2

The next morning we arrived back at the log cabin. I was more functionally high, I got the water going, the heat, while House watched me and smoked his bong.
Later he slowly, slowly swept the floor, like someone in a trance.
We decided to meet his friends at Best Buy, where I would shop for and buy a 52_ plasma television.
It was fun being high at Best Buy. I met House’s girl friend, who I was disappointed to see was a strung out skank, but I managed to keep a straight face. On face book she had looked hot, and I guess, technically was, but because she was so strung out, she looked terrible.
I had to use the other side of my brain -- the freshly unlocked side -- in order to carefully learn about and choose the correct television. I did a great job.
It’s okay to be a penetrater, to commit the crime of penetrating; I didn’t kill Trevor, he visited me in dreams, showing me the afterlife, he will still touch me, at the base of my neck, across my shoulders. Trevor’s not mad. He doesn’t see it like I took his life from him.
Maybe the point of life was to become a penetrator -- to do exactly what you want, be exactly who you want, exactly when you want it -- and therefore transcend and become a god -- become dumb masculinity. The dumbest, most selfish, most thought-less masculinity -- pure. If the person could not do this, they settled instead, and had children, who would carry on the undertaking of figuring it out, and if they couldn’t do it, then they also settled and had children. That’s how you die. Sex feels so good that you accept your fate of death, of dust to dust, body to body ..
The high made this god easy to be. As the high would seem to lessen I learned that all I had to do was speak out, take control of the situation I was in, and it would sustain the high.
All being a penetrator means is that you’re so good at sex that you take the other person on a trip instead of the other person taking you on a trip.
The reason why homosexuality is so great is because it teaches the guy what it’s like to be penetrated, so he knows what she’s going through -- hence, when asked, women will tell you that the best sex they ever had was with a gay man.
When a woman is a penetrator, it means she’s Consciously having sex, taking control of the pleasure and overpowering the other person with it. The gay man knows it’s possible to do, to still be a penetrator while being penetrated, which is why he is best at sex and remains unafraid of penetration and of women.
This is so cool, I think to myself. The salesmen seem to like me, they like that they can teach me so much about televisions, and I’m understanding what they’re saying, even though the whole digital television thing has always been foreign to me.

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The next day House’s friend picked him up and I was alone, getting high. I allowed my brain to go wherever it wanted and I typed away:
I know there was a boy, because the story is still true even when I’m not inebriated, the memories still the same, still just as strong.
I know this is f-cked up. I know my story is so, so f-cked up. But it’s great, because the more I remember the more awake I am -- the less numb I am.
House: He never grew up -- living with his mom, driving a scooter, staying inebriated -- because he was always having sex. His sexual abuse started when he was older than a baby, and he just went with it. He decided he didn’t want to be Him, he just wanted to have sex, as long as he could get away with it.
I wonder about my choice, but I was Him, because only Him would choose to take such horrific abuse for others, and that’s what I did for Trevor, on the Sundays in the living room.
When the boy died, there was no point in growing up. In a way, when Trevor died, I died, too.

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(Next day, in the car, still high, doing errands on my own)
I can feel Trevor’s presence. I can feel him touch me. Standing in line at the cell phone dealer, shopping at Walmart, I could feel my blood rush under his finger tips, I could feel my eyes roll up as his tongue played my right ear, but I was driving and forced them to look forward at the road.
I don’t understand why this was such a good day if there’s not truth here. I don’t understand how I’m so effortlessly myself -- Him -- so clear headed and calm, so present, if there is not truth here, instead of craziness.
Why did this happen? Because what is truth without understanding? And what is understanding without truth?
Everyone’s in the soul place. Because we’re all dead already. Because we’re all here, alive, in the physical for awhile.
Do you know the danger inherent in being born into this world when having diamonds and this shoot this big? The pain, the sadness, the heartbreak, the Abuse. It was bravery that got me from the Who Knows into this life. And it has seen me through and will again the next time I’m in the Who Knows.
The reason I have such a thick beard I have to shave every day is because I like to rub my face and head -- the beard let’s me know the last time I’ve bathed. I was a hunter, not a farmer, back in the pre historic early times. That’s why when I eat fries or pasta now I get dizzy, even though I don’t have a diagnosable problem. Meat and fruits was my diet and way of life. The farmers thought they could get away with what they were doing, because they couldn’t hunt, because they weren’t men enough -- they weren’t Him, Real.
My posture can be freed back to the way it was intended, back to me, it’s something in the base of the neck. It’s a strong feeling that fixes my form back to its true form. My voice is mine again, throaty and low.
There was a set of rules I fell back on, just like in the dreams when I shift -- really just resulting in Bravery. Just be Brave, that’s all I needed to know. Even when I could remember nothing it was all I needed to know.
I didn’t want to remember the boy all the way. It seems weird to remember having sex with a little boy, even though I was just as young at the time. It frightens me, remembering having sex with a little kid, being turned on by a little kid.

__________

　
(got high with House, then went running)
Shifting between the past, present and future. Being a shifter -- that’s Awareness. That’s a soul in the soul place. That’s Him. The shifting has gotten fun now.
J____ has no son. The future is through sons (in my lineage). Grandpa (Mom’s dad) tried to win -- that evil, Abusive strand in my heritage -- but I won. I beat the weasel out. Because I took the long way home, and didn’t cash in before being Real so that I wouldn’t have to pretend like everyone else. He abused his children, horribly.
When A___ would play that footsie game with me, she was really trying to explore my diamonds and their shoot, because she knew that that’s what Mom and Dad were doing.
I understand dignity and how I’ll let myself die before I get too old to be Him anymore.
It’s about being Still and moving at the same time -- Masculinity / Realness. You just slow down your movements, your heartbeat, it makes every thing about your movements truer, cutting out all the untrue. Be so Him you never have to speak and you’re still Him. I would always try to be quiet like that when I was a kid, but I had already come of age and couldn’t understand.
When I knew Syl___ -- the youth pastor whose house my parents would drop me off at for weeks at a time when I was thirteen, fourteen -- I was still in such shock by my beginnings I could barely function.
I want lots and lots of kids. Because I’m Him, so they’re going to be just fine.
I understand music, too, even classical, all those stacata orchestional hits, expressing the past, present, and future colliding.
I understand humor, I’m glad I was humorless as long as I was. Humor is about throwing your hands up and laughing. I wasn’t going to be throwing my hands up till I was finished with my task.
The beauty of it is that I get to be that little kid -- a little kid -- for the rest of my life.
In the same way it is true for the rich, the good looking tend to be the farthest from Real --
(because they cash in, forfeit their barometers, allow themselves to be allowed).
The ghosts in the field -- even the bad, scary ones -- formerly enslaved, there were lots of them, even though only one spoke, the other laughed. All these outlines of brown-skinned people. There was a woman with a bandana, watching on near me. They all reared up and I could see them as I shot into the field, but once they saw it was only A___ chasing me, most of them melted back into outlines and then in to empty air. They let the two men handle it, the older woman in the bandana watching on.
The old woman in bandana never looked at me, never, no matter what the reason for why I had shot into the field this time. She looked at the two bad men, at the edge of the field; she looked at A__ trying to chase me, after I shot away in terror, her trying to rape my crotch with her little-girl foot.
It’s so obvious now that the world is dead, because everything is dying. This is the world of sex. Once sex brings something into this world, that something is immediately dying. What’s alive is the Soul.
I did it by twenty seven years old. I became my Soul, I became Him, I don’t have to pretend like everyone else, because I’m Real instead.
One of the two mean slaves at the edge of the field hissed at A__, their words cutting through the dark night like knives: You get away from this field now. Immediately the other one laughed.
I especially understand Dance. The music of movement.
I understand gay music. The strong beat, the constant changes, and I can be as Masculine (dumb) as it gets and I’ll still be fine.
My violence is closest to W___’s, my dumbness closest to House’s, my cool closest to K___’s. Jonas is the fictional character closest to who I am.
When the child dies (the virgin) the Soul lives. That’s why you wait till you’re ready or you continue to search for the Soul (the Real Him) forever.
I already was mine, hence there was no need for childhood, and don’t feel that I am at a loss in that way.
I dance like Jonas from the movie Broken Sky.

__________