BURN THE RAINBOW FLAG!
"Have you ever wondered... why being gay is like being a member of a religious cult, except not so open-minded?"
SMASH THE DISCOS!
Why does such blatant bullshit fly around the word "gay"? I don't know which is sillier, the paranoid fantasies of the people who try so hard to pretend gays don't exist and try to disqualify them from work, family and fun, or the smug proclamations of queer nationalists. The straights who lose it when they are reminded that homosexuality is a natural and ordinary part of life are too easy a target for this page, so I will just make fun of the gay scene and write my letter of resignation from that stagnated attempt at community.
Insert animated gif of a burning rainbow flag here...
Or a photo of the one I actually did burn at the Folsom 97 festival in San Francisco, with a few skins. The flag does not represent diversity - it represents uniformity, at least in the way that I see it used
Not that I have anything against the rainbow flag or what it is supposed to stand for. Its display, and especially its display all over certain neighborhoods, is a kind of territorial pissing that marks queer turf, just as a wolf will piss around the perimeter of its territory. If you want wolves to respect you, piss around your own territory and the wolves will understand. The gay neighborhoods are fortresses that defend those of us who live far from them. The ability of gays to mobilize in collective self-defense deters the attacks that homosexuals used to suffer more routinely.
But at the same time the rainbow flag is a gimmick to sell things to a captive and enthusiastic audience. No, I have nothing against making a buck. It is just that these things are not sold on their own merits - the objects of gay culture are mediocre and gays settle for insipidity, while thinking that just because Da Vinci and Michaelangelo were gay that the productions of contemporary gay artists must be of the same quality. Gay bars take their customers for granted: overpriced watered-down drinks, surly service and uninspired music. This consumer has taken his business elsewhere.
Gay politics rarely rise above organized whining. They reject strength, ability, and reason. Attempts at a "postgay" identity have only made for worse, starting with the army of drones who insist that every usage of the word "gay" be accompanied by "lesbian, bisexual, transgendered". Or those shrieking twits who condemn "assimilationists" as if that word really meant anything.
I would join the line to bury the word 'gay' but for one thing: it is just about the only word for the tribe that was made by the tribe itself; it was not one of those imposed from outside, from psychologists and others who would regulate our lives for us, it was not an insult that we reclaimed.
As it stands, if you ask if I am gay, I am lying whether I say yes or no, because I no longer see any connection between what makes me hard and what kind of a man I am and how I live my life and see the world. When I do walk into a gay bar and hear that discothumping, I get a reminder that I don't belong in there, they are not my people.
I got a letter from someone who thought he had put his neck on the line so I could be free to be gay, and have places to go, and be able to put up pages like this, and that I had no right to complain. As if the only reasons one could possibly be critical of gay culture were homophobia, or being freeloaders expecting that it would all be provided for you by generous all-knowing omnipotent activists. Well I've been there, and been one of those hardworking activists frustrated with the demands of those who want it all perfect, meeting every imaginable need, without figuring out how they could put their own energy into resolving the problems. I was a gay activist because I thought I should leave a campsite in better shape than I found it. I've struggled for and built gay turf, paid my dues, done my time, I earned a right to complain.
Gay culture was once a survival strategy and liberation movement and now it is just a marketing gimmick. The slogans of the movement miss the mark, erase the guys I get off with, and make little sense where I live. What I helped to build turned out to be a monster.