NEW BLOG ... *facepalm*

           It's been a very long time since I have written on my page and this election countdown seems the perfect time if any. These past seven years of being in the halls of Academia I've come to understand the much over used term millennial, and "snowflake", and I truly understand both sides in the hate towards this terminology. It seems the higher the income these individuals had the "liberal guilt" seemed to push them forward in a way that they felt they had walked in the shoes of every marginalized community, and they knew how they could help or as I would say "PLAY GOD".

            My education came with a price and that was the disdain of today's so- called "victim". We know what is happening out there and know how our system is controlling the lives of our marginalized communities by its puritanical WASP beliefs that are hundreds of years outdated, and abused by the white man. These oppressions are done mostly out of fear that they know their days are numbered, and well mostly out of truly racist views. However through these past seven years I have watched as some want to tag their own personal struggles and tack it onto hundreds of years of true suppression and make it all about them. It is sad when we see true crimes being perpetrated by white men against unarmed men and women of color on a daily basis and yet I have seen privileged individuals jump the line and throw themselves out there as victims to some sort of injustice whether by race, sexuality, etc...

             Hate as reared its ugly head over the past 16 years since the black man entered the White House. We hate that our candidate was not progressive enough, yet we forget very conveniently how Obama was stonewalled by a congress that would seek to destroy his legacy and his legitimacy. The left wants IMMEDIATE CHANGE over any form of progression. Change is possible, but not with progression no matter how slow or how long it takes, we will never in our lifetime see 100% change overnight. We sit and become pundits in a society that is chaotic,  and feel we know what our fellow man wants, and we forget so mater of factly that we have not walked in the shoes of individuals we wish to help, change, absolve, destroy, and sadly cancel and wipe from textbooks, museums, film libraries, etc...  We have gone so far to our left we stand side by side with the right when it comes to censoring, judging and so on.

             We have a chance to take our history no mater how bleak, oppressive, racist, and puritanical and teach of our mistakes, our sins, our victims and to show the world and our younger generations where we went wrong. We need to show how we to sit at the table and listen to those "We Want To Play God For" and hear their stories with open minds and a non judgmental understanding of their needs and not what we think they need. This is about the "True Victim" of a white puritanical system that has held down those men and women after ripping them from the teat of their homelands for the benefiting of our country's growth.

             So the left still look at the world through their Chloe sunglasses and behind the wheels of their parents Mercedes and feel because they have left the ivory tower and have moved into the neighborhoods that are just shy of becoming the next area in the city to be gentrified ... "but its okay because you had lived there prior to gentrification". Your days at grass root agencies are trying but your going to be okay once you are at the Cape or in St Barts with your "kind", and once the need for playing God subsides you will get that private practice and move from the city to the rolling hills of suburbia, you will still donate to those causes you feel warrant your check, and you will participate in demonstrations that fuel that youthful fervor of your school days, but your days of playing God will be over. 

              So the disdain from school has created this cynical and God fearing man whom knows he could never play God like you, and truth be told God would never leave those individuals for the chance at a glossy shingle in a lily white practice, no he would stay among those and offer the best services and make sure they got the best care that all individuals deserve no matter what society says.

              

Disarray, Befuddled, and Just Plain Scared

           Since 11/08 I have been walking around in a kind of semi-conscious state of fear, anger, and upmost revile for what this country has turned into. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring to this country except that it will be met with protests on both sides and utter confusion by the media. I used to look at some of our politicians with some of the upmost respect, and now they have become some titmouse hiding from the rabid calico cat. These past months social media along with classroom conversations, and social gatherings have all been met with a disarray of expletive's that would make a porn star blush, all these expletives stemming from the US election in November. It has been the first week of this man with no names presidency and already we are at a boiling point unlike no other in my 50 years. The amount of protesting done within the past week has seen millions across the globe react to his policies in such an affirming way, in my opinion that all may not be lost.
           
           The Democrats forgot about the fight for everyone and lost the election to this person who seems to want to rule in a despotate fashion to make Putin proud. With his caricature hair and flushed face we are in a time like no other, yet we have men and women that have such a bloodlust of power stand by the sidelines with looks of total glee as the mad hatter fiddles with the pawns and plays to the press, while the wolf is idling by and having the mad hatter appoint him to a position with incredible powers. I watch in total horror as this unfolds and red America has no comprehension of what they have done.

             People I know who voted for him believe good will come out of all of this, and I know how much they loathed the black man in the White House. Its time when I see racism in an all new perspective and it is like Gideon's trumpet on the battlefield as I see friendly and loving faces in a whole new light.  These past months I have hid from a world of hate and race baiting that I have forgotten about school, and my plans for grad school. I have become disillusioned of a future I have planned for myself in giving back to a world that gave me a second chance. I have to snap out of this because now is the time that I should be fighting for children whom have no say, or a refugee who has fought for two years to get to this country legally and has no home to go back to.
 
             Its hard seeing a country that was once a democracy of such strength turn to a wilting sea of grain that is festered with maggots and pustules. We are in a time when so called Patriotic Americans are being sold a bill of goods with a stamp of Russian made on its back. I laugh at these men and women who have no idea that they are the minority and in about 20 years or less will expect A+ quality of life from the very men and women they are refusing to let into this once beautiful land.
             

The Haunting of Addiction

          It sits like the ugliest of gargoyles on the edifice of Notre Dame, but upon all addicts shoulders. It lies in wait of the opportunity to whisper defeatism's into the ear of the addict. Your success is nothing to this creature ,as it knows the inner weakness's of the addict and will whisper with its fetid breath the promise of the first high. The addict knows the first high was lost so long ago and the next high only begins at the deep bottom one has climbed out of bravely and triumphantly. It is only a matter of time when one will fall if the foundation is not set and the addict strong. The struggle is a fierce daily routine as we watch as the fallen succumb to the gargoyle's deathly grip and the young,old,male and female are placed in the grave covered by the tears of those left behind to wonder what if...
           Words seem to calm with the serene prayer we so truly believe but its the questions we ask ourselves that the gargoyle has delivered, are we weak, are we the filth we left far behind,  are we truly meant to be that husk of a soul that haunts are dreams. Will we be one covered by our loved ones tears.
            We are strong if we just believe. We are the survivors of pain not imagined by the non addict, and we will recover from that urge if we can just believe in ourselves and live in the now and forget the past, and accept the present. We will overcome.

What I wanted...What I lost...What I was...Who I am...

         I was the little kid whom laughed at those fairytale, technicolor wonders of Disney on a rainy afternoon at the Waverly with his bag of penny candy from Dietz's and a Coke in a flimsy wax cup. I dreamed of the happy endings while trouble brewed in the next room...alcohol turned father into the monster whom I feared. I always wanted to be wanted in a way not shown...I slept with a stuffed animal whom rests to this day in my closet , waiting like the velveteen rabbit for the one last hug before it slumbers for real. I wanted that life that seemed every house had except mine...I wanted the television sitcom family of Brady and instead was met with the bitter reality that all is not sitcom gold. I wanted to be liked so I went back to a strangers house and lost something as pure as an infant's  first grip to a Mother's welcoming teet.
         What I lost was the chance to be a child and grow into a teen , I lost the wonders of a world as it grew closer to the next century. I lost a Mother's trust as I became distant and pained and lashed out at a sister whom I will never be as close as I wanted. I lost the chance to hang with the school gang as I was among a different crowd that drained my spirit as I learned to live by the rules of the street and the harsh realities of life and its vicious pecking order ...I lost the chance of first love and the butterflies that came with that first kiss, instead I have the smell of stale beer and homemade wine in my mind that will never fade as that of the memory of that sharp pain as I felt the arm on the nape of the neck as it held me down and made me his whore.
          What I was , was that lost little boy in a young mans body who craved the touch of others to feel alive in a world that was so cruel to this boy. I was the piece of meat that you wanted me to be as I would lay down with the men who feed off youth as a way to keep young themselves and cast aside as someone younger arrived whom could fulfill their fancy. I was the scorned young man who found the taste of alcohol and the highs of drugs to help build the walls of rage that would hold more than those of Jericho...I was a man whom broached middle age with the bitterness of an ancient character of mythology , I became the drunk at the end of the bar who would rather lay with the scum tossed off by others to feel less than...I was one afraid of pain otherwise I would of been six feet below so long ago. I was a ghost whom walked among the living and lived off others tales and dreamt of those Disney days in the darkness of the Waverly with his sisters hand in his and the warmth he felt. I was the shadow in the mirror whom wanted to escape and live again.
         Who I am is a survivor that only knows disappointment as his norm and whom now must revel in his success as a student whom yearns to be the bard of this sordid journey and teach the struggling of the mistakes that could be made and joys of beating the odds that where stacked against me for so long...to help those avoid the same pratfalls the could keep many from getting back to their feet , I could give them that nudge that I wish I had...Who I am is a man I like to call Michael.
         

WISCONSIN...BEGINNING of a SOCIAL DOWNWARD SPIRAL ...PT 2....

        8th grade was the beginning of the delinquency that drove the wedge between my Mother and I. I think if it wasn't for that damn teacher Mr. K and me leaving school that day...well what would it have been like growing up. Instead I was on a 25 year descent into bodily degradation and addiction that would cause the Mother and Son relationship to disintegrate , and complete nuclear destruction of the little girl whom was my shadow for the first 4 years of her life, my sister. It all started with the discovery of what the gay community calls the tea room...I am not talking of the smart little dinning areas in a posh hotel with the likes of Lady Crawley and the Countess Dowager sipping India's finest teas while nibbling on clotted cream and scones discussing the mores of British society...No I am talking the name given to mens rooms where most gay men went to find that quick encounter either face to face or thru the infamous glory hole . From my introduction of these places in the Department stores and rail terminals of Philadelphia and now to the small town of Appleton ; I was fucked as far as developing into healthy individual when it came to sex. From the violent assault on me as an 11 year old trying to understand his physical feelings to now the raw and very carnal actions here in the small town of Appleton.
        My popularity seemed to rise after a few times I had gone to the local Roller skating rink on Friday nights usually with some half filled bottle of Peach schnapps or  Blueberry brandy ( never understood the fascination of Appleton's teens with these sugary liquors) and a joint or two from Matt...how ever as my exploits into the Gimbel's tea room I started to meet other men and it was here I met my first benefactor...Gordon Fowler, he owned Appleton Supply and all I know is he paid for everything...we met and went to his office and I saw his photos on his desk he had a family...about 4 kids and I think they where all older than me...I told him I was just 16 and that was that , afterwards he drove back into town and we went to this apartment complex above a luggage store ( where the Appleton Hotel(?) would be put up a few years later) and it was three apartments and the Wisconsin equivalent to Barbary Lane....Steve and Paul lived in Apartment 1,  Paul was my introduction to men with long hair, I was transfixed by his locks and his pot was top drawer, Steve was a gawky and nerdy looking sweetheart with the biggest heart of gold and he introduced to me Lemmons ( think Wolf of Wall Street and Jonah & Leo)...the next apartment was Dorrie the buildings Fag Hag ( a term I would soon learn to loathe) and her boyfriend whom was gayer than the entire Castro District...and finally Eugene Andersen a man of about 45 and the gay community's problem drunk and the specter of a future I feared and in a small bedroom to the side of Geno's ( Eugene) the dreaded Tommie Morris. I wanted to die and Gordon and Geno sat back as the vicious queen unleashed on this threat of a teen I was to become for so many in this circle of older men in the community. Tommie was brutal and I found out he was just 18 and dropped out of Appleton East and was kicked out of home for being gay...Jesus Christ ...Tommie Morris made Richard Simmons look like Dirty Harry. Gordon jumped in and made it a point that I was not a threat and he told him I was "his"...I was "his"...I was just gobsmacked at all this and Tommie asked if he could speak to me in his room...I looked between Geno and Gordon and I followed Tommie into the room and was pushed down onto the Serta and Tommie told me he wanted to know what all the fuss was an we preceded to have sex for the next few hours when Geno slammed the door opened and told Tommie he was late for his shift at Gimbel's...I looked like little Miss Marker as he went to look at himself in the mirror and precede to hiss that I had given him hickeys to fuck up his relationship and in all my Eastern charm I professed I was totally unaware I would leave a mark...In Philadelphia I had left about 5 on the neck of a kid named Tony whom I found out had had kicked the shit out of a dog on Camac street...how was he to explain that to his girlfriend Bridget who was a cashier at Georgetown  OOPPPSS ...I was blessed/cursed with a set of lips that people pay to have ... I was called Chaka Khan lips in 8th grade. Tommie ran out of the apartment and about 20 minutes later came back after being fired for his third day in a row of being late...this was war with him and my first enemy in my sordid life. He threw the glass of soda I had been drinking at the wall and shed some crocodile tears and Geno went into his room to"comfort" his new concubine.
          I feared coming home on the bus anymore because I had to transfer on College Avenue and I remember he would sometimes come up at the time the busses would arrive and look for me...I remember Geno seeing him and grabbing the arm of his rabbit jacket and yelling at him for even threatening to out me in such a dramatic way...I started High School the fall of 1980 at Xavier High School which was the Catholic High School in Appleton and I was away from the Freaks & Geeks of Madison Junior High and now I was walking into a High School from any John Hughes film. I was terrified and afer school that day I was invited home by a classmate of mine Tom, and he was being really nice and I was kind of gobsmacked again and went with the flow, first off Tom was right out of a Disney Movie of the week, usually the Kurt Russell role and his body knew how to wear corduroy just right ...I was later to find out he was the son of one of the guidance counselors at Xavier and true enough the man whom interrupted Matt and I, and for the next few years he would follow me into the bathroom at Gimbel's or the parking garage, and in one instance tried picking me up in his car and I had to tell him a flat out no ( which came courtesy of one of Paul's joints and some wine)...two weeks later I was removed by Mr . Pliska  in front of one of my sweetest pals Patty Garrigan and told Xavier had no place for people like me...Mr. Collins was by the office near the front desk and watched as I was left and I could hear Patty running down the hallway to tell of the incident.
         I loved to hit the library in Appleton usually after school and let me tell you something...besides the garage bathroom...the mens room at Gimbel's; the back area of the library was an all out a den of iniquity. I usually stayed out till my Mother got done at the local traveling agency she worked at and I would go home with her to our lousy home on West Grant Street...this house picked out by my Father was just pitiful, and it showed in my Mom because she hated Wisconsin...She was out of place as were we all. My Father was a furniture salesman and I swear Arthur Miller had written Death of a Salesman and Willie Loman  based on my father Jerry Bates. The booze flowed once the store closed and by the time he made it home he was...listen ...I'm not going to bash someone I will become just 10 years later  but it was not pretty in that house on West Grant and the one whom suffered the most was my Mom.
        Now back to the library ...one of the weirdest things to happen to me was in this building, to this day it still is kind of hot...One day I see this young man maybe whom is 20 at the most...he is in some leisure slacks and a tight Lacoste shirt. I see some of the men from parties I have met at Geno's cocktail party's ...the men are casually getting up and heading towards the back of the library ( I think it was the religious section if Im right)...there are a few desks against the wall and some of the men are sitting there and I see the young man in the leisure slacks looking at some books on the shelf and as I go to leave he turns around an waves me other...I hear some disapproval of these men whom are now ruffling their magazines and a few grumbles...and I turn around and the young man is feeling his ass and literally really getting into this little show. I had no idea what to do as now some of the older men are trying to ease their way down the small aisle and I now know I am in some sick fantasy thing with this guy and these men...I turn around and the man now has his pants down and he is wearing some sort of bikini brief and the show goes on...I start to slowly giggle and find myself about to burst and I flee the scene.
       The years in Appleton where like something from a truly twisted adult comedy. I was among some of Appleton's finest and smartest students during the day and come 3pm I was cruising downtown Appleton and growing more intensely into the the anonymous sex and gay scene of Wisconsin's Fox Valley. I was introduced to many gay men during these years, these men would also fill every stereotype in any offensive adult comedy from the early 70's...I was also keen to the eyes of these men whom would find ways to drop a line that they would want to meet, taking me to the Big Boy for some of their famous strawberry pie to the mall in Oshkosh to pick up some of the wonderful 70's and early 80's fashion's from CHESS KING...and to my favorite Marshal Fields in Milwaukee along with a much larger and more fashionable Gimbel's. I was the new boy in town and the fact I was very much into film, broadway and political history and could hold my own with these men at there local parties and Sunday brunches I found myself gaining ground from these men as not just a piece of meat but someone who was intelligent and good with conversation.  I completely was shedding the high school life as I was being groomed by some of these men as lover or in most cases the "other" man. I found it all interesting as some of the young men at these parties would find it in their own mind I was going to replace them, in all seriousness it was the attention I received that kept me from going insane as my family was slowly deteriorating , my Aunt and Uncle whom were one of the reasons we had decided to come to Appleton had been thinking of moving to Georgia...it was the straw that broke the back between my parents floundering marriage. My Mother was devastated and I could hardly blame her , she was out of her element completely and I was turning into someone she would later learn to hate because of my insensitivity and my jealousy of her beautiful relationship with my sister Maureen. I wrote a prose piece back then how the four of us where family in name  and truly separate as individuals...Maureen was the best thing for Mother during this time because the family unit was no longer and my Mother had my sister to lean on and survive these years.
       Xavier High was a breeding ground for John Hughes screenplays and I was a fish out of water for the first year and was floundering in fear . I look at incidents that have happened at schools over the years one truly hateful think a teacher did to me was during our first pep rally of the season they picked 2 students from each class to do a contest...me and another girl Mary De Sanctis were chosen as freshman and were told to put blind folds on an each held a bottle and the count of ten we would drink from a bottle and ...well you get the drift...a whistle was blown and blind folds off ...Mary and I were the only students on the gym floor each with a baby bottle and about 600 cackling students and some sadistic teachers ( Jeanne McCoy) laughing...I remember throwing the bottle and sitting back down in the bleachers and fuming to the point I could not see. That afternoon was the first time I started to cut myself. Jeanne McCoy was my algebra teacher and she hated me...I was never one to understand numbers but she would be little me and tell me I was dumb in class...today this woman would not be teaching with her treatment of students...I remember another student who was slow with any classes and this woman berated him to no end...I found out she was the one who ran the pep rally and chose me as a student for the competition. Miss Jeanne was a forerunner along with Mr. K's teacher of the year. Evil woman and worse teacher...
       I found myself also trying to fit in with people at school and really did not know where to turn...people have told me about how High School was a breeding ground for boyhood experimentation and I can tell you ...not at Xavier ( that is until I found out the month before I left a Senior whom graduated in 83 , all star baseball ...etc..was seeing Gordon and later Tommie Morris) in fact shower time at gym I was paranoid to take showers ( very body conscious and fear of hardon) I look back at some of the times in gym class and after track  and think....hhhhmmmmm.
     Appleton had many little secrets and the more I became involved with these men the more Appleton wanted a part of me...In fact the police where about to play a large part in what in fact amounted to a witch hunt for gay men ...I was brought down to the Appleton police department with my mom and later my Aunt Margaret and with my mom in the room they talked about the parking garage and wanted to know who I knew and wanted names of the men who frequented the restroom as far as cruising...I lost it and flipped the fuck out as I do when I feel backed in the corner and lashed out at my Mother for no apparent reason...it is something I will truly regret to the day I die the embarrassment my Mother must of felt...this was the beginning of a spiral of uncontrollable rage and rebellion that could not be controlled or tamed at the onset...Appleton was just the beginning as this area was rotten to the core from Green Bay to Milwaukee with the men whom lived to entice, use and abuse so many of us teens , sadly some to their deaths...TO BE CONTINUED