there isn’t some “deep truth” latent in me going out looking gay. wearing eyeliner, lip gloss, a choker, booty shorts. there isn’t some “deep and holy liberation of my feminine.”
it is an act of opposition and rebellion to the fact that it would raise eyebrows. the mere fact that there are people who would have a problem with it makes it all the more alluring. it isn’t the enjoyment of being a provocateur, it isn’t me getting off to pissing people off.
it is a statement. it is a statement on the absolutely arbitrary nature of these gender norms. it is a statement that this shouldn’t be met with fucking backlash therefore fuck you if you feel that way and be stunned and shocked.
it is an act of nihilism. it affirms the emptiness of all things, the meaninglessness of all things, the cosmic joke latent in all that is.
my vessel is static but my mind and spirit are anything but. my spirit is an orb that hovers above the body full of possibility. it can be anything it wants to be, it identifies not with one manifest version of itself but can instead shape-shift into any number of contexts and presentations as it chooses. it sees beyond time; it sees beyond the illusion of what this specific instance of time and space sees as the right way of doing things. it is freedom. it is freedom. therefore, i simply must challenge those who would try to limit and stifle the extent of human expression, for the sake of freedom alone. i am as attached to femininity as i am to masculinity — they are all on my palette, to be painted with when i choose, to be blended or stratified as the artistic impulse beckons. but those who would tell me, just because the brush of this physical body is shaped in a certain way that i cannot paint with a certain color, deserve to have it thrown in their face.
do you not think i get uncomfortable walking around looking like that? but do you not think my desire for truth and freedom is greater? again i will tell you: the mere fact that people would judge and feel distaste makes me want to do it all the more, to challenge their folly, to open their mind even if that opening means cracking it.
but know this, too: those who then see me as statically feminine and expect me to sit within the box of being a flamboyantly gay, effeminate creature then see my masculine present itself — suddenly I shapeshift into a straight-passing boy.
i cannot and will not be contained. i want to be more creative than being stifled into one modality of expression. people crave order so heavily; people so desperately want to categorize and box people into things that make sense. but i care not for your sense of linearity — i will be me, even if it does not compute for you. 1+1=3. in the sequence of my expression, there are formulas that exist beyond the bounds of mathematics as we know it.
to be an anomaly is all i know how to be.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 