Tag: sociopathy

Born This Way

Saturday and my first day officially being on vacation! I feel pretty good this morning. My sleep was most excellent last night, and this morning I am even up before eight! I have a lot to do today, and while it is very daunting, there’s no LSU game today so I may not even wake the television up, let alone put games on. But I feel no stress or anxiety (thank you, not-so-new-anymore medications), and I feel very confident I’ll be able to get this all done by Monday afternoon. Huzzah? Huzzah! I don’t even hate the book, nor am I sick of it–an interesting turn of events, is it not?

We did make it to Costco after I finished working for the day, and ran some other errands. My copies of Double-Crossing Van Dine, an anthology I have a co-editor credit for, also arrived and the book is quite lovely. I’m looking forward to reading it, along with the other anthologies I have a story in that have come out lately. I also cleaned up around here a bit, so it’s not horrible this morning in the apartment. Note to self: if you can do chores on a weeknight, do them. It means less cleaning on the weekend, and that is definitely a plus.

The new Taylor Swift album dropped yesterday, so we listened to it in the car as we ran our errands and I liked it a lot. I saw on-line that there were criticisms of the album from the Swifties and the critics, but..what can I say? I liked it. I need to listen to it again when I can actually focus on listening to it; maybe I can do that on Tuesday once the book is over and done and turned in. But I certainly didn’t think it was terrible, either, or lame or any of the other things I saw on-line. It was inevitable that people would turn on her, I suppose, now that she’s happy and in-love and getting married and super-successful, and MAGA already hated her. Ah, well. She can always lock herself and Travis in their money vault and laugh all the way to the bank.

A new development came to light in the Kyren Lacy case. A former LSU star wide receiver (he was so fun to watch play), he was accused of causing an accident that killed someone in Lafourche Parish–and was charged with multiple counts. The day before his grand jury hearing, he killed himself. The news media was relentless in hounding him, as was the general public. Thing was, he didn’t cause the accident, he was innocent, and the fucking white bitch who blamed him to the cops (it was her fault, of course, may she burn in eternal hell. My guess is she won’t even be charged with anything, because Lafourche fucking parish) who of course told the white woman tears as gospel. I hope his family sues the fuck out of the Lafourche Parish sheriff’s department. “Loss of future income” will be enormous, because he went pro and signed for a shit ton of money.

Yes, racism is alive and well and completely healthy in southeastern Louisiana. Bet the Lafourche sheriffs thought he was “uppity” and “got above himself” and “needed to be put back in his place and know that white people always will matter more.”

Seriously–all you racists so terrified of Black people: if Black people were everything you say they are, they would have justifiably killed us all in our beds long ago.

I suppose my own marginalized status in this country has made me more empathetic and sympathetic to anyone and everyone who is not in the “dominant” culture. It really is staggering to realize how sociopathic so many white people are.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back with a status update tomorrow morning.

New York Groove

Sunday morning where we’ve sprung forward (I hate Daylight Savings Time) and I feel off, like always when this happens. I’ve never cared for the spring part of it, but must admit I do enjoy the “extra” hour in the fall. I did go to bed early last night, and slept well–it apparently rained overnight, which undoubtedly helped with that. Of course, Sparky’s body clock didn’t change, so he wasn’t hungry enough to bother me until it was actually time for me to go ahead and get up, which was nice. (It’s this fall when he’ll annoy me early, isn’t it?) I have some things I need to get done today, which should be easy enough to do. I finished reading The Bell in the Fog yesterday (my thoughts are posted here) and really enjoyed it; and I am going to revisit an old Ian Fleming James Bond novel, Moonraker1 next I think. I may read something new alongside of it, but I haven’t decided which yet. Revisiting the original Fleming Bond novels will also give me something to think and write about on the subject of toxic masculinity and sociopathy. (So many post-war “heroes” defined masculinity so narrowly–and dangerously; Mike Hammer, James Bond…and yes, reading The Bell in the Fog put me in mind of post-war crime fiction.)

I am kind of working on a long essay–I have been since last spring, actually–about gay men and masculinity, and how societal norms and mores about them impact/twist our lives and makes it harder for us to just, I don’t know, be. I just read a great piece on the taboo of the male body that also plays into the paradigm I’m writing about. The societal reticence about the male body, and male nudity, is almost always centered on the groin area; you could depict a male completely nude as long as there was a fig leaf over the genitals. A lot of Renaissance paintings and sculptures at one point had “modesty leaves” placed over make genitals–and why is that? (Don’t even get me started on women…I’d be here for the rest of the year) Because whenever someone sees a limp penis resting on a pair of testicles they go mad with desire and sexual lust? (Although the way websites for gays drool and get “parched” over revealing pictures of influencers, actors, musicians, and other celebrities has always turned my stomach a little bit. I know, I know, but at the same time there’s something a little ‘junior high locker room” about that I find personally distasteful and almost cringe-y. Your mileage might vary and I am only speaking for myself. I enjoy looking at gorgeous men as much as the next gay man or cishet woman; I post one on here with every entry that isn’t about a book, movie or TV show. I like eye candy! There’s nothing wrong with it! I just feel the way the links and emails and so forth are shared, and the language used, is kind of juvenile and pandering and Tiger Beat-esque.)

You see how reading can influence my work? Lev’s got me thinking about writing queer historicals again–not that I was ever not going to write Chlorine, and I am hoping to get that done this summer or fall, finally–but the next book I am writing is Never Kiss a Stranger, which is also kind of a historical, since it is set in New Orleans in the summer of 1994. (An excerpt from it will be published in an upcoming anthology, which is very exciting for me. I also sold an excerpt from Chlorine recently also as a short story, so guess what, Constant Reader? You’ll be able to get a preview of both books soon! How fucking fun is that?) I often think of all the things I want to write–books, essays, short stories–and get overwhelmed because I know I’ll never get to them all before I expire. It doesn’t look like I will ever be able to retire now (fuck you again, MAGA, now and forever and ever, amen), so it really is going to be about managing my energy, being selfish, and being able to continue to write in my free time. It’s also going to make doing research no easier. Sigh. I am starting to resent all the volunteer time I’ve done over the last twenty years or so–not for Saints and Sinners, but pretty much everything else. I used to think I was making a difference, not only in the world but in various writing communities, but the truth is I wasn’t.

I’ve always wanted to make a difference in the world, and the reality is I should have realized that difference I could make would be best served from my writing, not from anything else. I think that comes from a lifetime of never taking myself seriously because no one else ever did. I did learn things about myself, the community, and other people from the volunteering; so that was something gained, and while I hardly consider myself to be a “sage” or even a “community elder” 2, I have been around a long time. I always thought I got started in publishing way too late, but the number of people who published their first novel before forty isn’t that long, actually. But that also means I’ve been doing this now for almost thirty years (I started writing for a queer paper in Minneapolis in 1996, and my how things have changed over the years. I also never really had any desire to be famous; sure, when I was a kid I fantasized about being a movie star or a singer (alas, couldn’t act or sing), but writing was what I always wanted to do, hungered to do, and basically that desire subsumed every other ambition or fantasy. I also never wanted to be a celebrity author, or have the kind of success others have. All I ever wanted was to just write and make a living from that. I don’t need to be rich; I’ve never needed that. I’d prefer to be comfortable, and never have to worry about bills and things.

But the thing with money and success is most people never think they have enough, isn’t it?

Look at Space Nazi, for example. Isn’t he about the right age to be a boy from Brazil?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will chat at you again soon, most likely tomorrow morning.

  1. I saw a meme on-line that pointed out how dated Moonraker was–since it’s about a billionaire who moves to England and gets involved in the government with an ulterior motive… ↩︎
  2. I can’t deny I am old, so therefore it stands to reason I am, in fact, an elder. But I don’t think I’m a sage at all. ↩︎