Why did so many bad things happen to me? Well a lot of good things were always happening to me too, so I don’t think it was anything I was doing. I’ve thought myself to Timbuktu and back trying to figure out what the Hell I did to cause all of this and I’ve never been able to figure out. I think I provoke strong emotions in people somehow, like or dislike, love or hate. People are passionate about me. They’re not indifferent.
I used to say that all men wanted acted like they either wanted to beat me up or fuck me and sometimes both at once! I’m not quite sure why that is either. Though I’m not effeminate, I’m not the most masculine guy on Earth and I’ve always been said to be very good looking. Perhaps this is a normal way men react to a goodlooking man who has a feminine side.
When I say how men react to a goodlooking man, I don’t mean homosexually. After all, 38% of all men show some reaction to naked males in the lab, so a bit of homosexual attraction in men is virtually normal. Perhaps men also see a very goodlooking man as a threat of competition, especially for women. John F. Kennedy, a very handsome man, said that people always think very handsome men are gay. I guess it had been said about him. We do tend to associate very goodlooking men with homosexuals, especially if they are goodlooking in that pretty boy way, which I was.
A lot of people liked me, but I kept running into people who hated me, especially people my father’s age. Other people were just mostly jealous, like my younger brother. Others, like my father, who the Hell knows? I defied him like a motherfucker, got right up in his face and gave him the finger, just like that. We actually had physical fistfights. It boiled down to a difference of opinion about a variety of things, mostly moral issues around my hippie lifestyle, which he found profoundly immoral.
Also I was the apple of his eye. He adored me more than any of his other children. Then his favorite son, the one he nearly staked his life on, was in his face, flipping him off, screaming, “Fuck you!” at him.
I think it was a blow that he never quite recovered from until the last two years of his life when we spent a lot of time together and we eventually made peace. I think he knew that in some way he was headed out soon, though there wasn’t much medical evidence of that. I think he wanted to smoke a peace pipe with me in the last couple years of his life.
It was ultimately sad but on the other hand it was the right thing to do. I’m getting choked up as I write this, and I think of myself as a rock. Apparently this rock has a few leaks in it.
It’s ok to get choked up though. Life is sad. This is the nature of life. It’s also beautiful and wonderful but just as much, it’s sad. This is the way life is, and you ought to just accept it and be ok with it as the Buddhists do.