Trying to make something out of nothing else…

Well, here we are at an article that will try to make sense of a lot of matters all at once, which I usually do, and then find I’ve left an awful lot behind. I do that a lot.

I never noticed until after my car accident (which one, I know) that I’d lost my short-term memory. I don’t tell people this, and I don’t like to repeat it, partly due to the embarrassment of that. I was far too young to have things go “through one ear and out the other,” although my mother accused me of that pretty often as kid. She was probably right.

I have a habit of leaving my house without at least one or two things. Most of them are inconsequential. I forget my steel drinking unit, but that’s nothing. So I don’t get double points at the multinational corporation. I’m old enough now to say, “Who cares? They are meaningless in the scheme of things.”

They are, but I also have weird fascinations with numbers, figures, terms, and the way things look. I can’t imagine how on Earth Kaitryth lived in the same houses with me for several years. More to the point: how did any of my and our house/flatmates do it? I must have been horrible to live with at times, and true, I could be.

These are small examples of what I am dealing with as I approach “aging.” I also refuse to age. I don’t want to. I’ve decided next November, I’m 59, so fuck it. As we grow older, or rather our bodies and minds grow older, I am taking more notice of things that I didn’t care about for a long time.

Fashion. I have almost no fashion sense whatsoever. I just knew as far back as my youth that our clothing choices could make or break us, but also they put us in ridiculous straitjackets. I always thought girls had cooler clothes, better colors, better cuts.

Then again, guys could wear anything and just get away with it—not so. The wrong color, the wrong shade, it’s universal, you are fucked if you don’t wear this or that right.

I couldn't care less.

I have NEVER been one of those people who wear their jeans so low you can see the crack of my ass on one side and my dick on the other. You don’t need to know what underwear I’m wearing. Another thing: I NEVER will wear pants that show my socks, my ankles, etc. Ever since a bullet-headed jackass in high school called me out for wearing a pair of pants that made me look like a clamdigger, I never wore anything like that again. Perhaps he did me a favor; he’ll be mad if he reads that, because he was so disagreeable, and I don’t know how anyone liked him. No one liked me, either. I will get to that.

Back to clothes. I heard a guy say this once, about men who wear shorts that are “too short to be long and too long to be short.” I remember that happened in 1985 or ‘86, when suddenly everyone had to wear knickers, like frat boys. You will NEVER see me in those. They are the stupidest, laziest, most slovenly things any person could wear. Grow up, you’re not 12. If you’re gonna wear shorts, wear ones that fit; if you have nice legs, go ahead and show the goods. I don’t really care. I don’t judge you by your clothes, but it makes me wonder about you.

This is where I find character details for my books. Be warned.

I cannot wear shorts, because I don’t like the look of my legs. I just don’t. My skin issues do not translate, and I wear a shorter cut, which I wear at home, because Kao doesn’t give a shit what I wear. If someone’s coming to visit, or the pizza guy is coming, I’ll put pants on. I’m not completely insensitive.

At the same time, less clothing is freeing. It’s nice not to have to dress up or even dress. At home, you can do that. Outside, not so much.

I also have body issues. Those never go away. I will never have a body, despite my best efforts in the past, that is sculpted or sexy. My family’s body type just doesn’t allow it. Also, a surgery I had 30+ years ago killed any chance of having good abs. The scars tell you everything. It will not happen, and I have to have another surgery this summer, and I shudder to think what might happen there.

My skin…I have weird “aging” spots, I have odd things on part of my body, and we get those. I don’t notice them much, and I don’t think you would if you met me. We just aren’t perfect, folks. I’m trying not to care. But I do.

Clothes again…I am a tee shirt and jeans guy. I wear the same type of jeans, same pairs, and it’s hard to find them because my inseam is 36 inches. Total bitch to find jeans. I prefer Levi’s, black, with a small amount of give. 501 is fine, others are okay, but I’m easy to buy for.

Shirts…I love shirts, I really do, and when I find something I like, I buy a lot of them. I like certain fits, the comfort, the look. I have a closet (not so much now) full of collared shirts, some I wore onstage with Ahltyrra and the Dharma Fools, some I wore to job interviews, and others because I thought I should have something nice. I have a couple of nice jackets, and a bunch of heavy work shirts, hoodies, etc. About once a year, I clean out the closet and give away what I know I can’t wear anymore or won’t wear again.

Socks…you’re gonna hate this. I don’t wear ‘em much anymore. Bill Nighy said on his podcast recently that he could never be around any man who doesn’t wear socks. I get that. It is true, I will wear them when I wear my Docs, because you have to. I also have sneakers that require them, but…my friend Ella bought a pair of vegan shoes made by a company called Hobibear.

I didn’t think of it until I bought a pair myself! They are sockless shoes, and I really like them. They have an odd foot shape, but they are comfortable. Less socks to mismatch, might not be bad.

Also: as I am mostly bald (not a Just for Men or Rogaine guy), I wear a cap or a bandana. I’ve had a lot of them. I like their feel, their fit, and the look. End of story.

I am not talking about my underwear. It’s none of your business. Suffice to say, practical, comfortable and the less you see, the less you are going to think about.

Why do I tell you this?

Ugh…it’s because all my life I’ve wondered about who I am, and what I am, and why I’ve never fully felt “myself.” Since I was extremely little, I’ve felt like someone who stands outside of their body, next to myself, and am watching over my shoulder. I quit doing that as I got older, but that odd feeling never left me.

I’m still not myself. In case you ever wondered, through my writings, my music, my acting career (mostly Rocky Horror, but there were others), and then me…what on Earth am I?

I have to tell you now about misgendering. We hear that a lot. It’s not new, not a fad, it’s shit that’s gone on since the dawn of time. I was born a male, but for years I’ve considered myself non-binary.

That does not mean I am gay. That does not mean I’m straight. It actually doesn’t have a thing to do with sexuality; it’s the being. I accepted that I’m “male,” but every male has female characteristics, and vice versa. It’s pretty obvious. I am a guy with some female tendencies, so that’s…not gonna say normal, that word should be struck from the English language. I’m me, that’s it.

I do not identify much with either sex. Ident me as He/They. I won’t take offense if you don’t know. I don’t care.

Thing is, I’ve been misgendered since I was little. I grew up looking like a boy, wearing boy’s clothes, playing boy’s games, having a short, boy haircut. Yet…I was constantly called “she.”

Even when you were looking right at me, you were still calling me a girl.

Why? Are you that fucking blind, I must have wondered? I knew the word, FUCK in kindergarten; it’s a long story, and it’s kinda funny. But anyway…I began to wonder, did people see something in me I didn’t know about? Could I be a girl…just one with a dick?

I was misgendered into young adulthood. It could have been my name, but you are still looking right at me. What the Fuck, people?

When I started doing Rocky Horror at age 24, I finally felt at home in a world of mixed colors, styles, genders, all of it. It’s okay to be…and be it!

I have to see Linus O’Brien’s documentary on his father and the show…a must.

So anyway…we are a society that demands men dress one way, women another. Why are we still doing this? I got it into my head yesterday about dressing the way I used to when I was younger, nothing strange, but just to be different, as I did then, and now. I didn’t because I just did not have the time. Also, I thought, who am I impressing?

Me, of course.

I do have to explore more “things.” I need to figure out who I am going forward. If ever you have read my writings in recent years, you will see a parallel. You will see similar themes, but with different angles, textures, etc. I have a lot more to write and to share with you and I’m doing my best.

I have worn my freak flag all my fucking life. I don’t show it off as much because I don’t need to. We need to shout about it when the time comes, and that’s now.

So you know: no matter what, we are all human beings, and we have the right to determine our future. Fuck what politicians, churches, the whore-end of the media I work in, everyone else thinks. You are right for You. Be You. You will be recognized, and I hope you find your place, the one that is yours.

I write and create what I want to see, not what they say we’re supposed to see.

Peace, the Fuck Out.