Letters

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Dear Piefolk,

 

Lately I have really come to terms with who I am as a person. I’m often wondering about my personal life. I have been single for 8 years, which is a blessing because it has allowed me to enjoy the finer things in life. But at the same time, I often wonder why do a lot of gay males put such an heavy emphasis on having an relationship? Why do they insist on having a companion at such an young age when that phase is meant to experience a lot of things. I just don’t understand how it can be so complicated but yet so simple. I don’t want a relationship but I do want companionship.

            I’m an African American male who happens to be attracted to Caucasians males but I often find most of them sexualize the African American community, how can I approach a guy without them sexualizing me or the parts that I have? I’m an old soul, and I do believe in the whole courting process hence dinner, flowers, movies and the whole nine yard but most of them don’t want to engage in that, they want to get down to the nitty and gritty part of the bedroom which is okay – but I do want to be able to enjoy their company.. How can I do that without giving the aura of wanting a relationship when I just want to be able to enjoy their company on a simplistic level.

 

Thanks,

Confused African American

 

Dear CAA,

Thanks for writing. This is a very complicated issue. Most gay men are emotionally stunted, buddy. They don’t get to express their sexuality, usually, until college age, and even then the rest of society asks gay men to submerge themselves into a hetero-normative paradigm. Boys aren’t allowed to walk down the street holding hands. People say you can in New York, but I’d like to see you try it in The Bronx, or Bushwick after dark.

Most straight people have been conditioned from a very early age to fear and mistrust homosexuals. Yes, things are changing, but as you well know from being African American – change is hard earned and you have to quietly insist on your dignity your entire life. Or fight for it, in certain circumstances.

The side effect, I think, is a certain feeling you get when you’re a gay man. The world hates you and wishes you would go away, so how do you even have a relationship? Then again, we are all raised to idolize the traditional heterosexual family structure and we want it all. House, kids, picket fence, houseboy(s).  However, most of us have been pressured by our families to change who we are fundamentally, or at least be sensible enough to constantly hide our sexuality –  when the rest of the world gets to broadcast their love all over the place. We have to walk around feeling like we don’t deserve the simple things straight people take for granted.

Maybe it’s just a man thing. I’ve heard women complain that all men are desperately lonely, and terrified of commitment. Well, gay men certainly are, and so we usually go for sex instead of a date. Call it modern, convenient, fun, decadent – it’s been my experience that most guys want to have sex, and not stick around to play video games.

Which is weird, because getting a beej while you play video games is probably the best thing going.

You might be casting mixed signals, being a good date but not being a relationship type. You might experiment with the idea of hanging out with a good friend, non-sexually, and hooking up with a handsome stranger from the internet later that evening. There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s also nothing wrong with going on a date when you’re pretty sure you don’t want a relationship. Dating is fun, and leads to STDs. Why wouldn’t you?

I will, however, balk at the idea that you just ‘happen’ to be attracted to Caucasians, while they all want you for your big black parts. You asked how to get people to stop sexualizing you? You can’t. Just enjoy it. People like what they like. It’s just as racist for you to only sleep with white boys, as it is for them to only want a black lovers – which is to say – not at all racist. People have preferences, and it’s not just racial. Sometimes it’s cultural, or class based, or sometimes you want mint tea and there’s none left and you drink chamomile. Delicious yellow chamomile.

However, if you do go on a date and the dude won’t stop mentioning your race in an unfunny, annoying way? Don’t reward him by having sex with him. Don’t do it. You’re not doing well for yourself or the world by rewarding the type of behavior you disdain. It sounds like you’re an old-fashioned guy who likes to take things slow. It sounds like you have a healthy sex drive. You’re part of two oppressed minority groups. I’d say, take the best of life and leave the rest. Focusing on the negative makes a negative life, and you’ve probably had a long haul to get where you are. Let yourself enjoy.

I guess I mean this: Bring flowers, go to dinner, hold hands – and go out there and get some pretty white tail. You earned it.

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Broken Bird, Part Three

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Him: It’s good to see you.

Me: You too. I haven’t seen much of you since Thin Skin Jonny went on hiatus.

Him: I’ve been around. I’m in school, too.

Me: How’s Bobby?

Him: Back with James Blackheart. He moved out.

Me: Again? That’s a shame. How was living with him?

Him: I loved living with Bobby Finn. I used to say we ran a bed and breakfast. Bobby provided the bed and I provided breakfast. I got to meet so many new people.

Me: I know the feeling. It was a circus here, for the two months he stayed…

Him: Yes, well… That’s Bobby for you.

(pause)

Me: Why did he turn his back on me, do you think?

Him: (sighs) I don’t know. I couldn’t or wouldn’t say, even if I did know.

Me: Well, I find it extremely unfair. He freeloaded off me for months and now won’t answer my txts, phone calls, or emails. He’s blocked me on Facebook.

Him: Did you say anything nasty to him?

Me: NO! He’s been out of town for about 4 months doing that theater gig in Kansas. I asked him to have lunch with me and go shopping. I wanted to say goodbye before I left for the West Coast.

Him: Maybe he doesn’t want to see you?

Me: That’s clear, but don’t you think it’s a little rude? I give the guy a place to stay, because he’s being “abused,” and then he gets to turn his back on me?

Him: Bobby just doesn’t understand your decisions lately.

Me: So what? Neither does my Mother, or most of my so-called friends, colleagues, acquaintances or whatnot. Doesn’t matter. When someone announces a wedding you pretend you’re excited, at least. You don’t head for the hills, because you are gay and reserve the right to hate all women, categorically, except your mother.

Him: Quite a few gay men operate like that.

Me: I know that, but don’t I get to expect more of Bobby? I took him in. I put him on the most well-respected comedy stage in NYC. I held him when he cried, and bought him lunch sometimes, if it was clear he was hungry. Why does he have any sort of moral high ground, here?

Him: You’d have to ask him.

Me: That’s the problem. Rather than take me for a walk in the park and ask how I’m doing, inquire about my assault and the PTSD that triggered – rather than congratulate me on my marriage, or say goodbye to an old friend who’s moving 3000 miles away – rather than any of that, he just ignores me. No explanation.

Him: Perhaps he feels that sort of goodbye is preferable to an argument?

Me: There’s nothing to argue about. I don’t have to ask his permission to get married, man or woman. I don’t have to ask anyone’s permission to have a nervous break-down. When women do it, it’s called a ‘rough’ period. When I do it, I need an analyst. I like my analyst, by the way.

Him: That’s good.

Me: Here’s what isn’t good.

(pause)

Me: I ran into Clive, a few months after Bobby left and moved in with you.

Him: I always thought he was cute.

Me: Me too. Not my usual type, but super cute. Anyway, Clive told me that Bobby wasn’t abused at all – at least not physically like he claimed. Clive told me Bobby smashed the wine glass on his own face. He knew the cops were coming and he wanted to look like a victim. He wanted to force James to let him stay in the fancy apartment.

Him: What’s the difference? Does that make him an awful person?

Me: Are you kidding me? He lied to me about being abused, paid nothing to live here, and started undermining me in the band as soon as he moved in with you. He took my kindness and showed me contempt.

Him: You’re just describing human nature.

Me: All of those things I could forgive. He’s younger than me (but getting older – red heads should stay out of the sun) and I could have forgiven those annoying things, but this… How dare he turn his back on me. How dare he join the ranks of former friends who won’t return my calls, simply because I married a woman.

Him: Quite a few people don’t understand that, Michael. You were so vocal about gay rights for so long…

Me: So what? One doesn’t have to be gay to believe in human rights. One also doesn’t have to be straight to marry a woman. It’s reason to ruin a friendship? He should have hung around and made up with me. Stupid, trusting Michael would have probably made him dinner and opened some wine.

Him: Maybe it’s just not the right timing for you two right now.

Me: Exactly. It’s not the right timing because I finally have nothing left to give that selfish little…

Him: Say it. You’ll feel better if you say it.

Me: Human being. Bobby Finn is a real prime example of a human being.

(Marco Bright laughs. I start crying. Marco puts on a pot of hot water.)

(pause)

(Soon enough we are laughing and writing songs again.)

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Broken Bird: Part Two

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Me: I made eggs, are you hungry?

Him: Okay, I guess. Wait, no. I’m fine. I’m getting fat.

Me: You’re never going to be fat.

Him: Where’s Karl?

Me: He left a few hours ago. He had to get to work.

Him: Work…  I know I’ve heard that word before. Work….

Me: I know, I’ve read about it, too. Who can say for sure, what this ‘work’ is? I understand everyone is always looking for it, and they dislike it when they have it?

Him: No, I think you’re thinking of ‘love.’

Me: I stand corrected.

(pause)

Me: So, I need to say this: My feelings were hurt last night.

Him: What? Why? Oh…

Me: Right. Karl and I were on our second date.

Him: I didn’t know that!

Me: I think I mentioned it, yesterday. I was excited about this one.

(pause)

Him: How did it go?

Me: Well, I dunno. It was going well. I guess I shouldn’t have…

Him: You know, I really like him!

Me: Yes. You two really seem to like one another.

(pause)

Him: Let’s just have this out. What are you upset about?

Me: Well, I kind of thought that Karl and I were on a date. I wanted you to meet us at Sugarland, because you’re living with me, and I consider you a good friend, by now.

Him: I am your friend.

Me: Right, and I feel like saying this, then – I don’t think it was very kind, or considerate of you to sleep with him in my bed, on our second date.

Him: I don’t think he thinks you two were on a date.

Me: At this point, no, neither do I. I don’t date people that fuck my friends during the first phase of the relationship. You have to wait a year or two, before you start fucking my roommate.

Him: It could have been the three of us…

Me: Yes. I know that. I felt that energy, but it’s hard for me to participate in that energy when I’m managing extreme hurt feelings.

Him: I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

Me: Right, well, I mentioned it was a date.

Him: I didn’t hear you.

(pause)

Him: You talk a lot.

(pause)

Me: I also cook and clean a lot.

(pause)

Him: I have to leave. I’ve got things to do today.

Me: I want you to know one more thing.

Him: Jesus, what now, grandpa?

Me: Just that I forgive you.

(pause)

Me: I forgive you both, and I am letting the anger for this go. My friendship with you is more important than a second date, and Karl is handsome, but not really my type.

Him: Seriously?

Me: I think so. I processed it, here, in the kitchen last night while you guys were soiling my sheets.

Him: I felt guilty when I saw you asleep on the couch.

Me: Well, you should check my blog. I blogged about it, last night, while you two were having sex.

Him: WHAT?

Me: Sorry. I had to get it out. I had to let it go. That’s part of what PIEFOLK is – it’s a place for me to put things I find awkward, sad, frustrating, or when people I care about do things I don’t quite understand.

Him: Michael, I’m sorry. Just tell me next time, or don’t invite me. You know what I’m like –

Me: When you’re drinking. Yes. And it’s hard to ask an actor, much less a drunk actor, to be anything less than the marvelous attention hound he was born to be. However, I’m a comic and a writer, and I want you to know – fair’s fair – this IS becoming material.

Him: Thanks for asking me. Looks like it already has become material.

Me: Uh, if you want to get on a high horse start paying rent.

(pause)

Him: I love you, big brother.

Me: Then give me a hug. I forgive you. I’m sorry.

Him: Me too.

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Tuesdate: Flashback to 2011 – Broken Bird, Part One

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Him: Thanks for answering the phone.

Me: My god, of course, Bobby. Of course. What the hell happened?  Do you want some tea, or… I have some braised pork in the fridge? I’m going to make some food.

Him: I know it’s way before five, but do you have anything stronger than tea?

(pause)

Me: Yes. Yes I do. I guess bourbon is okay?

Him: That’s fine. Have one with me?

Me: No. I have to teach later, but you can have my shot. I’ll pour a double.

(long pause, sets cutlery, boils water, makes food and drink)

Him: I guess you’re wondering what happened?

Me: James Blackheart happened?

Him: Yep.

Me: Who hit you? You look like you got into a fight with an elephant.

(pause)

Me: Do you need a hug?

(they embrace for a long tme, Bobby shakes, trembling)

Me: Okay, let’s sit back down. I don’t like this side of you. You’re too good looking to walk around with cuts and bruises on your face.

Him: He stopped taking his meds.

Me: And then what?

Him: He came home late at night and started throwing my things into the hallway. He was with another boy, and started screaming about how I didn’t live there anymore.

Me: Wait, what? He came home with another guy? Did you two break up?

Him: We were talking about it, but he’s constantly talking about that sort of thing. He’s not stable when he doesn’t take his meds.

Me: Or even when he does…

Him: He works very hard and makes a lot of money.

Me: So did Kim Jong Il.

Him: He’s a good provider, Michael. You don’t see that side of him, or when he’s sweet for days or weeks on end. He’s a good man.

Me: Good men don’t beat their boyfriends.

Him: It was complicated. We were shouting at each other, he was destroying things – throwing my things out of the apartment. He screamed about how he’d always paid the rent and he was evicting me. He asked the boy to stay and he did for a while, but then it got so ugly – the boy left. The neighbors came over, threatening to call the police. We argued with them. They called the cops.

Me: How did you get those cuts and bruises?

Him: James hit me. That had happened before.

Me: Wait, how often does he hit you?

(long pause)

Him: It had happened before. Not often, but often enough to make me afraid of setting him off. He’s got chemical imbalances.

Me: Bullshit. He’s a dick. He’s an evil man. That’s not a chemical imbalance – that’s a character flaw.

Him: People go through phases, Michael. People aren’t always kind.

Me: But kindness is always an option. There are folk who won’t treat you like that. There are nice, rich guys that would pamper you and spoil you, and not keep you on high terror lockdown.

(pause)

Him: But I love James.

Me: Did your father hit you?

(long pause)

Him: We were terrified of him, growing up. He wasn’t a nice man.

Me: Okay, so you’re now in a cycle of the same pattern with your boyfriend. Your ex-boyfriend.

Him: Can I stay here for a while?

Me: Obviously. You’re moving in today.

Him: Thank you. I knew you’d help me.

Me: We don’t know each other that well, but I can’t have you walking around like an abused housewife. You’re talented. Have you been singing?

Him: Not really.

Me: You’re joining the band, for a while. You need to get back to what brings you joy.

Him: I can sleep in your bed with you, and we can –

Me: I think that phase of our relationship is over. You can take the couch, or if you have  a date that goes particularly well, I’ll take the couch. We’ll split the chores, and for the first few weeks I’ll buy all the food. If you need to stay more than a month, we can talk about rent, etc. – is that okay?

Him: That’s more than…   Thank you!

Me: How did you get that gash?

Him: He smashed a wine glass on my head, right before the police showed up.

Me: This relationship is over.

Him: We both stayed the night in jail. Different holding cells.

Me: Good lord.

Him: He’d wanted me to get a job, and the funny thing is I’d gotten a retail job, but it wasn’t good enough, or the money wasn’t coming fast enough. I’d only been working there for 10 days. It’s not enough time to develop a clientele, or anything. Plus he was jealous I was ‘flirting with old men in Chelsea’ for a living.

Me: Flirting with old men is your favorite pass time!

Him: Preach. Anyway, I think it’s over. I hope he hasn’t destroyed my things.

Me: We’ll get you new things, or if need be, we can go over there with a bunch of people so he can’t hurt you. Here’s an extra set of keys.

Him: Thanks mister. Do you have an enema? I need to get ready to go out tonight.

Me: Oh Jesus, this is gonna be trouble.

Him: I can behave, too.

Me: No. Just no hard drugs in the apartment, please, and don’t bring over anyone who looks like a junkie or a thief? And no singing after 1am. I have a coke-head neighbor who’s pushy and demanding about his quiet time. Every time I go over there he’s watching porn on multiple screens and cracked out of his skull.

Him: Is he cute?

Me: He’s like… if you smashed Chris Farley together with Golem. Is that your thing?

Him: No, but I like porn.

Me: Look. Here’s the enema. Please don’t leave it out.

Him: Don’t worry, I will!

(pause)

Me: I know, baby.

(pause)

I know you will…

(pause)

You’re safe now.

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Letters

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Dear Piefolk,

 

My name is Michelle.  I am a brunette 29 year old French-American woman living on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.  My boyfriend, let’s call him Jeremy,  is one year older than me. He just told me that he’s leaving me for a very wealthy 48 year old South American man. 

Jeremy, a redhead with sad brown eyes and perfect skin has never claimed to be gay, acted gay, or even had a lot of close male friends.  He broke it to me last Friday over a lovely Italian dinner that we couldn’t afford, saying literally “This charming man has the funds to take care of me.  One day, maybe he will take care of us.  In the meantime, I’m leaving you to live in Buenos Aires”.  I chuckled and sipped my Chianti until I saw the look in his eye and then I welled up with tears.  I KNEW something was coming.  But FUCK.  Why this?

He says he still loves me but now I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that doesn’t go away.  I know deep down this is somehow my fault.  I have headaches every day.  I don’t eat.  I don’t understand. 

Jeremy grew up in London with a very, very  rich father and was surrounded by all the super luxury anyone could imagine.  He went to the most expensive prep schools, vacationed in Switzerland, and even had an enormous stock portfolio when we first met… He’s been estranged from his mother since he was 8 or 9.  I guess she was diagnosed with a mental illness at some point and left London to go live with relatives in England somewhere.  He doesn’t know or doesn’t say where.  He says he doesn’t care.

I don’t know why it matters.  I don’t know why I’m asking.  I found this site online.  I want to know about the gay thing. Tell me.  Could this be possible?  We’ve been together on and off  for 5 years and have had amazing sex until a few months ago.  He constantly complains about finances and the recent lack of opportunity for tried and true westerners in NY.

He thinks he needs this man and his money but maybe he just wants to try something new or leave town.  To leave the crumbling US of A.  I love NY and he knows I don’t want to leave.  Could this one person really be offering him everything?  I know I can’t. I went to a prestigeous college and then modeled for a famous designer but now I work at an organic nutrition clinic.  I can pay my bills but that’s about all.  I do love Jeremy but I will never get his stock portfolio back. 

I guess maybe Juan Carlos will.  Or maybe Jeremy will come back.  Should I wait for him? My arms are numb and my hands are cold and I know the winter is just barely upon us.

Thanks for reading and don’t worry if you have no answers.

 

Michelle

Dear Michelle,

Wow. This is a tough letter to answer.

First of all, let me tell you – my name is not PIEFOLK, it’s Michael.

Secondly, I want to make sure you understand this: what’s happened is not your fault – not in any sense of the word. You don’t get to blame yourself for this one, Michelle. There’s no telling what people will do for money, and if your straight boyfriend wants to prostitute himself for money (no matter how much money) you have no agency over his character, ethics, morals or actions. Nobody is expecting you to make sense of this, either.

How can you make sense of this? You can’t. You can only lock the door to your soft, beautiful heart, and don’t answer if he comes knocking again, even with baubles from Paris, or a Tiffany engagement ring. He doesn’t really love you. He loves money. I hate to say it, but it doesn’t matter how well appointed he is, how nicely tailored his Armani suit might be, or if he owns a yacht  someday. He’s never going to win you back. He’s abandoned you, and any real love he might have forged with you – all for the thrill of chasing the money dragon.

You will never see him again. Put yourself in the position of the ‘wealthy 48 year-old South American man.’ If this guy is pulling the purse strings, do you think he’s going to have any sort of interest in splitting the affections of a beautiful man with (gasp!) a woman? No.

Your long term boyfriend has left the bohemian freedom of NYC (and your arms) to live as a pretty red bird in a gilded cage. On the other hand, if you can put this behind you, you have the freedom to fly. I hope you fly, and sing, and migrate, and someday I hope you find someone with flaws, who’s sort of pretty, who can be the caretaker of your tender, mysterious heart. Until then, you are your own husband.

It’s not that difficult to be your own husband. Take yourself on dates. Buy yourself flowers. Kiss strangers when it feels safe.

Once, I loved a perfect Taiwanese man. He had inky black hair and perfect skin. His posture was flawless and he was well suited to work in the art world. He was gorgeous and he had such poise. However, he was only beautiful on the outside. He had no idea the meaning of kindness, of compromise, of mutual understanding. It was always his way or the highway. He didn’t care about my stress level, about my complicated labyrinthine heart, about my unique philosophy about openness and family.

Love is staying together. Love is growing together, and apart, and reconvening after a long day to share the triumphs and tragedies of daily life. Love is staying. Love is a choice. He’s choosing not to love you. In some sense, he never loved you in the first place. He tricked you. He lied.

Someday you might run into him at a party, or an event, or some such drudgery one must attend to stay visible in the world of fashion. If it were me, I’d take a short walk with him and forgive him. It’s a selfish act, forgiveness. We do it so we can be free of the pain caused by others. Then, I would walk away and never look back.

Some say ‘forgive and forget.’ I have an impeccable memory. I say, just forgive.

Remember yourself.

Love,

Michael

p.s. The US of A is not crumbling. We are experiencing the aftershock of globalization. It was the Clintons that wanted to globalize America in order to even out the wealth in the world. We still have resources and creative verve. You can head back to Europe if you like, but as for me, I’m staying right here.

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