Blogger's "adult warning" algorithm may have been fixed, so I have started posting here again, but will continue to use my WordPress blog. You can follow it even if you do not have a WordPress Account. There're also my Twitter and my Tumblr blog, my Facebook and my Google+ pages and my group.

Update (15/8/17): Adult Warning still defective. If you get it you have to clear your cache to read my blogs. Sad.

Tuesday, 28 September 2010


It's odd that leather should be sexy. I dunno why it is. For me, perhaps, it was because as a young teen, I was very goody-goody, trying so very hard to please my parents and be the obedient, dutiful, hard-working son. The bikies in their leather gear seemed the epitome of freedom and rebellion. They didn't have to do what mummy said. The bikes were sexy (something hot and throbbing between your legs), the bikies were bad-boy hot, and by a process of transference, bikie leather jackets came to represent sexy maleness to me. As an effeminate young teen, with no cowboys or firefighters in sight, while the "sportsmen" I knew routinely bullied me, bikies were safe objects of adoration.

Enjoy the pics.

Thursday, 16 September 2010

More Gay Suicides

I know a guy who, because he had an easy time with growing up gay, maintains that prejudice against gays, especially gay teens, is over.

Alas not. Hunter's latest blog post details some more gay teen suicides and the lily-livered and shameful response of the education authorities, following up on my previous post about this topic.

I suffered misery at school. I was an outsider, I was gay (though I didn't know it), I was effeminate. I was beaten up nearly every day. The scars still remain, physical and mental. I am partially blind in one eye as a result of bullying. I am still afraid to go into a room of strange men. I never go to a bar by myself, for example. I used to try everything I could not to go to school. For me my days at school were very far from the happiest days of my life.

It's shameful that lonely unhappy people can find no one to turn to, that their teachers, fellow pupils, and even the churches do not help. Love one another as I have loved you. Yeah, right.

[The painting comes from Joe Clarke's blog]

Tuesday, 14 September 2010


A little while ago I read a remarkable blog post, from a blog which shall remain nameless. In it, the blogger described how he'd been approached by a effeminate (but very muscular) guy. This guy suffered from a -- shock! horror! -- lisp. Repelled, our intrepid blogger assaulted the "queen" and then vomited. There followed a diatribe against feminine guys.

A psychiatrist or psychologist would surely find the whole episode remarkably revealing. To me, it indicates a very strong internalised homophobia. Ah, many will reply, but what if you don't find effeminate men sexy? Well, what of it? If it had been a straight guy responding to a gay one in this way, the conclusions would have been obvious. It would have been seen as a gay hate crime. And let me make it quite clear: I'm not saying that you have to have it off with someone you find unappealing just to be politically correct. Some blokes prefer busty brunettes, others brunets with muscly pecs. Each to his own. But to hit the other guy and then vomit? C'mon! Whatever happened to Sorry, I have a headache?

So why do I call it a kind of (internalised) homophobia? Because what is going on here is a comparable to what happens in race-obsessed societies. In apartheid South Africa, the "whites" were the most desired, the "blacks" the least. The "coloureds" (mixed-race South Africans, who ironically spoke Afrikaans*, the language of the dominant "white" minority) were considered superior to the "blacks" but inferior to the "whites", and the "whiter" your skin was the higher your social standing. Manufacturers of (dangerous and ineffective) skin-whitening pastes and hair-straightening liquids did a roaring trade. Self-hatred brought on by the perverted values of society.

But how is this relevant to the spectrum of gays from queens through to clones? The most acceptable gays (to gays and straights) are those who can "pass". They're "masculine" and "straight-acting". When last did you see an ad in the hook-up section of the personals columns for a "gay-acting" partner?

It's not for nothing that one of the biggest story themes on Nifty is about straight guys turning gay. There are all sorts of reasons why this trope is so powerful to us, and I'll talk about them in a later post, but one of them clearly is that a despised and discriminated-against sexual alternative is embraced by the "real man" (gays, by definition, cannot be "real men"). A straight man turning gay validates us. And the machoer, the straighter, the more masculine the other man is before he turns to the dark side, the better. Hell's teeth, even in my own writing, I use these archetypal stories. In Footy, a straight man falls for his gay best friend.

The least acceptable gays are the "femmes", the "queens", the "gay-acting", the "flamers". When straight society talks disdainfully about "homos", this is mostly what they mean. Effeminate men are despised by most straights and gays. And it's worth asking why. 'Just because' is not an answer. Consider how many gays wish that drag queens would keep away from the gay parades. "They perpetuate stereotypes" is the politest comment I've heard. Why is it more acceptable for a woman to do "manly things" than for a man to do feminine things? Why is it OK for women to wear pants but not for men to wear dresses? Why is being a macho sportsman (even if from time to time you have a mutual blow job with your teammates) acceptable but being a male ballet dancer not?

Think of all the gay icons. Gays are turned on by construction workers and tradies, marines (but not, curiously to the same extent by other kinds of soldiers), cowboys, firefighters, bikies and the leather-clad, policemen, and of course, sportsmen. One can understand the attraction in each case, especially for sportsmen, who must be fit, healthy and muscular just to follow their calling. But so much of the attraction is for a kind of off-hand, totally self-confident, unthinking maleness. Men who don't gel their hair, who don't wear designer label undies, who sprawl in a masculine way in front of the TV to watch the game, who emerge filthy from under a car they've just fixed (competence is a very male virtue), who don't wear deodorant or aftershave. Real men. The kind of men we want to be. So, since we are homos not straights, we indulge in the equivalent of skin-lightening creams and hair straighteners. Even the term "clone" is horribly revealing.

The irony is that I myself am not immune to the attraction of these archetypes. And that I had to spend a lot of time and thought to getting over my own internalised homophobia which made me despise myself because I wasn't real man enough, and made me deeply uncomfortable with flamers. But the first step to coming to terms with this is to recognise it for what it is.

I'm sure I'll get heaps of emails and comments, saying stuff like "but that's just what I like/dislike, it's not homophobia." Fair enough. But the question is: why do we have these likes and dislikes? Our personal values don't happen in a vacuum. They are affected, coloured, driven by societal values. We must understand, because if we end up disliking ourselves because we don't conform to some outdated sexist stereotype than we will just get hurt. Effeminate gay men are us, too. Flamers have feelings. Until they/we are whole-heartedly accepted, gay liberation will not be complete.

[This is the third of a linked series of posts. The previous two are Darl and Homophobia and Behaviour Modification. These articles I wrote for Wilde Oats also consider some of the issues I touch on here: The End of Gay and Gay, Then and Now.]

The Village People, making fun of the stereotypes.

*the first book written in Afrikaans was written in Arabic script to convert the "Malay" (Indonesian) Muslim slaves in Cape Town in the early 19th century. Ironic that their creole of Dutch became the language of the apartheid regime. Now there's self-hatred for you! And apartheid is pronounced apart+hate. Easy to remember.

Tuesday, 7 September 2010

Haiku conversation

My spring haiku:
Sacred ibises
Wings whispering slow grey silk
In a blue spring sky
My lady's haiku in response:

Cat rolls in spring sun
Dizzy abandon, dog more
Wary, winter aged.
and my daughter's:
Tiny animals
Unfurl themselves to the dawn
As the sun rises

Sunday, 5 September 2010

Nick Riewoldt

Nick Riewoldt looks a lot like my creation Tom Siedentrop, the footy player from the imaginary team "Archbishop's".

The similarity was pointed out to me after I wrote Footy, I assure you!

Lenny Hayes (headband, brown hair) is on the left Nick Riewoldt (blond hair blue eyes) is on the right. They're rather . . . sexy, aren't they?

If you want to read about an imaginary footy player and his gay best friend, you can do it here.
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