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At age 13, Lou wrote “I wanna look like what I am but don’t know what someone like me looks like. I mean, when people look at me I want them to think—there’s one of those people…that has their own interpretation of happiness. That’s what I am.”
My problem is that I can’t accept life for what it is…like it is presented to me. I feel there is something deep and wonderful underneath it that no one has found. This is me becoming a human being.
I want to run my hand over his back. I hope saying and wanting this is not wrong. Why should it be?
The other day I was in the kitchen Beau had just woken up. He came wandering into the kitchen with only his pants on, rubbing his eyes said “Mornin babes.” The only thing I could think to say was “You look like shit!” when he was the most beautiful creature in the world right then. His small hard shapely chest…brown from Florida’s sun…and his brown curls streaked with golden blond falling around his face…his pants clinging to his small smooth hips…his squared thin boney shoulders…What a beauty he was…I told him he looked like shit while I touched held him to me. Jerry is always bitching at him
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There aren’t a lot of books that make me feel like i understand in a visceral way how someone’s attraction to men feels.. like the almost suffocating (positive) type of attraction. More writing about men being beautiful please, Go lou
I told them during our conversation that I wanted to dress up in female drag be a queen but I couldn’t since I AM a female…so I’m frustrated.
“Well maybe he’s queer” J said “I don’t know, I haven’t decided yet.”
I don’t feel like I’m gonna be 22 in 6 months, I don’t feel at all past 18…time stopped for me when I turned 18. But 22…shit, a person should be somewhat down by then—but I kinda feel not all together yet…pretty much together but not all. I guess things’ll work out.
I love to blend female male—I think of myself as 2 people finally coming together in peace with each other. Of my other half I sing “Nobody loves me but me adores you!”
Also Tues at the bar some kid asked if I was a “communist lesbian” I said no, I’m a communist transvestite.
He said my ambiguity was one of the few things that made me “interesting.” Afterwards I cried while talking with Charles about it, saying I don’t want to be interesting, I want to be happy.
Like Mary said, yeah, I can believe that Patrick is dead now. But I can’t believe that in 5 or 10 years he’ll still be dead.
Heard a gay therapist on a talk show, explaining how gay men are “searchings” who search all the time, all their lives. That even with a monogamous relationship they search for new ways of defining relationship because there are no role models, as in the het scene. I like the idea of
I thought—we have always been here. I always wondered where we were.
“I am a female-to-male transsexual living as a gay man. AIDS was the last thing I expected—I haven’t had that many contacts. They told me at the gender clinic that I could not live as a gay man, but it looks like I will die as one.”
