Archive for the ‘Christianity’ Category

2010 in review

January 2, 2011

The stats helper monkeys at mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

Healthy blog!

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads This blog is doing awesome!.

Crunchy numbers

Featured image

The average container ship can carry about 4,500 containers. This blog was viewed about 21,000 times in 2010. If each view were a shipping container, your blog would have filled about 5 fully loaded ships.

In 2010, there were 6 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 22 posts. There were 4 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 592kb.

The busiest day of the year was November 29th with 96 views. The most popular post that day was 37 Ways To Be Seductive With A Man, .

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were,,,, and

Some visitors came searching, mostly for how to be seductive, how to be seductive to a man, seductive talk, how to be seductive to my boyfriend, and being seductive.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.


37 Ways To Be Seductive With A Man, May 2007
9 comments and 1 Like on,


Tea Room Sex, A Blast from the Old Past? December 2007


The Manly Art of Seduction Gets Banned on FaceBook January 2010


Discovering Manhood and the Work of Branden Charles Wallace March 2010


Malachy McCourt and I discuss aging . . . and fawking. March 2010

In Love with Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky

May 21, 2007

I have a terrible confession to make. For years and years I have been hopelessly in love with Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky. I cannot even remember when it started, way before I knew anything about him—perhaps it was the first time my mother took me to the ballet in Savannah, Georgia, when American Ballet Theatre would hit town on one its yearly pilgrimages through the South, or the remains of the Ballets Russe would make a similar stop. The program was almost always the same—in fact, in a recent, wonderful talk the filmmaker Wakefield Poole did at the Donnell Library in New York, he explained it. Before he became a “pornographer” as he proudly calls himself, making the groundbreaking Boys in the Sand, with Casey Donovan, he was a young ballet dancer, touring with the always-touring Ballets Russe de Monte Carlo. “We always did the same ballets, to save scenery and costumes. There was ‘Graduation Ball,’ ‘Gaite’ [for ‘Gaite Parisian’] and the third act of Swan Lake.”

He went on to explain:

“The third act of Swan Lake made me know I was a dancer. All I did was stand there and move my arms a bit, but just seeing all those dancers in white with the blue light around them made me know that I was doing something very special and wonderful.”

Well, that did it for me, too. Just being this child in the audience (I think I was maybe eight or nine), and seeing this absolute magic floating on the stage—I was hit. I was smeared. I was . . . I was absolutely intoxicated with ballet and Tchaikovsky. I wanted to live inside it, and him. That feeling continued in my life, decade after decade, and I still have it. I cry my eyes out at the last act of Swan Lake—it has nothing to do with the story, but the fact that he is watching it, too. I’m sure of it. This handsome Russian man with all of his imaginative power, delight and wit is watching every single performance of it. I’m sure of it. I felt that way before I knew anything about him, when he was only some strange name most people can not spell, and his life seemed so remote as to be untouchable.

There are, I am sure, two Tchaikovkys: one is the popular composer who wrote all those engaging, marvelous ditties from The Nutcracker Suite and Sleeping Beauty, and lots of other music that seems almost destined to be lampooned, ridiculed, by a lot of highbrow critics, and even labeled as throw-away. But the really smart people will have nothing to do with that. The genius choreographer George Ballanchine said that Peter Ilyich was the world’s greatest composer for ballet, and if anyone knows, Ballanchine should. Yes, the smart people know that even under some of the sillier things he wrote, there was this brooding intensity; but under the other things—Tatiana’s fantastic letter scene from the opera Eugene Onegin, for instance; the Little Russian Symphony, among so many others—an emotional storm is unleashed and working. You are completely inside him and beside yourself. He has found the perfect expression of everything he could not express.

Then there are other things, like the wistful waltzes in Swan Lake, that seem so simple as to be simple-minded, but which truly haunt you. You realize inside them is the sadness of men who can never have what they want. And that was Tchaikovsky’s own sadness. He was gay—to use one of our many names for this—at a time when being that way was hell. It was knowing you were what was unnamable; it was knowing you were never going to be able to go, freely, inside that deep romantic heart of yourself and bring back the gold of your own feelings and lay it openly, kindly, at the feet of another man.

This was peculiar, too, in the fact that Tchaikovsky was so Russian and so loathed by so many of Russia’s other composers, because they felt that his never-descreet-enough homosexuality in their closed but gossipy society was an insult to a country trying hard to re-identify itself only a few decades before the Revolution exploded it. For two hundred years, Russia’s upper class had been under the dominance of French and English culture. It was impossible to be among the elite and not speak and write fluent French and adequate English—then Victorianism, from both sides of the English Channel, was considered the arbiter of the high taste. There were still the wild, hyper-religious masses of Mother Russia, but the enlightened upper classes rejected them as boorish for French or English refinement.

Countering this was an attempt at a “real” Russian music and culture based on folk tales and songs, coming from Nikolai Rimski-Korsakov, Alexander Borodin, and Modest Mussorgsky. They wanted a hairy-chested, back-to-the-people, two-fisted Russianism, and Peter Ilyich’s very existence represented a spit in the face to that. He was too “light”; a pansy with gossip swirling around him. He was drawn to younger men—sometimes servants, sometimes men of his own class—and as much as he tried, through a disasterous false marriage, to hide it, this attraction dogged him.

In 1891 he sailed to New York to open Carnegie Hall. He was one of the world’s most famous composers, and I keep wondering, would he have been happier in New York, if that could have been possible? New York was known to be a more open city than most of Europe. It had a fairly accessible underground gay culture. But it was impossible for him to stay. He came back to Petersburg, and died there, in 1893, of cholera—and the question has always been, did he willingly drink a glass of water that was contaminated with it? Did Peter Ilyich kill himself in this almost untraceable way, or was he forced to kill himself, as the only way to keep gossip about him (and possible blackmail) from emerging, in the way that it broke out and destroyed Oscar Wilde?

This question has been asked over and over again; Ken Russell in his way- over-the-top Tchaikovsky movie starring an unbearably handsome young Richard Chamberlain, The Music Lovers, gives us the idea that he was forced to do it. This was so, even though his brother Modest, who was also his manager, was known to be “queer as the proverbial goose,” but able to stay in the background.

What brought me back to Tchaikovsky was reading the Rev. Mel White talking about his own “engagement” with of all people the loathsome Jerry Falwell, who I’m sure would have forced poor Peter Ilyich to drink that water at the drop of . . . anyway, it was so terrible reading Mel White talk about himself in these words:

“After I put myself through exorcism, electric-shock therapy, then slitting my wrists, and going to the hospital, my wife finally said, ‘You know, you really have a life of your own. I like gay people, but I just didn’t want you to be one.’ Eventually I met and fell in love with Gary Nixon, and as soon as I realized that my sexuality was a gift from God and got over my fear and guilt, I wrote Stranger at the Gate, in which I told the leaders of the religions right that they are doing terrible damage and they must stop.”

Unfortunately, Peter Ilyich did not get that chance. But every time I go to the ballet and see Swan Lake or Ballanchine’s Serenade, or at Christmas, when I hear the NutcrackerCarnal Sacraments, I think of him, and imagine this handsome man sitting next to me, reaching for my hand.

Of the Dead Speak Only Good: Jerry Falwell is dead.

May 16, 2007

Falwell was an infuriating character, and I think a lot of the anger that is coming out now from the gay and/or progressive community is a logical extension of that. He had an amazing, homogenous stupidity: there were very few surprises that came out of him. It’s not like he had a good side, an endearing, kind, warm, charitable side. If he did, then these sides were certainly kept out of the “public discourse,” and the most that can be said of him is that he gave a face and distinctively repugnant voice to what a lot of close-minded Americans were thinking—that they had the answers, and the answers were simple, stupid, and usually what they had, too, had been taught by their families and parents.

But I think that there is another facet to the anger that is coming from Falwell’s death: that he actually instilled fear into the minds of a lot of gay men and women. That under that chubby, down-home, Ya’ll comeexterior was a really vicious man, and he could get away with that viciousness in ways that someone like the current Pope, Benedict XVI, can not. Pope Benedict is too transparently rigid, cold, and uningratiating. People may love him because he’s the Pope, but he’s not fooling anyone when he rails against homosexuality, birth control, freedom of choice, and all the other ills of “secularism.” But Falwell, whom one progessive said should go straight to Heaven, where he’ll be found lying between Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, could come off on TV as the cuddly uncle, the country uncle who told it like it was: and that was scary. That was worse than the skinny man in a dress leading the flock. This country is filled with anti-Catholic people who would still swallow every word Falwell said; they’d never believe the Pope, but they would “Amen” with Falwell all the way to the Inquisition.

The Christians Want to Expunge David from the Bible

April 20, 2007

If I had not read it, I would never have believed it. Amazon, working with their constant sales philosophy of “Find a hole and fill it,” has opened up a Christian Bookstore. I found this out trawling at the site for my book, The Substance of God, A Spiritual Thriller, which had a link to the bookstore. There, along with sales for books aimed at the most family-obsessed of family-destroying people, I found a URL for a discussion on gay couples in the Bible. There was of course a lead discussion about David and his love for Jonathan, and Jonathan’s love for him. I have always contended that the story of Jonathan and David is the first instance of real human intimacy in the Bible; in no other place is there a detailing of real love, attraction, and all the risks and intensities of coupling. There are wonderful examples of arranged meetings, of generically heterosexual couples who agree to bond and have children, but nowhere is there the genuine romance and tenderness of the story of Jonathan and David.

Well, the Christians don’t believe this. They want David expunged from the Bible.

Here’s a few examples, dripping from the horse’s mouths:

PSI [whose nickname is “Amazonpatroll”] says:
Will you sign my petition to have david expunged from the bible? WE MUST THINK OF THE CHILDREN!

[a reasonable reply follows]

You guys are hilarious!
I’ve always heard that there were truly stupid people in the world, but never really met them. Of course, I haven’t met you either so I guess that hasn’t changed.
Too bad David isn’t around to defend himself. With the snap of a finger and a brief whisper, 30 of his most well trained warriors would hunt you down and relieve you of the head you refuse to use. I guess that is the security of denigrating someone who’s been dead for 3000 years.

PSI says:
You gay folks can just laugh at the bible and ten [sic] see where you end up for eternity.

James Cronfel says:

[Next bit of insanity—no wonder psychotic Moslem fundamentalists are going hand-to-hand with their Christian counterparts]

project light says:
(referencing to the Quest Study Bible)
Was this relationship homosexual?
No. The Hebrew verb indicating homosexual activity is never used to describe the relationship between Jonathan and David. Their love was expressed in the form of a covenant, much as God’s relationship to Israel was. The same Hebrew word used in 1 Samuel 18:1 also describes the relationship between two countries that sign a treaty together. Elsewhere, Scripture prohibits homosexual activity (Lev. 18:22; 1 Cor. 6:9-11).

PSI [back again—one cannot keep a good idiot down] says:
The bible was censored to hide the fact that he was light in the loafers. Everything about him screams out “I’m gay!”

B. Fraser says:
Homosocial might be a more adequate description. Most military cultures have a type of homosocial emotional bonding which may or may not include actual sexual contact.

Judith A. hillard [a practical woman] says:
Loafers weren’t even a part of the dress code until the 1940s and popularized by schoolgirls in the 50s with shiny pennies.

Susan Strong [whose nickname, I learned is “Ladybracknell2”, which would make an excellent drag name in the Worldwide Imperial Court] says:

Dude, seriously?
Honestly…this is being debated?
I’m not the smartest person on earth, and certainly don’t claim to have some kind of secret knowledge about this, but I did just finish a study on the life of David. While I cannot claim to be wise, and I do not read Hebrew (although I am sigining up for a class to learn how to do so) may we consider the possiblity that is NOT a verse (or two) about homosexuality?

I mean, I have a best friend who is a woman. I love her like a sister…no, deeper than that. Sometimes there are friendships on this earth in which a connection is shared, a deep understanding. In a sense, her love is “better than my husband’s,” because she just gets things that he can’t understand. It has nothing to do with being homosexual.

Understand, I do not shake my fist at the homosexual. It’s no worse than any sin I have committed. I believe that Christianity is an equal opportunity religion. We all suck, and God loves us all.

(By the way, a kiss was a very common form of Eastern greeting/parting. Judas Iscariot greeted Jesus with a kiss…does that mean Jesus was gay? That his disciples had orgies with him? I think that that might be a bit of a stretch…)

When you read the Bible looking for justification of something, or reading something into it, you will find what you are looking for. Caananites sacraficed their children to the god Molech. It’s in the Bible. Does that mean you can justify infanticide?

[end of quoted discussions]

You can find this enlightening discussion at:

And if you want more, there is an equally revivifying bit of verbal intercourse on:

“If you don’t literally believe in the Genesis account, you can’t be a Christian”

So take that, all you ungodly scrupture-suckers! I will, of course have more to say about this at my site,, which is currently being considered for serious discussion at Jerry Falwell’s aptly named Liberty College. default page of Perry Brass site