A cacophony of none

"My prayer... is a rapture in bloom, with the world far away, and your lips close to mine..." Yeah, I was singing on the sidewalk, because what else am I gonna do if there's thirty seconds with no-one walking by?

LeeAnn called down to me from the shop's second-floor patio, and said she wanted me to come upstairs and clean some place settings for sale. As I climbed the stairs she said, "You should join the San Francisco Gay Men's Chorus."

I said I'd never sing in public, but oddly hesitated to say I'm not gay, and while washing dishes I wondered about my hesitation.

All across the world, GLBT people are expected to keep quiet about their orientation, so as not to shock or offend co-workers or neighbors, or simply for job security and personal safety. This is San Francisco, though, and the Castro — everybody's out. LeeAnn and Stevi are out, and I guess they've assumed I'm gay and out, too.

Never meant to mislead them, and it's a logical guess, I guess. I do enjoy singing and dancing a bit, love wearing the skirt, and we're at work so I don't talk about who I boink or want to. Should I explain it to them? Nah, what business is it of theirs what gives me a boner?

If word got out that I'm straight, the gay men might stop hitting on me on the sidewalk, but they're rarely a bother and sometimes quite flattering. The pretty lesbians probably wouldn't be so talkative either, so I'm staying in the closet.

♦ ♦ ♦

When I got home from working at the shop, Pike was puffing, and offered to share some of his pot, but I declined. All the anti-drug lectures in school sorta worked on me — I imbibe, but not often, and Pike being Pike, something of a stereotypical pot-head, he's an inspiration to say no.

It's the first time he's offered, and it's only been a few days since we went to that movie together. God, I hope he's not trying to make friends with me. He's a decent kid, but we've been flatmates for a couple of months, and we have nothing in common. Nothing personal, Pike, but nothing personal is what I prefer. Let's keep being semi-strangers in the next room.

♦ ♦ ♦

The Cacophony Society did one of their wacko events tonight, a communally-written short story and/or zine with all the participants contributing one pre-written page each, to be somehow merged together into one big whatever.

Top Cacophonist Stuart Mangrum invited me to participate, and though I'm utterly antisocial I said I would. It sounded like something I'd hate, but they're doing something I like, so I was slightly looking forward to it, hoping it might be worth emerging from my shell for. I even wrote my page!

But then Stevi asked me to work a little later than scheduled, and that was a relief. I don't need much of an excuse not to be part of something. By habit I love not being part of something, so it was sad but not very.

Sorry, Stuart, but anyway, ① my page kinda stank ② I'm exhausted and in a lousy mood ③ and you and Paizley would've been the only people I knew there, and I hate being the stranger. Maybe next time, but probably not.

From Pathetic Life #12
Friday, May 12, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

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