Just because they go to church and sing about Jesus doesn't mean they're not trash.

As far as I’m concerned, there is no debate about LGBT rights. We are here. We are human beings who deserve equality. We deserve to be loved and treated fairly by our families. We deserve to be raised in supportive homes. We deserve to be nurtured for who we are while growing up. We should not be taught that our natural feelings are sinful when we’re young and vulnerable.

I don’t care what the parents believe, teaching children that being LGBT is sinful instills self-hatred in LGBT kids, and it creates a hostile environment. This is inexcusable. Some may truly be confused by the issue, and I think it’s good to help those people understand. A lot of us have a hard time understanding something that’s not part of our experience. I know that I do sometimes.

But those who dig in their heels and refuse to hear us and use their Bibles as an excuse… I have contempt for those people, and I don’t think their “religious objection” is in any way legitimate.

LGBT people were persecuted for so long that we didn’t even know ourselves for centuries, but for the last 150 years or so, there has been a growing awareness that LGBT people exist, that we are not diseased, and we don’t chose to be who we are just so we can offend anyone’s god.

If there ever was a time to debate this issue, it is now long over. In my view, those who refuse to accept this are craven, wicked, despicable human beings who would rather cling to their silly, infantile dogma than face reality, even if that means their own LGBT children will die as a result.

I lived among people like that most of my life. They’ve taken from me all their going to get. I have no sympathy for people who can’t stop pulling Bible quotes and vicious, bigoted lies out of their asses long enough to come to terms with the fact that LGBT people live among them and deserve fairness and respect. These bigots have been informed, but they don’t want to hear it. Just because they go to church and sing about Jesus doesn’t mean they’re not trash. I want to stay as far away from them as possible.

Every day I celebrate the male human form and sensuality here on my wall. A long time ago, in my head, I rejected the prudery and the shame I was taught when I was young. But somehow it doesn't translate into how I live my life. I'm still embarrassed by own body and its needs. If I could, I would choose to be invisible, and it has been many years since I've sought the company of another man for the purpose of sharing intimate pleasures, and it is difficult for me to find the will to take care of my body.

If I ever had a kid, I’m sure I’d share what I think about a great many things, but I hope I would have the humility to make it clear over and over again that I’m sharing my opinions and not facts. I wouldn’t want to fill the kid’s head with a lot of junk, put a bow on it, and claim the things I’ve said are sacred because what the hell do I know?

There’s a million philosophies out there. People have been trying to figure out life for a very long time. Many have come up with some interesting ideas, but nobody has made a cohesive and comprehensive statement about life that everyone can agree on or readily accept.

That makes me wonder about something, if there is a spiritual truth to be had, can it really be contained and conveyed using language?  I suspect that if anything like a god is real, it is billions of times larger than any religion or anyone’s personal beliefs or experiences.

I wonder if we really need to talk about it so much. I wonder if we need to put labels on everything and try to define everything, especially things that are beyond our comprehension, and what sort of god wouldn’t be beyond our comprehension?

I also think it’s best if we let kids learn and experience the world and come to their own conclusions.

Gore for President

Clinton was the first president I voted for. I was eligible to vote in 1984, but I was young and even though I followed the news and was probably more informed than the average teenager, I didn’t have great confidence in my opinions. Then... in 1988, I was much too sick to focus on politics much. So in 1992, I was finally ready to vote and I voted for Clinton. By 2000, I was suffering from Clinton fatigue. I felt burned by DADT and DOMA especially. I’m afraid that this effected my feelings for Gore, and I thought Gore was a rather odd man, too, emotionally distant and robotic. So I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about Gore, but I voted for him anyway. Now I wish I had devoted every waking moment following the primaries to campaigning for him. That probably wouldn’t have made a dime’s worth of difference, but golly, the next eight years amounted to a presidential train wreck.

There's nothing to celebrate.

It disturbs me that some are actually celebrating the acquittal of George Zimmerman. I didn’t follow the trial closely, so I can’t say whether or not the prosecution failed to prove its case, and I know that proving someone is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt is a high standard. But I also know that Trayvon Martin went out that night to get Skittles and George Zimmerman went out with a gun looking for supposed bad guys, and Martin is the one who is dead. I’m not a lawyer, and, as I said, I didn’t follow the trial, so I don’t know if Zimmerman should have been found guilty, but Zimmerman did set into motion a chain of events that led to an innocent young man’s death. Trayvon Martin is dead. Dead and gone. His life is over. And he would not have died when he did if Zimmerman hadn’t reacted to his presence in such an irrational way.

Many of those who are celebrating are saying that Zimmerman had a right to pursue and confront Trayvon Martin, and they seem to think that his actions were excusable if not entirely reasonable, but from what I know, Zimmerman based his suspicion of Trayvon Martin primarily on three things: his age, his sex and his skin color. Trayvon was a young black male. But so what? We know that he was staying in the neighborhood at the time, so he had a legitimate reason to be there, and he went out for a snack. I don’t think he was peeking in anyone’s windows. I don’t think he was poking around anyone’s car. I don’t think he was harassing anyone, or turning over garbage cans, or engaging in vandalism. So why would it be reasonable or excusable to find him suspicious?

I think it’s ironic that Zimmerman was a neighborhood watch volunteer because the night Zimmerman stalked and killed Trayvon Martin, Martin was a member of the community, at least that night he was, and it was Zimmerman’s job to look after his welfare. Zimmerman killed someone he was supposed to be protecting.

But those who are celebrating Zimmerman’s acquittal say Zimmerman had his rights, and it was excusable if not reasonable for him to have found Martin suspicious. And many go on to claim that Martin should have responded differently, and that it was up to him to defuse the situation either by getting away from Zimmerman or calmly reasoning with him. But what about Martin’s rights? Why wasn’t it excusable if not reasonable for him to have found Zimmerman suspicious? Why was he obligated not to pursue and confront Zimmerman? What many seem to conveniently forget is that for Trayvon Martin, it was Zimmerman who was the weirdo in the neighborhood acting suspiciously. If I had been in his shoes, if I had been walking home alone at night from the store and Zimmerman started following me, I would have been scared to death.

This was a tragedy. I don’t think there’s anything to celebrate here. I know that bad things happen to people all the time--that’s just the kind of world we live in--but even if we can’t prevent every senseless death and every injustice, I think we can do a better job at maintaining a civil society in which a teenager, no matter his or her skin color, can feel reasonably if not absolutely safe while walking to and from the corner store for candy.

Condemned by Gary Cottle

When I was young, I didn’t feel like I fit in. This was especially true when I was among groups of boys. These all-male situations where any hint of femininity was forbidden terrified me. I feared I would be exposed. I feared the other boys would realize I wasn’t a “real boy” and turn on me. My muscles would become tense. I would get massive headaches. My palms would sweat. And I could think of nothing else except my intense and overpowering desire for the experience to be over. And I feared that I’d one day be thrust into an all-male environment from which I could not escape.

When I was a teenager, it was required by law that I register for the draft. The draft had been abandoned by then, but the government wanted to keep track of all the teenage boys in the country in case the draft was reinstated. Filling out that card and handing it in at the post office almost caused me to pass out. Every war movie I had ever seen was harsh and ugly, and the men were hard and mean. The young men I met who were in the military seemed rough and ready for a fight. Being in a war in and of itself is scary enough, but I was sure I wouldn’t even be able to survive living in close quarters with the guys who supposedly would be on my side.

I also feared going to prison for the very same reasons. I had no plans on breaking the law, but I knew that throughout history people had been incarcerated for merely being perceived as a threat…to the government, the established order, whatever. And considering every where I turned I ran into extreme homophobia, I figured I could easily be thrown into prison for some trumped up reason and no one would care. I knew that at one time being gay was an actual crime. I think there was a part of me that was convinced I would one day end up in prison, and I dreaded that day. I lived like a boy who was condemned.

10 Reasons It’s Good That I Don’t Belong To A “Bible-Believing” Fundamentalist Church

1. I can sleep in on Sunday mornings.
2. I can watch porn with abandon and not feel guilty. Hey, it’s like the nature channel with people…and costumes…and frightening politically incorrect scenarios…and spectacularly bad acting.

3. If I had money, I could use it to actually help the poor rather than give it to my church.

4. If I visit a foreign country, I don’t have to worry about telling anyone about Jesus.

5. I can laugh at the idea of people riding dinosaurs like ponies in the olden days.

6. If a liberal Christian friend asks me why I wasn’t in church, I can say I was busy masturbating, and I’m likely to get a thumbs up.

7. I don’t have to marry a woman so she can cook and clean for me.

8. If I meet a nice guy on Grindr, I don’t have to throw him back and repent. I can even ask him to marry me.

9. If someone says to me, “According to the Bible…”, I can say, “But not according to George Takei.”

10. I don’t have to worry about anyone going to hell because I don’t believe in hell.

Queer Country Boy

What I am is a queer country boy from West Virginia, and I know a prudish, snooty, condescending, self-important poser who wants everyone to believe he’s from uptown when I see one.

--Gary Cottle, to all those superlative gay boys who think they’re too good for the femmes, drag queens, sluts, leather daddies…

Something I posted on Facebook.

I share a lot of pictures that I find on the internet. I’m sure many of you have noticed this. A significant percentage of these photos are celebrations of male beauty. I’m not sure that everyone realizes this, but not every picture I post represents my own tastes. I’ll post a picture of a guy if it’s a good picture, and if I think someone, anyone on my friends list might appreciate it. I do this because it makes me feel good when I pick one that brings a lot of positive feedback. I enjoy the camaraderie of appreciating male beauty with others openly and without shame.

Most of my life this joy has been denied me. I grew up terrified that someone would find out my secret, my dirty, shameful little secret. I’m very shy, so even after going away to college, I didn’t have a huge circle of friends. Then when I became emotionally unstable, I was even more socially isolated. By my late 20s, I didn’t really have any friends left. I spent most of my time alone in my apartment. Then after my head surgeries, I ended up moving back in with my parents in the small town of Fayetteville, WV.

After my parents died, I moved to California thinking it would be easier out here, but I landed in one of the straightest towns in the state. I was here four years before I met a fellow gay person who lives in the area.

For the record, I’m not especially keen on bears. I’m not crazy about an abundance of body hair, or large muscles. I’m also not crazy about exaggerated displays of traditional masculinity. Scowls and cigar smoking just doesn’t do much for me. I’m not saying that bears and muscle guys or he-man types are bad people. I’m not saying that I could never care for someone like that. They just don’t usually draw my eye.

I like boyishly cute guys. I like young men who are more pretty than handsome. I like guys who give the impression of being sweet and gentle. Maybe that’s because I’ve longed to have a special friend like that in my life ever since I was a teenager, and it never happened. I like short guys. Maybe because I am short myself, and I like to imagine holding a guy and looking directly into his eyes. I like thin guys. Maybe because I’ve always been a little chunky even when I was younger, but I longed to be thin. I like especially tall, thin guys with long legs, too. I don’t know why I like young men like this, I just do.

I don’t think it’s at all likely at this point that I’ll have a serious relationship with one of these young men. I don’t think it’s at all likely that I’ll have an ephemeral relationship with one of these young men. I’m nearly 50, penniless, significantly over weight, disabled, extremely shy and I have Bell’s palsy. I can’t even smile without looking insane. But I hoped that here I could at long last feel safe enough to admit to and own my feelings.

However, I don’t often feel very safe here. I can post pictures of hairy men with big muscles all day long and nearly ever single comment will be glowing. But if I post a picture of someone that I especially like, I usually get at least one negative comment, and sometimes it’s one negative comment right after another. Sometimes they might be mild, but sometimes they’re pretty harsh. Sometimes the comments have actually made me cry.

Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive, but I think I’ve earned a right to be sensitive. And I think I deserve to be able to express myself openly and freely without shame, at least here.

I have talked about this on more than one occasion, but it seems to just go over the heads of some. I don’t understand why people feel the need to post negative comments about the pictures they don’t care for. It almost never happens when I post pictures of art, or nature or puppies, kittens or architecture. But if I post a picture of a guy who doesn’t have a lot of hair or muscle, or if he doesn’t appear to be manly, the fangs will come out.

I appreciate my Facebook friends. You all keep me company. You inspire me. You teach me. And in many ways, you support me. So it’s unlikely I’ll go anywhere any time soon. But if I feel the need to hide a part of myself even here, and self-sensor something as benign as finding someone like Dylan O'Brien cute, then I wonder what exactly am I doing here.

Just so you know, I’m very vulnerable. I’m easily spooked and scared away. And after all the attacks, put downs, threats and hostile comments that began when I was a toddler, I’m especially touchy about anything relating to sexuality or expectations of gender conformity.