Friday, August 28, 2009

La La La (boy you're loving is all that I think about)

Gay man that I am, and thanks to the Writer, I've kinda become all sorts of hung-up on Kylie Minogue's album "Fever." I know that it's dated, but it was the only album I could get from work's computer. Why we (American gays) have such a hard-on for Madonna and not Kylie is something of a mystery to me at this point: her music is just so superior.

Last night while hanging out with J. as he worked the corner Dr. Phil strolled by--yes, Dr. Phil frequents the "Viagra Triangle" (makes sense)--and upon realizing who he was ("I know you!" I blurted out) I fed him some of his own medicine: "I want you to start living as a gay woman!"

To Dr. Phil's credit, he replied, "That's me!" J. and I lost our shit--we couldn't help it, we just laughed in his big, good ol' boy face as he sauntered down the street in a white linen shirt and his umbrella cocked on his shoulder.

It's small things like that which make hanging out on a street corner in the rain until 2am worth everything. Little things like that, and big things like this:

Last night J. and I had a pretty intense back and forth on the meaning and importance of language, paranoiac delusion, the structure of society as the mental hospital writ large, the definition of friendship, and the role of expectations. Two hours outside in the rain, under an awning, and then another two hours on the phone.
At a certain point J. called me out: It's like you want to find out the Truth of me, like I'm a puzzle and you want to fit all the pieces together--but there's no puzzle, there's just me. (I paraphrase.) It was a totally arresting moment: "It's like you want to find out the Truth of me..." In that moment I realized that I was betraying my own theoretical convictions, that I was attempting to hypostatize "J." into a knowable, unchanging being.
I confess as much. "I understand," he says, "I know you're nervous about school, and I know that all you want is to know I'll be there."
"Yes," I say.
"I'll be there," He says.

In past posts--posts that pre-date J.'s entry into my life--I expressed the profound desire to be-with someone who will be a challenge, who will be my match, who can dance with me, keep up and push me harder, even. I think I even phrased it with a gesture to Judith Butler and Wendy Brown.
It is such a pleasure to feel like with J. I'm privileged to have a partner in the process of, to borrow from Nietzsche (who borrows from Pindar), "becoming who I am." He does, in fact, regularly challenge me, he calls me out of myself, to see myself in new dimensions. And he promises to, no matter the intensity of our theoretical excursions, "be there." I don't think it is possible to ask for more.
I said to him, after taking a breath, that it is very scary to do what he is asking of me: for you to stay, I must let you always be able to go--do you know how hard that is for me? It means I need to trust you!
He laughed, and I laughed myself, at myself.
It's scary for me, too, he says.

It's easy to think change--this usually entails mapping out contingency plans--and it's easy to write about change--this usually entails a plethora of cliche--but, in contradistinction to thought and speech, it's very hard to _do_ change. Goethe writes, in an inversion that rippled out into the entirety of Western civilization: "Am anfang war die Tat"--in the beginning was the deed. J. beseeched me, Trust my actions.
Indeed (in der Tat), I can trust his actions--he told me so.

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