On the saddest men...

The saddest of men find them selves functioning on autopilot trapped in their ritualistic, addictive behaviors. They congregate to the watering hole. Here they desperately try to quench their thirst. Not for alcohol, or for sex and love. No. Not for acceptance, appreciation, admiration, or adoration either. The saddest of men keep coming back because they have to. They HAVE to! If they did not listen to their addictions and their rituals, they would be forced to hear themselves. But, what they would hear would be a bone-chilling silence. It is in this silence that fear pulsates through there body like lightning. This silence exists because they have forgotten themselves. They left themselves a long time ago. They gave up on themselves a long time ago. They let the rituals, the habits and the addictions lead them. Soon to find out (although only subconsciously) that although there may be comfort in consistency, there is no growth in being absent. Absent from the world. But, mostly absent from themselves.

I am a sad man. I know many a sad men. I am fortunate enough to not be among the saddest of men. The sad can still hear something when forced to be alone in their thoughts. They may not listen but they can still hear something in the silence. The saddest are void of even a decibel of thought.

Daily I encounter the saddest of men. Not all men. Not all the time. But often.
I get lost in their sadness. Not all the time. But some of the time.
I miss them even though I never knew them before they lost themselves.
Other times I praise myself, judge them, and hold them up as an example of "what shouldn't be." Like a true pretentious asshole.

Most of the time I avoid them and their sadness. In hopes that if I run far enough away I won't encounter it again. Only to realize I might leave myself behind in the process. If I were to do that I would be one step closer to that depth of sadness. I would soon hear nothing.

I intend to hear and to listen. To hear and try to listen. In my sadness I want to hear joy lingering in my silences. In my joy I want to listen to my silent sadness.

My Cowboy Boots Need a Fixin'

I have a Made in the USA, one-of-kind-bargain, sexy, black pair of cowboy boots that needs a re-sole'n', because I can't quite seem to walk up a flight of stairs without trippin' and rippin' the soles off. I won't toss them though. I will continue to re-sole again and again. Because, ever since my purchase, I've wanted to be a cowboy more than ever. I want to be a gay cowboy. I want to be a part of "The GAY Cowboy Movement."

Brokeback Mountain, the new movie by Ang Lee, is being labeled the "GAY Cowboy Movie." This is, for the most part, true. It is a movie. check! With and about cowboys. check! Who have a "gay" involvement with each other. CHECK! Ironically, for this gay, it is the least "gay" of any movie I have seen involving a gayish plot. Oddly, the movie is probably more of a "Gay Cowboy Movie" for non-gay people than it is for gays. I can't precisely explain this. I can, however, try to draw poor comparisons in order to communicate my feelings. For instance, Will and Grace, is not really considered a gay television show. At least, in my assumption, not by the masses. It is a funny sitcom that has "gay" (and I use this term loosely) characters. However, I consider it to be very gay. Gay lingo that eveyone is familiar with. Gay stereotypes that can be easily identified. Gay issues that are so typical and trite. Flamboyance in all the characters (females out weighing the males). Gay in the sense that it is so perfectly and outwardly gay that it becomes a non-issue for non-gays.

Brokeback, on the other hand, is on a completely different gay wave length, if there were such a thing. Brokeback is not about gay guys. It's not about affectation. It's not about them being gay, knowing they are gay, accepting they are gay, or understanding the term "gay." It's about love, lust, loneliness, longing, and life. But, even more, it is about fear. These men are afraid of love, of their lustful longings, of being alone, of life and ultimately of change, truth and reality. This movie spoke to me more as a man and a human being than any "gay movie" ever has. Because the truth is, for me and for many, the first sexual/sensual/intimate experience with someone is not about defining your sexuality or fulfilling a predetermined role. It's not about knowing or understanding anything about yourself. It's about the intoxicating terror of the situation. The flabbergastting fear of new territory. The overwhelming joy of physical contact, and the exploration of a body other than your own. It's actually like this the first time and for many more "first times" to follow. Sure the gay man in me connected with Heath Ledger as he painfully, reluctantly, disgustingly gives into his true lust and emotion. Because, that's how it really is. Maybe not for all. Maybe not that strong. But, somewhere inside us, it's disgusting. Sex. Kissing. Cravings. What we really feel and think. Because it's all taboo. Gay or non-gay. Sex. Sooooo risque. Sooo hush-hush. So, for non-gays, I can see why it's the "Gay Cowboy Movie." It's pretty gay. In that, yes they kiss. Yes they have sex. There is cowboy on cowboy intimacy in this movie. Hence, "Gay Cowboy Movie." Throughout this movie though, it becomes more and more apparent that the filmaker, the screenwriter, and the actors were not attempting nor did they think they were making "The GAY Cowboy Movie." It's a story about a place of solitude where truth can cultivate, the ever changing definying of relationshiops, and the burdens we continue to shoulder to this day until they are breaking our backs.

Even before I discovered my one-of-a-kind boots, I always had a little itchin' to be a cowboy. I didn't really want to be a rancher or a cow handler or even do cowboy things, but I did want to ride horses, wear cowboy hats and boots, tight-ass jeans and walk/talk/look like a cowboy. I wanted to live in Dallas. I wanted to be able to see the Dallas Ranch from my own little plot of land not too far in the distance. I wanted Victoria Principal and Patrick Duffy to come over for visits. I wanted to sing Lee Greenwood songs and only have yellow roses planted on my lot and placed in my home. I wanted to fly my Mom out to visit on my private jet called "Clydesdale." Now, I realize, I just want to play a cowboy on TV. A lonely rancher or a high society wheeler- and- dealer. It' don't matter. I want to be a part of the "GAY cowboy" phenomenon that is sweeping the nation. I want more "gay cowboy movies." I want a "GAY Cowboy Movement."