Greg Stevens, prolific writer and interdisciplinary thinker, asks:
Note the first question is in fact a compound question. In essence the amount of deep questions are three; not two. As such, the quest to measure social chaos will be provided after meditation recovery.
My head hurts. Damn this Greg Stevens is tough, but the courage of this student remains with an ajar door that leads into madness.
What does too close to the realm of social chaos mean to me?
Call me limited. I can’t explain what “too close to the realm of social chaos” means without expressing inward reflection. To start the explanation requires narration of the subtle interrelationships of remembrances and the coexistences of the past with the present.
The significances of the primal scene causing the released psych (or do I mean the removal of the frustrations, the compromises, the deceptions) to expose a glimpse into my unconscious self.
I have to explain the stubble relationship between what was actually happening (explaining the physical account of reality) and the simultaneous mental account (explaining the unreality, i.e., emotional account of myself) to explain the inner chaos.
By doing this, I hope I’ll be able to enter into a realm of awareness that powers my ability to express in language “specific values and traditions” with clarity regarding “the close realm of social chaos,” by way of explaining unfolding events that caused a moment of internal chaos.
February 2011: I’m “going out gay” for the third time. “Going out gay” means I’m willfully and knowingly meeting with (at the time fairly new) gay friends for the purpose of going to a gay scene. I’ve already gone to the gym and showered. Standard habitual practice that applied to living a once heterosexual life.
It’s the dressing up part that has me mentally preparing in anticipation for what may come. I don’t want to standout. I’ve been told I dress without enough flair to indicate I’m gay; odd, as I think the mere fact that I’m a dude in a gay establishment is more than enough of an indicator.
Well-meant and appreciated commentary provided by new friends the last time (making that the second time) we got together, confirmed I was poorly dressed during the first night of “going out gay.”
My mannerisms are straight acting: Walk, voice, lack of vernacular skill, and non-use of hand gestures, all basic.
All I have to offer as a marker or indicator is “gay face.” Gay face means the composite of aesthetically appealing facial structures, close to symmetric, a healthy maintained skin glow, overly groomed facial and head hair, to the point the face is quasi-feminine.
I don’t dance with men as it feels INSANELY unnatural; beside the fact that (although I possess minor natural rhyme and moderate dancing abilities from both parents and from choreographed sweet 15 parties) I dance like a straight guy; in step, in tune, in charter, from the waist down – only. Again, it feels unnatural and inhabitable to move the entire being with such love, such embracement, such sexual energy and dramatization to sound.
So I nervously coordinated my attire, examining my appearance now with jewelry and an overly tight shirt. Still knowing my attire is just barely current to pop fashion, I feel like I’m not a total embarrassment to the guys, or myself.
Thiago, Ray, Kannalu, and I pre-drink. I’m not a fan of drinking but a little liquid courage easies anxiety. Plus, NYC drinks are overpriced and apparently under poured.
We’re now in a gay lounge. I Goggled Earth the place to pre-face myself for the scene. Images offered where antiquated. The music offers gay sensibilities. And the ratio of salsiccia (Italian for sausage. If unaware of reference you’re too young and should stop reading) is 1:15, Female: Male, respectfully.
At some point I see a guy I recognized from eons ago, even though it was from a few years back. Nighttime workouts at Gold’s Gym while at University. The guy is insanely jacked and veiny. Jaw dropping in appearance. The type of body that makes me realize the potentiality may become the actuality. Even if I try, the shock (possibly the alcohol, too) at discovering this guy was gay caused me to believe there was no involuntary abnormality. A physical canvas. Brawny, an extremely large chest that curves outward, toned physique, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, bullnecked, stocky. This is what male, what masculinity, what God-like means.
Our eyes meet from a 10-foot distance. A solid 3-second connection. Long enough for me to feel I was being intrusive. Shit! Fuck! No! I turn my eyes to the side. I raise my free left arm in yawn gesture. One sidestep and I’m no longer within his view. There’s an unhealthy rush of Adrenalinum pulsing throughout my body. I huddle up to Kannalu to tell him I’m going to the bathroom. He says to meet him and the others on the other side of the lounge when I get out. “Sure”:I say. Thinking how perfect the timing is to recover.
I’m out of the bathroom. Gay bathrooms themselves hold a vibe. Less personal boundaries that brings on a stronger feeling of communal cause. I don’t like it. It took some effort but I’m able to empty my bladder without losing my held beer bottle. I feel better. As good as can be expected.
I join the guys at the new location. The lounge feels a bit more crowded. Although I’m damn near sociopath-like aware of the subtleties and nuances of social interaction and able to fake a decent amount of charisma, I’m very guarded. Intoxicated enough to ease my body’s tension while maintaining mental clarity. The perfect disconnect between mind and body to distance myself from the opposite extreme of who I really am. A young body yet an old spirit overly concerned with what others think.
The anxiety increased and collimated from knowing I was to be and now among a species I’m unfamiliar with; gay men. As luck would have it there’s now an incredibly hot chick near me. The anomaly that is this female in a room of males is refreshing. I’m naturally drawn to her. At first it’s simply because she so lucid, so familiar, so safe. An insanity hot chick that sees me for who I am: A gay dude. She’s not intimidated by me. I in turn am just impressed by her entire being. I’m not at all concerned with what she thinks of me and I’m finally enjoying the night.
I’m happy. The happiest I’ve felt in months. I’m doing this. I’m actually living a normal life. There’s an almost euphoric feeling that comes from this sense of freedom. Unaware why, or displaced from, I’m now drawn to this woman in a way a gay man shouldn’t be drawn to a woman. I’m able to experience and visualize her breasts. Her breast radiating this femininity with each subdued movement that only breasts move like. She’s of desire. The type of desire I can only explain as consensual sweet violence. Supple, sweet, bountiful, nurturing, breasts of desire …Damn them titties.
Something unexpected occurs. The guy I recognized reappears. The guy whose masculine essence was so strong it held the power to shun me away like the pussy that I am. It’s him with a female. The girl I’m getting to know now hugs and kisses this guy’s female friend. The girl I’m getting to know now hugs and kisses the recognized guy. They’re all friends who planned to and finally met each other.
The guy and I make eye contact but with this euphoric feeling I’m claim this time. Instant organic mutual gestures of head nodes exchanged. I’m actually cool inward and outward. Mind-Body-Spirit, equally in charge, equally present.
These five individuals (three men and two women) are a group of friends, each getting to know my three friends and me. The night is still very much kosher.
Which specific values and traditions of importance are being totally disregarded?
Then something happens. I’ve entered into an “emotional tunnel.” Witnessing the actions of two distinct entities causes me to portal into this realm. As this guy with the incredible chest starts goofing around with this insanely beautiful woman, I’m ever deeper within this realm.
What I was witnessing was happening in slow motion, time nearing a stop.
The recognized guy is morphing himself into something other. This man in joke-like and jovial manner starts to shimmy his torso. He does this shimmy while this feminine energy from within him emerges. The feminine energy grows stronger as he relaxes his chest and up-and-inwardly makes his chest appear as breasts.
This once recognized guy turns into a boy-like figure with breasts.
The beautiful woman, this woman who held this allure, is loving it. She joins in, and in a quest to outperform his display, this woman with her outward, sweet, magnetic, breasts is also shimming. She boxes her breasts by way of using her arms to reshape them. As she does this, this masculine energy outlined by her box-like breasts immerses to such a degree that her breasts are gone, and there before me is an instant total mastectomy.
This once recognized hot chick turns into a boy like figure without a dick.
These two aliens, each with similar anatomy brush against one another.
Time has now stopped.
In still time the entire group of friends laughing, one even in pointing motion as if to say pay attention. But how could I not see what they were seeing? And, how could they not witness what was happening before their every eyes?
Separated, each was once equality desirable for opposite reasons.
Separated each was able to control me.
Separate, each was equally strong.
Separate, each healed a power unique to sensations.
Separate, came the manifested from two sources, inward : outward, femininity : masculinity, passivity : domination.
As the two torsos touched, the convergent, or the merger, or the blended, (you get the point) entities canceled each other. The sight so strong, it was too much. The allusion was demolishing into millions of pieces.
By seeking to personalize basic traditions, but still powered from the visual, my empirical observations of male-female relations somehow manifested into the ‘feminizes’ of a Son, and ‘masclinizes’ of a Father.
The tradition of male and female is broken.
The traditional relationship between strength and vulnerability is broken.
The traditional relationship between passivity and dominance is broken.
The traditional relationship I’ve come to understand as a straight man is broken.
The traditional relationship I’ve come to understand as a gay man is broken.
Both worlds I once knew of, the pros and the cons of each world, shattered into millions of pieces.