Sunday, November 27, 2016


The Queer Diary Series
Book II
Coming Christmas Eve 2016

                           Ellery William Flynn 
                                    12/14/1947 - 12/25/2014

I have and always have had a deep admiration, a reverent appreciation and respect for all working relationships, be it gay, or straight, or any couple united in the truest sense of the word love. To tether one’s heart and emotion to another human being, forging a long-term ‘commitment of compromise’ is tough work, an overwhelming and arduous task, a job many of us just weren’t cut out for.   
We compliment ourselves on our earlier choices, a shining reflection of our approval rating standing before us, our trophies, our skylines of ‘yes,’ our lookalike children posturing for ‘selfies,’ us growing up into our life with an inflated sense of our defeated accomplishments. We live in our dreams and die with our hopes, our lifelong forever maybes. We ride the conveyor belt of life silently, dictated by the job, the monotonous routine of our monthly bills, the mortgage payment we missed, living above our means but below our comfort level, preaching and praying and swearing about the country’s wavering and diminishing faith, while awakening our body to holy usury. The routine of life becomes our life, until that too bottoms out. We make do, we compromise, we create an affair to remember, a 3D movie memory of what it felt like to be touched in that certain way, loved just like that again. To have somebody/anybody handle us like an exquisite piece of fine chocolate, tasted and savored and devoured in one sweet ravenous bite, the leftovers dripping from our lips like hot syrupy body nectar.
We make peace, we piece it all together, we accept our differences and deny our truth. We lie. But we stay in the relationship. We make it work. We carry on. We may forget, but we will never forgive all those who inflicted those little hurts, those petty injustices, those pain-filled cries screamed out into the velvet night sky, ‘what the FUCK was I thinking?’ We bury all that too, somewhere. Where else would I go? What else would I do? The best years of my life behind me, I’m here now, only for the children.
These examples I witnessed.
The scripts from my youth, savage. These truths I heard recited, these conflicts I observed unresolved, the torment, the storms, the hiding under the table, the covering of my ears so as not to hear, the uncovering of my ears to hear too much. Silent and innocent, he is a very good boy, well behaved, subservient, an ardent observer, listening intently, unnoticed on the sidelines of life’s ugly battlefield.
All these things, the foundation of my life, the faulty building blocks of my rocky structure, the assimilation and integration and deviant distractions created from the passionate mind of an overly sensitive boy.

Christmas Eve, 2016

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