A Eunuch's Love Life

The more personally intimate blog of the love life of an androgynous but not sexless eunuch in this post-modern world

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

My Bright Young Posses

While out with a posse of very attractive young gay guys last Friday on Oxford St, I was interrogated by a perfect-toothed male television journalist (off duty), who wanted to know what was going on here, why was I, an obviously older person, with these obviously younger people. Because we enjoy each other's company, I said.

They like me, they let me hang around with them, they smell GREAT, and they've got BRAINS, they are not bound by the petty concerns of those who buy what the mass media are sellling, they believe in love and human happiness, they are INTELLIGENT AND THINKING BEINGS, and that's just so rare darling, oh vainglorious television face, putting down a beautiful androgynous blonde guy as vaccous because he didn't get what he wanted from him, and then I spoke with the blonde guy (who was new to me) and he was really smart, which is not surprising, given that he was hanging out with us GEEKS, NERDS, darling, that's why they're hanging with me, we have higher than average intelligence, don't abuse us for that, it's part of statistical reality, and Oh Lord Shiva Begorrah thank the Universe I've managed to acquire a whole social network of intelligent people over the last couple of years.

Yes, they're mostly 25 years younger than me, but that's cos it took this long for my generation and my forebears to change society enough so that young bright minds weren't more often than not destroyed by brutal normalism. Now, it's acceptable to be an obviously queer bright non-conformist, or at least, there's fare less than a 50% chance this will get you killed by 25, and that wasn't the case 25 years ago.

I once wondered what the world would be like if it hadn't killed the talented youth of my early twenties. I'm enjoying finally finding out.

I'm living my dream, connected intellectually and affectionately with my posses, the guys I was out venue-hopping with on Oxord St Friday night, the mixed anarchist crowd I went house-party-hopping with all Saturday night, the cool gang of young friends I hang with when we basically occupy a whole hotel every Monday night, and the wonderful zany pirates, carnies and underground party people who believe in pleasure and love and and welcome me and my dancing into their spaces.

This is my life, and none of the mainstream's judgments about gender or sexuality or even age can limit me without me allowing this blasphemous chaining of my divinely created potiential for intelligent and creative and loving human connectedness.

Love to All,


Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Parlour in the sun

Three weeks ago, I woke up on Thursday depressed and crying, and couldn’t get out of bed. I called in sick, and tried to think of anything that might cheer me up. There was a meeting at Parliament of sex worker activists, so I decided to join them, as I figured being surrounded by activists working on a shared problem would take me out of my own sad story. Of course, my boss was there. “So, sick are we?” she asked. ‘Yes,” I plainly answered, cos I certainly had been, and this was my therapy. An Upper House MP came in to get her script from the activists, as she was willing to be the mouthpiece for more respectful approach to sex workers, such as not unfairly targeting the skills that women tend to have more of, such as emotional intelligence and intuitive physical soothing skills. This MP, as it happens, is the one with a house guest in common with me, as she took over the sponsoring of the refugee who had stayed with me.

Another MP is a sex work customer of a friend, who was sitting next to me at this meeting, and I thrilled at the amazing perspectives God gives me.

Sunday night: Loose Ends (dance night at Phoenix). Best Friend turned up, and we headed off to Arq with friends. He offered me an E at 5:30. “It’s a school night,“ I resisted, only to be greeted with sarcasm about my goodyness. I took the proffered pill in my hand, and went to the loo, to have a moment with my own counsel.

I realised I didn’t want to be the sort of person who’d say No to the offer of joining the ecstatic company of Best Friend and his six very hot male friends. I sent the boss a text, “Just taken MDMA, won’t be in to work today, sorry,” and swallowed the capsule.

We were emptied out of the nightclub at 10am, and ended up in my Best Friend’s backyard, all day in the warm winter sun, a half dozen of Sydney’s brightest young things and me engrossed in meaningful intellectual conversation. Many of them are working boys, and I was and am very flattered that the cream of Sydney’s professionally gorgeous guys choose to spend their recreational time with me.

Tuesday morning the boss gave me a serious look and asked if I’d recovered. I let her know I was fine, I’d had an early night, and appreciated her understanding. She let me know that my message has provided much entertainment for senior management. Hey, I got away with it, and I’ve booked the next couple of Mondays off. Because I like to party, and I want my life to be more about friendship and dancing that turning up to the office on Monday morning.

Of course, even for a miraculous survivor like me, life still has its ups and downs, and it was when I was coming down from the Ecky on Wednesday I noticed my cat was ill, and took a while appreciating that the situation did not only seem bad because I was coming down, but was actually a really serious situation. Sometimes a bummer really is a bummer.

But I will long treasure the memory of that glorious Apollonian Monday in the sun!

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Death of a Cat

A couple of weeks ago we noticed the cat was knocking the chess pieces over, and put a box up to protect the chess game. A couple of days later, I realized she was maybe too weak to climb the stairs, and moved her things to one level, and began to fear the worst. A week ago, I was too distressed by her illness to go to work, so I took time off, and in the afternoon, was persuaded to take her to the vet. I didn’t want to, for in my experience, there’s only one outcome from that.

They took her in for tests and treatment, and I went in the next day to visit her. I knew it was more serious, for the doctor brought two other staff in with her to talk with me. She talked to me at length about her organs failing and cancer of this and that and strange growths and abnormalities and being realistic. They said “have to be realistic” a lot.

I already had a bill well over a thousand dollars just from the cost of keeping her alive and finding out what was wrong (everything, basically), but I was willing to spend more if it would help her. They said that even if they managed to save her this time, and get her strong enough to survive chemo-therapy, she wouldn’t last long, and would be in pain, and would never be well again.

I kept thinking that if she saw me, she’d get better.

They took me in to see her, in intensive care, with tubes and bandages around her.

She wanted me to let her go. I communed silently with her, and she wanted to go. The body she was in was dissolving. What we had was love, what we have is love, all we have is love.

“We’re ready,” I told the vet, and we moved on to the next stage immediately.

I looked at her with love while she died in my arms. All is one. There is no longer an apparently separate part of the Universe in called Virgin, but there is still the love we shared, and what she showed me of love, of silent communication, of being fully present with another, of the need for regular affection and attention.

There was a time when I didn’t appreciate those needs, or have enough people close in my life, so the Universe sent me Virge. Now I have learnt those lessons, and now I have humans in my life close enough to be affectionate with, and while my ego, my idea of myself, the illusion that is continuity of consciousness, wanted her to stay, I can glimpse the appropriateness of the timing. From a certain perspective, I can accept it.

I didn’t take any ashes. She is no more that lifeless body than she was what she pooed out the day before.

She is not a collection of atoms.

She is a part of the Universe that manifested separately as a cat for a time, to share love with me, so that I can share love better. (I’m British; it’s not like expressing love is something I grew up with).

I can feel what I felt with her when I lie on a bed with a friend for a cat nap, when I just enjoy tuning into our shared breathing and body heat.

I can feel what I felt with her when I look on my friends with love and lack of judgment, and receive the same from them. I can feel what I felt with her when we socially stroke each other, or just enjoy being in each other’s company.

I can feel even more than I felt with her when I hug my friends, for humans are built to hug humans.

And the conversation with humans is a little more stimulating too, but frankly, it took me this long to find enough humans with enough intellectual interest to be more stimulating than a cat. I’d rather a cat’s silence than the drone of corporate or thoughtless cruelty, of mind-numbing cliché or one-up-manship. Humans who act as if they are separate to the Universe, as if they are or can be better than others, are far more destructive to my peace of mind than the silent acceptance of a cat.

But I grow and change, nurtured by a loving Universe, and people, human and cat, come and go, as will the notionally separate part of the Universe that constitutes this writer.

The only reliable, permanent part of this reality is Love. I remember feeling Love with my cat, I remember feeling Love last night with my friends at the pub, and I dedicate myself to Love. Everything else is but dust and ashes.

I took Virgin to the vet on Wednesday, held her as she died on Thursday, and on Friday paid the enormous bill with a bank loan. Outside the vet, I looked at the bill, and saw the item for “Euth/ routine cremation Cat”, and it, the passing of my close personal companion, Virgin, was complete.

There’s still tears, but I can choose whether I follow tears with more tears, or choose something more kind.

Friday night, I saw a cat on the street as I was heading out. It did a cute show and posed upside down against a wall, and then looked at me with such disappointment when I walked past. I realized I had been called over, so I spent a little time sharing affection with it, before continuing on my way.

I danced the weekend away, and had a lovely quiet time with friends in the pub on Monday night.

I’ve had a few mildly sad moments of expecting to see or tend to the cat, when I remember she is gone, but I don’t make a drama of it, this is just a phenomena of repeated behaviour, and while the separate character of Virgin was in a play that has now ended, the Love behind that character is forever, and Love calls me to be present with life as it is now.



Thursday, July 12, 2007

Postion Vacant: Sleeping Companion

After a slightly dramatic exit, where I actually thought a snowball's chance would be enough (as it usually is for me), my sleeping companion has departed this mortal coil. My cat died in my arms this afternoon, at the vet's, after we had established she had no hope of continuing life outside of a hospital, and had more organs failing than working.

Who will gaze into my eyes without looking away?

Who will just be glad to be close to me?

Who will be there for me?

Who will give me the present of their presence?

Who will I give my presence to?

Who will return my gaze?

Who will to drift off to sleep with me, breathing together?

Who will.