I just finished my second queer memoir of Pride Month—I Am Not Myself These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell—and below is my favorite passage.
I try to make myself realize that I have learned the difference between right and wrong. That there is such a thing as right and wrong. But instead I’ve learned that these are things—this “right,” this “wrong”—these are things that we are told. Simply told to believe. These are things we have not tested. And while most of the things we are told may be true, it is not until we have tested them, taunted them, flaunted them, that we truly know they are right. Or wrong. Or true. Or false. Or somewhere in-the-fucking-between. And I think I know now a little better which is which. And I also know I’ll never quit testing this world. I’ll never rely on common knowledge. Or common denominators. Or even common sense, for that matter. To do so would be too, well, common.
While we were waiting for the line to die down at the Stonestown Blaze Pizza tonight B, Sid and I grabbed some clothes, piled into an H&M dressing room and held a fashion show that I probably for sure won.
After work last night I took a Lyft car to an airplane to a Lyft car to a ferry boat to a bicycle to a bed and when I woke up from a much-needed nap I realized that I was on vacation on the Cape so I swam in a pool at the Provincetown Inn with Ray and Sid and ate happy hour seafood at Victor's with B and then peddled to the Boatslip for Tea Dance and to Mac's for dinner and to The Crown & Anchor for a drag show and to Spiritus for a late-night slice of pizza and now I'm beat and burned so goodnight moon.
Dan and Steve hosted a retirement rager at their party pad in Cloverdale, California last night and I may or may not have talked someone that I had known for less than twenty-four hours into a mid-party outfit swap.
And yeah, she definitely wore it better.