Tomorrow kicks off Pride Month, and as such I have decided to offer a whole bunch of icons in the spirit of Pride. This journal will be used to post many Pride related items over the next several days, in an effort to provoke, enlighten, and hopefully inspire some of you to attend your local Pride festivities - or better yet, come to Atlanta and walk with us in the Pride March on the 26th. I’ll post more details about that later today. In the meantime, have an icon. Or six. Or twenty. No need to credit, just pass them along. At the bottom of this post you’ll find a code you can paste in your own journal to help pass these along to others, so by all means - share.

Pride Flags

Transgender, Leather, Bi, Bear

Make A Statement

Marriage Equality

Miscellaneous

Celebrate Pride Month!

click here
for more
icons!

Allegation of rights abuses offends Cheney

Vice President Dick Cheney today said he was offended by Amnesty International’s condemnation of the United States for what it called “serious human rights violations” at Guantanamo Bay. “For Amnesty International to suggest that somehow the United States is a violator of human rights, I frankly just don’t take them seriously,” he said.” An Amnesty executive hit back saying Cheney also does not take seriously torture and the Geneva Convention.

There isn’t enough deodorant on my person for further commentary. I have nothing.

Stem-cell pioneer criticizes White House policy
No politician can stop progress, Korean scientist says

The Bush administration’s reluctance to fully support stem cell research is impeding U.S. research that has the potential to make major medical breakthroughs, South Korea’s top cloning expert said Sunday.

Woo Suk Hwang, the head of a team of South Korean scientists who cloned the first human embryo to use for research, said in an interview with Reuters that stem cell science will advance because of its enormous potential, and will not be halted by political interests.

Is it wrong that I’m totally having a Beavis & Butthead moment in giggling that this guy’s name is Woo Suk Hwang, knowing that the H in his last name is silent, or am I just on glue?

In response to all of the comments that I’ve received from my previous post, and for all of you who have felt in a similar way as me as a result of being abused yourselves, I love you. I just do. You know why.

A long time ago I wrote a letter to my friend that he posted on his LJ about what happened to me in my childhood. If I could find it I’d finally own up to it as it was posted anonymously. I do not believe in guilt, I have nothing to be ashamed of, and my wish for each of you is that you would feel the same as I do.

I am touched by each of your stories and confessions, you all have my love and respect. Be better than what has been done to you, be bigger than the grief. Own it, don’t allow it to own you. Learn to live with it like I have, you don’t have to forgive anybody or anything if you don’t want to in order to do that. It might not be the most healthy way to live, but it is my choice to hold a grudge until I die. Anger did more for me by being turned out than it ever did being turned inward.

I send love and good energy to each of you and to those who share a common burden alongside us, and kisses for all your scars.

“Be my good boy now, and I’ll take you to get ice cream after…”

That’s what he would tell me, he would take me to get ice cream if I didn’t cry and if I never told anyone. Can you believe how lame that sounds to me now? That’s what he told me when I was 10 years old and it started, to the best of my memory which is pock marked and moth eaten at best. I never got to pick my own flavor, he would always buy me a single scoop of strawberry in one of those nasty cake cup cones. To this day I will eat neither strawberry ice cream or cake cup cones. A few years ago I was offered strawberry ice cream, and it never occurred to me that I would have any adverse reaction to it. As soon as the spoon got in my mouth, I gagged and ran outside to vomit, which I did violently. I cried the whole time, realizing what that taste had come to represent to me. So no more strawberry ice cream for me, ever.

This post details more personal information than I think I have ever shared on LiveJournal before, and it will have graphic moments and might make you regret reading any further. I make this post public because I no longer care who knows about this kind of thing, keeping it to myself and the choice few who already know about it has always been part of the problem. Perhaps this might serve to help someone in the same struggle.

Here’s the long and short of it. It was my Uncle on my mother’s side of the family, married to her sister. I didn’t ever say anything about it until I was around 17 or 18 years old, and I’m not exactly sure what I remember. I remember that he used to sneak up behind me and give me inappropriate hugs, which is why I freak out if anyone sneaks up behind me and I prefer that people never hug me from behind. He used to tickle me inappropriately, same goes for being tickled - just don’t do it or I will punch you in the neck. He would creep into my room and wake me up to come with him into the living room or kitchen while the rest of the house slept - by touching my feet under the covers at the foot of the bed. Don’t touch my feet. He had the worst breath in the free world and would make me kiss him and I would gag. Don’t breathe near or get in my face. He once hurt me so badly that he tore my flesh, and I probably should have had stitches or something. I spent the next three or four days being terrified to go to the bathroom because it hurt too much, and sneaking off down the street on trash days to throw my bloodied underoos in a neighbor’s trashcan so no one would know. I guess I’ve just carried the brunt of this by myself for too fucking long.

By the time my parents found out my secret, I was in a mental facility on the cusp of a 3 month stay, inpatient and out. My mother has never spoken to me about it, but when called out on it by my sister Shay she was heard to say “We can’t say anything, it would just break Aunt Kathleen’s heart.” My father promised me he would “get down to the bottom of it”, but nothing was ever said or done. Uncle Bill died when I was 20, having paid nor answering for any of his crimes. A few months later I tried heroin for the first time. It was better than cutting. About five years ago I decided to take a journey to the place where they buried him, I wanted to say a few things out loud and finally get it out of me. I tried but couldn’t manage anything but angry tears. No words would come, no matter how hard I fought for them. Before leaving I pissed all over his grave and his headstone, laughing the entire time. Maybe one day I’ll do it again.

Today I decided to start a new piece for my En Abstraktia series. This one actually does have a title, I have decided to call it “Good Boy”. It was created in the spirit of a violently angry little boy that lives inside me, so betrayed and hurt and angry that I rarely ever see him. I never thought I could ever help him, but I decided to let him take over this particul
ar piece. And he did. I’m much happier now that I let him do it, too.

So for anyone who has ever been hurt like this or ever felt betrayed or victimized, this is for you. Feel free to link to this entry and pass it around, post about it or whatever - I don’t care. I make this post public because I think that art SHOULD imitate life and it should provoke and inspire on some level. I think it should be shared, and though I don’t normally explain these pieces, this one was too personal not to. Thank for that.

Series: En Abstraktia
Title: “Good Boy”
Jude Bennett, 2005

New layout is being retweaked, as was kind enough to add extra free text boxes, whichI will eventually be taking advantage of. I’m in the process of making new icons, one of which involves an actual biscuit. I might arm it, you never know. I’m strange like that.

Getting geared up for next month’s Pride festivities, which I’m going to post about later - hopefully by the weekend. I’m going to be making several posts about Pride in general, and I’m making Pride icons for everyone. So yeah.

To everyone heading to AF ‘05, please be careful and have loads of fun - I’m there with you in spirit!

Question: Tony Perkins & The Family Research Council - Why?
Three new things for the Christbots to go apeshit about

• FRC: ‘APA Should Stick to Science, Not Politics’
• Nebraska Decision Stirs Perfect Storm on Judges and Marriage
• Tell Nebraska’s Two U.S. Senators: No More Activist Judges
  

  An activist liberal federal judge just struck down Nebraska’s homosexual “marriage” ban.

If that’s not enough, read the Op-Eds page. Contact the FRC, they’re begging to hear from you.

No Regrets

It is all a wretched, scorching tangle
Of fire in my veins and memory scars
And trading love for apathy

I still cannot see or hear the word ‘tar’
Or bear the smell of fired metal and earth
Without almost shitting myself

Soullessly fed on vacant signs of empty places
Places built just so you would have somewhere to abandon
A solitary line from A to Z
Because really, who needs the letters in between

Jonesing like a summer storm
That scares you to the bone
Cotton fever like blistering pavement
In unforgiving August heat

Skull hooks just clawing, clawing, clawing
At a withered, salvage scrapped brain
Will make you do everything you thought you’d never
But you will, you will do it and more

Always the lies, endless lies
Anything
Everything
For just one. more. shot.

© Jude Bennett

So yeah. I have a history that for a brief time (I cannot remember the duration, it is useless trying) involved the use of opiates. Well, one anyway. Hey, some people choose Jesus as theirs, this was mine. I’m so far removed from being that guy, from that self destructive and desperate mentality, that I rarely ever think about it anymore. Also, I rarely ever talk about it because it makes me uncomfortable. You never know if you’re glamorizing it or making it sound alluring in some way, and the notion of that is horrifying to me, so the fear of how I might be coming across to or maybe even influencing people bothers me unless I know them very well. I’m also wary of ex-junkie poseurs, the ones who DO glorify being strung out and make outrageous comparisons. …My track marks are bigger than your track marks… UGH! *stab* I tend to give clipped responses to direct questions about my involvement with drugs, but I’m not going to hide it like it never happened either. It is a significant if not fundamental part of who I am, and while I’m not exactly happy or proud of some of the choices I’ve made, I have no regrets and no shame. So while I don’t really dismiss it, I also don’t encourage it.

There’s nothing I would change about that time given the possibility. It took long enough to learn that all of the shit you go through in life makes you better and stronger in some way if you let it. Once I figured that much out I latched onto it. What a beautiful thing.

I’ve had a good life so far, all things considered. It could always be much worse than it has been if I weren’t as determined as I’ve managed to be. I have a thicker skin than most I think, and I’ve learned the hard way that there’s a lot in life that may be fucked up and unfair, but it makes more sense to suck it up and get on with it than it does to dwell and let it rule you. Some stuff is permanent press and no amount of washing is taking it out, I’m not talking about that. For the record, that’s the stuff you DO give energy to, so hopefully you can make it a part of yourself that you can live with. I’m talking about the shit we crawl through all the time that we’d do better to just jettison - just decide “I’m not giving this ONE MORE SHRED of my energy. I will not waste another SECOND consumed by this ANYMORE”, then committing to that. Saying it over and over and over and over until you start to believe it.

I used to carry around all kinds of thoughts and feelings and stuff that just wore me down, even long after I thought I’d stopped caring about it anymore. Then one little thing can trigger you and set you off on a flood of memory that you’d just as soon not ever relive again. Next month I’ll be dealing with the grief I always associate with the end of June. On June 28th, 1986 my best friend committed suicide. On June 30th, 2000, my best friend died in a most tragic accident. All of this time I’ve been burdened with grief and guilt if I didn’t feel completely wrecked by these losses, but it is finally changing. I feel more different, better, and stronger now than ever before in 34 years of living. I have THE most loving and supportive family and friends ever. I
‘m loved by the most incredible man, and still fascinated by whatever it must be in me to account for that. I’ve come to realize that I - in fact that all of us collectively - carry emotions long past their usefulness. They’re like the chewing gum that you just can’t bring yourself to spit out, even though the flavor is long since gone and it’s so hard to chew at this point that your jaw is aching and saying “Oh, for fuck’s sake - SPIT IT OUT ALREADY!” There’s a point when you have to decide if something is worth indulging anymore, and if it’s not then just. fucking. stop. We’re always growing - changing - evolving into what we’re supposed to be for that time. It only stands to reason that you have to allow for this sort of thing. That’s why I have no regrets, no guilt, and no shame. Of all the people I love, I love myself equally. Finally, I do. Finally, I’m really clean.