Queer pride popularized fellatio & cunnilingus, so suck it:: responding to #heterosexualprideday

My first response to “heterosexual pride day rhetoric” is always BITCH, gay men gave you fellatio. The United States is the blowjob capital of the world because this sexual practice was made popular in the 20^th century by gay men. So if you’ve ever enjoyed giving or receiving a blowjob, along with many other gems of Western culture, such as the Sistine Chapel, you have gay pride to thank. Straight men in particular, therefore, should be on their knees in gratitude instead of opposing or making light of gay pride. Alas, straight men are particularly talented at arrogance and ingratitude — at least they have something. To include women in this discussion, ladies, you can probably thank distorted representations of lesbians for your boyfriends’ increased willingness to go down on you. And both women and gay men owe an unimaginable amount of debt to the trailblazing work of radical feminist lesbians, who remain constantly underappreciated.

Every year during LGBTQ pride month , a familiar debate surfaces. I even had to hear this debate while in the closet. Why have pride at all? There is no heterosexual pride festival. Heterosexuals do not make a big deal out of their sexuality, and now that we have inclusion, why must sexual minorities highlight their differences?

Choosing to come out, many times to many different people, continues to be a great challenge and a great joy. When I came out, I was honestly prepared to give up everything. My parents had made it quite clear that they did not desire a gay or gender nonconforming son, and I grossly underestimated their capacity to change and be loving human beings. Because I’m physically disabled, at the time I was completely dependent on them. As such, my years spent in the closet were years of fear for my physical safety. If this were not enough, I also felt — and still feel from time to time — that, were I to act on these desires, my immortal soul would be in danger. I felt shame at being a horrible man. Not only was I a cripple, I was also a faggot, and probably a bottom. Dreadfully misogynistic, I, therefore, thought I was a subhuman creature worse than a woman. And, despite years of counseling, the feeling is not entirely eradicated. No one wants to be different, and I certainly did not need extra burdens.

Nevertheless, I came out. It was the right thing to do; it was the honest thing to do. And one ought to do what is right, regardless of actual or imagined consequences. I continue to be an active member of the gay community, despite exhausting stigma from inside and outside; I participate because my insistent position as a disabled gay men makes our community more compassionate as well as society in general. If I let shame, from whatever source, control my life, I would suffer and so also would everyone else. Shane doesn’t go away with coming out for a lot of people. It took me the longest time to realize it was okay to hug another man or say I love you to a man outside the family and actually have strong emotion. You can say that I’m particularly damaged, but I think this is a common experience. And how sad it is that in a society allegedly as free as ours, I still put so much symbolic weight on touching another man’s hand? Why should it matter what precisely is one’s sexual orientation in this instance or relationship status? Do we not want to create a world that is more sensitive, just, and compassionate? Presumably, heightening the many ways in which human beings can love and have sex is a good way to do this. My problem with traditional sexual ethics is not simply that they are archaic. My problem is far deeper than this: truly, I believe that “traditional heterosexuality” — a modern discourse — creates morally defective human beings. It seems odd to me that violence is completely normalized, but sexual displays at pride Festivals are upsetting to many. Soft, the penis looks rather comical, when hard the worst things it can shoot almost always will not kill you or even hurt you. Sadly, the same is not true of an assault rifle. And I wonder how many deaths in world history could have been avoided if heterosexual men in power learn to be more chill about their cocks

I feel bad for lots of heterosexist straight people. Being gay, despite all its problems, cause by community members and outside pressure, is more fun than what I believe the majority of heterosexual people get up to. This is not because heterosexuality is intrinsically inferior. Rather, to be gay, or to be marginalized in any other or additional way, can make one a better person. There are some horrible gay people out there, usually because they are unable to overcome shame and guilt and/or because they think pornography represents real life. Pursuit of sex to an unhealthy degree is endemic to contemporary gay life, and, in some versions, I find this disturbing. As a disabled man, I know firsthand the pain caused by the idolatry of male body worship. Even so, I don’t think “becoming normal” is a satisfactory answer. I am proud of almost all of the alternative lifestyles we had built, simply for the courage it takes to show that it is possible to exists beyond convention.

Particularly, I am proud that sex positivity can often create more caring and inclusive environments for disabled people. In my personal experience, the more sexually repressed you are, the more likely there will be a lot of space between you and my wheelchair, regardless of whether you know I’m gay or not. “sluts” touch, and I find physical contact 10 times more honest than anti-oppression liberal sympathy. We all have boundaries. There comes a point in life, however, at which a person of sound judgment and courage has the fortitude to smash his with a sledgehammer, even though this may be uncomfortable temporarily. The point is obvious and simple, but it is worth making. As we become more comfortable with our bodies and ourselves, we learn to love others more compassionately and deeply, not in spite of their differences but because of their differences. I have met so many extraordinary gay people, each one of whom has had a shaming event owing to his sexual orientation that ought not to have happened. These shaming events, however, make many of us better people.

There is nothing intrinsically meritorious about being gay, indigenous, disabled, gender variant, and economically disadvantaged, or whatever other intersections of categories. These are historical accidents. Nonetheless, something in which one ought to take pride is the integrity that is necessary to live one’s life in accordance with one’s convictions, in the face of immense pressure not to do so. In addition to this, what takes more effort is the courage to pursue what one wants. This is so because we are taught that certain desires, though harmless, like much of kink and drag cultures, are perverted. I find this hilarious because most often BDSM harms no one and strengthens intimacy, whereas the mass consumption of coffee and animal protein causes untold suffering. Which, I ask, is more perverted and sadistic? Every time you think about or engage in sex with another man, you are consciously and unconsciously being courageous. And every time you love another man as a man you are perhaps even more daring. Love in general is a bold move. Yet you have to have “giant balls,” so to speak, in order to experience any kind of love outside the norm. And anyone who has substance will tell you, whether she is lesbian/bisexual or straight, that it is the kind of affection worth having and the only kind that will last throughout the vicissitudes of time and adversity.

We do not just perform pride for ourselves, though this is a sufficient justification. We perform pride for all the people still executed. All the people who are kicked out of their homes. Who are bullied at school. Who struggle with depression, suicide, and/or drug dependency. Who have eating disorders, HIV, and or inadequate  healthcare. Who cannot get the operation required to make them feel at ease with the external manifestation of their gender. We perform pride to encourage people like me to experience the full range of love and sex. We perform pride to make the world more compassionate and accepting.

            If you think queer politics are somehow now “in your face,” try living our lives. Every fucking day is a heterosexual celebration. Every Valentine’s Day tells me that I don’t belong, even though we have more media representation. I rarely see mass celebrations of “heterosexuality” make the world more compassionate and accepting. Nor has heterosexuality frequently been considered shameful, and so it does not constitute an identity by dint of which the same kind of personal growth and/or celebration may be achieved. The thing straight should take pride in is their willingness to surrender many aspects of an incessantly maintained system of domination, in favor of a more egalitarian world for all. Those types of actions take real courage. And if the spectrum of gay sex can have moral lessons for everyone, they will be found by exploring the conviction that one can remain a man while surrendering dominance and poise from time to time and exploring the caring that that abnegation can engender.

"Die so we can live better lives": The message of me before you

I was expecting to go critique a movie with the standard plot line of — “bitter disabled guy becomes ideologically able-bodied, by participating in a heteronormative romance, therewith teaching his female caregiver to be a better person”. And, for a while, I wasn’t disappointed. Much to my shame, I even bought into this trope, since the actor who played the disabled guy was breathtakingly gorgeous — big surprise there. And, of course, this shy girl fell in love with him, because she did not have to do anything actually associated with quadriplegia. There was no shit, or piss, or catheters, or spasms, or blood clots, or representations of pain, or anything that would require her to actually experience life outside her small world. For you see, unlike the vast majority of persons with severe disabilities (acquired or not), who live in abject poverty, the main character happened to be part of the British aristocracy. He was even so fortunate as to have an estate complete with a castle, and he somehow managed to get to the top of this castle in his wheelchair. Owing to his resources, he had competent nursing care, so she never had to encounter the shameful parts of his life, except when he tragically lied in bed with pneumonia, resembling a romantic tuberculosis victim from 19th century art and literature.

Sure, it’s a romantic movie. They are inherently ideological and silly. I cried when they went to Mozart. I laughed when she sat on his lap to dance. I was happy when they went to a tropical island. I dreamed when they talked about going to Paris. I long desperately when they kissed. But the whole time I was watching, absorbing the ideology even while critical, I think I was placing myself both in the position of caregiver and cared for. What Hollywood does not appreciate, among many other things, is how much disabled people can care for others. Indeed, the main character didn’t appreciate this, so the film went from annoying to disturbing.

You see, the melancholy main character had made arrangements with the assisted dying organization DIGNITAS. He had made an agreement with loving parents, that he would kill himself in six months if things did not improve. He was a physically active and vibrant man before his accident, and so he could not withstand living this kind of life, one very similar to mine with more money and better care, anymore. It may be right for some people, but it wasn’t right for him. I can’t begin to imagine the different kind of loss one experiences with an acquired severe injury. Nevertheless — and this proves that heteronormativity is operative and dangerous — I don’t think the inability to have an erection or see all the sights in Paris are legitimate reasons for suicide. Fortune was quite cruel to me in some aspects — and so also to the majority of the people in the developing world, who are not British aristocrats. But I don’t have erectile dysfunction, whatever other issues I may have, owing to our hyper- sexualized culture. So I don’t know what that is like. I do, however, know that unrealistic standards of able-bodied normative masculinity, if left unchallenged, cause depression and, in many cases, actual suicide. The man had everything I’ve ever wanted in life — someone to love, Mozart Concerts, and the ability to travel. This is more than most people get. Still, he was unsatisfied. He selfishly threw everything away to maintain the man he thought he was, and the audience is encouraged to think this is romantic, noble, and or a difficult moral situation. It isn't. He is a very selfish man, and she is facile and incredibly weak for indulging this childish outburst against fortune. Neither of them is mature or selfless enough to actually understand what love is. The movie is like a more awful and ablest version of Romeo and Juliet without any redeeming poetry. Glorifying this on film sends a very clear message that such prejudicial attitudes are acceptable. They are not; they cause devastating harm.

I cherish each and every one of my friends and family. I gained so much from them, continue to learn from them every day, and I am extremely grateful to be alive, so that I can be with them, and hold them, and love them, and teach them, and help them. Any partner or friend that I have is going to miss out on things, and he or she will have to do more for me. Honestly, I both want that and need that. Disabled people are more work than able-bodied people. I would be in denial, if I claimed otherwise. I have put incredible strain on parents, friends, teachers, care providers, administrative staff, and politicians. It’s probably empirically true that life would be easier without people like me. “The walking man” does enjoy the easy path most of the time. Nevertheless, good people like to hike, and even more virtuous people — whether disabled or not — like to climb mountains. From those high peaks, they give the middle finger to the unfortunate mood swings of fortune.

The main character chooses to end his life because he doesn’t want to hold his new girlfriend/caregiver back. He goes so far as to leave her money, so that she can go to France on vacation and begin a new life without him, when returning to the United Kingdom. The movie closes with a “touching scene” of her reading a letter describing how he is much more good to her dead than alive. She’s seemingly is okay with this, even though she begged him not to commit suicide, but somehow then traveled to Sweden, in order to condone his needless, selfish, and cowardly death. I am not a burden to anyone remotely strong. “Carrying” the disabled allows everyone to become stronger and our world to be more egalitarian. I have striven to make the world a better place, and I deserve to love and be loved in return. The only thing tragic about my life is that people keep seeing it as a tragedy.

When someone decides to be with me, they will have to sacrifice a lot. Indeed, they will have to sacrifice more than most people. It will be painful. Even though most of what you sacrifice when you interact with disabled people is an allusion, it doesn’t mean that the loss of allusion doesn’t hurt. Such concessions notwithstanding, I make it a personal mission to make sure almost everyone receives more than they give. We should all do this as a way of resisting the implicit capitalist logic of exchange that governs most interactions. It is a wonderful and scary feeling to be completely vulnerable and loved for who you are unconditionally. Very few people get that, but everyone deserves that, no matter who they are or what has happened to them.

I’m pretty sure my cat attacked my birthday flowers, and they’re starting to die. I love flowers. I cry when anything dies. I remember being a kid and becoming so mad because people ripped birch bark off of trees, because they look like they were in so much pain. Truthfully, I still cry when I see this in a forest, and I have to avoid ecological disaster videos, if I want to have a good day. My flowers were so beautiful. Everything, no matter how beautiful, is subject to death and chance, even though I took many photos of them. As with Christmas trees, as silly as this sounds, I had to psychologically prepare myself for the eventual fact of their death. I get sad every January, which is why I don’t have a Christmas tree. Life is so fleeting and beautiful. Everything I love I will eventually lose, no matter how hard I tried to hold onto it. My body will decay. My family will perish. My friends will leave. My standard of living may change. That doesn’t mean, however, that I can simply ignore what a tremendous gift life in more varieties than I could possibly imagine is.

To be clear, I support the right to access safe and legal abortion and assisted dying. I wonder, however, whether in some cases we conflate what is legally permissible with what is morally right. One could suggest that I am using covert theological arguments, but my objection to the widespread acceptance of abortion and euthanasia have much more to do with virtue ethics. I think abortion and suicide are wrong, in the same way that eating large amounts of animal protein is wrong. I’m not going to make any of these activities illegal, however. I don’t think it speaks well of a person or society, when the typical response to a problem is to ignore it or get rid of it. There is something so aesthetically unappealing and in human about that reaction, understandable though we may find it. There may be instances in which suicide and abortion are preferable and laudable but, I don’t think those cases represent the majority, constitutional protection notwithstanding.
People must make their own choices. The state cannot compel matters of conscience on which there is disagreement. We lose something, nevertheless, when we too readily surrendered to death, as I personally have been tempted to do many times. I would be the last person to condemn anyone for 'depressive thoughts or committing suicide. I also would be the last person to advocate state control over individual bodies, when the actions of those bodies do not cause direct or immediately foreseeable harm to already existing legal persons. I also believe that legislation is not morality, but it does raise the sticky problem of what kind of world the liberal order creates, and how will we collectively handle its unforeseen consequences. I don’t by the slippery slope argument against assisted suicide. Yet, if this movie is any indication, it does seem to cause ideational harm on an already beleaguered, underfunded, and underrepresented minority group. The state ought to do a better job at redressing this crisis. We need to focus on creating meaningful disabled lives, as opposed to deifying disabled deaths. I noticed that in discussions of “death with dignity” we rarely mention the evacuation of bowels and bladder postmortem.

I believe the Stoics were wrong. There is no honor in killing yourself willfully, unless perhaps if pain is excruciating and incurable. It shows a weak constitution. We show strength when we strive relentlessly and joyfully against the absurdities of life, never settling for anything less than what we want. And what does it say about our society that perhaps the majority of persons with intellectual and physical disabilities are now aborted? Is this the world in which we desire to live? Do we really want a movie such as this one to be acceptable and seen as sentimental? I hope not. There is much talk about building compassion and interdependence. Nonetheless, this film raises the question of how exactly we are going to do that, if we eradicate individuals who may be dependent or need care before they are born and systematically marginalize the ones that do not get eradicated once they are born. As the movie demonstrates, this is performed for the sake of fictive romance and able-bodied normativity, against which everyone is compared and made to feel inadequate
.Thankfully, as my life and so many others demonstrate, real love, real disability, and real mortality are far more complicated. As a result, they are extraordinarily more wonderful