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...

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.