Skip to main content

Epic Faggotry--The good kind!

So my friend Meg made my week when she tipped me off to this: Tchaikovsky was fantastically gay*. Like, unbelievably gay. Like, Freddie Mercury gay. Like, so gay his fabulousness radiated across Russia and warmed the hearts of millions (Ah, if only the Russians weren't such cold, heartless bastards, eh?). Oh, I came my pants. Verily.

Such a bear; do you think he was much into leather, too?

As a flaming queer and wiki nerd, I've read a lot of these "Personal Life" and "Sexuality" subsections in people's wiki-bios. Like, a lot. There are definite patterns--hints, even, for the desperately closeted queer looking for solidarity/lulzy gay troll. In fact, I'm pretty sure you could actually rate people's degree of gayness by how well their wiki "Personal Life"/"Sexuality" subsection conforms to some of these patterns/hints. Hm. I'll have to make a mental note of that in case I get bored--Make bogus wiki gay rating system. I know this much--for simply having a "Personal Life"/"Sexuality" subsection, you get a rating of at least 50% gay. You'll see why that's important in a moment. Like, in the next paragraph.

Basically, in order to warrant a "Personal Life"/"Sexuality" subsection, one must reach at least a certain level of gayness--or at least the speculation thereupon must have reached at least a certain point. Even the flamboyant Courtney Taylor-Taylor of The Dandy Warhols used to have a "Sexuality" section; it naively concluded that he was "just very metro". Fag. Doesn't matter that he's married some poor beard, still a fag.

Of course, there's almost always dispute. Apparently no matter how gay you are, someone will always assume you're straight and argue it to the death. It's just a rule of life--and wikipedia. There's always bickering--cuz we're just good lil queers like that, eh?--over this letter or that person's opinion/interpretation or so-and-so's biography about the fag. Read/skim/glance upon Morrisey's "Sexuality" subsection and you'll see what I mean. Goddanged queers. Can't y'all just make up your minds and get back to the glorious butthurtz??

Anyway, with Tchaikovsky, on the other hand, there's no such flibbertygibbeting about--it's simply assumed at the outset that he was a raging homo. The real question seems to be why the fuck he ever bothered marrying some poor broad (only a minor dispute; twas but a beard, obvs, much like that hag Courtney Taylor-Taylor married) and just how utterly unbothered he was by his own gayosity. He was so chill with the man-loving that over his lifetime he left behind, like, reams of letters and diaries and autobiographical material about it. Like, it seems the only thing holding him back from declaring his love of buttsecks to the world every morning was concern for how it might affect his family and his own professional career. Lame, but understandable...I guess. Hell, even his brother was a faggot!

Hm. Rule 34 anyone? I smell some hot toasty wincest....

So you gotta understand, in order to subvert all that wishywashing gay/nay discussion like this, one has to be really really gay. I'm so amused by this--to no end. I imagine he must have been much the same class of queer as I am--all but constant gay jokes and flirtation, guffawing much as I do at the hilarity of buttsex and cumshots (easily the two funniest things in all of human history), and generally shamelessly oggling any hot lad ass that happens by. Fuck yeah!

So, epic fag was epic, and that was pretty fucking win for his era. If only he and Whitman had met.... God, who would have topped whom in that scenario??

* As if to prove my wiki nerdness, I figured I'd include the permalink as of 8:04am on Wednesday Sept. 8, too:


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know