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Week of Feb 22 04

This week we're opening our mailbag.

In response to last week's column, "old gay fart" writes:

"If you don't mind me asking, what are your political affiliations? Any thoughts on the Democratic primaries? I am not a George W supporter, but I am a Republican. And I'm also gay. Don't hold it against me.
I found your website on my 64th birthday last year. Thanks for giving an "old gay fart" some solace that not everyone in the gay community is completely out of their mind."

Congratulations on reaching 64. Aside from being mentioned in a hokey Beatles song, 64 has no negative connotations. I can't wait to be old. Old is good, just as greed was good in the 80s. In my 80s, I plan to wander shopping malls aimlessly while yapping about melons and laughing hysterically. Old age will be the perfect excuse for my selfish, antisocial behavior.

That said, you are mistaken because I am not a part of the gay community. I know this because on a gay lifestyle show called In the Life Harvey Fierstein said (in between grimaces) that "if you sit at home and let the rest of us do your work, you’re not really part of the community.”

Woe is me! Unfortunately, here I sit, at home. Worse, I'm letting gay activists do "my work", just as I once let Mother Teresa do my work in Calcutta. Mother Teresa, the holy, giving, once-living soon-to-be saint, bless her apocryphal heart.

For letting the proverbial "other" do my work, I am punished via excommunication from the gay community. As in the beehive, drones are only allowed in if they follow orders. Does the idea of the Chelsea clone extend to the mind? The Chelsea drone?

As for politics, I like neither Republicans nor Democrats. For every crazy Republican like Trent Lott, Rick Santorum or George W there are equally crazy Democrats, like Robert Byrd, Dennis Kucinich or Al Sharpton. Besides that, not all Republicans hate gays and not all Democrats like gays, and even still, many of the Democrats who pander for the gay vote end up working against gays when it counts.

Therefore, the logic of gay thought police - which is that all gays must be Democrats, or else they aren't properly gay - is misguided. "Diversity" to these types means everything but political diversity. Yet political diversity is all that really matters.

I find it fascinating whenever anyone holds an incongruous, unexpected point of view because it usually means they've had to think it through in order to get there. Politics that enter through the mind are more thorough than those assigned through "identity", and how someone thinks is often more important than what one thinks.

Vigorous debate is essential if a culture - or a community - is to thrive, and dog-like devotions to gay dogma (or Prada) are worthless.

Chris of NYC writes:

Madonna's followers love it too. (It's hard to call them fans anymore.)

Madonna is proof that older isn't always better. She's still preaching, and converting, and preaching some more, and still passes around that ridiculous red string bracelet that the "non-profit" Kabbalah Centre tried to patent. (They were, of course, denied.. but perhaps I should try to patent the crucifix before the Pope or Mel Gibson get any moneymaking ideas..)

It is a strange world when Madonna makes Jerry Hall look smart.

O' Madonna, hear the words of the House of Diabolique:
Thousands of false answers transcend not one good question.

L. from Portland writes

".. there seems to be a philosophical inconsistency on your webpage. indeed you have critiqued in the past ... the very thing you defend now, modernism.. by declaring the world an illusion and reality itself at your mighty disposal. On this update: you take on Descartes. And in the current update you describe yourself as "real", which seems to be a very symbolic word to you and other queens (see one example, scroll to "Got to Be Real" at the end..)
Are you "real"? I thought you were an "illusion". Is anything "real"? How to explain yourself, Diabolique?  P.S. I'm not obsessed, it's just that Google's search-within-site tool comes in very handy when looking for your inconsistencies."

I didn't say I was real last week. I said that my revelation was real. Therein find irony put to proper use.

As for your first worry, there are no inconsistencies. Quantum physics tell us that we may not exist and we divine quantum physics through reason.

Soren writes:

"TO: THE QUEEN D
Your "Sick Megamix" is a spooky work of art & sound. From the left speaker comes a human voice saying he wants to throw himself into an "icy lake" and from the right we hear the robotic voice "we had to sterilize the population"... masochism vs sadism? suicide vs murder?? the confusion is brought together by a 3rd voice in the middle "i am talking to myself..".. obviously this piece is about the confusion in your own mind.. is it telling that the voice of "reason" (?!).. the middle voice.. is a robot? yet that robot "talking to myself".. is malfunctioning?
the whole thing ends with a chorus of words that are indecipherable.. what is he saying? what are you saying? It's all very hypnotic. and computer-like.
youre interesting. diabolique. very interesting.
Has it been released? Where can I get a good copy?"

I have tricked you into thinking that I am interesting. I am not. I am not even talking, let alone to myself.

"The Sick Megamix" has not been released. It is an 80s style "megamix"/ 00s style "mashup" of 6 different twisted songs and some movie dialog. It is part of a 45 minute House of Diabolique mix called "21st Century Boy".

I appreciate your attention.

On to my passion, which is merriment:

I have lately undergone various trips to the doctor for blood tests, CT-scans, and some (very) minor surgery. All is well, if inconvenient, but the smell of sterilization brings back memories of my millennium drama.

For the first two weeks of cancer I felt as if I were visited by new forms of unendurable pain and torture every day. Getting hacked apart by a chainsaw would have been a relief. I may even have begged for it.

I hadn't believed in God at the time, but I had no proof for his non-existence. Lack of proof for non-existence was not proof of his existence, of course, but there was no way to convince others of my belief for non-belief.

Cancer pain finally gave me proof that God could not possibly exist, because an "all-loving" being would not create a world in which these bodies are more capable of pain than pleasure. There is no disease that tickles you. There is no virus to make you laugh, and except for myself, no cold to warm your heart. There is only disease to be avoided and pain to be endured, and death to rape us all in the end. Life ends not in birth.

The World's Fair of 1899 was full of bright predictions for the coming century, a century where science, technology and reason might finally set mankind free.

But quite unexpectedly, the 20th century turned into the bloodiest that man had ever known. World Wars I and II, the Holocaust, Nanking, Hiroshima, Vietnam, Rwanda, and countless other wars and atrocities marked 100 years of bloody carnage. It cannot be denied that "progress" lead to violence, chaos and mayhem due to man's ever-growing ability to inflict pain and death upon himself. Man swims forward but against the currents of his own device and destruction.

All wars are a form of suicide.

-

I work now at developing a time machine. I intend to go back to December 15, 2000, the first night of my cancer. I will visit myself in the hospital and kiss my sweat-drenched forehead. My own eyes will meet my own. I imagine that the other me will be confused, not knowing whether I am real or an illusion wrought by pain.

I will swing a hammer down and bash in my skull.

At that point, the paradox of time travel dictates that, having died, I will no longer exist to go back in time to kill myself. Time's whip will lash; I will endure it.

If love is a fine line from hate, then this scenario ought not to alarm you. Life may be a fine line from death. I may exist or not. I may be human after all, or something else.

Does God exist if not observed?

When a dog wants his master to stop, he too pulls on the leash.

'If This Ain't Love' by Jay Novell

until next week, remember..
when you dance, we are a part of what you feel.

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