience of the final destination, after the last few weeks.
Some words to reflect on, to take on board: bisexual [is it sexual? in any case, it's a cop-out], gay [still positive these days, though it started out as a word for a female prostitute's availability], sissy, limp-wristed, nancy-boy, bent, queer, faggot, cocksucker, punk, bitch... well, you know the list. Add your own.
I am beginning to think that several things are unavoidable, and it is only a question of when... I find I can live with the idea of myself risking everything for honesty more easily than with the idea of never knowing what I feel I simply need to know.
Today then, at least, it seems that:
I will leave, or be asked to leave.
And if I do leave, or I am asked to leave, there will be no celebration. If it is liberation, it is liberation that leads into the wilderness. I don't know what that wilderness will look like, but I know it will be different from the one I am in now. It won't be forty years in the wilderness with only the promise of a land, I know, because I won't last that long, physically or mentally...
But if I am driven into the wilderness, after a year, or maybe two, I am going to find some tents, pitch them at an oasis, find a loaf of bread and a jug or two of wine and throw one hell of a party; I would love to find some way to get you who have been my rock and salvation in all this mayhem in one place. Otherwise, I'm not sure who'd come, to tell the truth. Well, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
If the inmates stationed to feed the ovens at Auschwitz could stop when they realized the High Holidays had arrived, stop and praise their LORD, and in that place, then I too can say:
This is the day the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.
.
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