Stomp on me?!

Years -- decades? -- ago in exchanges with Dylan, (whatever else one may say about him, he was clear-eyed on these matters) I used to give voice to a perverse pleasure in the demonstrable fact that my particular set of desires had given rise to a vast machinery of stomping (I didn't quite put it that way, but I think it a better word than "repressing" or even "minoritising"). Imagine: all the political, cultural, and social forces of our time mobilized in a vast alliance to make one aging queen feel bad about the direction the mind wanders in those few minutes between waking up and getting out of bed. How did I become that important? How is it that religions, governments, media empires shake with agitation at a fading representative of an "undiscovered country of... unspeakable desires?" No, I'm not going to be celebrating "MAP Pride." I can scarcely get it up these days -- not much to be proud of. (I do still notice -- indeed can't keep my eyes away from the hotties even if all I do is stare longingly and feel spasms of gratitude to the glory of God and of His creation -- that such beauty EXISTS and that somehow the stomping machinery seems to have missed me in its herculean efforts to prevent any noticing of the most alluring manifestations of the beauty of creation.) Instead, I'll watch one or two Thai Boyz Laabu videos. Give the Thais credit where credit is due: staying completely under the radar screen of our "liberal' celebration of underdog minorities (or) to the 'conservative' defence of morally-indignant and indefensible privilege" while dishing up TV serials doted on by millions worldwide which feature 15 year old boys (I don't mean men in their twenties pretending to be 15: I mean actual 15 year-olds) decked out in cute school shorts with the hots for each other. (Check out Class Crush Crisis if you're interested.) SR