Life and Death
Allow me to thank you. These positive messages represent writing that I make sure the boys see because it’s in so many ways, really about them. I’ve had my life. Mistakes and all. It was what it was. But they are still writing their lives on that tablet where they still have options and choices, and a long way to go. I do this because there is so much disconnection, stigma, preordained ideas, and misconceptions around who they are. And what they confront.
The issues are life and death for them.
People get very upset with me because they insist I sexualize boys. Only as abstractions, and let me tell you, they arrive with sexual images of themselves. I did not invent any of them. How do you separate that fundamental thing from the kid with a razor blade. You can’t. Not and reach them. My message to them is not about morality. It’s about survival. If that’s your baggage, then that’s your baggage. People take baggage with them on their travels, and when you attempt to take their baggage away from them, they will become quite animated. mainly, I ignore the baggage. There’s one thing we do if not always perfectly. We get up in the morning like everyone else, and we put our panty hose on one leg at a time.
They can’t be who they are without the baggage.
I want people to know (just one example) that a 14-year-old can be put into an adult prison, and when he gets out, he WILL have HIV. I want people to know that HIV is not the walk in the park that so many gay publications, and mainstream media say it is. NO ONE DIES ANYMORE. Yes, they do.
I want people to know that accessing any HIV public health services is a nightmare. I want to put a face on suffering and struggle because we throw them away at OUR peril. They’re so marginalized they do not join the future, and we can’t afford it. Exactly what options is a young man, himself an abuse survivor, recently released from prison, and who now has HIV, going to realistically have. Suicide among these kids is sky high. Who can blame them for thinking they will never have a future. I want to pose the question: what’s in it for US, to create a class of males who have nothing to lose.
Nothing to lose is dangerous.
Every single kid I work with has to be instilled with: I HAVE A LOT TO LOSE.
It’s not brain surgery. It’s not even hard or expensive to tell people they have worth. I am here to tell you that boys who have shut down should not be shut up. And I mean both physically, and verbally. Shut up. As in you have nothing of value to say because you are less than a player here.
They are players because they are players and because they can. Do this. The message to them needs to be sculpt a life YOU make, and not the one you’ve been thrown by us to shut you up, or we will put you away and shut you up ourselves like a junkyard dog’s chew toy. I am not important. THEY are. We as males, sexuality is irrelevant, have to learn how to rebirth or give birth to something far, far more compassionate than the horror stories of abuse and slavery and exploitation and, mark my words, we are teaching boys to hate women, to want them, but to hate them, and it has to stop. It just has to stop.
People think: boysboysboysboys, menmenmenmen, and all the dirty dirties. That does not have to be the case. The issue is not sex with boys. The issue is unless we are prepared, and we are not, to deal with the marginalized at every turn, and pay for it, we confront ourselves. We confront who we really are. How does anyone hurt them. By abusing them. And then re-abusing them again while we sit on our hands and wonder about what to do.
Even as that kid out there who is going to fail, and end up back in prison which he will pay the price of the ticket for, as he goes through the process of the revolving door. We built that door. They didn’t. Because they haven’t had time on the planet yet to create anything let alone themselves.
Regardless of sexuality, it’s still a culture of men and women. These boys have little redundancy, no one is watching their backs, the system cannot keep up, the system is indifferent, and indifference is the real nemesis. It comes in many disguises and colors, and all writing has evolved to do is wrench the covering off the statue, to reveal what. The emperor is naked. And he has a little dick. A little dick is a little dick. It’s a problem. Because the only time it gets hard is when someone is being hurt.
We have enough of these men. Keep it in the playroom where you can role play anything you want. But don’t teach it to my boys because this is real life, the agony of it, and the ecstasy because hopelessness is an illusion. A lot of it is luck. But you have to be there for it to happen. To get zapped by the zap gods with the kind of life you want to have. YOU want to have. Not necessarily the life THEY want you to have. But you never get to make those kind of choices if you choose to never really know who you are because you have always been told who you are not.
They can’t even so much as maintain a group blog. Because once they do, they might find out that people care. There are people who care. If they dare to believe that, they get hurt easily. They begin to hate themselves. They can even begin to reinvent that. Reinvent everything. I write about them, even if I reach no one, I tried. I can’t shut up. Little voices. Little rooms. The operant word is voice. Let them see a voice. Crude as it is. Let them see you can fight back. With words. With art. With pictures that are mirrors of our eyes. With empathy. Because words and art and empathy is what defines the species even if the species cannot define itself. Sex and death.
The zap gods zapped us with them a long time ago.