Love Songs

Do Not Love Me
I am not to be loved
That sanctuary is denied me
I will only cause you pain
If you somehow make me love you
It won't save you
Nothing can save you
From my love
I only hate the things I fear
And i only fear the ones I love
So I will hurt you
I will make you hate me
Before you make me love you
Before you make me weak
Before you bring me low
Curled up on the floor
Humming love songs I can't quite remember
And changing myself into someone
Someone you could never love

Limited Screening

My Mother was a Witch, or else a Witch had taken over my mothers body, either way; the car was nose first in the creek she inhabited the house, hosting gallas and balls for all the most important people in the vally while my step father wept and wrote to the local hospitals and radio stations, 'have you seen my missing son?' I lived like a feral child in the great ant filled tree in the back yard, sneaking into the house late at night to steal food and tools. I'm scared, but she'll never catch me. One of these days i'm gonna fix that car and get some help, then we'll all be free.

Mathew Shepard: Aftermath

His name is Matthew Shepard, and eleven years ago outside of a little town in Wyoming called Laramie he was kidnapped, tortured, and beaten, before be being horrifically murdered. His Crime? He hit on a guy in a bar. Matthew's murderers, Russell Arthur Henderson and Aaron James McKinney, were found guilty of murder and kidnapping and are both serving two consecutive life sentences. McKinney without possibility of parole.

This afternoon John Aravosis over at AMERICAblog directs our attention to this article over at the USAToday describing the ten year quest of Mathew's mother, Judy Shepard, to get a gay hate crimes bill passed by congress, often called the 'Mathew Shepard Act' this bill would add homosexuals to a list of federaly protected peoples and make the killing of homosexuals motivated by 'hate' a federal crime.

I think i might be the only homo in America that thinks this is a Bad Idea, let me count the ways...

1) Thought Crime: People should be punished for the crimes they commit, not the thoughts they are thinking while they commit the crime. Does it make any difference if you kill me because i'm gay, or i stand between you and a million dollars, or even if you just don't like my stupid ugly face? At the end of the day i'm dead. And my killer should be punished for murder. Period.

2) Federalism: The Constitution lists a number of crimes that require the attention of the Feds, 'treason, high crimes at sea, etc,' and murder of any stripe is simply not amongst them. I believe in the principle of the federal republic, that certain powers are reserved for the States, and others for the Federal Government. Investigation and prosecution of murder is a State's responsibility. And it's not as if the States have been remiss, 45 states have hate crimes laws on the books.

3) Limited Resources: The FBI only has so many agents, and we really need them to be investigating drug cartels and people that want to fly planes into tall buildings.

4) Making Martyrs out of Monsters: This is honestly the big one for me. To quote Dave Rittgers over at the Cato Institute,

A real true believer, a hardcore racist or homophobe, would want to be prosecuted under a statute that criminalizes his motives. Prosecution under a murder statute makes him a common criminal; prosecution for murdering someone given special status by the government makes him a martyr for his cause and incites those motivated by his brand of hatred and animus.

...

You don't defeat politically motivated violence by politicizing the laws used to prosecute it.

This is an emotional issue. I can't even conseive of the pain and loss Judy Shepard must be experiencing EVERY DAY since her only son was taken away from her. But laws are dangerous things, with unintended consequences. We should make new laws rarely and with passion or bias. If we set ourselves apart as some kind of specially protected super citizenry i worry that we won't be making ourselves safer, but rather we'll be painting targets on our chests.

Life in Cloud City

(left to right: me, eddie, miguel, kevin, and charles)

Last night after getting off work I met up with the boys of BYGAS and our new friend Miguel at the Triple Crown for the tale-end of the Golden Gate Gay Games. I'd like to say 'i don't remember the last time i had that much fun,' but truth be told my recollections of last night are... hazey. Thank goodness for photographic evedence.

Not To Be Crude...

... But if straight people had the kind of sex that i've been having there would be no war.

(there would be no time)

Current Obsession: Sean Hayes

Sunday Morning Confessional

I'm sorry can't say it, but i hope you know i feel it.

All the time. Every day.

A Holocaust of the Lower Intestine

I would like to state, for the record, that there is nothing i hate more then diarrhea. No ailment is more abhorrent to me. No affliction, no disease. I'd rather have a face full of zits on prom night. I'd rather projectile vomit at a state dinner. On a scale of one to ten, one being manage-ably annoying (Heidi Klum for instance) and ten being Soul Crushing Brutality (Everybody Loves Raymond!), then diarrhea = Hitler. That's right, i hate diarrhea with the same white hot burning intensity i usually reserve for genocidal landscape painters. Needless to say, the past week of my life, spent chained to my bathroom as i have been, will be remembered in the little personal history of Brenden Shucart as a lower intestinal holocaust.

It was bad. So bad in fact that Saturday night my auto-pilot kicked in and called my friend kevin to take me to the hospital. I have a truly top notch auto-pilot. Honed by years of black out drinking and other forms of over-consumption, it has an almost supernatural ability to get me home and into my bed unscathed. Even from other countries (yes. my auto-pilot has saved me from mexico). And though my nights of frat quality binge drinking are well behind me my auto-pilot remains, a synaptic guardian angel guiding me home when the party is over (if only for me. thank you Auto-Pilot, thank you for everything).

This past Saturday Auto saved me ass again. A perfect storm of dehydration, malnutrition, and high fever had me talking to dead relatives in my bedroom. And my little auto-pilot took maters into its little ninja hands long enough to call out to my friend kevin for help. I know why it picked kevin too, he gets shit done. He's like raw will dipped in caffeine. Explosive and unstoppable. He hoped in a cab scooped me up and whisked me to the emergency room in less then a half an hour (i'm told. I don't really remember anything between the dead relatives and the ER). So if not for him i might be all Rose Kennedy right now. Thank you kevin.

Fuck you Diarreha.

'scared and embarrassed and feeling alone'

Recently I started following a blog, Under the Bridge, written by Jason V. I know Jason, but not well. We move in the same circles, go to many of the same parties, he is a warm and funny fixture on the periphery of my life.

I've been ignoring the internets for a few days now, needing a break from the constant stream of celebrity gossip and geo-political disasters. When i read Jason's blog last night i came across this entry and i sat on my bed and cried.

A few years back when I initially learned of my HIV diagnosis I was afraid of running into someone that might recognize me. Would he or she tell other people about me? What would we say to each other? Should I make eye contact? Do I say hello? I was nervous and unsure.

This morning it happened in reverse: I saw someone that I knew and who by my account probably just learned that he was HIV positive. He's very well known in the gay boy social scene and when he saw sitting there texting away on my Iphone and I looked up and we made eye contact, I felt that same fear swell in him as it used to in me, and I instinctively wanted to leap up and out of my chair to hug him. But I didn't.

When he saw me he just pivoted in the opposite direction and began to wipe furiously at his eyes while I crumpled inside for him. There is such a stigma to being HIV positive in this country that it makes me so angry to see beautiful souls like his scared and embarrassed and feeling alone, most likely feeling confused and angry and all sorts of everything all at once...very much how I felt when I learned of my diagnosis.

I know how ISOLATING those three little letters can be. I know how heartbreaking it is to be rejected by a guy you really like because he can't handle your Status.

Thank you so very much Jason. Thank you for your honesty. Thank you for your bravery. Thank you for your compassion.

You made me feel less alone.

The Roar of the Crowd

We always wanted to be Rock Stars; smoke machines, names in lights, the roar of the crowd like an ocean pounding against the stage... why should we let our lack of talent get in the way of that dream?

Tonight at Chilidog (@ the Tripple Crown: 1760 Market St.)

Doors open at 9

Show starts at 12