Monthly Archives: March 2012

The Other “F” Word

 Would you want someone to call you a fag? Your son, your mate?

“Bum a fag”, means an entirely different thing in the UK than elsewhere, to be sure, because there the term “fag” is slang for cigarette.  But the most commonly known reference for the word, especially in the USA, is used to derogatorily refer to a homosexual male. It is a shortened version of “faggot”, used in the same type of reference.

For many people, it is a term of derision, an attempt to demean and embarrass the individual. In schools, if the term is used, it is considered a form of bullying and the user would be subject to a penalty. My son had to often endure such slurs by students who mocked him for his appearance and seeming “gayness.” Story of a Bullied Gay Teen. If someone heard it being used, most people, gay or heterosexual or anywhere in between, might question the mentality of the person using it as a description. At the very least, I would say many people would see it as inappropriate and unnecessary.

So why then are some gays using it to refer to themselves? I’ve heard the explanations:

 “We’re taking the word back!” or “We’re showing that it doesn’t affect us!”

I’ve heard the defensive responses:

“Why should it bother you?” and “We’re just playing!”

The majority of the time it was a certain age group of persons, approximately 16-26 or so. By observation, I found those younger in age are still very upset by the term, even if it was applied in jest or a kind of commiseration, because it has negative connotations. My son and others like him do not like or want to be called fag even by a friend.

There was no particular outcry from those older than that core group first mentioned, those in the +30 category, but rather, the usage of the terms was viewed as the speaker having a lack of true comprehension of what it signifies to so many others. A kind of short-sightedness that lives only for what one thinks is fun and affectionate, and in some cases, to seem “cool” or “trendy” by those who also speak thusly.

“This personifies the gay, over the top gay personality, and faggot could refer to that type of gay as a way to define them and separate them from the average gay community members.”–The Etymology of Faggot Analysis.

In either case, they are disregarding the fact that many people find it highly offensive. So it can also be viewed as a kind of rebellion. Just a side note, the term “gay”, while generally seen by both homo and heterosexuals as an acceptable term for homosexual, has somewhat evolved into a derisive term to reference almost any and everything the user believes is stupid or unworthy. So certainly, words and their meaning can change over time.

The term “fag” doesn’t bother me personally, but I don’t play that way or think it’s funny. It makes me question why the words are still being used even if solely among gay friends or acquaintances. In the same way, I would question why some black people or African Americans use the “n” word to refer to each other, yet if someone else calls them that, a serious problem can develop. If someone called a gay man a “fag” maliciously, it would equally be unacceptable, so why do some think it’s just a silly lark to use it to refer to other gays?

What is the etymology?

Originally “faggots or faggot,” meant a bundle of sticks that naturally would be used for fire making purposes, though some consider this arguable. Later, arguably, the term was applied to the homosexual, who without trial or confession, were thrown alive on fires used to burn witches. They were used to keep it burning as it was sinking lower, so to speak, while more witches could be found, though hanging was the most common punishment for homosexuals. This was in England, and of course came to America. The word itself came from the Greek word for bundle.

I speak English, and rarely do I use slang because there are enough “regular” words to describe what I need. It’s purposeless for me, and by majority, many slang words seem negative in connotation. That’s arguable too, but since we’re on the subject of homosexuals and homosexuality, even terms like “fag hag” I find unnecessary, the casual usage of terms like “gang bang”. For I feel they are negative ideas projected onto gay sexuality with criminal activity.

Unless specifically asked, I wouldn’t make any comment about any of these words or similar ones, but the psychology behind why people use them and think it’s acceptable does interest me. That they broadly use them in a rather homo-ignorant way and are surprised if someone objects or disagrees with their speech, doesn’t. I do think it is telling, however.

Deliberately using words known to be offensive, inflammatory and negative could be considered yet another example of a type of egocentrism, which believes others should abide by or accept one’s own standards no matter what. Basically it’s, “I think it should be done, so you should do it.”  Why would you use words other people find offensive? Because you want to.

To me this is a matter of controversy that need have no controversy. It’s simple.

“Do unto others as you would have done unto thee?”

That may seem like a good idea, but I don’t agree with it either.

Or,

 “Do unto another as they wish to be done?”

This is what I believe in.

You may not think twice to call someone a fag while playing with your friends. It may not bother you if someone is called a fag in your presence, whether it’s in jest or not, but some people don’t like it. Many people don’t like it and you know it, as well as why they don’t, so why would you use the word around them? If one went by the “first Golden rule”, it would justify calling someone a fag because you think it’s okay, because you wouldn’t mind if someone did it to you. Applying the second would keep you from calling someone a fag, even a friend and in jest, because they don’t like it. A very important difference.

When I received an invitation from a certain gay website whose slogan states in bold, “Yes, we do use the word fag!” I almost laughed. Not because of their set-up or possibly good-natured irreverence but rather the mentality behind it. It suggests they believe others, anyone gay, should accept and agree with their statement just because of their sexuality. I may be gay but it doesn’t mean I agree with, accept all other gays, personally, academically or every gay organization, cause, or entertainment preferences, just like I don’t accept the application of the word “fag” or “faggot.”

 References:

“The etymology of “faggot” within — it’s ugly.”

http://www.viewaskew.com/newboard/messages286/620.html

“Etymology of Hate”

http://phobos.ramapo.edu/~pchang/etymology_of_hate.htm

“The Roots of Violence: Converging Psychoanalytic Explanatory Models for Power Struggles and Violence in Schools” by Stuart Twemlow, M.D.

http://www.dspp.com/papers/twemlow.htm

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Poem: Dementia by Red Haircrow

DEMENTIA

I have gone mad and shall

die that way.

I have felt the murderous legends

move.

Wild with misery,

misery, misery,

agonies of then,

that time in the dark

when passion and sin

and brutality ruled the night:

And took and took

my soul,

my life.

This is the poem I wrote as a nineteen year old  a few weeks after I was gang-raped by three soldiers at the order of a former female friend. It is the introductory poem in my upcoming poetry collection, CORE. The first chapters of my upcoming memoir can be found here, The Boys Who Died. All my other writing and sequels have had to be put on hold so I can finish these two crucially necessary personal projects, I explain this at Unfinished Sequels: Why? Simple Answer: Reality.

About the Collection

Despite suffering years of child sexual and physical abuse, and acts of rape and violence committed upon me continuing through adulthood, even with the aftereffects of those terrible acts, I found the strength to endure by creating my CORE.

I found the strength to still believe in goodness and good people. Even in the darkest moments, I found a place to keep my spirit safe and what I could think of as untainted, though on the surface afterwards I felt filthy and undeserving of life: an amalgamation of determination and despair.

In that core, remaining true to myself, my ideals, and what I believed in, I learned to survive no matter what and to love myself, letting nothing and no one, not even myself, keep me locked in darkness or lies.

I began writing at age eleven as a necessary outlet, a place to which I could escape inside my mind, creating characters and journeying places I could only dream of ever reaching. These poems are the results of that necessary imagination throughout the course of my life.

With themes of suicide, loss and grief, but also of courage, joy and love, CORE is the revealing of the darkness and the light, of beauty and hideousness, of total desolation and infinite hope.

Walk with me the paths I’ve discovered, the journeys I’ve made, the people I’ve experienced, loved and lost.

This is my CORE.

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Filed under Gay, Personal Entries, Poetry

Unfinished Sequels: Why? Simple Answer: Reality

Some people who are supposed writing experts or even enthusiasts say you should write everyday. They say just separating yourself from “life”, taking time to sit in front of your computer or typewriters and devoting yourself to writing should be enough. They say you should try to write a certain word count a day. They say finish as many projects as you can, and at least with that latter I can fully agree, but sometimes it is not as simple as sitting down…even if you have time. Sometimes you can write about other things, but not what you need to.

Once I was on a certain writer’s forum and stopped to post that I admired and found interesting the collaborative story they had suggested but I didn’t have the energy and time to contribute. Cynically perhaps, but also maybe just out of not understanding, the OP replied, “You just wrote those lines here, so obviously you have time to contribute, you just don’t want to.” Not even close to the reality.

You can let your general mind compose simple messages. You do have extra time, little snippets here and there, but to actually think on, formulate, compose and then create scenes or continue characters created by someone else when you have your own projects, characters, thoughts, ideas etc. already besides real life?

I wrote back and said, “Not in any way attempting to belittle, but as a professional writer, there are times I cannot spare for casual creation when I have my own projects to finish and I am already overtaxed by burdens in my own mind.” I apologized for even attempting to be encouraging to the OP and others the thread. My reward for attempting to do so, and being honest was a misguided pseudo rebuke.

I have a few books that have a sequel in the works, or at least began: Night Shift, Katrdeshtr’s Redemption and The Agony of Joy. There are others such as The Lieutenant’s Love that readers have expressed they’d like a sequel. And I would love to continue the stories of the characters, and in the first three absolutely have written the first chapters…but life can bring crashing to a halt such efforts.

Some writers say when they are stressed they turn to writing, and may write for hours on end. I am not such a writer. Because of the depth of trauma I received from a young age and my own personality, I have to fight the tendency to “shutdown” when I am stressed. Not shutdown in the sense of just sitting and doing nothing, but my mind returns to the state of pure survival. I can only concentrate on what is absolutely necessary to maintain life: keeping my son alive (read about his struggles with bullying here) as well as my personal health, as I had to have emergency major surgery in December 2011 which will take at least a year to fully recover from.

Stress is a general term. There is a general definition, but what is actually stressful can vary from person to person. Most things do not stress me, the average things that do others, as there are so many things whether its health or bills or such things, that one does what they can about and then after that? There’s only so much you can do, only time can tell.

My memoir has been what is keeping me from writing on other projects I realized. The Boys Who Died is consuming me.

A couple of days ago I participated in the Twitter interaction #ididnotreport. It is focused on survivors of child sexual abuse, and their expressions. I couldn’t participate very much. I made a few entries and replied, but because I have been struggling so terribly with my own memories I had to go away from it: the raw feelings and thoughts expressed by others were sending me too vividly back to my own past.

It wasn’t until almost thirty years after the first times of abuse took place that I was able to tell my parents, although I had suffered so much pain from it. I’ve not been able to sleep a night through in over thirty years. Although I was a professional in a few careers, as you can in the webpage entry note, I experienced multiple suicide attempts, self abusive and medicating behavior including alcoholism and the very terrible after effect that so many survivors suffer: of letting others continue to abuse you in a variety of ways because you feel you are worthless.

You feel guilty, you feel shame, you feel desperate madness at times because you just can’t…you can’t breath without pain and flashbacks. In my case, my father especially was dismissive, angry absolutely adamant I was only revealing what I finally had to: just to hurt the family and to lessen his status in his religious group. For my mother: the one who did the abuse to me was the son of a favorite much beloved cousin, a popular, now a well known business man in Atlanta. It started when I was seven years old. It lasted for seven years. Seven years of hell. That was bad enough, but the aftereffects of a vicious sex attack from three soldiers that happened in my late teens has also driven me where I am now.

I started writing my memoir because I needed to say of what happened to me. To let people know what some of us endure on a daily basis, and how the horrors someone did to us are completely life affecting not just for us but for those we love.  I love my son but I can barely endure being touched even in a simple hug because of what I suffered. I’ve chosen to live most of my life in emotional isolation regarding my memories though I am very close to, very accepted and supportive of others who need me, but I’d never been able to reveal my deepest feelings. I never felt safe enough, because I felt to completely immerse myself again to be able to speak of those times would drive me into a madness I couldn’t escape. But the time comes when you cannot hold it in anymore.

In another way, I am strong. During those times, so many nightmarish times, I would tell myself, “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it.” And I made myself believe it, and I survived.  And I took strength from the fact I had made it so, making myself my home, living with absolutely no pretension, subterfuge or ulterior motives, but to be able to write again I have to address what is burdening me. Only last year was the final confrontation with my father, during which I was absolutely reviled and rejected. Just in the last days, my mother has said she cannot accept the fact I am gay and prefers to know nothing of anything of the people or things that are important to me, those I love or have loved. This attitude will include my son also, for at fourteen, he has come out at least as bisexual also.

In October of 2011 I was able to complete my novel The Agony of Joy as it is specifically about a man facing his own past child sex abuse and the fact his parents treated him as the criminal instead of his family rapist. Many situations in the story are autobiographical in nature. I’ve reread most of my projects, trying to get energized, to return to the “mood” and work on them. It never worked. A few words or paragraphs here and there, but I know now I cannot write of hope or love or anything else until I finish my memoir. I am too deeply in pain in a certain way and recently also lost a man who I dearly loved.

I do interact online still as you see. I answer some questions or address some issues I think important, but for the posturing, petty grievances and self-important ideas and the cliques that support them within writing circles? I have more important things to deal with: reality. Yes, I continue in life, and the personal work, the meditative and spiritual projects I explore at a friend’s seminar house located in Bad Saarow-Pieskow. Yes, I can see beauty around me and still take delight in small things, enjoying goodness and good people and I will always, always be available for others and actively help (that’s why I started studying psychology again) but it is only honesty and self-knowledge to realize and set in motion this next step of healing for myself. It is not easy, far from it, but it is necessary.

So Derrik and Jamie will have to wait for The Berlin Shift, and Katrdeshtr the Night Cat will have to continue his vampire adventures a little later than planned. My very special project having to do with androgynes/intergender people, The Children of Driy, is on hold. Evander in Twin Masquerade and Jennison DaNeil and King Mylin in The Mad King with have to meditate on how they will reveal their inner feelings. For now they must wait until The Boys Who Died fully reveal their story. The first chapters http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/254401-my-memoir-the-boys-who-died. It does contain mature and explicit descriptions, which is why its posted there, as its under a warning.

The gestalt theory that drove my story, The Agony of Joy:

“One should accept oneself completely. The relief comes with full awareness. It will help to be free from the burden, which keeps the person captivated and directs the individuality. The development starts after the individual acknowledges pain of the past and only when the person becomes free from fear and nervousness.”–Psychology: An Introduction by B. Lahey, 2008

Another was an anonymous quote I read years ago that is so very apt and should be absolutely understood and offered, “Always be kinder than necessary, you never know what someone is going through.” I always try to remember that, and sincerely wish more people would also and let it modify their words and behavior. The world would be a better place, despite the evils men and women keep doing to each other.

I was listening to an old favorite tune tonight, Chiquitita by ABBA, it began asking a question, “Tell me what’s wrong? You’re enchained by your own sorrow…” and later finishes with a sentiment which is my response to everything that has happened to me, and which calls to my native roots: “..you’ll be dancing once again, and the pain will end…you will have no time for grieving…”

We have to keep dancing. Whether I am sad or happy, I have to dance such as in “Grieving For A Suicide” or when interpreting Dreams and I dance alone. We cannot let anyone continue to break the rhythm of our song of living, of loving and being happy no matter what.

Note: Please do not mistake or misrepresent this as mental instability, another unfair assumption and disservice survivors too often have to contend with from those who do not understand or are not knowledgeable on the subject. Unfortunately, what I and others experience in some of these ways are the results of what was done to us, it is not because we have a mental illness. The institutions that systematically condoned serialized abuse, the ones who committed the acts, those looked the other way are the sick ones.

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Filed under Personal Entries, Writing and Writers