Musings of the MALE kind...
Yesterday while browsing the ususal blogs I stumbled upon a new blog which encompasses me. It something we can idenitfy with at least me...lol, The name of the blog is "MALE"
http://www.masculinegender.blogspot.com/ Check it out, I'll be contributing from time to time.
My first entry is below:
I’ve acquired the “simple approach” in life as a stabilizing component to ease the troubles and stresses of today. Why? So many of my experiences occurred because “I” made it complicated. I’ve taken ownership even if the fault belonged elsewhere. Knowledge and the ability to decipher that which is ever present but elusive is key to understanding “me” as — MALE. Existing through time and memorial profound thoughts on the nature of the male centered on the ingredient of color. Maleness is relative but experiences and genetics have dictated our varied destinies to discovery.
The culture I was born and breed abhorred homosexuality but as maturity set in society informed otherwise. No family no matter how small was exempted. In the beginning being around other kids I was teased for being dark skinned-- forget this politically correct shit – BLACK. The “in color” wasn’t black but the complexion – Carmel. I’m not charcoal black but a smooth black and during my thirties a shift and/or new perception occurred and my color was and still is the “it” thing. This notion from my peers created a serious complex within riddled with name calling and self esteemed issues. I was young and precocious yet still blind. Back then, I possessed an outgoing personality which was a mask for insecurities and mental turmoil. I learnt from then that to be noticed I had to achieve and still yet I wasn’t comfortable with myself but I am still – MALE.
We played doctor, even cowboys and Indians and the feelings of flesh excited me then more so boys than girls. Discovery of self was hidden in my maleness. Imagine this:
Excerpt from memoir:
My eldest brother and me always had summer junkets at Cousin Mae on NW 70ST in Liberty City, Miami. Nine or ten years old or thereabout in the late seventies, still very much a thumb sucking grandma’s boy sleeping in a bunk bed with two of my older cousins, who by the way were big high school football players at Northwestern Senior High. One flashback that clearly stuck with me through the years, is of the time late one night when everyone was sleeping, I realized that Michel, my seventeen year old cousin replace my thumb sucking finger with his penis and told me to suck on this. I heard these small moans being elicited but did not know where they came from. Something came spilling out in my mouth and soon afterwards he removed his penis and put my thumb back in my mouth as if it was perfectly normal. It was a shared secret, a bad shameful secret but being naïve and scared led to confusion and misplaced memory for years until my energies was put into writing. Did I know I was physically abused – No but I am still MALE.
As I explore the word “MALE” there are many experiences I identify within this proclivity that arouses hatred. The proclivity does not define me – it’s my MALE genes – clearly evident and alive as I relieve myself the way MALES do when we are aroused.
I too have many stories to tell but I leave you with these words that sum up my inherent need for that which compliments our being – love.
“Sweet Expressions"
How can I write...
about my forlorn, my longing, and my hurt.
How can I write...
your lips, your beauty, your presence.
How can I write...
about our mutual desires only satiated by time, by need, by existence.
How can I write...
about my sweet expressions.
Copyright ©2009 Doug Anthony
http://www.masculinegender.blogspot.com/ Check it out, I'll be contributing from time to time.
My first entry is below:
I’ve acquired the “simple approach” in life as a stabilizing component to ease the troubles and stresses of today. Why? So many of my experiences occurred because “I” made it complicated. I’ve taken ownership even if the fault belonged elsewhere. Knowledge and the ability to decipher that which is ever present but elusive is key to understanding “me” as — MALE. Existing through time and memorial profound thoughts on the nature of the male centered on the ingredient of color. Maleness is relative but experiences and genetics have dictated our varied destinies to discovery.
The culture I was born and breed abhorred homosexuality but as maturity set in society informed otherwise. No family no matter how small was exempted. In the beginning being around other kids I was teased for being dark skinned-- forget this politically correct shit – BLACK. The “in color” wasn’t black but the complexion – Carmel. I’m not charcoal black but a smooth black and during my thirties a shift and/or new perception occurred and my color was and still is the “it” thing. This notion from my peers created a serious complex within riddled with name calling and self esteemed issues. I was young and precocious yet still blind. Back then, I possessed an outgoing personality which was a mask for insecurities and mental turmoil. I learnt from then that to be noticed I had to achieve and still yet I wasn’t comfortable with myself but I am still – MALE.
We played doctor, even cowboys and Indians and the feelings of flesh excited me then more so boys than girls. Discovery of self was hidden in my maleness. Imagine this:
Excerpt from memoir:
My eldest brother and me always had summer junkets at Cousin Mae on NW 70ST in Liberty City, Miami. Nine or ten years old or thereabout in the late seventies, still very much a thumb sucking grandma’s boy sleeping in a bunk bed with two of my older cousins, who by the way were big high school football players at Northwestern Senior High. One flashback that clearly stuck with me through the years, is of the time late one night when everyone was sleeping, I realized that Michel, my seventeen year old cousin replace my thumb sucking finger with his penis and told me to suck on this. I heard these small moans being elicited but did not know where they came from. Something came spilling out in my mouth and soon afterwards he removed his penis and put my thumb back in my mouth as if it was perfectly normal. It was a shared secret, a bad shameful secret but being naïve and scared led to confusion and misplaced memory for years until my energies was put into writing. Did I know I was physically abused – No but I am still MALE.
As I explore the word “MALE” there are many experiences I identify within this proclivity that arouses hatred. The proclivity does not define me – it’s my MALE genes – clearly evident and alive as I relieve myself the way MALES do when we are aroused.
I too have many stories to tell but I leave you with these words that sum up my inherent need for that which compliments our being – love.
“Sweet Expressions"
How can I write...
about my forlorn, my longing, and my hurt.
How can I write...
your lips, your beauty, your presence.
How can I write...
about our mutual desires only satiated by time, by need, by existence.
How can I write...
about my sweet expressions.
Copyright ©2009 Doug Anthony
posted by Da Jardin at 1:59 PM
1 Comments:
i'd like to read more of your memoir. that was quite an experience you had as a youngster.
Post a Comment
<< Home