An old neighbor friend of mine played Word With Friends with me yesterday. Though I kicked his 9th grade ass (I happen to write and define new words a lot), we had an interesting conversation involving: school, psychology, hypnotherapy, intense trash talk (which surprised me because this little human only graduated into the ninth grade), suicide, deception, and homosexuality.
As it turns out, this old neighbor friend of mine revealed to me some pretty intense information about how the people who used to live at my old house found some journals that I couldn’t find before we left. And, in the end, these journals revealed some pretty graphic and intense secrets about a homosexual experience that I had had as a child–which obviously wasn’t intended.
Now, obviously I write this for you because it might as well be leaked by me that some of this shit DID happen–and I accept it. And as I accept it, I still can appreciate that just a little organization and stability (I left my parents’ house many times over the years while I was still in school–living with friends as well as in my car) would have changed all this in a heartbeat–like when I wrote it in a book or something.
Now, if you even think of me as “a homosexual,” I will heat up a red hot poker and shove it in your asshole IMMEDIATELY, like in the way that happened with American Horror Story, because I am more than just a single experience. Pride drips into my veins as if by an IV bag by even accepting this about myself, but what’s absolutely essential is that I keep an “Unlimited ID,” for example, I fucking love women.
Let’s just leave it at that.
Remember the hot ass poker, friend, because we are both infinite in every way imaginable–and labels only limit that.