THE MANY WAYS THE FACE

faces us
didn’t faze me,
‘til one fine day (today!)
I faced the music,
and in and about
a brighting volte-face

I see him from his otherside,
the side that lets me
leave him alone
after decades.

That facies—
deceptive, decisive—
its spell ended,
the smiling palindrome
looks away,
and I am free to see
him simply as he was.

A slight turn (imagine!),
and what once unmade me
makes me now, not his echo-
praxia, but a glance
(let’s face it!)
down my own way.

- September 13, 2008
Doma

Homogenderism, or Homogenderality

As women quickly evolve into boys (yes, there are some who cling to man-concocted femininity), men remain pretty much as they have been, except that the boyish is permitted expression more and more. Described by someone as female masculinity, the principal quality of female boys is awkwardness as women try to move as though they had a different body. But center of gravity will not change with the desire to be masculine. Nor will the ratio of the length of the torso to the body as a whole, especially the relatively narrower midriff compared to a chest enlarged by breasts. Hip size is not so different in males and females, although son males have the exceptional beauty of very narrow hips. Awkwardness, then. This brings me to the invention of the terms homogenderism and homogenderality to replace the ever useless term homosexuality. The discussion has been about gender, not sex, since the beginning of the era of sex and the sexual a little over a century ago. The sexualization of culture that followed has allowed for endless discussions putatively about gender, all of which missed the point that they so eagerly sought to make, that one day there will be one gender and that relationships will be uniform, uninformed by the sex of the person. This will be a contribution to the desexualization of culture. But who will we be? We see. We will all be boys. And so we move from heterosexuality via a preoccupation with homosexuality to homogenderality. What part does boyness play in this? That is the critical question.

The Olympics

This year's summer olympics has been dominated by the male body. One figure, a swimmer, has stood out from all the rest. This is in the spirit of the original games, which though they did not include swimming, showcased the male body in its perfection. Let us consider returning to the origins. Since the modern olympic began in 1896, only four years passed before women were competing in them. Let's resume the OLYMPICS and run a concurrent women's international athletics competition. Women prefer single-sex venues, after all. Why be bothered with the presence of males?

Uncovered

If a young man walked into the café with as much of his body uncovered as the young woman with him, he would be asked to find "proper dress." What does this mean? It is an important question, since most young men's bodies would be as wonderful to look at. In fact there would be more detail to attract the eye: patches of hair, vascular paths, muscle shapes, bony highlights. And so why do we shelter this from view. Are men more modest?

Fashion For The Fall

The major newspaper of a major city presents a hugely expensive special magazine section on fashions for women for the new season. Who looks at this? Who responds to it? Women look at it. Who will purchase these clothes? Men. Look closely at the "designs." What do they present? A more beautiful woman? No likely, since the point is to enhance the reputation of the designers, many of whom are men. The idea is to show something different. Most of what we see makes the "model" women even more artificial than their bodies that are made-up and designed.

Men Who Like Men and the Women Who Are Attracted to Them

Men who like men (M>M) are perfect companions for women who like men (F>M).  Such women have the advantage of being  close to a man--respond strongly to their scent (pheromones) and are welcome to touch them. M>M enjoy being touched by such women in public. In private, they will prefer to be close to other men. Such women are aroused by males regardless of the men's preference for more intimate, genital contact. The effects in such women are hidden, but the pleasures are real. They are aroused. For such women, moreover, the tedious worries about being touched are avoided, which occur if they are with men who like women (M>F). M>F will want the contact to move to the next step, intercourse, in private. Women with M>M need not worry about this. Such a relief. By the way, this would be construed as abuse of women if it were a case of men who like women engaging with women who like women. Indeed, men of either sort (M>F, M>M) would be treated similarly by F>F. There is no sense among these men (M>M) of exploitation. Why not share their pheromones? Why not be kissed and caressed in public? That feels great. There is the added value of being perceived as M>F.

The Kiss

The kiss that matters is the one you look back from to see where it happened.

Men At Their Best

Some things have changed. The men are working at their projects--sketching, writing, reading. They are not loud. They are aware of their bodies and what they eat. They dress for comfort, but are pleased to roll, stretch, let a t-shirt ride up. Here they are at their un-self-conscious best. They sit tall. They are in good shape--good for them. This is enough and that is the point. They look good for themselves, not for other guys, not for the selecting female eye. We can forgive some of them their "attitude"--the young men--because of what they are trying to do, what they are forced to do: retain dignity, while at school and in the media they are portrayed as losers. The operative word is "independent." Today two lads came in--just out of college, just finishing perhaps. The taller was splendid: clear skin, some tan, lean sinewy legs, arms that reveal the single long vein across his biceps and down to his wrist. His friend could only admire him. The place sighed when he left. This was a loss. But those in the street gained. Another--a regular--sat on a window seat, reading: dark-skinned, compact, intense. Then there was one at the table. He never smiles. Trim, elegant, serious. Simplicity. I looked around. Here and there, hunched over their laptops, are a few women. Not on the prowl, pale, weak from self-starvation, wearing "serious look" make-up: large glasses, uncombed hair, deliberately mismatched skirt and blouse (tucked in). Their complements are the ones made up for the cover of a tabloid, taking a half-hour to eat half a sandwich. Those made up to be nerdman-like have succeeded in making this group unwatchable. They monitor their pretty sisters. What are they thinking, the monitors? "Do I like the way she looks? Is she betraying me by being conventionally pretty?" The tension is there. It is always there when women are present. This Freud called libido. Each time a young man walks in, however, the room settles into safety, contemplation, ease of tension. It is easy to understand why there were all-men clubs.

Real and Artificial

Today at the café there were three young women at a table and two young men at another table. Did the duo see the trio? No. Let me focus on the two young men, both about 19 years old. One was dressed in black, the other in lighter colors. Very casual. Haircuts and nice teeth. They were modest,  attentive to each other as lovers are. I think they are "just" friends. Now to the next table. Costumed, clothes carefully chosen. Make-up. Their conversation was audible to everyone, as though they were talking to each other on cell phones. Attention was divided. Each looked somewhere else. The two guys looked at the paintings at the same time, then returned to each other. The trio were continually distracted. Designed and made up/"As they were". Natural/Artificial. Attentive/Distracted. What does this mean? Elsewhere? Single men. Single women. An Italian couple, visiting the city, arrived. She went for a menu, looked after him. He had dark hair, a narrow face, lean body. Modest (again), self-conscious. She was mostly uncovered: low-cut, high-rise shirt. He was also in black, like one of the duos. Why are men wearing black? Why are some alone? Where are the other pairs of friends? A woman came in. Her perfume filled the room, overwhelmed the smell of coffee and food. The men smell as they do. One must get up close to have the smell. It will not be a perfume.

Men and Women, Mostly Young

Today I watched to confirm my observations, at Café D (I will scrupulously avoid names of places and people, including), where I visit every day for an espresso. The (young) men opened the door for the (young) women. Nothing has changed. I watched one woman sitting in a chair near the door. He watched as a young fellow came from the coffee bar, both hands holding items bought there. He opened the door with his foot. She watched. Her chair prevented the door from opening fully. He squeezed through. The place was filled, as usual. The loud voices were women's voices. Where were the boisterous, aggressive males? The men occupied their space at a table, alert to help someone plug in a computer, move a chair. Three women had spread out, each using two tables. These were American women. The women serving at the coffee bar are European. They are feminine. They work hard. They flirt with the male customers. They are subjects. They enjoy being looked at. The American women sit, horrified to think of themselves as objects to be looked at, reading about the objectification of women by men. They are insulted by the glance a man gives them. And so the men have learned not to look, not to flirt. The women's hair is long, designed to appear casual. It occupies space around them. They seem not to know where their bodies are in space. Nothing has changed. The men--what are they writing about, sketching? Inhibited from looking at the women by the politics of feminism, they no longer initiate conversation. The women? Not a word spoken to a man. They talk to each other. How does this differ from a back yard, talking over laundry hung out to dry? He must open the door for me. (Am I too weak?) He must start the conversation. (How dare he impose himself on me? This is aggressiveness. Call the "safe space" guards.) How do they feel? Independent? Autonomous? Are they lonely? OK. Perhaps (she thinks) I'll look at him. He has dark hair, a two-day growth of beard, strong eyes. His legs are drawn up, knees touching the table holding his computer. He looks like a hawk. Wing-span, low-rise jeans, a heavy belt. There's that hint of vascularity on his upper arm, his forearm. Shall I (she wonders) look at him? He looks a bit like MP, the French actor. Lean, no: gaunt. Serious. Reflective. Beautiful. Yes. (She thinks: What if I were to say something to him? What if I were to say: You have beautiful eyes. You look like a hawk hovering over your *** [computer].) No. She will NEVER say that. Why? This is how nothing has changed.

What We Can Say

Men are supposed to say the loving words to women. They are to make love. Let us reverse that. This would be equivalence between the sexes. And as for love, men should be able to say anything loving to another man that they say to a woman, except "Will you be the mother of my child." But, for the rest? Every tenderness. And what about things physical--what we call sex? That can be meaningful only when referring to male-female intercourse. Erotics? Anything may go, between two men, two women, a man and women enjoying each other's body.

Men Are More Beautiful Than Women

There are more beautiful men than beautiful women. Yes, yes. Most of us are plain, ageing. But look around you. Let’s look at some young ones among us, males and females eighteen years of age or older. Beauty is effortless. Its essence is simplicity and restraint. What could be more effortless than a weekly haircut, coloring and a blow-dry, daily refinements of the hair-do, application of make-up several times a day, and several times a week shaving leg hair and shopping for clothing that will exaggerate certain parts of the body and hide others, going for bright colors, bangles, and shoes. Diversions from looking at the body. These are our paragons of beauty? And, of course, every woman is beautiful—she must be, because she is a woman. Yes, I’m being ironic—very ironic. The real result? An entirely artificial creature, an image, a model. Now think about the young man you’ve seen recently with one of their badges of heterosexuality. Has he had a haircut recently? Maybe. Has he shaved? Maybe. Showered? Yes, because it feels good and releases the pheromones. How often does he shop for clothing? Only when necessary. Mail order is best, and so is cheap. The colors: blue, white, and black. Shoes? Whatever is comfortable. He does not smile extravagantly. No. He smiles rarely, only when he is amused, not to show his dental work. Is the t-shirt designer? Today it is three days worn, inside-out, too small or too big. He will pull it up for you now and then to show his body architecture. It is a long-sleeve shirt? Then partially unbuttoned it reveals his upper chest, a bit of hair or a lot. Or none. Look at the neck. Muscles, tendons, veins, larynx. Are the pants baggy and low-slung? All the better, but not necessary. Tight? Some are. A funky belly hair pattern is revealed now and then. Briefs exposed at the back? Fine. Small hips and the outline of his butt. Boyish. But he is modest. The cleavage is covered. The package? Considering it is the taboo area like no other, it remains shrouded in mystery. The thinnest guy has that vein running along the underside of his forearms onto his hands. Is there is a hint of biceps, pecs? OK. Thin means that the abs are just barely visible even if he does not do much except run, ride a bicycle, play a little basketball, throw a frisbee. And what about the little tummy that is now just fine. Gym time? Come on. He might do that at some point, but that would change the quality of his beauty. Body-building? There’s no need to build anything. It’s there already. The male body, just at it is. Moving from the coffee shop where I’m sitting into an office. Working women—serious working women—may take less time creating the artifact, but the result is a very plain figure indeed. She will eat little, spend a lot of money on her office uniform, so that it will blend in with the office furniture. Please, don’t forget that this was the intention. A man looking at a woman in the workplace was bad manners. Worse, it was objectifying and offensive. The clean Scandinavian furniture look runs smoothly from upholstery to the female executive’s body and clothing. It’s all about efficiency, business. Oddly, though, the male over there in his uniform shirt, trousers, suit jacket and tie shines through. Why, he is more visible! Where had he been all those years? True. He is thinner. He may have a shadow of facial hair, a shaved head or a just-trimmed look above the brow. He opens the jacket and a new world opens to view. A dark belt and a simple buckle. Oh, and, yes, he likes being looked at, certainly by women but also now by men. It doesn’t really make any difference if they are presumed to be gay—whatever that means now. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt—one, two, three folds. Large, useful hands. A bit of hair runs up from the little finger. A fringe of hair reaches down from the wrist. Everyone wants to count them. Sinews, vascularity. His eyes? Serious, less of the whites showing than in his boss’s eyes (a woman), but more to look for. The lips? Without glosses, they are brick-red, or if the guy is very young, a deep, bright red. He doesn’t call attention to them or to his teeth, which make rare appearances. Are there here and there metrosexuals? Fewer and fewer. They were never needed except to sell clothing and accessories and grooming products when gay men and straight were becoming indistinguishable n appearance. Or go outside. There are a few women working in the heat—on a few. Look at these men. Jeans and a t-shirt. The poses are more sensual. It’s like being at a playing field—soccer or softball. Women are looking at these men a lot and the men enjoy it. Here the package is visible, but even men who work at construction sites are modest. They are a bit less comfortable about being looked at by other men. But it’s less and less of an issue. So, here we are. Young men. Absence of artifice, your name is man. What could be more natural. Who believes that women are more beautiful than men?