Self Portrait

I studied the picture in disbelief tinged with pity and a touch of disgust - a pasty skinned and not thin middle aged man perched on a wooden fence with a blank, empty look. And, as my grandmother would have said, bare ass naked. I could only wonder why he would have had it taken, to what purpose and for whom. Feeling a little nauseous, I deleted the offensive image and tried to put it out of my mind. Were I to encounter him in this small city, what would I say, I wondered - would I ever be able to look at him again and not immediately flashback to this full frontal nudity? There was nothing pretty about it, nothing glamorous or professional or magazine slick or evocative. It reminded me of the nudist camp magazines my grandfather used to keep in his bathroom - raw, lonely, pitiful and sad - no artist's hand had enhanced this, no vanity airbrushing had been employed, no soft lighting or shadows had been used. I came full circle and was back to the why's.

In the galaxy of things I don't understand about human nature, I do understand that God created many fools and useless people, empty shells who walk and talk among us as if they were real, never venturing beyond their own space. They are idle and abandoned souls, propped up by their own vanity and sense of self importance, far too self involved to consider the rest of us, far too removed from emotions to care. They are isolated and self exiled by selfishness and the need for attention. We limit our contact with them, pity them, ignore them, laugh at them and even sometimes despise them but they don't notice. They are highly proficient imitators but their intellects and emotions were stillborn.

So, I muse, am I looking at a self portrait or an advertisement? If you have nothing to offer, do you offer up the simplicity of sex for its own sake?

My friend, Michael, self proclaimed expert on all things gay and natural born cynic, tells me that for gay men, it's all about image and sexual prowess. Each time a new man enters his life, however briefly, looks are the first thing he tells me about, sometimes the only thing. He prides himself on his conquests and keeps his life simple by never getting over-involved but even he has no explanation for this picture beyond vanity based idiocy and illusions of grandeur. Not that he has much to crow about, he tells me pointedly and I almost laugh.

So I tap the delete button and then empty the recycling bin. The picture is consigned to whatever black cyber space exists but the mystery of the why's remain and I am not unhappy to let it be so.