Month: October 2013

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Memorials by Michael King

My first memory of a memorial was when I was four or five. In rural Kansas there would be a fenced area with trees on the side if the road surrounded by wheat fields. Sometimes headstones could be seen. The one I remember was overgrown with tall grass and weeds when we arrived on Memorial Day.

It was the custom for families of those buried there to come, clean away the weeds, cut the grass and place flowers from their flower gardens on the graves of their relatives.

It was a beautiful day and I was unhappy to have to stay in the car while my parents and older sister were outside working on making the graves nice and neat. The reason I had to stay in the car other than insuring that I stayed out of the way was that I had asthma and my parents tried to avoid anything that might cause an attack. I’m sure that included an excuse to prevent me from running around like a normal boy of my age. I felt fine.

I looked out and noticed a child’s grave next to the car. It was a much smaller area covered with tall grasses and weeds. Since no one was there to properly groom the area I felt sorry that no one cared and wanted to do something about this sad situation.

I lowered the car window and got my sister’s attention, explained my concern, and convinced her to trim the grass. She got a sickle and was busy swinging it back and forth cutting the grass when I managed to open the car door and got out to watch. I got too close and on a back swing the sickle caught the skin along my eyebrows and tore it to about the center of my scalp.

Dr. Whalan in our little town had reattached my thumb when my father cut it off when I was two. I had stuck my hand out to touch the pretty blade he was potting in the mowing machine. Dr. Whalan later treated me when I was bitten by a spider and was in a coma for days. Now after I got scalped he gently worked the scalp and forehead skin back in place and told my parents that it would heal with less scaring without stitches. He was very skillful in that regard and over the years treated numerous face wounds that would have left me with some horrible scars. Most of the scars I have hardly show for which I can thank the country doctor.

After that first experience having to do with Memorials and Memorial Days I recall many: the poppies representing Flanders’ Field, many funerals, watching the laying of wreaths, standing by friends as they watched their loved ones being placed in a crypt or in the ground, and more recently when funerals have become celebrations of the lives of our friends.

The following is what I read at Bobby Gates Memorial celebration.

After I retired I found myself with no particular activities, no friends, as most were from work or lived far away, and I didn’t even have a plan or a direction. I attended the PrideFest and was given a card about the Prime Timers luncheon. I went and began my first association with a gay community. Bobby was the president of Prime Timers. Among the many things that he sponsored was the “Coffee Tyme” at Panera’s. Soon we became friends and when Bobby found out that I was almost totally un-knowledgeable in practically everything, he became my mentor. Of course at the time I wasn’t that aware, but looking back practically everything I found out, every activity I got involved in and most everyone I met had a connection to Bobby. I think he had been that way with many, many others. He organized activities, coordinated events and invited participation and friendship, thoughtfully sent birthday cards, etc., etc.

For me he introduced me to many restaurants, always surprised that I had never been to any of them. He introduced me to Front Rangers. He introduced me to movies. He was one in the coffee group that introduced me to the Denver Church and Jim Chandler. And he introduced me to my partner, Merlyn. Often he’d call me about an activity and asked if I needed a ride. I can’t imagine how my life would have been without Bobby.

I honor one of the most compassionate, thoughtful, and generous friends anyone could ever have. I feel that I have truly been blessed by his friendship, his kindness, his nurturing, and the love that he bestowed on everyone.

Even though Bobby didn’t have financial wealth, a couple of weeks ago Bobby’s son Marc and I were talking about how rich Bobby was in friendships, activities, experiences, and attitude.

I expect that we’ll meet again and that our friendship will continue. In the meantime I will continue to be thankful for the many ways he touched my life and continues to be an inspiration and an influence

I give thanks for Bobby

© 28 January 2013

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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Don’t Touch Me There by Merlyn

I did not like to be touched anywhere by anyone when I was a child. Touching each other was something we did not do in the house I grew up in. It always made me feel real uncomfortable. When a teacher or someone would stand in back of me and even rest their hand on my shoulder, I would want to run away.

People can touch each other in a lot of different ways. Experimenting with other preteen boys it was okay to look and touch each other physically, but I would not even think about sharing any affection with them by holding hands or hugging each other. My emotions would not allow that kind of touching. It would be against everything I was taught up to that point in my life.

When I became a teenager I learned what it was like to share affection and touch each other with one of my girlfriends. From then on I could not get enough. Most of the time there weren’t any limits where we touched. It felt good and we never really cared if someone saw what we were doing.

I was 64 years old the first time I allowed myself to have a emotional connection with a man. I will never forget what it felt like to wake up and realize that I had allowed myself to be relaxed enough to fall asleep in his arms.

Most women welcome a non-sexual hug, and I enjoy giving them one.

With men, I sometimes still have a hard time being natural and relaxed when it comes to non-sexual physical contact.

At this point in my life about the only time that I don’t enjoy having someone touch me is when I can smell and feel their perfume, or when I’m near the #15 bus.

© 22 April 2013

About
the Author

I’m a retired gay man now living in Denver Colorado with my partner Michael. I grew up in the Detroit area. Through the various kinds of work I have done I have seen most of the United States. I have been involved in technical and mechanical areas my whole life, all kinds of motors and computer systems. I like travel, searching for the unusual and enjoying life each day.

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The Essence of GLBTQ by Lewis

Wiktionary defines “essence” — in usage relevant to this topic — as 
     1) “the inherent nature of a thing or an idea” and 
     2) “a significant feature of something.”

Therefore, the “essence of GLBTQ” might be otherwise stated as, “What is it about gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or queer people that makes them unique from everyone else?” The inclusion of the terms “transgender” and “queer” complicates the answer to a degree that makes generalizations meaningless. In fact, the word “queer,” when appropriated to describe oneself, seems intended to obviate any attempt to characterize it in any meaningful, shorthand way. “Transgender,” because it has nothing to do with sexual attraction but is rather gender identity related, seems to me to also lie outside any attempt to describe the “essence” of the first three letters — GLB — which are primary referent to an individual’s sexual attractions.

Those who condemn homosexuality invariably do so on the basis of same-sex erotic behaviors. Those behaviors are not the “essence” of homosexuality but the manifestation — or “womanifestation,” if you prefer — of it. The essence is the innate part of our nature that is drawn to members of our gender, rather than the opposite gender. This seems to fly in the face of everything we know about Adam and Eve and Charles Darwin’s theory on the survival of the species. Consequently, it is subject to accusations that we are operating against the Will of God and Nature and, therefore, must be deviant, if not evil. It is as if we are the ugly duckling whose ugliness is on the inside and, therefore, never changing.

What distinguishes gay and lesbian individuals from heterosexuals is our being forced into the position of having either to conform to erotic behaviors that are unnatural — even repugnant — to us by repressing those desires that are such a vital part of who we are in order to appear “normal” or to act on our own natural inclinations at the risk of being ostracized by a significant portion of society. Our “essence,” in my opinion, is the strength of our characters that has developed during what is an existential struggle to be both true to ourselves and successful members of an intolerant society.

There are many gay men and women who have never allowed the prejudices of our society to interfere with what they see as their own natural and true behavior. A tip of my hat to them. They have displayed a courage and self-knowledge that I can only admire from a distance. Their “essence” has been knowing their own heart and following it wherever it might lead. This is a rare quality, even among those who have never experienced self doubt and the fear of social opprobrium.

For some who count themselves among the “GLB,” however, finding some sense of authenticity has come only with the undertaking of behaviors that are in themselves self-defacing — drug or alcohol abuse or unprotected sex, for example. For these, “essence” might well be overcoming addiction or dealing with the life-long consequences of HIV/AIDS.

Others of us have “gone along to get along.” We married in the traditional way, perhaps even had children. For these — and I count myself among them — our “essence” might be qualitatively analyzed in how we have related to our opposite-gender spouses and children, how we “came out” to them, whether or not we were faithful during the marriage, and what kind of relationship we have with them after moving on toward a state of greater authenticity.

I’m certain that there are gay men and lesbians who do not fall into any of the aforementioned categories. That is why I do not think that the notion of a “GLBTQ essence” is all that pragmatic. If anything, there may be an added layer or two of “essence” on our psychological auras. But, at the same time, we are all 99-94/100% pure human being, with, perhaps, a few more rough edges and/or a more highly-polished-surface here and there. I think the rest of the world is coming around to this view … and fairly rapidly. May it continue to be so.

We, the GLBTQ members of the most remarkable species of animal in the known universe have been granted a very special charter. We have been commissioned by the Great Mystery of All Existence not only to share our very special talents with the world but, in order to do so, to first learn to look in the mirror and see, not the “ugly duckling” that some of those we have loved may have so ignorantly and, perhaps, unknowingly branded us, but ourselves as whole and wholesome human beings whose lives will encompass a level of adventure that will make for many wonderful stories that beg to be shared.

[Everything that I have said above about “GLB” people would also apply to those on the “third rail” of sexual attraction discourse — men and women who are attracted to juveniles of either sex. Unfortunately, this subject is so fraught with phobia and loathing that merely to state that the sexual attraction toward children is akin to same-sex attractions to adults tends to elicit reactions one might expect from confessing to mass murder. I merely would state that none of us picked the type of persons to whom we are sexually attracted from a list like choosing the color of our next car. There are still perhaps 40% of Americans who believe that having same sex attractions is immoral. Those of us with a “glb” orientation should be the last to condemn anyone for attractions over which they have absolutely no control, unlike actions taken on those feelings, which are properly proscribed, just as statutory rape is properly proscribed.]

© 15 July 2013


About the Author


I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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My Favorite Holiday by Gillian

Well, I titled my Halloween story Bah Humbug on a Broomstick, and that just about says it all. Bah Humbug on the Xmas Star and the Fireworks of the Fourth and on the End of Summer Labor Day Picnic.

Bah Humbug on Memorial Day and Veterans Day and Flag Day, not from lack of respect for those who deserve remembrance but for lack of respect for those whose only purpose on these days is to go thousands of dollars into debt to save five hundred dollars on that house-high plasma TV that nobody needs.

Bah Humbug for sure on New Year’s Ridiculous Resolutions, and Bah Humbug on the Cuddly Easter Bloody Bunny and his multicolored eggs. Has no one, incidentally, ever noticed the total disconnect between rabbits and eggs?

And one collective resounding Bah Humbug for all those additional holidays our Government (and Bah Humbug there too, while I’m at on a roll) apparently feels obligated to provide, if only to give themselves another day off.

Presidents’ Day? I don’t know about other parts of the country but in Colorado that is one of the busiest ski weekends of the year. Is one single person shushing down the slopes mulling over the significance of even one President, never mind all of them?

Columbus Day, for God’s sake. What’s that about, other than flipping a government-sanctioned bird at all our Native Peoples?

The memory of Martin Luther King, a man deserving of national reverie, would, in my never humble opinion, be better served simply by an MLK Day, as opposed to a holiday. If you look up the definition of the word holiday all the answers specify a day free from work, which in fact most U.S. holidays for most people are not, or a day set aside for leisure and recreation, even festivity; no mention of contemplation, significance, history, sacrifice, peace and love, which is what we should be involved with in reference to King.

Even if you try to remain true to the original intent of holidays, though I wonder if most of us have a clue what that would be in many cases, they always seem to be the worst example of emotions to order. On this day you will feel this, on that day that, and by the way you are religious on Christmas and Easter quite regardless of the fact that you never set foot in any House of Worship the rest of the year.

I guess I just do better with spontaneous emotions than those ordered up by calendar dates.

However, I doubt the lack of my participation is going to change anything so in the spirit of the thing I recommend our next addition should be a gay holiday for us all to celebrate our queerness.

We’ll call it Bah Hum-bugger Day.

© 21 November 2011

About
the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.

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Weather by Betsy


When you are on a bicycle every day for 2 months, what the
weather is or is going to be takes on rather major importance.  I learned this when riding across the U.S. in
2005.  I have written about having to
carry our bicycles through flooded country roads and having to push our
bicycles on foot for fear of being blown over the side of the cliff which runs
beside the highway on Needle’s Eye Pass. 
Or how about the day we rode 95 miles–the last 5 miles a climb straight
up a mountain to McDonald Observatory with temperatures hovering around 100;
the hardest ride of the entire trip. 
Weather is everything in situations like that. 
Oh, and by the way, never try riding or hiking over a
mountain pass even if there is the slightest threat of lightning.  VERY DANGEROUS!  Especially those high Colorado passes.  Plan to do the pass sometime before
noon.  Unless you like having your hair
stand up on end, which it will, trust me.
The subject of weather reminds me of the very first
long-distance cycling trip I ever took.
This was in 1982. 
The cycling equipment and comfort clothes we take for granted today were
unknown then, at least unknown to my daughter, her boy friend, and me.
The three of us set out on a fine summer day in western NY
state.  We would cycle along the rural
roads of western NY state and into Pennsylvania and the Alleghany
mountains.   We wore no helmets–also
unknown to us–and carried only day packs as we would overnight in motels in
the small towns we rode through.  This
was a fairly well planned trip which would take us back to our starting point
in about 1 week.  Plans were well laid
out except for rain gear.  We just didn’t
plan on having inclement weather. 
Well, we didn’t have inclement weather until the last 2
days of the trip.  And my, did it
rain!  And it would not let up.  For protection against the elements we had in
our joint possession 3 large size garbage bags. 
That was it.  We thought we could
wait it out but we all had deadlines and did not have the flexibility of
waiting for another weather system to replace the current wet one.   We were no where near a town large enough to
have a store that might have some decent cycling rain gear.  So we headed out in our garbage bags.   That gear was worse than inadequate.  I don’t mind being wet, but I don’t like
being cold.  And before long I was just
that.  I’m not sure about Lynne and
Dave.  I was too cold to ask.  Let’s just get home, I thought.  The rain never did let up.  Fortunately we did get home soon after the
cold crept in so there were no dire consequences to that.  So except for the last day, it was a
wonderful trip.  The vision of the three
drenched garbage bags riding into town still gives us a good laugh.
© 7 July 2013

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Dance by Will Stanton

When the movie “Alexander” was written, directed, and filmed, was Oliver Stone — stoned? Did he have absolutely no idea what he was doing? Or is there a pornographic element to his nature that he finally revealed in how he chose to film the dance scene?

If the reader does not know what the heck I’m talking about, then he apparently never bothered to see “Alexander,” which possibly is strange — or even unforgivable if the listener is gay; for Alexander and Hephaestion must be the most stunning gay love story of all times. Lovers since age thirteen until the end, no deeper love has been known. And then there was young Bagoas, who entered into the scene when he was sixteen.

Who was Bagoas? Of the great Persian king Darius the Third’s 30,000 slaves and concubines; Bagoas was his favorite, the one he kept by his side — and very often under him. Yet, Bagoas was far more than a concubine. He was from an aristocratic family, cultured, highly educated, and talented in music and dance. And dance — dance in reality and dance as portrayed in the movie — is what I’m talking about.

When the Persian king disgraced himself by fleeing from Alexander, he irrevocably shamed himself. He no longer was truly a great king. His general Nabarzenes perceived Alexander’s greatness and went to swear fealty to Alexander and to offer rich gifts. Among them was Bagoas (his having persuaded Bagoas that he was meant only for great kings) who, reportedly was “the most beautiful boy in all of Persia.” Bagoas was no mere servant. He knew the most intimate details of the Persian court, who the military leaders were, their personalities, Persian protocol, and a wealth of other information very useful to Alexander. As a consequence, Bagoas became an indispensable advisor, as well as an additional partner for Alexander.

Where does the dance come in? After surviving the trek across the great Gedrosian desert, Alexander and his troops held a celebration in Susa, during which they included a dance contest. Individuals performed traditional Persian dances and were appraised by Alexander and the troops. According to Plutarch and other contemporary writers, an episode documents that the love between the two was common knowledge among the troops, and much appreciated. At the dancing contest, Bagoas won the honors and then went to sit by Alexander’s side, “which so pleased the Macedonians that they shouted out for him to kiss Bagoas, and never stopped clapping their hands and shouting until Alexander took him in his arms and kissed him warmly.” (Plutarch, The Lives).

But what kind of dance was it? If Oliver “Stoned” and his writers had done the most basic research, they would have found that ancient Persian dances employed very traditionally structured, formal movements. The traditional dances often celebrated the sun-and-light god Mithra or some momentous event. Even to this day, traditional dances from the Mideast to Japan are very formal. If you saw, however, the ludicrous dance scene in the movie, you immediately would have noted that there was no semblance of reality or common sense. Filmed inside a set of a steamy palace and with Alexander supposedly drunk on wine, the revelers are entertained with Hollywood-1950’s-style movie-music. Several adult, semi-nude men dance all at the same time and with bizarre, willowy, supposedly sensuously suggestive movements. Some soldiers shout encouragement, while others find the scene distasteful. The dance culminates with Bagoas and a second dancer implying a sexual act. I suppose the point of the scene is to show the disgust on the faces of some of the Macedonian officers. Frankly, I probably had the same look on my face when I first saw it — not because I’m prudish, but because the writers were so profoundly ignorant and the scene so far from the historical truth.

If I were to fire up my time machine and bring back Alexander, Hephaestion, Bagoas, and Plutarch for that matter, and showed them the dance scene from the “Stoned” movie, I feel that they would be rather dismayed. Alexander, as a matter of fact, might be tempted to have a face-to-face conversation with Mr. Stone and, perhaps, provide a rather convincing example of the fate of those who dishonored Alexander or those whom he loved. And had I fired up my time machine, I would have brought Alexander, Hephaestion, Bagoas, and Plutarch here today and had Bagoas perform for you — dance, that is. And, you would have seen what I mean.

© 29 September 2012

About the Author


I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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The Wisdom of LGBT Identity by Ricky

Why should we expect any kind of “wisdom” from anyone who self-identifies as a member of the LGBT community, considering the extreme persecution of male homosexuals over the past few thousand years? It just does not seem very wise to risk public ridicule or hatred. Yet, over the centuries, thousands of men taken in the act of sodomy were/are punished in various ways (depending upon the society involved and the era of the occurrence). Punishments commonly used were death (by hanging, downing, decapitation, and burning), amputation of genitals, life imprisonment, pillorying, banishment, self-imposed exile to avoid prosecution, and ostracism.

It has been said, that “bisexuality” itself is but one stigmata of genius; which in itself is an interesting observation considering all the famous “genius” level homosexual men that have lived and advanced science, art, and literature over the centuries. Does it not follow then that the stigmata of non-bisexual lesbians and gays is “super genius?” Of course, many of us “geniuses” never fully develop our gifts, talents, and genius abilities, which appears to show a lack of wisdom.

In recently past centuries, homosexual men of great gifts and talents have through their poetry wrought great changes in public attitudes and social norms over time.

Shakespeare, Byron, Shelly, and others wrote tender poems of love to male youths disguised as sonnets and verse to women, and our present culture would be poorer, had they not been written even though disguised as they were. Thomas Mann’s work of Death in Venice is an example of how one can in slow stages fall in love with the natural beauty of a youth of the same sex. In all these examples, which are but a few of hundreds, the common denominator is “love.”

The slow outing of “love” between people regardless of sexual orientation is what over time has changed society’s view of gay relationships; views which ultimately forced the government out of bedrooms. England did not decriminalize homosexuality until 1967. For the one hundred years before that date, conviction of sodomy carried a life sentence and prior to that, a death sentence since 1533.

When Byron began studying the Greek classics, Plato’s writings were not available in his school. Plato’s Symposium was so full of homosexual content (labeled Greek Love) that homophobic England would not allow it taught to English schoolboys so as not to corrupt them. When other English scholars decided to translate Plato, they changed the text where they needed to, replacing male references to either female or “friend” or “servant,” etc. to hide the truth; a process called bowdlerization (a new word for me). At one point in his life, Shelly translated the “Symposium” himself, but so great was the homophobia remaining in England, that even he “toned down” the references to avoid public outrage. Sadly, after his death, the publisher and Shelly’s widow made changes that are even more egregious; the translation not published until 150 years after Shelly’s death; long after the need for “toning down the references” was necessary.

Since extreme homophobia existed in England to the point that England’s poets disguised the male object of their love poems as female and classic works of philosophy were deliberately “sanitized”, have you ever wondered if the King James Bible translation team (using original documents in Greek) altered their translation of the Bible to inflame or conform to society’s view (the king’s view) of homosexual behavior?

With extreme homophobia and persecution of the previous centuries now behind, perhaps the wisest thing about the LGBT identity is what continues to evolve from the Stonewall Riots; acceptance and recognition that love between two people is a beautiful thing and is no one else’s business or legitimate concern. Acceptance and recognition are the unanticipated consequences of bi and gay poets of past centuries openly expressing their love for another male in the only way available to them; camouflaged as love for a woman.

Sometimes, fear of negative consequences can cause one to make wise choices that still carry one’s message but generate praise.

© 3 December
2012


About the Author



I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.


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Pig Latin by Phillip Hoyle

I feel like the kid on the playground who feels left out, the one chosen last for a team, the one who has to read to the class but knows she won’t do well, the only one that doesn’t know Pig Latin. I feel like my father did when he picked up one of his grandsons at middle school. My nephew and a friend sat together in the back seat and talked with one another about their computers. Dad said he didn’t understand a thing they said for the duration of the twenty-minute drive home. I feel like I’ve fallen behind the whole world, sure I’d find questions on the current GED test incomprehensible. I feel like I’m falling off the grid. “Stop the world, I want to get off” captures some of my sentiment, but why this despair? I get around life just fine, enjoy reasonable work, nice enough friends, and occasionally even leadership. I’m not sure what I feel is despair, but I do feel pressures of a new job, one that I am interested to do but realize that it pushes me into a world of assumed knowledge that I don’t possess.

Computers are not new to me. In the late 1980s I met several PCs with their word processors. For ten years I successfully wrote book-length manuscripts using my PC WPs. To my family’s consternation, I’d tie up the home phone line in order to visit a friend’s bulletin board that gave me access to Shareware and some games. I heard the talk, appreciated the crude graphics, and came to appreciate the advantages my computer and word processor gave me. I enjoyed my experiments with Paint Brush and even tried my hand with some simple data bases.

I had bought the PC in order to write. I bought it at the suggestion of a writer and an editor, purchasing it at the outset of a project I had agreed to do and finished paying it off when I received my writer’s fee. I learned on the job by making mistake after mistake and solving the problems sometimes on my own, sometimes following the advice of others more experienced than I. So I learned to adopt my software and computer function with DOS smart commands, a few new programs, and several creative uses. I paid attention to what the computer needed and became at least moderately efficient in my applications. In the 1990s I entered a conversation—one of those on-line things now usually called a blog—one concerned with topics of professional interest; but I didn’t find the discussions all that interesting or pertinent. I think my life was changing too quickly, my interests moving towards the visual arts.

Still, I wrote. Still I maintained some records in a database. Still I experimented with Paint Brush. But most of my attention was focused on my art table with paper and ink, canvass and paint, design and technique. When my editors at the publishing house no longer could tolerate my antique technology, I got an Apple, then another more modern PC, and finally my PC laptop that went so fast I could never keep up. By then I had lost the curiosity factor. The WP was okay although not as convenient as the writers software I’d liked for years. Word for Windows didn’t thrill me. In fact, I never really got used to Windows. It seemed as if the attempt to make the computer more user-friendly just irritated me. I couldn’t see what was happening.

I believe my quick forays into Cyberspace were really the most intimidating factor, the ones that left me feeling like I wasn’t cutting it. I recall scares when my computer would start doing frightening things. I wondered would it die a cruel death? Explode into flames? I didn’t know but timidly accommodated myself to this unfriendly playground world.

Oh it’s gotten better for me in the 2000s. I am more at home, but suddenly I am working with “The SAGE Blog”—it always reminds me of the old movie “The Blob”—and threatens to engulf me, taking over my time and attention, and threatening to alter me in ways I don’t invite. I guess the problem is that the Blog is so social in its nature: its contributions, comments, and maintenance. I’ve always worked with people successfully, but now it seems too many of them are speaking Pig Latin or some other language I don’t easily understand. One very friendly and helpful techie said, “Well, Phillip, welcome to the cyber world.” But I’m not a techie or even a Treckie. I’m on a journey of learning but feel like I’m floating through this new, endless space with no thrusters. Still I am learning.

This in Pig Latin:

Omesay aysday Iway eelfay atthay Iway annotcay understandway atwhay isway expectedway ofway emay. Easeplay ebay atientpay. Iway aymay otnay understandway ethay echnicaltay eedsnay ofway ybercay ommunicationscay ellway, utbay Iway amway oingday ethay objay. Eoplepay owhay oday understandway areway akingmay itway appenhay inway itespay ofway ymay eeblefay attemptsway. Ifway ingsthay ogay ellway, ouyay ancay eginbay eadingray oriesstay onway ourway ownway ogblay extnay Ondaymay. Atwhay unfay itway illway ebay.

Quick; back to English.

Some days I feel that I cannot understand what is expected of me. Please be patient. I may not understand the technical needs of cyber communications well, but I am doing the job. People who do understand are making it happen in spite of my feeble attempts. If things go well, you can begin reading stories on our own blog next Monday. What fun it will be.

Again, thanks for your patience. I’m learning. Say a prayer or something for me that I will do the work well.

Note: This piece was read to the SAGE Telling Our Stories group at the end of September last year, just before this blog appeared. We’re celebrating the completion of our first year this month!


About the Author


Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, giving massages, and socializing. His massage practice funds his other activities that keep him busy with groups of writers and artists, and folk with pains. Following thirty-two years in church work, he now focuses on creating beauty and ministering to the clients in his practice. He volunteers at The Center leading “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com

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Hospitality Immigration and Asylum by Pat Gourley

I would encourage you all to make sure that you are firmly in your seats since I am going to begin this piece with a very short biblical quote. Never let it be said that I am an atheist that won’t stoop to manipulating Christians and Jews with their own theology.

“Do not forget to show hospitality to
strangers, for by doing so people have shown hospitality to angels without
knowing it”. Hebrews 13:2
I found this quote while surfing a Christian social justice sight called Isaiah One. I was at this site specifically researching this topic; it is not a site in my bookmark’s list. I do though think I have some common ground with this particular group of Christian activists who combine the necessity of good works with their faith. The current Pope does have a lot going for him and if he could just really get over the queer thing and let women have control over their own bodies we could really roll.

Just to make sure the message gets across let me quote again from this article entitled Biblical Hospitality and Asylum Seekers: “Biblical hospitality is a broadly inclusive obligation. Denying hospitality would only be conceivable in extraordinarily exceptional circumstances. Dubious character, alien culture or strange belief, or indeed other unpalatable social or spiritual qualities are not grounds for denying hospitality.”

Using this biblical interpretation of hospitality please explain to me how that would not apply to virtually anyone showing up on our borders seeking minimally an economic asylum, an escape from grinding poverty in their native land. And further more how the fuck can someone call themselves a Christian and deny legitimacy and citizenship to the people who for decades have been cleaning your toilets, cutting your lawns, building your homes, picking your food, cooking and serving your food, tending to your children and in countless other ways positively contributing to the fabric of American life? It is simply a mindboggling disconnect that quite frankly cannot be explained as anything but overt racism.

For any sensible person it seems to be a pretty easy and logical leap to extend hospitality in the form of citizenship to those already here and many for most of their lives. It gets a bit tricky for many though when we extend hospitality to include asylum. The United Nations in Article 14 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states “Everyone has the right to seek and enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution.”

Which brings me to Edward Snowden who I not only view as a whistleblower but as a hero. In making his case for asylum he referenced the recent treatment of Bradley Manning the young gay man currently on trial for leaking classified documents to Wikileaks. Remember Manning was held for nine months in solitary confinement while being subjected to forced nudity, sleep and sensory deprivation and stress positions in the form of shackling. The United Nations rapporteur on torture issued a statement calling Manning’s treatment “cruel, inhuman and degrading” and then was denied a private interview with him to further explore the reality of his mistreatment. The kangaroo court currently hearing his case may reach a verdict this week and that it will be grossly unjust is a given. I have included a link to a recent piece in Salon suggesting that Manning was tortured for his gender identity: http://www.salon.com/2013/07/24/bradley_manning_was_wronged_by_a_world_where_he_was_weird_partner/

Another example of the toleration for torture in our country, though not stated by Snowden that I am aware of, are the thousands of prisoners on U.S. soil in solitary confinement. It would be another whole paper to discuss the institutional abuses around solitary confinement in the U.S. prison industrial complex but I would refer you to this recent video panel discussion from Al Jazeera where the issue is explored in depth:

My point being that I do not think Snowden is being paranoid or in any way histrionic to be concerned about torture at the hands of U.S. officials and therefore his legitimate request for asylum.

The endless propaganda trying to justify the treatment of Manning and the denial of whistleblower status for Snowden is that their actions have endangered American interests and are putting American lives in danger and therefore the “Espionage Act” is being invoked in both situations which contains the essential caveat of ‘aiding the enemy’. I’ll grant their actions may not be in the best interests of global corporate capitalism, but that may be a good thing. That the persecution of whistleblowers is motivated by concerns to keep us safe is quite frankly more incredulous than Congressman Steve King and his fears of marijuana mules with calves the size of cantaloupes streaming across our southern border by the thousands.
If our government officials, including the President and members of Congress and their corporate overlords, were really concerned about the safety and well being of Americans we might address the 40 murders per day and the over 70 deaths a day due to inadequate healthcare in this country. And if you want to discuss putting the men and women in our armed services at risk let’s discuss why no one in the Bush administration has been held accountable for the unjustifiable Iraq war that resulted in the deaths of thousands of our military to say nothing of the many hundreds of thousands of Iraqi’ deaths resulting from the invasion of a country that had nothing to do with 9/11. The risk of harm to me from a terrorist is much less than the likelihood I’ll die from a fall in my bathtub or be struck by lightening.
Perhaps I’ll address my opinions as to why the government is in such a tizzy about their extensive spying on us has been partially exposed at another time but please allow me to be very skeptical that it has little to do with their concerns for my safety, well being and protecting me from terrorists.
It seems only appropriate to include in this piece a quote from the great Noam Chomsky in a recent interview where he was asked directly about Snowden who he said should be honored for “telling”:
“The plea of the US government in this case for the surveillance and so on, is that it’s security against terror. But at the very same moment the US policy is designed in a way to increase terror. The US itself is carrying out the most awesome international terrorist campaign, ever, I suppose– the drones and special forces campaign. That’s a major terrorist campaign, all over the world, and it’s also generating terrorists. You can read that and hear that from the highest sources, General McChrystal and scholars and all, so on.” Noam Chomsky from a
recent interview in Geneva. http://antonyloewenstein.com/2013/07/29/chomsky-praises-snowden-and-condemns-us-hypocrisy/

I am hopeful though that perhaps a new era of national and international hospitality on the part of the U.S. may be on the horizon. Perhaps we are slowing becoming aware of the fact that it is not hospitable to spy on everyone’s everything all the time and then if we don’t like it bomb them into oblivion.

© July 2013

About the Author


I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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Three Little Words by Nicholas

Do you wanna?
Not now, dear.
Let’s do it.
Well, I guess.
Take your Viagra?
Who needs Viagra?
That feel good?
That feels good.
Not there, dear.
Oh yeah, baby!
Where’s the cat?
Put him out.
No, he’s in.
Ow, that hurt.
Cat’s right here.
More wine, dear?
Open another bottle.
Are you hungry?
Yeah, I’m starving.
That’s real tasty.
Ketchup on that?
Spice it up.
How about that?
Looks real good.
What’s for dessert?
More ice cream.
I want chocolate.
Do it again?
Let’s do it.
You did it. Stole my heart.
Please keep it.
I love you.
I love you.

© 2
July 2013

About the Author

Nicholas grew up in Cleveland, then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga, writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.