A Fairy Tale Here | am, critical countdown deadline panic in full flight and my first draft makes me want to puke. It begins - can you believe it? - “Once upon a time...”. | politely wrote a genteel article about realizing I'm gay. | wanted to sanitize it, to make it clean and unthreatening. | wanted to be a sympa- thetic character, a Jewish/Irish princess with flowing locks. But, reality isn’t always as nice as one would want it to be. It’s also not nice to discover my own latent homophobia. Lesbians have always scared the hell out of me. Now | know why. Being one is going to be a pain in the ass (well, not literally). Imagine the joy of telling my family; mom and dad still hope for little Opii to burp and my brother is an assimilated Alberta red- neck type who always prefaces the word “faggot” with another F word. I’m frightened that my straight friends are going to feel threatened, that a companionable touch will be read as a pass. | resent having a new label to go with all my others. I’m not ltogether thrilled but it feels es- sentially right to acknowl- ecyp this part of me. The first time | said “I’m gay” had all the wondrous terror that came when | first announced “I am an artist”. Dishonesty has played a large part in my life until very recently. Alcoholism and drug abuse certainly didn’t help the situ- ation. | existed in a constant state of pain, fear and self-loathing. For the past three years | just wanted to die. | was lucky enough to find help when | had no choice but to accept it. Now, I try to live honestly and | do a lot of thinking. Hence, the thought sequence that led to this article. It’s new, this freedom that allows me to be what | am and respect myself. | no longer have to wear a thousand masks. People surprise me. The friend I truly dreaded telling was the one who put her arm around me saying it was positive as long as | felt all right. If she had thrown up her arms and taken a step back I would have been hurt but it wouldn’t have changed who and what | am. So here | am, slightly bewildered but feeling good. I'll conclude with the traditional ending... and she lived honestly ever after .Fin. Karen Speaking to the Dead (“Hello Central! Give me No Man’s Land...) Speaking to the dead. What a sad human custom. But sadder still, | can’t help but think, is that we should have to project intoa world beyond death, the images of our loved ones as we knewthem in this life. Lieutenant Raymond Lodge was the youngest child of Sir Oliver Lodge. He enlisted for military service in 1914, wasassigned to the 2nd South Lancashire Regiment, and sent to thefront. Where, on September 14th,1915, he was killed, in theassault on a hill near Hooge in Belgium. His father was overcome with grief. No sympathies, nopsalms could help assuage his despair. And no one could desiremore than the young lieutenant himself, to ease the burden ofhis father’s sadness. Yes, the loneliness of spirits, on discover-ing that their loved ones still in this world believe their soulsto have perished at death, is suffering indeed. Through two spiritualist mediums, Mrs. Leonard and Mr. A. V.Peters, Ray- mond was able to reach his father, and give a detaileddescription of the world beyond death. His father, Dr. Lodge, gathered these tidings from the other world into a huge volume,dedicated to the hundreds of thousands of mothers and sweet-hearts whose loved ones perished in the Great War. The spirit who spoke through Mrs. Leonard, was a young girlfrom India, called Feda. While the spirit who spoke through Mr. Peters, was an old Italian hermit, called Moonstone. The mediums,therefore, spoke in broken English. Raymond, who made his home in the third region of the worldof spirits, spoke of visiting the fifth, and of there finding a hugetemple made of alabaster... “Father, this temple is white, and there shines out from itlights of all colours: scarlet, blue, green... These are not the colours we so designate by these words, but rather colours moresubdued, colours blending one into the other. “Father, | wanted to know the source of these strange lights,and when | drew near the temple, | saw it had many largewindows with glass panes of various colours. And | watchedpeople go and stand in the circle of pink light that filtered downfrom the scarlet window; go and stand in the circle of blue lightthat filtered down from the blue window; go and stand in thecircle of green light, the circle of orange light; of yellow light... “Father, each colour has its proper effect: the pink lightengenders love, the blue light heals the heart, and the greenlight gives understanding. Light is a far more important elementthan you people on earth realize. Perhaps, one day, your scientistswill get around to studying its effects...” Yes, Raymond’s tale is an inno- cent one. You are probablylaughing a me. But don’t you recall how aware we were of theeffects of light when we chose the colours for the room in whichwe made love! Speaking to the dead. What a sad human custom. But sadderstill, | can’t help but think, is that we should have to project intoa world beyond death, the images of ‘our loved ones as we knew them in this life. Hore | am, cttical countdown deadline ‘panic in ful fight and my frst draft makes ‘me want to puke. It begins - can you bolieve it? - "Once upon a time... | politely ‘wrote a genteel atice about realizing tm ‘gay. | wanted to sanitize it, to make it clean and unthreatening. | wanted to be a sympa- thetic character, a Jewishilish princess with lowing locks. But, reality isnt always as nice as one ‘would want ito be. It's also not nice to discover my own latent homophobia, Losbians have always scared the hell out ‘of me. Now | know why. Being one is going tobe a pain in the ass (wel, not Imagine the joy of toling my fami and dad still hope for litle Opi to burp and my brother is an assimilated Alberta red- neck type who always prefaces the word “faggot” with another F word. Im frightened that my straight friends are going to feel threatened, that a companionable touch will be read as a pass. | resent having anew label o go with all my others. m not together thriled but it feels es- sontaly right to acknowl this part of me. The frst time I said “Im gay” had all the wondrous teror that came When [first announced"! am an artist” Dishonesty has played a large part in ‘my life until vry recently. Alcoholism and rug abuse certainly didnt help the situ ation. | oxisted in a constant state of pain, fear and self-loathing. For the past three years | just wanted to dia, | was lucky ‘enough to find help when I had no choice but to accopt it. Now, Itry to live honestly ‘and Ido a lt of thinking. Hence, the thought sequence that led to this article, It's now, this freedom that allows me to be What | am and respect myself. Ino longer have to wear a thousand masks. People surprise me. The friend I truly readed telling was the one who put her arm around me saying it was positive as. long as Ifelt all ight. I she had thrown up hor arms and taken a step back | would have been hurt butt wouldn't have ‘changed who and what | am, So here lam, slightly bewildered but feeling good. I ‘conclude with the traditional ending, and she lived honestly ever after Fin Karen Opus Speaking to the Dead (‘Hello Central! Give me No Man's Land...) ‘Speaking to the dead. What a sad human custom. But sadder stil, {can’t help but think, is that we should have to projec intoa world beyond death, the images of our loved ones as we knowtham in this it. eutenant Raymond Lodge was the youngest child of Sir Oliver Lodge, He ‘enlisted for miltary serviee in 1914, wasassigned to the 2nd South Lancashiro Regiment, and sent to thetront. Where, on ‘Soptember t4th,1915, he was killod, in theassaut on a hill near Hooge in Belgium. His father was overcome with ‘rie. No sympathies, nopsalms could help ‘assuage his despair. And no one could