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.
Sagely Salvaged 
Greg Stevens: “As such, I don’t think they can be universally thought of as a “bad thing”, no matter how jarring they may feel.”
My response: I totally agree. Not necessarily a “bad thing.” That incongruous jolt of shock lead to a level of understanding. A level I would describe as beyond ‘theoretical acceptance’ or tolerance. However, what if I told you that with acceptance came discomfort. And that the discomfort lead to …Theodicy: The vindication of divine goodness and providence in view of the existence of evil. And that, by ‘moral luck’ or ‘unmoral luck’, I was able to identify the root of discomfort in a way that …only those at the mercy of abuse fully understand.
What if I told you that I was able to take that moment of enlightenment and gain two entirely polar perceptions: as a moment of good and light, and as a moment of evil and dark. That by the grace of pure will I was able to reconcile perceptions.
But let me go further. Consider this. Another person gains just one perspective. Someone might experience just the good and the light. Another might experience just the evil and the dark. I think my drive, or concern, is to protect one from the other. Greg, you’re either naïve or overzealous if you believe every person can properly handle inner conflict. You’re the activist, I get it! Awesome! I’m the protectionist.
I’m the one who appreciates what you’re doing. I’m not placing a negative charge on what drives you. I’m just acting as the shield; recognizing the overtake of one cultural onto another. Maybe what drives my conservative ideology is really me allowing two cultures remain in harmony.
Greg Stevens: “Artists also use this mechanism, by the way. In a way, what you witnessed on that dance floor was, for you, a work of modern art: a re-arrangement of deeply historical cultural symbols and structure that suddenly cause you to view them as dis-entangled from their normal context. They cause you to deconstruct the normal network of associations and see them in a different way.
It’s like an M.C. Escher drawing, fiddling with normal perspective just enough to make you think, “Wait a minute…. so how DOES normal perspective work, anyway? What are the rules? And why do they work the way they do?”
My response: Brilliantly stated. Looked into M.C. Escher drawings. Yeah, illustration is a perfect representation.
Greg Stevens: “There is a style of drag performance that also does this deliberately: unlike “realistic drag”, it is the buff and sometimes bearded drag queens who are making a deliberate statement out of the mixture of these roles: if you are attracted to masculinity, you would normally be attracted to his body, but he deliberately REMOVES that element from the way he is being perceived; or, if you are attracted to femininity, you might be normally attracted to his dress or style of movements, but his body REMOVES that element as well.
This is a problem, if your goal is to be attracted to the person, or to see them in that normal set of roles in society. It is not a problem if the goal is break down those assumption, step outside of that framework, and get the experience of being a part of a culture that is looking at itself.”
My response: You wouldn’t know it by how I carry myself but I’m fascinated by drag culture. I’m the guy who has absolutely no curiosity to try drag, but on the rear occasion I’m at a gay club, I forget I entered hoping Mr. Right will find me. Instead I lose myself if I discover real drag talent (you know, that eccentric vibe rarely found) unknowingly acting as if I’m some sort of investigative reporter/psychologist: Asking probing questions.
BTW: I met Lady Bunny. A TOTAL ASS I made of myself. The dumber my question, the deeper a read she offered. It was actually an awesome experience. My final question asked: “So …Humm …Are you , like, purposely drinking from a straw because I noticed you’re running low on cheap lipstick.” She must have encounter stupidity before or noticed how nervous I was. Man, was she professional, entertaining and therapeutic. 🙂
Greg Stevens: “When artists do it, it is a deliberate political statement…. the two that you witnessed were probably just doing it for fun. But either way, I think it’s brilliant. I love living in a world where people feel free to play with expected norms about everything! Whenever some young idealist tells me “We should get rid of stereotypes!” I say: “No! Don’t get rid of them! Stereotypes are awesome… as long as you recognize them for what they are. They are toys.. playthings. Mess with them, have fun with them, and never take them too seriously.”
My response: I totally agree with you. Funny, my argument towards theological studies and religious teachings are to learn it. Enjoy it. Just know how to work with it. Don’t get misguided and fuck shit up for the rest of us.
Greg Stevens: “So to me, this kind of playfulness is one of the best things any culture can do. It’s a sign of a culture exploring itself… and having fun with it!”
My response: I agree. I’m there with you. I just don’t want the display to take place around the wrong audience. I’m trying to prevent war driven by culture clashes.
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What a fantastic and interesting personal story …. thank you so much for sharing it!
Points of personal psychological chaos — the moment of feeling that the things you assumed may not always be true, that there is a way of seeing things you’d never imagine before, and so on — are commonly the beginning of any transition or growth period. As such, I don’t think they can be universally thought of as a “bad thing”, no matter how jarring they may feel.
Artists also use this mechanism, by the way. In a way, what you witnessed on that dance floor was, for you, a work of modern art: a re-arrangement of deeply historical cultural symbols and structure that suddenly cause you to view them as dis-entangled from their normal context. They cause you to deconstruct the normal network of associations and see them in a different way.
It’s like an M.C. Escher drawing, fiddling with normal perspective just enough to make you think, “Wait a minute…. so how DOES normal perspective work, anyway? What are the rules? And why do they work the way they do?”
There is a style of drag performance that also does this deliberately: unlike “realistic drag”, it is the buff and sometimes bearded drag queens who are making a deliberate statement out of the mixture of these roles: if you are attracted to masculinity, you would normally be attracted to his body, but he deliberately REMOVES that element from the way he is being perceived; or, if you are attracted to femininity, you might be normally attracted to his dress or style of movements, but his body REMOVES that element as well.
This is a problem, if your goal is to be attracted to the person, or to see them in that normal set of roles in society. It is not a problem if the goal is break down those assumption, step outside of that framework, and get the experience of being a part of a culture that is looking at itself.
When artists do it, it is a deliberate political statement…. the two that you witnessed were probably just doing it for fun. But either way, I think it’s brilliant. I love living in a world where people feel free to play with expected norms about everything! Whenever some young idealist tells me “We should get rid of stereotypes!” I say: “No! Don’t get rid of them! Stereotypes are awesome… as long as you recognize them for what they are. They are toys.. playthings. Mess with them, have fun with them, and never take them too seriously.”
So me, this kind of playfulness is one of the best things any culture can do. It’s a sign of a culture exploring itself… and having fun with it!
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