JamesSavik

I had a rough day at the shrink today. We talked about something that I've kept inside since Feb 1977. I was having a really rough day. Things were going bad. I had to walk a long way with a lot on my mind. There are three or four real shitty nightmares that I have that keep coming back. I'll think they're gone for a while and then something will happen to stir them up. Something will remind me- a feeling or a situation. Just enough to leave a crack the door to the basement of my mind and the demons come screaming out. They make me mad. No- they enrage me. I get so pissed off I wake up fighting and in a cold sweat. They make me ask the same old questions over and over. Why didn't I do something? Why couldn't I get away? Why was I so stupid that I didn't see it coming? I'm not sure that i want you to read this. I'm not sure you want to either. What lies beyond is my madness, the heart of my pain, the root of my sadness. The birth of my rage, the seat of its power, a rememberance of my darkest hour. Do not go there unprepared. If you do then be aware, that terror and maddness dwell in there.

Yes. The next great one will find it.

OMG WBM, that's so super! I can like totally relate to what you are saying! Actually, I gave up on the whole genre some years ago because all I saw when I went looking for gay themed fiction was what I call textporn. Well hell. I already knew how to have sex. That's the EASY part. I'm not sure that I knew what I was looking for in gay fiction but that wasn't enough to hold my interest. In hindsight, my objectives were a search for information- any and all kinds of information about being gay. Relationships, meeting people, how to act- the stuff that everybody of any orientation needs to know. That "information" is easily supplied to heterosexual people by a vast number of things that they would hardly think of as resources: books, movies, songs, poems, art, socialization, etc. To gay people, that "information" seems like a dirty little secret that is hidden and shameful. There are barriers to it like it should be delivered in a plain brown paper bag. "You must be 18." "You must be 21." "No ID, no entry." "If you are a little bitch and wet your pants when scary things offend you, then please leave now." There are others out there that are more than happy to "supply information". Organizations like NARTH, the American Family Association and others supply a vast amount of information about homosexuality. Unfortunately it is all wrong, distorted and the worst kind of kind of hateful propaganda that is imaginable, but their connections to religious organizations gives that information validity to a lot of people. We have to be mindful that there are a lot of closeted kids and adults out there whose only resource for positive information about being gay is the material provided by sites like this one, Nifty, Deweywriter, CRVBOY, etc. Another site worthy of particular mention is the Mail Crew. We can choose to see this medium as a forum to practice our craft but in a wider sense, there is a responsibility associated with it as well. We are the balancing force to decades, even centuries of anti-gay propaganda. That does not mean that we should or would even might want to become the Goebbles of the gay community. All we really have to do is tell the truth about our lives. Our humanity will speak for itself.

Not at all. It was a very different world back then. Those of us that adjusted to the new reality lived.

Codey- I was honored too see the draft of this poem and in it's finished form it is even better. Some art just sits there to be enjoyed like an azalea bush. It requires nothing, demands nothing and it is simply something pretty to please the senses. When that art be it poem, prose or oil prompts us to think differently and even to be better people, then it has crossed an invisable barrier to become something greater. It carries a Devine spark from your heart to the mind of the reader. It becomes important. You've done that with this one my friend. This is an important piece. It doesn't just inspire the reader. It demands that they Get A Clue. I'm not kidding. I want a signed, first edition copy of your coffee table book as soon as it becomes available. I'll get to say, "I knew Codey before he got famous."

Damn kids! Show some respect! What, did you think you invented staying up wasted all night!? You should have been here for the seventies. Cyber-sex my ass... :-D

One tendency that almost everyone has in common is to turn away from things that are unpleasent or difficult to deal with. Many people aren't even conscious of doing this. I can relate to the characters in this story series. As I became an older teenager, my Dad began to retreat further and further into his work until he was gone for months at a time. There's nothing more unpleasent to deal with than a sullen, angry teenager. Nor is there anything more important to do.

That's better writing than half the commercial groups are putting out 3rd eye.

Kiss Yes Rolling Stones Rush (many Times) Foreigner Cheap Trick AC/DC Aerosmith the Police Golden Ear Ring Motley Crew Ozzy Monsters of Rock at Memphis (wish I could remember it, too wasted) Metallica

It is said that brevity is the soul of wit.

He's right you know. It's a great forum. I lurked here for weeks before I posted and now they can't get me to shut up. :smt024

Over the main entrance the words, CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE, and, in a shield, the World State's motto, COMMUNITY, IDENTITY, STABILITY. A Brave New World, Aldous Huxley =============================== You saw many references to Huxley's book. If you haven't read it, you don't have to buy it, just pull it up online. Alpha+ from "Introduction" refurs to the "top of the line" human. There are many references to this work both direct and indirect. Huxley's vision of a genetically engineered utopia is a nightmare. Community, Idenitity, Stability means in pratical terms Conformity, Alienation, Stagnation. Alphas as thinkers, Betas as middle managers, Gammas as factory workers and Deltas to take out the trash: high tech feudalism with designer people. People reduced to mere bits, parts of the machine, disposable and replacable as easily as you might change out a bad alternator or a leaky dishwasher. That's DEHUMANIZATION and it's exactly where we're headed at the speed of technology unless we can find the moral courage to see it and change course as a society. Society is already well on this course. Vision has never been the stength of nations. That is the province of its people and thinkers and we've got work to do. The work of rediscovering our humanity and reclaiming humanism as and ideal.

Dude- Broken is now edited and ready up to chapter 12. 13 is in the editor's inbox and 14 is cooking. As Dewey has no objection, if you want to mirror Broken here at awesomeguys, I would be honored. There is a lot of talent and some very good stuff here. I am writing a short story specifically for awesomedudes as my "try out" in which I experiment with shifting POVs. When it's ready, I'll send it to you and you can let me know if I made the team. -James

A new and innovative program that is both progressive and visionary on the cutting edge of the wild frontiers of education!

Per angry PM: Yes- Suburbian Daddy is an asshole. I was afraid that somebody might see his attitudes and give up on the poem before the end. If you really understand him, he's pathetic and weak. He's afraid. We scare him. He doesn't know how to handle us. He wants to click is heels and go back to Kansas where it's the fifties again and everybody looks like Leave it to Beaver. He's angry and he keeps it inside for the most part. He only let's his poison out in small doses and only for the people that he loves. I'm sorry that it upset you. If you know me at all, you'll know that hurting anybody's feelings is so against my nature I have a hard time doing it even when it's in my best interests. Please reread it and stay with it until you get to the last stanza. You'll understand. I'm going to put a bigot alert on the poem.

Awe man. Not with the puppy dog eyes. That always works on me. "OK." I killed the ignition and set the parking brake. The houses out on this part of Porter's Chapel were ante-bellum. I was very impressed. It was a two story brick house with white columns and trim. Old roses climbed up trellises and wisteria filled the air with a delicious fragrance. As I dislodged from the Z car, a guy my size never simply gets out of a Z car, I asked, "Hey Conner, I'm soaked too. Could I change." Conner said, "Oh sure, no problem." I grabbed my gym bag off the back seat and followed him up to the house. "Conner, this house is amazing." "Thanks. I'll let you help me paint it next time." I laughed as he fiddled with the door lock. "I'm not sure that it's that amazing." The door opened into a beautiful Victorian styled entry hall. "Well, maybe it is after all."

Chapter 12- Collateral Damage is now posted.

I shook my head and laughed. "I'm glad it worked out for you. How far up 12 do we have to go?" Conner replied sullenly, "First right past the Dairy Queen." "OK. I know where we're going." The rain had diminished to a mist. Summer storms here are like that but don't expect it too cool things off. It will just turn steamy. Conner shifted around in his seat. "Jimmy, can I ask you something?" "Sure." "You've got this killer rep. Nobody wants to mess with you. You've fought everybody once or twice. Now you're all let's give peace a chance. What's that about?" I sighed. "Yeah. I've fought a lot. Way too fucking much. Hell, I've got scars on top of scars. It gets in to your head. When I go to sleep at night and dream, do you know what I see?" He shrugged. "I'm fighting. All the time- and I mean all the time. I can't get it out of my head. The only way I can get any decent sleep is to get so stoned I'm unconscious. You know how my Mom wakes we up? She shouts at me from across the room. She's afraid to wake me out of a sound sleep. Dude, I'm just 20 and I'm fucked up like I've been in a war." Conner whispered, "Jesus." "That's what its about. You seem like a nice kid. I'd just want something better for you than that." Uncomfortable silence. Dairy Queen. I downshift to take the turn. Conner said, "Fourth house on the left." I pull up in the driveway but I don't kill the engine. Conner looked at me and asked, "Come on in and have a sandwich." "I don't know. I kinda lost my appetite." He gave me a hurt look and said, "Please?"

ROFLMAO

Once Conner figured out who I was, he was all smiles. I wasn't proud of the incident with Brandon Farmer. Sure, he threw the first punch but he suffered under the mistaken impression that all gay guys were pussies. Truthfully, he was badly outclassed and he learned a hard lesson. I had trained hard in sports for years and had learned how to fight the hard way. Rednecks like Farmer only understood one langauge but I spoke it fluently. There was a price to pay for having the reputation of a badass. All the dumb fuck wannabe's like Farmer wanted to put your head on their wall. I didn't want Conner to think that beating some jerks ass made you a hero. I did it because I had no choice. I did it because it was all I knew. "Conner, I know that Farmer was a jackass and he pushed around a lot of kids but in a way tying up with him made me just as big a jackass as he is." Conner looked shocked, "No way man, Farmer had it coming. I was in eigth grade that year and he was a senior. He stuffed me in a garbage can every time he saw me. It was like a big joke to him but guys like him made me hate school." I didn't want to leave it there. "Conner, the truth is that I lost control. The truth is that I could have taken that fat fuck with one hand tied behind my back. The truth is I got suspended for three days because I let somebody that wasn't really worth it yank my chain. I didn't do anything to be proud of." Conner sat thoughtfully for a moment as we passed the country club. The summer storm was losing some of its fury. As we approached the four way stop sign at highway 12, Conner said, "Let me tell you a different side of it that you might not have thought of. After you thrashed Farmer, he lost his confidence. People lost their fear of him and started standing up to him. He quit fucking with people. I didn't have to walk around school smelling like garbage."

The New People Introduction The Suburbians Rats Racing A Day in Surburbia Suburbian Daddy Suburbian Mommy Killswitch Subdivisions

I love it Graeme, it's a great story. I didn't need a list of characters for NB. I can list them all from memory. I'm not being PUSHY, just ENTHUIASTIC!

The New People are the Suburbians that exist within the cozy, or not so cozy, confines of their subdivisions. Within the context of history, suburbs are a relatively new concept that has evolved within that last couple of hundred years. These "bedroom communities" have become the cradle of our culture. Two great forces are at work within this paradyne: the relentless advance of technology and mankinds self imposed social stagnation. Suburbs encourage and enforce conformity. They are not an easy place to be different. Just try painting your house purple and see how fast some jackass from the homeowners association shows up with a restraining order.

Subdivisions Goths and geeks and nerds and junkies, Jocks and brains and preps and flunkies, In their head and in their class, Cookie cutter identities with a hall pass. Cults and schools with their own rules, Stoners and thugs and plain old fools, Each with their place within the order, Careful to stay within their borders. Where do you go when you don?t fit, Within the lines, within this shit? Do you dare to deviate? Do you dream to be great? What does it mean to upset the order? Dare you step across the borders? To break these stupid unwritten laws, That keep us in their feudal thrall. Break the chains that bind in pain, The greatness that lies within, Do you dare to risk angry derision, By stepping outside your subdivison?

Killswitch Hash, speed, downers and cocaine, All useful for easing the pain, Acid, booze, valium and weed, Helpful for when you feel the need. But what is it that you really want? Does it even have a name? Is it pain or loneliness, Or someone else to blame? Can you even talk about it, That pain inside your head? Can you name the nameless fear, That fills you so with dread? Do you really want an answer? To that which you already know. Be careful, you might be human, A few emotions might even show. Stagger to work and sleep throgh class, Finding solace at the bottom of a glass, When you can't take the pain, Take some more and shut down your brain