Tuesday, January 16, 2024

Arthur Evans: The Evans Symposium

 Inspiration is rare.  My heart feels at times deadened by existence on this plane, and even poetry feels out of my reach, let alone joy.  I am not alone in this, as a scroll through social media would easily reveal.  What does it mean, this existence?  I've even unlocked a new intrusive thought this week: "Why did I even bother to come out?  It's not as though it has made any difference."  

A posthumous thank you is due to Arthur Evans for reminding me that meaning built from institutions,  from the mechanics of existence, will always be a desiccated husk.  For millennia, we humans created meaning--and joy--from nature, and not the nature of botanical gardens, but that of the wild, virile, orgiastic forest and copse.  To find meaning, one must surrender to the dance of the Fae, of Diana and Dionysos, and whirl around like Maenads in a frenzy.  What care I that the world has no place for me?  Gay culture has become as dead and mechanical as the institutions it once defied.  

At a birthday party recently, a clutch of four queens stopped by to put in their appearances, and I was instantly uncomfortable.  It struck me that their appearances were indeed all that they brought with them, being of the performatively attractive sort that serve as representatives to the straight world these days.  As they prepared to leave the party, having completed their display, the lead hen announced, "Well, the gays have to go to the gay bar now," leaving me smirking at the assumption.  He asked me, "Do you ever go to the gay bar?" I do, but only on alternative nights when Arthur Evans and the other Radical Faeries would have joined me in shedding the veneer of respectability and frolicking.  I even dressed as The Green Man of legend on my most recent visit, and vibed with a stripper who understood the reference. 

"On a normal night?" I answered.  "Eww no."

His disgust was evident, and they departed in a dismissive "Whatever", no doubt with their own thoughts about what sort of gay I am.  It is that which I must remember: I am an Arthur Evans gay--wild, horned, and joyfully rooted in the Earth. 

No comments: