love as a faggot

It seems that being miserable is definitely better for art. I have a hard time sitting down to write or work on photos or anything, really… I do more than most people, but according to what I should be doing, not so much. However, this may be the only time in years that Smokey and I will have off at the same time and building our foundation is my priority—while still writing, photographing, and planning for the new business. It’s amazing how life has done a completely 180. Blows my mind. I’m so thankful. Terrified beyond measure, but so very, very thankful. It scares me because I’ve never really been an ‘it all works out the way it’s supposed to’ kindof person, especially the past few years. The last twelve years or so, actually. However, that is exactly how it feels. Like everything finally is beginning to make sense. Sound delusional? It’s a definite possibility. If this is delusion, please let me stay in this psychotic state for the rest of eternity.

In reality, not that the above isn’t reality—no matter what you may say—Smokey and I went shopping at the grocery store a couple days ago. We made a perfect and healthy dinner (he’s a health nut—no one’s perfect). While at the store, I had my arms around him while we were checking out an aisle trying to find Quinoa (I know... I know…). This man walked by the end of the aisle. He shouted out ‘Freakin’ Queers!’ You know me, I’ve never quite learned to turn the other cheek, so I yelled back, offering to let him join if he wanted. (I’m a polite Bible-Belt boy, it’s rude not to share.) He responded to my heart-felt invitation with a, ‘Faggot!’ He could have just sent an RSVP. Some people!
Granted, Smokey and I know we’re a little touchy-feeling. We’re that couple. We even make ourselves gag. However, we weren’t making-out or anything close, much the same as I’ve seen many straight couples act in public, much less than some.
It took a couple hours before I felt ‘normal’ again. I kept apologizing to Smokey, but he was supportive and related it to being harassed, intimidated, and threatened. Which, is exactly what it is, and my body recognized it for what it was before my mind did. The event made us realize that we need to be a little more intentional, so that we don’t get killed (and I’m not trying to be dramatic to make a point) or choose to do so both to simply live a normal life while making a political statement at the same time.
Smokey pointed out that the man could have at least given some reason or lesson for his hatred. Told us we were going to Hell or some such nonsense. It’s a piss poor argument when all you can do is call names.
Welcome to 2011.