A missive and a foreword

I assume there is a larger margin beyond our own curious margin and this larger margin is a friend. By this I mean most of the readers of gay-themed literature are not gay men or gay women, but those who know us, those who have held our hands, done our drugs, given us shelter, helped us tear up and mend our Bibles, lent us books and borrowed books from us, and the like. Our friends are better people for having known us and we for having known them.

All the misfits know what I’m talking about. All of those, who, like Mishima, knew being otherwise is tantamount to being better—to being transcendent, if only in our own minds and in the evidence we leave behind. It is said art is a realm best defended from politics, but we know better: art is just about the only political entity that we can forge to accept us as we are.

We are not prone to biological legacy, though we convince ourselves we are heirs of biological destiny. But we are prone to legacy itself: and we, too, as bearers of the Western tradition, transmit our legacies through literature. Schopenhauer said, “The word of man is the most durable of all materials.” If you ever find yourself reading an obscure book from the eighteenth century, you, too, are a misfit, and are all the better for it.

The following pieces are little narcissisms, little windows, little trials, little briefs, little forays, little musings, little plays, little beings. Some are dense, like conservatives, and some are loose, like wealth. They are all earnest and they are all for your pleasure, contemplation, unraveling, and reconception.

I hope you take good care of them as they have taken good care of me.

~ by Jeremy on June 30, 2013.

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