The Pop Fop

Fated to Die: Romantic Fatalism and the Twink (Selections)

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The almost spiritual contemplation of male beauty is a persistent theme in Western literature and one that is often tied closely with death. Consider the word fey which today is mostly used to describe someone as slightly efeminate, whimiscal or delicate. A more exact definition means either “fated to die” or “appearing under a spell.” Now consider the plot of Death in Venice where Aschenbach, a widowed writer, becomes obsessed with the beauty of Tadzio, an adolscent boy he sees on vacation. While never even speaking to the boy (notice the lack of actual engagement), the protagonist finds his beauty increasingly rapturous. Could it be that Tadzio is actually representative of beauty itself, rather than a simple physical desire? As Aschenbach’s obsession increases, he finds himself becoming increasingly ill. He dies shortly after a brief visual acknowledgement by Tadzio on the beach.

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In other representations, it is the beautiful male himself who is destined for tragedy. Cather’s Paul’s Case features a teenaged protagonist who elicits the usual euphemisms: troubled, overly concerned with beauty, ambitious, desirous of power and glamour, elitist, ill of health.  In Cather’s short story, Paul runs away from home and adopts a stylish and wealthy persona after stealing one thousand dollars from his employer.  Upon learning that his crime has been discovered and his father is in transit to bring him home, he commits suicide by jumping in front of a train.  His refusal to live a mundane existence, the immediatism of his desires, and his blind overvaluing of aesthetic beauty all conspire in a determinist narrative where flight from the material world is the only option.

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It should be noted that the romantic fatalism of which the fey principle is an example, is separate from the sexuality imbued in the adolescent nihilism of Dennis Cooper and Larry Clark.  The works of Cooper and Clark rather reflect a negative liberty which produces self destruction, experimentation, amorality and a complete denial of body ownership.  Wether this is purely a guilt mechanism for a section of the bohemian class which wants to party with young and attractive wastrels, drug addicts and criminals or a simple tribute to Genet, it does not fall under the rubric of the thesis presented.  The realization of the fey relates to the gap between the real and the ideal.  It is about the impossibility of living the aesthete narrative, with specific relation to certain classical archetypes of male beauty.

A List of Things from 2011 (Part 2)

Warriors: Anders Behring Breivik

Now while I find what Breivik did to be fatalistic and horrible, this doesn’t mean that his acts didn’t have justification.  His assault was not the work of a crazy person or just another spree killer, it was strategic, politically motivated terrorism and his targets were perfectly legitimate.  More than that, it was the only response left to him by an ethnomasochistic political elite which promotes Cultural Marxism and democratic totalitarianism.  

When even critics of illegal immigration are belittled and cowed into a ghetto of illegitimacy as “haters” and “bigots” and those who air political opinions outside of a narrowly defined mainstream face legal action, what choice is left but physical force?  Especially when one’s self preservation is at stake.

The default pacifism of the everyday often inoculates one from the slow poison of the power elite’s social engineering schemes.  One can dress it up with all sorts of progressive language but importing a foreign underclass which out of desperation will be easier to control and outlawing differing opinions as hate crimes is the mark of a politics which seeks total control and demands utmost obedience.  And with the traditional channels of political power becoming ever more slight, this is the sort of thing we’re going to be seeing more of. Coming to a government building near you…

Disappointments: The Gay Rights Crowd

Now I agree that homosexual marriage is a civic right as is the ability to serve in the armed forces regardless of who gives you a wide/hard on, but there is a fine line between demanding a share in the legal egalitarianism of liberal democracy and criminalizing others who may find your lifestyle distasteful, no matter how uninformed they may be. Gay rights as a determinant of foreign aid?  Not too dissimilar to bombing Afghanistan to free women from the burka.  The Great Gay Bullying Epidemic of 2011?  A moral panic for the Hope-stickers-on-a-Subaru crowd.  I guess they were jealous of all the Churchies who got in a tizzy over Satanic Ritual Abuse back in the 1980s.  

And it only gets worse from there.  From the hobo homos who made a gripe with the Salvation Army who denied them service over their lifestyle (as if there aren’t plenty of secular or gay oriented homeless charities) to the Canadian pastor who was brought before the Human Rights Commission and ordered to pay $5000 for “hate speech” for a letter he sent to some hayseed newspaper.

Apparently it’s no longer about, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it” but more a matter of, “your rights end where my feelings begin.” 

But the issue is really beyond sexuality, it’s about New Left victimology being legislated by the neoliberal state.

One More

I heard this one from Dan Savage.  It’s up to you to believe it.  There was this guy with an underwear fetish.  One day he saw a teenage boy’s used underwear for sale on eBay®.  According to description they were really ripe, the kid played soccer and this used to be his favorite pair.  They were white briefs.

So of course this guy bids on it, wins and receives them in the mail a few weeks later. But when he opens the FedEx pak he is totally disappointed. They are a fresh pair of briefs in plastic.  Never been opened.  Just a new pair of underwear, the size that would fit a skinny teenage boy.  ”Fuck this shit,” the man exclaims and leaves them on his bed.  Then he goes out to get a drink at The Eagle.

He comes back a few hours later, a little tipsy and turns on his computer.  He wants to see if Helix Studios has uploaded any new videos.  He goes into his bedroom to change his shirt when he notices something strange.  He first notices the smell.  Very salty. Kind of like green Powerade® being filtered through human pores.  Then he looks down and sees the pair of briefs sopping wet, soaking through to his bed sheet.  He picks them up and smells them.  Clean, athletic sweat.  You can bet he put his face in it.

The next day the man finds them a bit browning.  Then with each day after that they begin to fray at the edges, ever so slightly.  The odor changes too, sometimes more earthy, other times with the hint of laundry detergent mixed with scrotum.  One day the man even claims to find a single pube.  And to think, he only paid $21.99.

New Gay Fiction

A Kevin Smith Movie

I pulled the car nervously into the parking lot of the convenience store.  I hated being in this part of Jersey.  Two hoodlums stood outside the entrance.  They looked vaguely familiar.  I bet they had ridiculous names.  Shuffles Mackenzie and Pork Tool.  Something like that.  The lanky one eyed me.  ”You Amy’s brother?”  Ah, yes Amy.  My sister.  The only reason I was in East Jersey.  I have to convince her not to marry this schmuck - it’s for this movie…  it’s kind of a long story.  ”Yeah, I am.”  I reply coldly.  I let the pause echo.  Everything seems relaxed though.  ”Hey, can I see your dick?,” I ask the skinny, lanky blonde one.  ”Whatever, man,”  He rolls his eyes as he starts to unzip.

Confession #26

“I once made up a rap that rhymed Bill Duckett with ‘fuck it.’”

Script Idea

Some decaying Northeast town.  Abandoned malls, train tracks, tract housing - you get the idea.  It’s always grey and on the verge of rain, the asphalt is damp.  The first significant scene shows this beautiful boy dancing in a parking lot.  He is wearing jean cutoffs, cut right above the knee, and a black zip up hoodie and some type of canvas sneakers.  When he lifts his arms above his head - pure streamline - his bare torso is exposed.  His skin is pale, his bellybutton just a half moon blip.  ”Grooves of intimacy.”  Spitfire by Prodigy plays.  A black Range Rover pulls up.  Faceless goons grab the boy, drag him into the Range Rover.  The song still plays.  Cut to the boy’s lover. Leader of a certain neo feudal outpost in this environment.  Some adventure shit happens.  He sends his forces.  It’s like Helen of Troy. His forces slowly encroach upon an abandoned office park with a very wide expanse of parking lot.  They emerge from the swamp on it’s borders.  They are few but well armed, marching in a spread dynamic. Machine Gun by Portishead plays.

Read a Book, Faggot

I once went to a gay marriage rally when I was around 19 or 20.  I took my friend L.  We met some silly gay teens.  One chick looked like Hatchet Face from John Waters’ Cry Baby.  Her friends called her this.  There was also a chubby red haired kid who had a drag persona. He told me that all redheads have fat asses no matter their actual weight - men and women both.  He’s right, you know.  There was also this underage twink who was rather attractive but too wiry and with an atrocious fag-townie accent.  There was another boy who took a liking to me.  I gave him my phone number and he called me the next day.  ”I just discovered queer lit,” he told me.  Like Oscar Wilde?  He didn’t know who that was.  He then went on to describe some variety of generic young adult literature with gay characters.  That was the last time I decided to speak to him.

The Rhyme

“Too easy - I passed the buck, said fuck it / Got white beards on my dick like I was Bill Duckett.”