I think I may be insane. FUCK!

Yep, I think it has finally happened. I used to think this kind of thing was funny. My aunt would run around the house ass out naked thinking that demons were running after her and my entire family would laugh and joke about it in secret. I was definitely one of them. Mocking her pain behind her back. I guess I deserve this.

It started a couple of weeks ago. I started to hear voices on the other side of my wall telling me they were going to kill me, I almost jumped out of the window in fear (My window is three floors up just to let you know.). At the time I thought nothing of it, the hallucinations were drug induced, that is until now.

It started as low, faint voices. Things that I could barely hear but were still curious. I began attempts to perceive what I was hearing and pretty soon the voices got louder. Soon I started making out what they were saying. The strange thing is, the voices were that of my inner voice, my conscious had actually manifested itself. This makes it even worse, because now I don't know if I am having delusions based on my constantly self denigrating psyche, or if these are actually real.

FUCK.

The Luck of the Normal

I really don't like being called a faggot when my sexuality is no one elses business but my own. Most of the time it happens when I am not even talking or acknowledging the person who said it. I don't like feeling like less of a man. I really don't like feeling like an abomination. I hate feeling like a bitch when I cry after someone that I never knew, someone that I wasn't even looking at, someone that I will never know actually exists other than a voice that I heard, insulted me. I hate this perpetual cycle of self hate that I constantly go through that not only manifests itself mentally, but also physically.

I swear sometimes I just want to get a gun and shoot them all. I am normal, this is my luck.

P.S. I hate you too.

The Definition Of Reclusiveness

I remember a place in the space time continuum where I absolutely loved going outside. I loved the way the sun beat warm against my cheeks. The breeze whipping my untucked shirt tail to and fro. The people on the side of the street waving hello as they walked past and I returning their sentiments. That time was long ago, that feeling has died.

I was recently invited to a birthday party at a cafe in the city and I accepted the offer, I did not go. This morning I was invited to go and have breakfast at the same place by another person, again I declined. Why do you ask? Because in my heart I do not like San Francisco. I don't like being judged constantly on what I look like, or what I like and what I don't like. I am used to a place where people mind their own business and don't sit on the sidewalk and crack on people as they walk by.

Don't get me wrong, there are places in the city where people do mind their own business. Sadly the Castro is not one of them. The Castro district is an oversexed oversized cruiser spot with way too many bitchy fags. When I came to this city I was looking for a brotherhood. A place where I would finally belong simply because of the fact that I was a gay man. I didn't find that place. What I found was a crystal meth soaked meat market that completely forgot that most of America hates us and that we need to band together and love each other.I'm not asking you to fuck me. I own a computer, if I get that horny then I will use the internet for what it was invented for, porn and cruising. I would just like a place full of the love that San Francisco itself supposedly once stood for. Sadly though, I think that's too much to ask for.

The Sound of Music

Every once in a while you hear something that changes the game for you completely. You could be a christian who has just caught wind that scientist have found a way to make the desert sands fertile by waterproofing them. You could have heard that your best friend has a crush on you after you have secretly loved him/her for years. Or you could be a man who is lost but has somehow found a tiny shimmer of light in the milky smooth ballad of a lovely London native. I would be the latter.

What siren song could have moved me so? What vocal nepenthe could have soothed my heart so? Why it was none other than the lovely Chasing Pavements by Adele. Until about three hours ago I had only heard of this voluptuous enchantress whilst watching an episode of Ugly Betty. But now I curse myself for not searching the doldrums for her sooner.

That is all, I just felt like rambling on about this.

Mr. Self Destruct

I have a problem. It's more like a cancer in my psyche. I don't know how to fix it.

I am severely overweight and agoraphobic and it is pathetic. I was just outside throwing away some trash, which was actually the remnants of several days worth of junk food that had piled up. That's right, pure food trash. Anyway, as I approached the trash room of my building, I noticed this guy who lives here as well. I don't know his name, I don't know anything about him other than the fact that he scares the shit out of me. This guy is beyond morbidly obese. It is a miracle that he is still walking. I am so afraid that I may one day turn into that. I am not cool with that at all.

I am lazy and sluggish and it is getting on my nerves. I say that I am agoraphobic, but that is a lie. I am just too fucking ashamed of being too big to be weighed on one of those scales that you buy to put in your restrooms. I have to use the scales at the gym. I cannot keep on doing this to myself. It's even kind of painful for me to write this down. In the sadness of my life for some reason I allowed myself to become this thing. This horrible, sad sack of a man. This cycle of self sabotage has got to somehow stop before I have reached the point of no return.

Pornography Fabulosity

OK, this might hit a soft spot with some people. So I would like to say that for those of you who do not agree with what I am saying, I don't knock what you like. I am just telling my story and the fact that I don't really like this kind of thing.

So I was looking over on demand dvd's from Xtube when I came across this one that read "Fabulous Forties". Really guys? Why do we use that word? Why must we be "Fabulous". That word to me just seems like something that the straight media imposed on us to make us funny to them. Screw being funny. Actually, fuck being funny. Now I love being funny, especially to straight people. And I do understand that that is one of the easiest ways to be accepted by a group of homophobics. They already think you are weird and crazy, so why not just turn that nervousness that they feel into laughter. But that hideous word has permeated into our culture so much that it is in our pornography?

Now I cannot speak for anyone other than myself, but I don't think that any other word is less erotic to me than fabulous. It actually sounds a little homophobic to me. Hold on a second, there is another word that is less erotic, Queen. Now I am sure that it was all good in the seventies. What with the Stonewall riots, the actual band "Queen" rocking the charts, and the uber queen of all time Sir. Elton. But this is 2009. We have come a hell of a long way despite the fact that we have miles yet to travel. I don't feel like having the stigma of being a queen held above my head. The word queen is defined as a FEMALE sovereign or monarch. I am a MALE sovereign or monarch. And when or if I am lucky enough to have someone rule alongside me, I want another king not a queen.

Gay men of the world, we are MEN. Why do we keep letting people deny us our penises and high levels of testosterone. I submit to you that we must scream from the highest rafters in every voice we have, high pitched, deep baritone or whatever, I AM A MAN AND I REFUSE TO BE ACKNOWLEDGE IN ANY OTHER WAY!

Now again I say that I am not knocking any other gay mans choice to be called whatever they would like to be called. But I ask you, are you saying that you are a queen because you are a queen, or are you just trying to perpetuate a stereotype in order to feel better in a society that dislikes you. If you truly know that you are a candidate for that first statement, then wave your queen flag high and grab your cock at the world smiling. But if you are contestant number two, FUCK THAT SHIT! I apologize for my strong language, but the truth is that if they don't like you the best thing to do is to just be who you are and tell them to go eat a pussy. I say that we need to bring an entirely new revolution to the table. We are gay, we are men, stop trying to feminize those of us who aren't. I may be feeling fabulous, but I am not fabulous. I am awesome, for now and forever more.

The It's It of revelation

So one of my friends came over on sunday with a gift for me, an It's It. Now I am not sure, but I think they are only sold in the Bay Area and nowhere else. Irregardless, I have never had one before. I have seen them before though. Up until this point I always thought that they were just glorified Klondike bars, which I hate. But these things are so much more. Now an It's It consists of an ice cream sandwich made of vanilla ice cream between two oatmeal cookies and covered in chocolate. HEAVEN.

As I bit into it for the first time I was brought into a state of perpetual bliss that actually innduced 7 whole minutes of dancing. Actually it was the treat mixed with the new Ciara album (which slaps something wicked). While dancing I realized exactly how much I needed to be dancing. To quote Karen of Mean Girls, my boobs can predict the weather. Point being...MEN SHOULDN'T HAVE BOOBS! So I resolved to renewing my membership to 24 Hour Fitness. I like this gym because I can go in the middle of the night when no one else is there and excercise in peace.

So after about 20 minutes of arguing about my credit card (long story), my transaction was approved and the sky was now the limit. My goal is to just get used to going to the gym everyday to at least run on the eliptical. I deduce that all of that good weight loss stuff will just fall right in if I just create some good gym habits. But alas, I am still slightly averse to the gym that I go to though. Don't get me wrong, I don't let that hinder me from going (that I blame on lack of funds to pay the membership bill). But I find the gym daunting for several reasons. One of which being the fact that I am 23 years old, which means that I am constantly randy for no reason at all. When I lived in Alabama I knew my place. I dared not even glance at a hot guy in the gym. But now I live in San Fran. Not only that but I go to a very gay gym, so when I am trying my best not to look, I just feel like a loser. And then there is the possibiity that I actually am following proper gym etiquette by keeping my eyes to myself, which only proves to further my frustration and angst.

Now I am not saying that I want to go into the showers and screw someone. I have always been a lets get to know each other kind of person. On top of that, I don't really do well with talking to new people anyway. But some of these people are just GORGEOUS and I don't know how to control the urge to get lost in every bead of sweat rolling down their bodies as they hit the thirty minute mark on the treadmill in front of me. Only time will tell I guess. Either way, learning something new is always different. But why do the romans here have to be so different from everything that I am used to? I just want to do what they do and they are making it impossible to figure out what that is!

First blog ever

I created this blog because I am a 23 year old gay black guy from Alabama. To some people that first sentence may create a seriously profound image in their minds eye. To others, they could care less. Maybe they have lived the wonderful and privileged life of a straight person. Maybe they have lived as one of those people who are freakishly gorgeous and have awesome parents who have always supported them and have always been awesome with people. I am unfortunately neither of those people and you may cordially go to hell for your advantageous lives (that was a joke, please don't be offended). But because of the fact that I haven't had the ideal life that some have, I have developed some problems with myself, and more precisely my sexuality. So I guess I am writing not only to help myself get the hell over this, but also to educate people of the real issue that is facing me and people like myself.

I guess I should start this off by actually explain the Limony Snicket freak show that has been my life up until this point. I first realized that I was attracted to men when I was 4 years old. I know it sounds weird but in my defense I lived in a very sexually stimulated environment. My mother was (and still is) hopelessly addicted to crack cocaine. My biological father was her dealer. At the age of three I moved from Pensacola Florida with my mom to a beautiful SHITHOLE in the middle of ass crack and rim job known as Carrollton Alabama. I am not sure of the details but I have been told that my mother and father had gotten into a fight and my father hit her in the head with a hammer while I was in her arms.

Anyway, my mother finally figured that she had found love in a man named Cedric Quinton Randolph. They were married and I now had a new, seemingly wholesome and loving family. Cedric was the minister of Providence Baptist Church. What town this church was in I don't remember, nor do I care to.

Now I know that you are probably thinking why the hell you need to know about all of this. Maybe you are thinking that I need to stop rambling on about nothing and just get to the point already, but I assure you that this all ties into things that you need to know.

So like I said, I knew I was gay when I was four. I even knew that it was called being gay, and whats more, that the actual term was being a homosexual. My family was horribly christian, and in saying that I am not saying that christians are horrible, I am just saying that my family is on the horrible and overzealous end of the spectrum. Along with the knowledge of the fact that I was gay I also developed a serious curiosity about sex. I heard my mother and stepfather all the time. My mom is quite vocal during sex and could care less who hears her. So I started seeking out people with which to explore these feelings with. Somehow I chose Cedric, my stepfather. Now I don't know what possessed me to make this decision. Any child, no matter how messed up they are, would probably have the common sense to know better than to advance sexually upon their stepfather, who also just happened to be angry and abusive, and was a FIRE AND BRIMSTONE SOUTHERN BAPTIST PREACHER. Well apparently I had a great sixth sense for this kind of thing because it worked. After hungrily staring down his crotch during the morning rerun of Major Dad, I made it with my daddy. I was six years old.

After that I never connected with people anymore. I didn't want to have anything to do with anyone except books, Cedric, and my mother. I have never loved anyone more than I loved her then. I knew that she was a crackhead. I had overheard my grandmother and other relatives talking about her on several different occasions. But she was my mother. She would encourage me when I was down, run into my room when I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming because I had a nightmare from watching Nightmare on Elm Street or Childs Play. But this would all soon disintegrate. My aunt caught my stepfather and I having sex and told my grandmother. We were soon embroiled in a court battle over my custody and Cedrics punishment.

Cedric had his own plans though. On April 21, 2009, Cedric committed suicide in our garage. Soon afterward my mother regained custody of me, but she never looked at me the same again. Where she had once made a point of holding me for hours, she now barely even looked at me anymore. She started drinking more and she was almost constantly high. I tried to get her attention but she would never receive me. At the age of nine, I finally resorted to sneaking around and just looking at her, longing for her to love me again.

I soon lost the ability to care about anything. I was completely numb most of the time. I started to enjoy things like fire and dead animals that I found in the woods. but even here I still had a tiny sliver of hope, my cousins Mark and Elgin. They were the last people I had in the world. We would run in the woods all day and play in this old barn house in the middle of the woods. Those woods were my place to escape from everything. There I was hidden from the world. Pain didn't exist there. There was only freedom. Freedom from my mother, freedom from my slipping grades that my teachers had started harping on me about, and because of Mark and Elgin, freedom from feeling like a freak. Never mind that EVERYONE in our small town knew that I had been molested by Cedric. Or that kids at school that I didn't even know would come up and ask me questions about it. Not even the fact that all the boys in school avoided me and called me nasty mattered. We ran through the woods and played and climbed trees like the land belonged to us.

But lo and behold, fate had one more sucker punch for me. My mother and my uncle (Mark and Elgins grandfather) started to argue over Cedric's estate. He owned some land and the house that he and the rest of his siblings had all grown up in. Now they wanted it all back. For a while our trio stayed under the radar. Then one day someone finally had the bright idea that we shouldn't play with each other anymore. I went over to their house to ask if they could come out and play and was told no. I went home thinking nothing of it. Maybe they were in trouble, maybe they weren't even home. But more and more I kept getting turned down until finally my mother told me that I shouldn't play with them anymore. The last real memory I have of Mark and Elgin were when my mom and I were in the garage getting ready to go to my grandmothers house. Our garage opened up right across from my uncles front yard. Somehow an argument had started between he and my mother. I didn't listen to them, I just stared at the last two people I have ever connected with until I was told to get into the car.

Pretty soon my mom started getting way bad with the crack. She stopped paying the gas bill and cooked in a crock pot or the microwave. Suddenly the truck disappeared. She claimed it had been stolen but I didn't even need to hear my grandmother say that was bullshit to know the truth. The moment the truck disappeared she had somehow acquired a beat up old Toyota. A nine year old should never have a working knowledge of the truck, car, crack bartering system. I was finally taken in by my grandmother and on to my Aunt. I started to cry uncontrollably at the weirdest times for no reason at all. I once shaved off all the skin of my upper arm in an attempt to get my mother to look at me.

My aunt had finally had enough. She admitted me for therapy at an outpatient place called Indian Rivers. When that didn't work I went to The Catalyst Center in Tuscaloosa. They finally admitted me into U.A.B. hospital for a thirty day evaluation that turned into seven straight years of hospitalization.

By the time I turned thirteen I had another problem on my hands, actual horniness. Up until that point sex was just a game to me, a funny little curiosity sweetened by the forbidden fruit angle. Now it was a primal urge. I had never masturbated. I had never had my penis stimulated or even touched for that matter. I now finally understood what all the fuss was about. I started to explore these new feelings with the only people I could, the other patients in the hospitals. The way I was looking at the world was now changing. I started reading a lot and I only talked to the people who were in the places I was being kept who were their for depression. They were the most normal, and I was one of them. In a strange way I had begun to belong.

Sooner or later though, I was caught having sex. My parents didn't like this at all. I was told that I was going to be put into another facility that would help me deal with the sexual problems that I was having. This made absolutely no sense to me. Two of my cousins were the fathers of a combined three children and they were only nineteen. They still lived with their mothers and didn't even attempt to get a job save for the one with two kids and he sold crack (my mother was one of his loyal customers). I knew exactly why I was going to the place I was going. I could see it in their faces and hear it in their voices as they told me. I could feel it in the way my aunt would talk to me up close but my boy cousins would keep distance from me. I was gay and I was nasty, therefore I needed to be fixed so that I would not become what Cedric was as they told me. It couldn't be a pedophile, I only went for people who were older than I was.

I thought that I would only be going to another hospital, I was in for the sickest surprise I have ever had. The place I was sent to was called Three Springs, it was in Courtland Alabama, and it was a sex offender facility. When I had my intake I was assured that I was not a sex offender but that I would be inside with other sex offenders. I sat there in quiet outrage. I could handle being a faggot, I even sometimes liked to be called one when I was giving head, but nothing this nasty. My view of sex has not been the same since. Seeing that I was in a facility chock full of sexual deviants, many of whom weren't sexual deviants at all but in fact were in the exact same position that I was in, I saught out to repay my gaurdians in the best way I saw fit. I fucked everyone I could get my hands on, within reason of course. As long as you were older than I was and said yes, I would at the very least blow you off. It was my one man sexual revelution. I forrmed a small clique consisting of three other people. two of them were in my situation. Our only crime was being southern cocksuckers. The other one was a pedophile that one of the other guys in the clique had fallen in love with. It disgusted me but the guy had a nice personality which made it both easier and worse. Sometimes I would just watch him interact with other people and wonder if he had evolved his golden tongue from years of eading a double life of porking little kids.

Then one day I saw his penis. It was one of the most glorious things I have ever set eyes upon. I soon obtained my first boyfreind. I knew that it was pathetic and loathsome, but I was then and am now a size queen. I started blowing wang when I was six, I'm sorry but I enjoy things that fill my mouth and this thing brought tears to my eyes.

About a year progressed and I had not done any of the things that I was required to do to graduate the program. Why did I need to? I wasn't a fucking chimo, I didn't need to do anything that I didn't want to, and therefore I didn't. I got into a fight and was finally sent to court. The judge ordered that I go home until another placement was set up for me. It was the first time in six years that I had been in the outside world. My sisters had grown from toddlers to wide eyed adolescents. I found a love for taking baths in tubs and I slept all day in my mothers king sized bed. My mom had been clean from drugs and alcohol and I have never been more proud of another human in my life. I actually began to appreciate the fact that i had been locked away in those places because now everyday was like being in a theme park. I cooked with my mother and took care of Cedrina and Melanie.

For three glorious months I lived like a little prince. I ate real food and not that cafeteria shit that I had been sustaining myself on for years. I went outside whenever I pleased and began to appreciate fresh air like I had never thought possible. I was finaly alive again. Then, as quickly as it began, it was taken away. I was put into yet another sex offender facility for being gay. This time though, I didn't care. I had tasted freedom, and I was gluttonous for it. I tried my best to behave, but sooner or later I became attracted to the boys. I was so angry, it was so unfair. I should be able to be with them. I started to get depressed again, and then I started having sex again.

But something started to happen this time, I started drinking their kool aid. I criminalized my sexuality. I told myself that my sex drive wasn't normal. I finally went off the deep end, I started reading the bible. I studied it like a monk. I prayed and asked god to destroy the demon inside me causing me to think in this way. But it was to no avail. It seemed like the more I prayed, the more I was attracted to men. I would shut my eyes tight and try to take the attraction away from the thought of men. My anger got worse and so I took it out on the one place that was the best outlet, the faces of the straight boys around me. Up until then I had never really won a fight. I was always the one who ran away. Now I made people fear me and I was becoming addicted to it. The very people who were making fun of me at one time now listened to me. I realized that I had never actually known my own strength. Now the nerd was the bully.

I turned eighteen and and got into a fight with this guy who I was actually only attracted to and the facility had seen enough. I was arrested and finally out of the system for good, only to see the real world, and this shit tends to suck sometimes.