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Lurking in . . .
"From the darkness, sleeping light." Formerly luminus dormiens. Lux pacis, light of peace.
Quote: "Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us." --Bill Watterson, cartoonist, Calvin and Hobbes
Sojourning in L.A.
Part 1 of 3
Starting on Sunday at 10 a.m., June 15th, my mom and I began the long journey alone to Los Angeles. The trip was our first without Dad, who was usually the driver and the chaffeur. He opted out of the trip because he lived in L.A. before and didn't like the smog and hazy atmosphere. For five hours we shared the task of driving to L.A. Today, we shared another five hours to return home at 9:35 p.m.
The introductory paragraph is intended as a backgrounding to the hilarity, humiliation, and nerve-racking days at L.A. It's so that you won't feel so thrusted unprepared into what happened.
While we were still in L.A. today, we were trying to find Hollywood Blvd . . .
[to be continued at a more opportune time, i spent an hour typing a letter to a friend]
. . . for the Walk of Fame. And I had the serendipity to take my mom smack-dab in the middle of the gayest street of West Hollywood. Who'da thunk it? I have not been so embarrased, humiliated, shamed, stifled in silence, beet-redded, and discomforted in my life. It wasn't something I intended for my mom to be exposed at all. I am just not ready for my mom to know full well (even though I came out to her once before and she engaged in this whole argument where at the end she believed she convinced me that I was not gay but just a Johnny-come-lately to the world of heterosexuality). Guess what, Mom? I'm a homo! Of course, I would say this only on the beloved Internet, but in real life, I am still prudish, timid, and intensely pedantic.
But I digress . . .
So, having down this misdeed, I just want to repent most severely, crying in pain and for forgiveness from the Almighty who sits on the throne of Heaven, who guides the eye during the day from dawn to dusk, who does many miracles. What, this is most strange! I am not even Catholic, and barely Protestant. I did go to Chinese Christian School, but who'd say I learned a lot? I transferred from there by fifth grade. And yet, I want to burn in delicious fire, purge my memory away; but interpersonal communication class has taught me, and I take it at heart, all forms of communication, whether verbal or nonverbal, intended or unintended, are irreversible . . . and undeniably dangerous.
So perhaps, "serendipity" was an inappropriate word for me to use. I have a knack for leading my mom into my personal hell. I supposed in some ways that we are intangibly connected because I was born in her womb, nursed, and raised for oh-so-many years. It's the thought that I cannot ever please my mother's eyes, where instead of an apple, she received an eggplant. It's the thought that if I marry a poor white trash of a girl, it's much, much, better than bringing home a rich, preppy, and successful boy.
I regret that all these life experiences are scarring me to make my sexuality that oft-touched, most intense, dark, and deep brooding of all my prose and poetry. I would like that what I write would offer a more eclectic variety of topics that critics will have such hard times picking a topic on which to do a treatise, that they would point more in awe of my knowledge of literature, arts, history, natural science, and social science, and much, much more. Instead of the sex, sex, sex, sex, gay sex, anal sex, oral sex, gay love, everything gay, anal, man on man, man on man on man . . . bondage! torture! S&M! flamboyancy of thoughts, language, and action repetition of thoughts unoriginal though appropriate, old, stock and egotistical. I don't want to become those dancing faries who make references to some cinematic figures that nobody heard of.
Who knew that Santa Monica Blvd. was such a disgusting place, full of rainbow flags and posters about HIV and AIDS and full of gays and lesbians, fags and dykes, queers and transexuals? So embarrassed and ashamed was I, so humiliated to the deepest extreme. I know someone on the Internet has posted about going through the same experience as I have, but as long as I don't know them, I stand alone.
To Be Continued
A Preview of Part 2 of 3: Everything seems to be reaching out for me to come out to my parents and my friends. I mean, this weekend is gay pride parade for S.F., meaning that all those rainbow flags are hanging out there on Market Street but nobody is talking about them. When I googled on the Internet with my mom looking on, the search brought up some links to gay resource websites. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn . . . Just let me go down to hell, oh Lord! I pray that I do what you have destined for me to do, which is to love, give love, and pray for ends to all sufferings. I am a non-believer, but what do you risk by praying? I am superstitious, but when does logic govern the mind?
--My goal is to use all the words in the English lexicon.--