The Separation of Church & Straight (and other perceptions, or lacks thereof)

What is the Separation of Church and Straight?


No, that is not a typo.


The Separation of Church and Straight is an idea I had today when listening to some random talk radio personality on whose show a caller had a slip of the tongue and said "Separation of Church and Straight... I mean State." 


My point here is that there should be a divide between Church and all things dealing with sexuality and choice and freedom of pursuing personal happiness. Thus, a Separation of Church and Straight, or Gay or Bi or any personal lifestyle preference is essential for progress and movement to be made for equality in this country. 


For far too long, the religious extremists have taken the political stage and pushed their fanatical agenda to prohibit and eliminate any form of pleasure or happiness for Americans who choose to live a life with different rules than those they personally espouse. 


Since my freshman year at Knox College, I have done everything in my personal life to open my mind to acceptance (having spent many years being oppressed by a religious fanatical Southern Baptist church).

When I first became aware of alternate lifestyle choices, I was afraid and ignorant, but have discovered that many friends enjoy their personal lives in their own way which differs from what I was brainwashed as acceptable. 

Having overcome that brainwashing, I hold no animosity for anyone except the fools who fear what they refuse to accept or understand. 


My philosophy is as follows: 

What two people in love do in the privacy of their own relationship is no business of anyone outside of that relationship. leave it alone and we can all have Life, Liberty, and Pursue our own happiness in whatever way we see fit. Hey... where have I heard those words before...??? 

Brainwashing is what has happened throughout history, as the religions and the "Church" have used every form of manipulation, war, abuse, and torture to instill into the general populace the soap suds of religious dogma. What needs to occur to these bubbly fanatics is a rinse cycle to wash away the soapy tendrils of ignorance and fear, the better to allow them to think clearly about the facts of life and see what the suds have hidden from them for countless generations: the truth which they refuse to acknowledge could possibly hold any basis in fact. 




Now let me flip the world around: Separation of Church and Straight...


Imagine a world where being Straight was considered a moral obscenity by the religious majority. Certainly, procreation must occur to maintain the existence of the species, but besides that, just humor me a moment...  


To the point:


Would "man and woman" lovers want the intimate details of their love life plastered all over the news and discussed with distaste in Congress or by Political or Religious leaders? 


Husbands and Wives certainly do not talk their intimate activities. Neither do people of different lifestyles. 

When two people wish to make each other happy, the only thing that should be of concern is safety and privacy. How is it anyone's business besides the two (or perhaps more?) people who are enjoying one another's company? 

For those offended by my words or my open blatant discussion of these topics, I am not sorry. 


I understand you may not think it is right to share my thoughts or opinions. 


I grew up in an abusive home with fear and terror every. single. day. I was exposed at a very young age to the horrific nature of the universe and the darkest parts of human nature. Due to that, I sometimes have difficulty keeping my mouth shut and sometimes may shock or astound my family members or peers. 


I am a truthful, open, honest man. I do not apologize for my blunt nature. 


I was not raised in an environment in which polite conversation took place. I was not taught proper etiquette for conversation or meals or ... whatever it is that I do not even know to mention here because I have no knowledge of it... 


So for those who insist I should not state my opinions or support causes which may offend one or multiple persons, for those who find me crude, uncouth, and undisciplined, please know that what I have in my perception of the world is tarnished, tainted, and blistering with welts from decades of beatings from my father - and I know no better. 




The above being analyzed and placed upon the ether like a wind broken upon a breeze... 


I try. 


I do try to comply with morality and what I happen to skim off the surface of perception when I am in a situation where others expect more of me... Yet, my ignorance and lack of exposure to some things in the common culture of American Life and World Society leaves me lacking in the eyes of others.


I honestly know nothing of classical music, do not comprehend the point of sporting events, have no idea why people may drink the foul fermentation of century-old grapes and call it pleasurable..?

My musical, artistic, and cultural tastes were limited and confined to a few of the favorite things which my mother and grandparents happened to enjoy. I never knew who The Beatles were until I was 16 and in High School. I do not understand the music of The Who or The Rolling Stones or ... well, I have no knowledge of names of similar bands because I have never been exposed to them, or perhaps dislike them to the point I have never held their existence in my mind long enough to recall them in order to describe them in this disclosure of cultural deprivation... 

And thus many of you who have so far chosen to take the time to take in all that I have given out here in these paragraphs... Now you may better understand why I have these odd looks or unusual reactions or lack of comprehension when you may mention something like "The White Album" or "Symphony No. 7" or "Monet-esque"... To me that is all gibberish (and I even had to Google it to find out the proper spelling and names of these things) which my faint recollection of astonished lack of understanding can barely manage to bring forth. 


I am at a loss for now and shall thus take my leave of typing furthermore this evening. Until some time later then...

Tranquility Fate (prose)

The tranquility of peaceful sensation: confidence overwhelms my moment of now as I philosophize apathy and consider all aspects of relaxation of mind and body within my warm place of being.

The loveliness of calmness is an artifice brought upon my current like a still water that can never last as the wind always blows away the glassy surface of smoothness with ripples of emotional distress.

Yet I suppress these anxieties and frustrations, caring only for the freedom of enjoyment as I envision the endless distance of imaginated fugue state: I am comforted by the peaceful outlook I have taken upon myself, having replaced the constant dilapidated state of distress which has been my life and past pains.

And yet in my calm state of mind, I find myself reminiscing over what is yet to be or soon to come while a whisper of regret lingers about my mind like a cloud of smoke, cloying and swirling with the slightest breeze or exhalation of breath.

What I need and what I want have come into alignment and the fruition of those desires will be forthcoming upon their own arrival time, hopefully sooner than later.

For my words may shock those who think that they know me, but the horrific nightmares I experienced as a youth have become ingrained into my life and persona, fortifying and encapsulating me.

Such topics which I speak aloud in casual conversation with matter-of-factness are taboo: they utterly astound and shatter the perception of those around me who stand with shocked expression and whisper that my words were too much for their fragile realities to conceive of as normality...




And yet these things are nothing shocking to my own mind and lifestyle as I have accepted them as part of my being and incorporated them into my heart and mind.




However I find that I must censor my own words and edit my mad thoughts before they leap from my tongue into the over-sensitive atmosphere of over-confidence which surrounds those who grew up within an environment which nurtured, protected, and cushioned them from the dramas and horrors of what I find to be part of my childhood.

My American dreams are the nightmares of politicians who prefer to slice their own roads with the cash provided by their special interests, which have nothing to do with the interests of those who are truly special and in dire need of guidance and protection from such greed and carelessness - as that which purports to be for the good of all benefits a mere few.

These dreams of a world in which society as a whole is protected from those who would do any portion of that society harm: protected by a governing body of people who truly listen to the individuals who live in the worst possible conditions; protected by people of influence who will work to their maximum potential to make the least man's life better.




These are the nightmares of the warring factions of oil-mongrels who insist that they receive their own share before anyone else can even see how much is there in the first place.




Ah, but these pipe dreams can bring about the downfall of so many who see themselves as essential and integral to the working functions of this society of American greed. Due to this essential inevitability, little chance exists for the society to become a great covenant of self-sufficiency in a world that sees only the bottom line of profitability; damn the need for stability within our own country!

And even still I find myself calmed and soothed by the fact that there is still a chance for true change in this world, if only those who live in fear would wake up from the nightmare of a greedy corporatocracy and seize back the reins of power, to lash the workhorses and work houses back to full tilt and bring America out of the ditch.

The solutions of tomorrow must be found in the shadows of our yesterdays and utilized to renovate this shabby home: fumigate the evils of society and scrub away the muck from our dilapidated factories; find a way to bring us back from this brink at which we are poised to be punched in the face and plummet to our doom.

All the while we continue to buy foreign-made goods and stare in shock at the cost of buying something made by people within our own borders; thus the cycle of inevitable atrophy continues to eat away at our souls.

Memoirs of a Hunter's Son... Part 1

This blog post, and the series of postings to come, will be a tale of anguish, terror, occasional joy, and yet be completely true to the best of my recollection. This is an autobiographical set of writings which detail my life from 1975 to today. On occasion, some of the details captured in these postings may contain topics and instances of violence, abuse, and sexual references. For the most part, I will strive to keep everything as PG Rated as I can, but I am not making any promises.






Memoirs of a Hunter's Son... Part 1:


One of my earliest memories is waking up to the noise of people talking in the next room. The light came on and my brother called my name to wake me up. Mom leaned down to me on the bottom bunk of the bunk-bed my brother and I shared while we were living in my grandmother's basement. She gently shook me awake and told me she had a surprise for me. The next thing I recall is suddenly seeing my daddy for the first time in a long time.

The context in which the previous memory resides must be filled in for you to comprehend what emotional impact and resounding fear brought to and followed this moment captured in my memory. My father was a man who indulged in every substance he could find which allowed him to escape the pressures, pain, memories, and fears of living in a world where he had always been told he would never be good enough.

Dad was the oldest son in his family, and received an indecipherable amount of abuse, neglect, and accusations throughout his childhood. Other than that, I know very little. Rumor has it that - when his parents would go out to the movies or to parties or shopping, my father - as a child of 10 years - would be locked inside the cabinet in the kitchen of the farmhouse he lived on. Upon his father's return home, he would be beaten if a single tear or flicker of resentment was seen in his eyes or on his face.

The damage to a child's mental state makes the man he will become a bitter, isolated, terrified soul. My father escaped from his memories of anguish and pain by drinking, smoking, snorting, and injecting anything that would numb the pain. As a child myself, I had little awareness of the snorting or injecting, but full knowledge of the drinking and smoking.

The chain of physical, psychological, and even sexual abuse continued with my father upon my siblings, myself, my mother, and anyone who was in my dad's way when he was upset. The scars in my mind are more ingrained within my being than the markings left to this day on my flesh from my father's abuse. The majority of my memories from childhood are so filled with agony and terror that my subconscious has hidden them away behind a wall of depression and fury. 

So, upon reflection of what my father was, what he did to my family and myself, I shall return to the tale of memory with which I began this posting.

I awoke to my mother's face, so loved and beautiful back then, before father had his way with her, by battering and bashing and breaking her jaw... Mom picked me up and carried me into her bedroom and - to my sand-man dreary, sleep-filled eyes and groggy mind, I saw my father. The joy in my brother's eyes and the smile on his face was something I remember with bitter sibling jealousy - an emotion I had no name for at the tender age of 8 years.


Mom set me down and I ran to Dad and let him scoop me up as I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him my best and longest bear hug ever. 

My father was always doing things which would end with him behind bars. Every time he would do something he knew was illegal, he would always assume he could never get caught. For several years he had been in jail. I had known his presence and his face and his voice and his smell from my infancy, and would remember it all my life, whether I thought I could or even wanted to, but for much of my life, Dad had spent a lot of time in prison or being his party animal self with an unknown quantity of women at every party he went to...

After the bear hug, I recall little of detail. Occasionally, these images repeat their presence in my mind at odd moments.  The years following this moment of happiness in my youth would be terrifying and filled with bruising, bleeding, broken bones, silent tears while hiding in the closet, endless screams of pain as my father's leather belt would lash its way across our backsides until we bled out and could hardly walk, much less sit down, and rare, but precious moments my father would take us for a wild ride in the van and get us some ice cream...


These memories are cruel, but I must open the gates and let the compressed oceans of darkness find the light.

Assumptions about me: Sports...

Being a 6'3" tall man with big hands, large shoes, and an attitude that just seems to confuse people I meet, I have had to deal with so many stereotypical assumptions throughout my life.


At family reunions (on my mom's side) I have been and will always be "the short one," as most of the men in my family exceed 6'4" and a few even stand taller than 7 feet. You can very likely guess where I am headed with this height thing, can't you?


SPORTS (And why I hate them):

• When I was a child, I would wake up every morning before school early enough to wolf down over-sugared cereal and watch my favorite cartoons: Scooby Doo, The Flip Side, Dungeon Master, He-Man, and of course Transformers.
• My mom, brother, and sister and I lived in my grandmother's basement at the time and shared the house with our grandparents and mom's older brother, my Uncle Bob.
• Uncle Bob, being the first male born to my grandparents, was thus the inheritor of everything in the house, including all of the televisions he personally bought for the household.
• Having never had a true father figure in my life, I had no one with whom I would ever learn to enjoy, take part in, or even watch sports of any kind.
• Every morning, during Scooby Doo, Uncle Bob would come out from his room and do stretches, exercizes, and the like - right in the center of the living room.
• This forced me and my siblings to sit directly in front of the television, a mere 12 inches or so away from the screen.
• This eventually lead to my need for corrective lenses, as I had ruined my vision by constantly sitting too close to the television.
• While on most occasions, Uncle Bob would simply wait until after his exercizes to take over the almighty television and change the channels, there were countless other instances when he immediately changed the channel right in the middle of our cartoons.
• So, there's the setup... Now here's the clincher:
• Since the television was bought and paid for by Uncle Bob, he was the "god" of the TV.
• Every time he changed the channel - right in the middle of Scooby Doo, he would turn on sports...
• Tennis
• Golf
• Bowling
• Football
• Can you imagine the sheer rage and tantrums I went into when - right as Fred was about to pull the mask off the monster - Uncle Bob suddenly switched to some guy whispering into a microphone as some other guy held a long stick with which he tried to slap a 2-inch ball across half a mile in order to land in a 4-inch hole?
• Thus, we arrive at the core of all hatred I have toward sporting events, sports broadcasting, and people who quote statistics like they were presenting information more valuable than gold...
• I grew to hate golf, bowling, tennis, and especially football (which seemed to be on all the time when I got home from school).
• Uncle Bob seemed to take no interest in teaching me or my siblings the rules of the game or how it could entertain.
• The Physical Education teachers at school all assumed that every student had complete knowledge of how to play every type of sport, so they did not bother explaining anything to anyone.
• Despite having grown, matured, and educated myself, I still find the fascination with sports an enigma.
• I can tolerate and ignore sports games when they are shown on television in someone else's home.
• I have blocked and locked all of the sports stations on my Dish Network DVR at home - you'll never guess the password!
• And yet, due to my height and build, people assume I play (or have played) basketball or football.
• When I deliver food on major football or basketball days to homes where men gather to watch their big-screens, I have to fend off their questions of who I am rooting for, or the declaration of the current score.
• Short people always ask me if I played basketball in school.
• I did not.
• I once had a PE class where they had us playing football and baseball alternately, and I had to ask everyone how to play or what the rules were.
• Everyone gave me weird looks, as their own fathers had raised them from birth to know every in and out of every sport imaginable.
• People would laugh at my ignorance and inability to know the difference between a home run and a touchdown.
• So --- why do I hate sports?
• I just do.
• I do not comprehend the fascination of watching other people run after/run away from/swing sticks at balls.
• To me, sports are for the jocks of the world who have nothing better to do with their time or their life.
• To me, Sports is a complete waste of time.

Embrace ... What?

Random Quote of the day:

" Everybody's a mad scientist, and life is their lab. We're all trying to experiment to find a way to live, to solve problems, to fend off madness and chaos. "
 -- David Cronenberg --

The name's Xoandre.* I'm a dreamer.

By embracing the silence I find in the little moments of a busy life, I have discovered a way in which I may become calm from the storm of insanity within and without my self.

I write fluidly, grammatically correct, and with attitude and passion. Sometimes I will write whole paragraphs that are legitimate and procedural sentences which extend to as many as 200 words or more.

In a life filled with tragedy, romance, passion, pain, (pathological lies,) desire, terror, and a dash of absolute schizophrenic hysteria, I have found that I must take a moment every now and then to cool my soul, soothe my rolling boil of a mind, temper the tantrums that are ready to leap from my calloused, perfunctory exterior of apathy and indifference... in order to retain what shreds of opportunity and personality I keep holding on to (with bleeding palms).

I consider myself a wordsmith, having educated myself in the United States Public School System which has been embalmed and is about to be thrown in the blazing furnace of cremation by the radicals who wish only to make a quick buck off whatever they can cut from their disappointing and malnourished budgets.

Politics, hope, hate, passions, and even Presidential ambitions will be posted on this blog. Yes, I said it: I would love to try my hand at running this country. However, I have come to realize that the act of residing in the White House may not mean that I can make, propose, or enact the sweeping changes I have envisioned for the USA or the world at large.

Aww, shucks, another fella who wants to rule the world. What else could I be?

I am apathetic to the causes which drive so many wild. I find myself enraged and confused at the acts I see and hear other people embracing as if everyone does and feels the same as they do: habits such as smoking; worshiping invisible people; consuming large quantities of alcohol; spending real, hard-earned money on fake, non-existent online gaming and worthless trinkets; and wasting their time in bars, watching sporting events, or even accelerating while approaching a red light or stop sign. GAH!

Yes, I am random, and I am madly going to call out the way people do things, why they do them, and why they should not even consider continuing to do them. 

I have lived a sheltered, unpretentious, difficult life filled with anger, fury, pain, and occasional peace or even joy. What I say here may put some of you off, enrage you, confound you as to my lack of knowledge on certain things, and - in general - make you re-think some of the ways you act or think in your lives.

What does it truly mean to "Embrace the silence?"
Embracing the silence is akin to "Stop and smell the roses" but has more meaning when you extrapolate what "the silence" could actually represent, and how you might choose to embrace it.

So, let me end this first posting on my new blog by saying the following:

To solve the problem of seat up, seat down, or seat wet all over, both men and women alike should simply close the toilet lid before they flush. Then, when the next person arrives to use it, they have to lift the lid regardless. This works in more ways than you may think: by closing the lid BEFORE you flush, you reduce the spray of micro-particles of urine and fecal matter into the air around the toilet (on to - say - your toothbrush)...

* Xoandre is pronounced (zoh -- and -- err)  Like Xander but with an "o"...