A friend shared this little bit of Hemingway with me a while ago. I'm always amazed on how much I avoid certain authors even though they're enjoyable. Just something that reminds me of school schedules and dusty professors and teachers already claiming how magnificent and great some books are. Never bothered to read them until college where I had the time as a science major. I enjoyed The Old Man and The Sea after some attempts, but I can say that I have not picked up The Great Gatsby or Of Mice and Men.
Just....a bad taste. I also don't do things under pressure or demand. As much as I read I only do it for enjoyment, if not love when it comes to books. Never on a tablet either. Something about the smell of books and silence of rooms while in the act of reading. Libraries often hold a special place in my heart. I've had one of my first kisses in a dusty library under the tombs of the Romantics, oddly enough. Book stores as rare as they are now, are special to me as I try to pick up a paperback classic for something less then two dollars while drooling first editions behind glass.
Yea.....books....just books. I know, I'm stalling. I'm getting there, just lost in a memory, forgive me.
I realize that I'm a bit of an off pack rat. I'm not inclined to buy things that will give me joy or happiness. Years of pinching a penny for as long as I have has ensured that the people closest to me have socks and clothes for the changing weather of places too far away from me to visit at the time. Something that I have a nasty habit and I realize that I need to correct considering that I can not think of myself without wondering if everyone else is ok. So often times gifts give me minor panic attacks wondering if I can keep it or if someone will take it away from me because I need to be taught a lesson.
Did I mention the domestic violence? Yea.....that shit is bad.
And yet, books are different. I have no idea why as I always re buy books only to pass on to others when I believe they will enjoy something new. Books are special to me. I started reading at an early age and always found comfort in them. I've collected comics in my early teens and even now I have a few Harley Quine comics in a special place. I started reading King in my Freshmen year of high school and after a while I noticed for a stupid individual I'm tearing down books with thousands of pages. Even now, I carry several books with me in case I'm stuck in a place with nothing to "do". I'm not a real fan of phones, but books will always have a special place. The say some people go on about concerts I'm about books. The only thing close to books is video games. So yea....books.....*sigh*
So as an odd pack rat outside of books, I have a habit of just picking up random things with no thought other then I need this soon and often times the moment comes in where I pull out of my back an item to save the day. Zip ties? Gonna keep this bumper up! A small odd metal weight? Ok, I have a paper weight. We're missing a screw for some reason? Paperclips! So I'm usually negating my quirk with an odd feeling of "I may need this".
Sometimes it's not a thing. Sometimes it's this quote. I didn't have time to sit and analyze it, but I knew it hit a nerve. I knew it mean something. I just needed time to ponder and moments to just let it sit in thought. Recently I'm in an odd exchange of poems with a cousin of mine, my junior by at least 20 years. She toss one towards me and if I find a moment of silence I'm able to read it and ponder it. Thankfully I know more poems so that I can keep her busy, but hers are magnificent. I've been pondering one a few days now, now seeing my initial response what shallow. Chances are between here and writing elsewhere I'm probably going to send her a response and pondering on what she sent me.
Did I mention I hated doing this in high school?
It's fun now. Before.....busy work with no enjoyment.
Ok....more then enough set up.
It's odd to me that Hemingway, the previous embodiment of manhood, would be the one to say this. Oddly enough the male ego is a delicate thing and it's bruised and hurt so easily. We can see this with adolescent hero worship of 80's action movie stars who shot guns and screamed at brown people who now cower in the fear of chemtrails while another help keep a state in ruin. But hey, they had their shirts off and they growled and grrred and made all the manly noises and shot people rather then do anything "faggoty".......ah...the 80's....wouldn't it be nice to go back so that one group already in power can not feel threatened as other people get a fair shake?
Nah.....fuck em.....ha ha....such stupidity. People actually believe in this. Scary.
Yet, Hemingway somehow shows a side of tenderness here. He shows a bit of contemplation. Something I've learned entering my 30's was to drop any feign manhood. I know most believe me being facetious when I mention this, but there comes a time, usually in a moment of great pain where a man has to question their manhood. Or what it is to be a man. I know it's chic to laugh at all the genders and to mock those who are actually questioning their persona seen. I'm not even mentioning sexuality, but just how they wanted to be seen. And of course most of these cry babies who shout "triggers" at what ever they find offensive and "bad" as the SJW's they are would never have survived my childhood where they would be called a "fag" and be called lucky if only their feelings were hurt. Because sadly somehow we were told to swallow an image of what it is to be a man that is so fragile that if someone simply acts different we are threatened with some sort of challenge to our own view.
It's sad really.
I've pondered this a decades ago along with my three questions of sexuality and I can honestly say that I'm straight. In the Kinsey scale I would be considered a hard one with no inclination towards sexual attraction to men, my own gender. I'm not bragging, but I'm simply stating a fact that I always knew. I've had many moments when someone would flirt with me along the spectrum of feminine and masculine behavior. I've been propositioned and even wooed and yet, I offer thanks and simply turn down the advances. Not matter the age, I always was straight even if I didn't really understand how important that choice was. Huh, didn't help that I was a twink in my early twenties, huh. Oh, I also had a bout of TB so kind of hard to pack on muscle from puberty when you're trying to survive.
Hey, you're attracted to what and who you are attracted to.
And yet, I've always been straight. So it kind of bothers me that I've been picked on for being "kind' or "sweet" or even "delicate". I never felt attraction towards men, but "fagot" used to fly out of mouths trying to hurt me quickly. It never bothered me because I was straight. It didn't matter since as hard as it was, I was attracted to girls my age and women today. Yet, I was different. I didn't yell at women to do things with my junk. I didn't put mirrors on my shoes. I didn't peek nor did I try to cross the line that today would be a crime and then would be boys will be boys.
Mind you, I was still a teenager and if I did see a hint of lace that would set me off. I love the female figure back then as I do now. Now I just realized that it's best to to justify making woman an object and actually talking to them. The times I've "got some" it was never a choice or due to my ability to say, "hey, girl" in the best way. I never showed up and gotten laid. I don't have a pornographic wienner and somehow I don't have that douche gene that makes me act like one. If anything I never felt attractive. I knew early on that I need at least 15 minutes to convince a woman that I'm not murderous and more time to just woo.
These days I just like a conversation. Just a moment to share time and words. I notice that "being nice" sometimes equate to me being flirtation. Trust me, if I tried to flirt it would be awkward and sad and why I simply state the obvious or just don't try. It's why I know my vocabulary is important. Words have power.
oh....craps....hold on
*notices that something on stove is burning. Takes oatmeal off fire and serves it up, soaking the pot*
*clears throat* ....ok, where was I......yes...I like women.
And yet, because I was all these things I've been on the rough side of life. People believe that I needed to "toughen up". I was told that I should watch out for the homosexual because I was their target and they would make me the gay. Sadly, being sincere and trusting I swallowed it all and I made sure no one made me gay. Sadly, doing so has caused me to be a piece of shit for a while. I regret the actions now and even though they never went past small mockery or words, I'm ashamed that I had to act that way because I had to protect against something that would never happen.
In my early life, I married at 16, tried to start a family, worked multiple jobs and even tried to take classes. It wasn't until my twenties where I would start turning about. After years of TB, medicine, and hitting the gym my thin frame began to pick up muscle. I would pack on muscle by my late twenties and finally felt eyes on me. Didn't matter since I still felt awkward and odd. Women hit on me and I didn't know. Men hit on me and they were fucking blunt. Either way, my gym workouts, martial arts and simply working out decades of frustration and anger made me......different. It made me big, nasty looking, and angry.
Oddly enough, few people would still come near. I can say that my friends chose me rather then the other way. Even they say that I carry a chip on my shoulder and a sense of anger and mayhem. I'm been in my share of fights, bad situations and even a few drive bys on the receiving side. I realized how delicate the male ego is when you scare them. Mind you, words are always best, yet when most men realize they don't have a point to argue, the anger comes out.....unless you look like you can eat them. Then they're polite.
I think my time in therapy has been mostly realizing how much of a product of my environment I am. As toxic as it is, I am that product. And as much as I can say, I'm scarier then I'd like to be.
And yet, this quote hit me and it took me time to realize what it meant to me. I wrote this a few days ago. I think it speaks well.
I was once considered soft, tender, sensitive and kind as a child. Some whispered rumors of one day being outed. Others assumes that life would just tear me apart.
No, I survived. I am a product of my world and past choices. And yet, I feel I miss that sweet, tender little boy and wish I can hold him in my arms and tell him it will be ok. Hell is coming and it will be ok.
Sometimes....I wish I was still him.
I miss that little boy. That kid. The squeaky voiced, timid guy who was nice. Who was just a kind person, even if I was a bit of a spoiled brat. Yet, thinking now. If I could go back. I don't know if I would protect this version of me or simply prepare him. I don't know how I could improve him. OR if he needed improving in that way. I was soft, but that softness was strong. I'm still part of that kid when I'm alone and no one is near. My defenses drop and that kid sits alone and sighs.
Life is tough, yet I'm tougher. Yet this kid doesn't exist. He cried tears at how life was cruel and callus. He was in shock that he could not do anything, even to protect himself. That kid grabbed the weights and lifted until be developed an aura of malice. He took hits and bruises until he was nasty, vicious, and even horrifying. He read things that broke his heart, even just to disagree with it, but he devoured it all the same to become immune to the lies and mischievous intent until his eyes were hardened towards smiles and a sinister air hung on him that simply kept everyone away from him.
That kid became me. Can I be that kid again? I mean knowing everything and the such with improvements? Can I be the person I needed then for those who need them now? Can I?
Yea......therapy will see. I hope so. I miss that kid. He had his flaws, but he was sweet, kind, and loved people.
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