Joy


Could it be I found my muse? I was picturing a female mentor type since I have always been a girl's girl. I only liked men for sex, which is how I know being gay is not a choice issue. If it were it would be a no brainer for me. I prefer women in every other way. I guess this can be added to the anecdotal evidence supporting being gay starts at birth. But my muse is a man, a friend of the family. I am inspired by Paul, the Apostle (his new nick name). Now I have to go and learn the New Testament and find out who the heck Paul was in a historical sense. It sounds like it could provide a new thread for the writing. I guess I should be worried about how this writing will make me look in the eyes of strangers. Or even worse, how will I look in the eyes of the people who I know and who I least want to see this. I cannot choose who will read these words so if I insist on living by the sword then I guess I must risk dieing of humiliation and exposure by the sword. Because we have all learned Words are just Swords with an S in the front of them. Why have I chosen Paul as my muse? It is his Fearlessness that is inspiring me to come out of the closet. No, I am not gay. I have already established that my preference is for men in that one area. The closet I am exiting actually has a revolving door. It is admitting I want to be a writer. I am a writer and even more importantly: I am a MEDIOCRE writer! There I said it. I don't care if anyone thinks I stink. I still get to write. I get to expose myself to friends and enemies alike (you know who you are) and know the exposure will not kill me. I doubt it will make me stronger. So I will consider this an experiment of sorts to see exactly what the effects will be.

As noted in my previous entry, Paul asked me what brings me joy more than anything else.

My reply:

What brings me joy? I have been trying to figure that out for 48 years. At first it was a bottle of milk and a clean diaper. Then it was spending time with my dad. Then my dad died. Then it was riding my bike around the neighborhood. Then I found cigarettes. Then I found pot. Then I found alcohol. Then I found sex, and then I found more alcohol. Then I found Depression and endless hours of telelvion. Then I found a VCR and video tapes so I could watch movies all by myself in my living room while my mother was alone in her bedroom in the apartment we shared in the building she owned. We were alone together a lot. Okay, so the joy certainly disappeared somewhere in all that. I guess I must search for what brings me joy.

By the way, what is joy???