In a city of unshaved long hair having creative open minded types I worry
“What makes me different?” initial observations
report the visible differences in body type, posture, body hair,
expressive hand gestures,
glasses, and other shades of fashion.
I wonder how their friends describe them
He’s jolly, conscientious, caring, and sensible,
a douche bag, enjoyable, reflective, affectionate,
sometimes romantic,
adventurous, physical, very intelligent,
fun loving, crazy, a dreamer, hard working
responsible, shameless or well kind of lazy.
And the loves of their lives are they still around to share, regale us with the first time they knew it was love or the moment they no longer cared?
Can they still laugh at the funny hats, the sporting events, the late night on swings, dancing in rain, the willingness to strain to make things work past each pitiful fight, each regret and new chance at embrace.
Recount the gut organ’s shifting, caused by strained faces just before the words too hard to bear,
or the new places in their chests that suddenly existed when previous spaces couldn’t contain the explosions of joy that threatened to tear,
as beat skipped and lungs forgot their automatic and unending roles.
For aren’t these moments, the real moments rather than the virtuous behaviors often extolled.
Or maybe we could watch them in their privacy,
Big Brother style lounging, contemplating the effort of brushing their teeth just before sleep,
and pry into their dreams to see if they’re the same, or
are these men hiding secrets and super powers, and identities they desire like
the ultimate sports star
the shining armored hero
the father of children
the padre all spiritual
Do they hide in their dreams all the sources of shame, they wish to always contain?
a moment of shamed vulnerability pants-less in the office
a memory of shamed vulnerability pants-less and preyed on
a moment of shamed ecstasy pounding their boss in
a memory of shamed ecstasy pounding their cock in.
Then woken in day light -costumed in humanity
does each wonder in the absence of others
If he’s similar enough to keep dreams hidden, and yet just enough outstanding
that he can attract another lover to share those secret moments
or another victim to get behind his mask, to share with him his torment.
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Like always I was writing at a coffee shop, coffee shops are filled with men, its really amazing. Girls if you want a guy, go to a coffee shop, they will be there waiting. Anyway, I was reading this book called The Shooting which is a real story about a guy who accidentally shot and killed his best friend when he was a teenager. The guy goes through life trying to prove that he isn't a terrible person, trying to live a virtuous life for the both of them and then has a nervous breakdown at 30 and his life falls apart because of all the shame he is carrying. It occurs to me through the tears and empathy that many of us live these lives... and so I watch guy after guy come into this coffee shop and wonder why they too are so afraid of making contact yet clearly desire it. Like me, they seem to have every reason to be outgoing, they dress the fashions of uptown, they seem nice enough... but who are they? and who are they really deep down?
-the title is in reference to one of these men out there that seems somewhat delusional, intrusive, uncaring, selfish, but probably has friends and family who care about him, probably he is a really decent person, probably he doesn't know how to find someone to love him for who he is... and he is insecure and ashamed and is now broadcasting it to the world.
