Coming Out

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NewNowNext covered Connor Franta’s coming out vlog.

Didn’t know who Connor Franta was?

Same.

He’s a YouTube star, and he just came out on… well, YouTube.

This is important to (almost) everyone.

It is important to every gay man or woman; to every brother or sister of every gay man or woman. It is important to every father, mother, son, daughter, cousin, aunt, teacher, friend, boss, colleague and, and, and – of every gay man or woman.

I can’t speak for gay women, but as a guy, I will say this:

It is the most intimate experience that a gay man will trip, in his lifetime, ever.

Yes… including that.

I wasn’t 30 seconds into Connor’s video before the Universe reminded me how momentous that rite of passage was.

Goosebumpcoveredbodywithalumpinyourthroatyounoticeonlyafterwetcheeks will do that to you.

It’s a rite of passage only some human beings have to do, but do – we have to.

Watching Connor’s vlog – 12 years after my pursuant of peace (and forgetting too quickly, clearly) – I was inclined to fake-stifle that ‘really?’ giggle…

Jejune. And vapid, I know.

To Connor, this is his moment.

Like mine was then: a mountainous monotony of perdition, immovable before me.

The ultimate tollgate.

And there is no alternate route to where you must arrive.

You can picnic where you are or pretend you’d actually wanted to veer off and go on some other trail… Whatever! When you’re ready, you must turn yours through the tollgate.

It really is a big deal

It is. So we mark-time while we figure– or try to figure it all out.

As a mature teen an insolate brat, I settled into the following theory:

Why should I have to sit my parents down and tell them that I am gay when my sister doesn’t have to do the same – just because she’s not? She doesn’t have to gather herself before them, hands in lap, chin on chest and clear her throat before murmuring: ‘Mom… Dad… I like boys.’

So? What’s the big deal? Why should I have to?

For the record – it was no surprise. Obviously. But that’s not the point, because it didn’t negate the need for the occasion from either/all sides.

So here’s the thing: I did have to. We do have to.

A hundred years from now, society’s evolution may make this topic a complete nonentity.

I hope so. But we’re not there.

The world my parents grew up in was different to mine. Radically. And thankfully so.

We amortize that gap as we evolve, but that is as gradual as the days are long, so I am living inside of it – still. As is my Mom. As is my Dad. And although I felt like a lone ranger, I now know that I never was.

Everyone close enough to see enough lived/s inside of it too.

So I did have to.

We do have to.

That’s how family works.

Your journey may feel like your own, but you are the best-supporting actor in somebody else’s (and in that role because of how they rate you as a human being). And inside of themselves, they’re going as mad wanting to hear what you are wanting to say ~ and mostly just because they love you so.

That’s how family works.

Sidebar: If your reality involved reactions of the very grave and desperately sad opposite, then know this – they were going as mad wanting to hear what you were wanting to say, only to grant release of the cowardice they cannot command themselves.

Still, you have to.

We have to.

That’s why it’s such a big deal

Everything before it makes Galileo look like a lazy lout and Columbus’ sojourn seem casual by comparison… But it’s all perspective, right?

Ergo… thank you Connor.

Twelve years on and I can safely say: I needed that.

“You can’t not think about it…” he says.

Truly.

You can’t. I still can’t – even now.

It’s what’s called ‘identity’ – and is proof that each of ours is unique to us.

Everything pre– was rooted in isolation, depression and obsession.

Everything after has been varying scales of exhalation, anticipation and obsession.

(Yes. Some things just change shape.)

Connor’s video – brought to his global audience with speed because of the digital devices we’ve embraced, and, whether self-serving or journey – is his intricate installation and to date, the ultimate cultural coup.

Cultural, whether seen by 1 or one billion, because it will motivate, move and magnify emotions – whichever way they may lean…

And for what it’s worth, it is one more story for the very beautiful, isolated and obsessed pre-tollgate human beings to hang hope upon.

G-d knows… I needed stories like that.

And there will never be enough.

So to every out gay man or woman – and to the brothers and sisters of out gay men and women; to the fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, cousins, aunts, teachers, friends, bosses, colleagues – and, and, and – reach out.

We have to. Not because we ‘have to’ …

…but because we have it, to.

My looking back gives me the gut-great grasp of this:

There is a profoundly infinite difference between define and confine.

“At some point, you have to make a decision. Boundaries don’t keep other people out.
They fence you in.
Life is messy. That’s how we’re made.
So, you can waste your lives drawing lines.
Or you can live your life crossing them.”

― Shonda Rhimes

© Dylan Balkind

An open boy letter to boy Australian Prime Minister man

Tony

One offers one’s sympathy.

No idea about the winters but – by God – you must have schvitzed like a mo-fo through those long summers in that barn you were raised in.

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No Gender December

The Greens senator Larissa Waters has launched an awareness campaign called No Gender December about the consequences of gender stereotypes (via toys) in the lead-up to Christmas.

Monsieur Abbot said: “I certainly don’t believe in that kind of political correctness. Let boys be boys, let girls be girls – that’s always been my philosophy.” He then took his eye of his joey long enough to further stump, and added: “You wonder why the Parliament is difficult when you have people like that with the balance of power in the Senate.”

Listen sausage, if you wanna know what a difficult Parliament looks like, have a squiz at this:

Me thinks Tony is just upset because Waters is really just proposing that people think for themselves which, if you know Australia or any Australians, is not something they can genuinely list as a strength. It is the ultimate nanny society; a setup that guarantees an eventual, completely brain-dead population who have had everything done for them – including their every decision, some made by the likes of this charmer: Tony Abbot.

#winning

Stupidity is its own punishment. You will inevitably come back around on that track you laid and sooner or later have to swallow what you spewed. It is the very realising of your own stupidity that results in – whether coward or cunning – a deft swapping of sides.

This is why Julius Malema is no longer shower-head‘s yapdog.

At University, this Abbot bloke studied Philosophy (among other subjects) and was awarded two Blues for his achievements as a heavyweight boxer. As a vocal student opposing the then dominant left wing student-leadership, he was once beaten up at a campus rally.

Right.

So, attended classes? Yes. Learned anything? No.

He is:

  • not a very good philosopher
  • not a very good boxer

#shame (#bless if you are non-Saffa)

As a butch, hunter-gatherer, God-fearing, hot-blooded male, I want to stand up, look Abbot in the eye with hand on my scarlet-sequinned heart and say I may have, just that one time, played with a My Little Pony toy. And as you can see… there’s zippo wrong with moi.

So to you and your theory uncle Ton’s, I say:

You are a stupid.

Thanks.

PS: Stagnation is, like, sooooooo 80s mate.

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“Consistency is contrary to nature, contrary to life.
The only completely consistent people are the dead.”
― Aldous Huxley

 © Dylan Balkind

39 million

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39 million people are gone.

Because of a virus our divisions have allowed to ascend.

If the Holy Bible is to be believed and 2014 is the number of AD years we’ve existed, we’ve had plenty more than that to learn just one thing: united we stand, divided we fall.

Through thickness and thin.

In sickness, and in health…

But we haven’t united, have we?

Holy Bible – or bland book of bullshit –  either way: we divide habitually and without fail.

We ridicule. We shun. We spit at. We turn our backs on… to the point that, that which takes aim to divide us – can win.

Like HIV.

So I wondered… what words this combative cultivator of cunctation would say if it could… It’s our selfish spite and stupidity that gives ‘it’ such a convincing case.

I am where fear is trumped in the search from love’s lost
I am where mortal humiliates the humiliated-already – them men who look like ghosts
There you go like ants before the queen, ordered to safeguard secrets…
– all your advances are flushed as expendable by your gathering greed’s digress

How there goes your distance with untouching, formidable feast?
Something your rioting righteousness won’t see as Mark of the Beast
You did it. You do it. You are it – at best
But blindly convinced of your stay deserving on God’s floating nest

You handwrote my invite and put me on your VIP list
Now that door is one you can’t close for that never-would-leave guest
I’ll wither. I’ll weaken. I’ve galloped in here on Trojan Horse
To humiliate the humiliated-already, them women who look like ghosts

Pharmaceutical. Untactical. Expendable. Digressed.
Incubated by fear within islands between love’s lost
It always was, has … and always will be –
Those you call rebels who teach posthumously

Your Bible brought stories from around campfires at day’s rest
All you had to was listen to pass the soul’s Truth-North test
Compassion by connection is all you have left
But you’ve shunned it to gun it and bowed deep in greed’s feast

I’ve withered. I’ve weakened. Arrived welcome on Trojan Horse
I am the fears you discarded – I am the Mark of the Beast
Not something physical nor mineral that you can touch
But because you turned on each other, denying love from love’s lost…

Helen of Troy – I am not female nor boy
My gender grotesques through my dodging and ploy
I sirened as I weakened and withered your rebel-best
So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast 

It always was, has and always will be –
Those you call rebels who teach posthumously
You say idols are bad, goats interrupt goading piously
Your gadgets are 666 that underpin your Boxsciety

I’ve felt my backbone bend before I mix and contort
I’m running out of islands as you defend last resort
I too searched the darkness for compassionate companion
I found none in your nest, so here I am: your Armageddon

Your cavalier disconnection from your neighbours in the nest
Is what your mirrors – though full – have failed to reflect
I sirened as I weakened and withered your rebel-best
So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast

So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast

 

#WritingStoriesDifferently

 

© Dylan Balkind

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