Carol

Carol ★★★★★

I saw love torn apart today. 
All because of these fucking words:

Leviticus 18:22  —  “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.”

Admittedly, I’ve had an easier life than most. I could elaborate on my own interpersonal dramas, identity crises with sexuality and gender, occasional financial stress and standard mental issues — none of which all that interesting — but it’s a privileged life down here in sweet progressive Melbourne, Australia. 

I live in the third act of a Noah Baumbach movie: a lovely family (biological and online), writing jobs that pay and get me free film critic screenings, an understanding of my beliefs both political and cultural, aided in my lame-ass journey by a gorgeous sex worker I would consider both my lover and my new personal friend, sharing our mutual contempt for the deadliest of the intolerant poisons: religion.

Thankfully, progressive Melbourne spared me the hell of organised, fundamentalist religion. On the rare occasion, my agnostic mother would drag me from my vidya games to attend my little brother’s church events at school. This was done for social brownie points and love of family, not some obligation to a dead Jewish carpenter and his invisable sky daddy who Knocked Up (2007) some Forty Year Old Virgin (2005) while thinking to himself “Man, There’s Something About Mary (1998)”.

The point is this: fundamentalism never really plagued my identity and lifestyle down in the most non-religious country in the modern world. 

But I can’t say the same of my fellow LGBT friends in America. 

No, they live in a darker film than myself.

I remember when I was 12 years old and started to feel something was different about myself. I was just fascinated by some rogue-ish boy in the upper year levels, curly haired and alpha-as-fuck, worried my brief attraction to him would make nude Reese Witherspoon pictures far less pleasurable. It’s quite sad, monosexuality — a type of life where, through no choice of my own, I have an attraction to only one sex over the other, my body locking me out of half the world’s pleasure. 

I’m sorry, straights and gays, I just can’t imagine being stripped of my bisexual liberty to love both genders, their lovely genitals and the minds who have nothing but sweet things to say. A cruel bitch, that nature is, worthy of a scene where Timothée Chalamet cries over lost love to Visions of Gideon.

Tonight, one of my dear friends, through no choice of his own, has been condemned by his family for being ‘born in sin’. This family, bible thumpers galore, hold a disgraceful burden over their son’s life — either conform, accept being born in the image of God, the deadbeat sperm donor of the Judd Apatow variety, or be an individual, born a “terrified faggot” they see undeserving of another male’s love. 

It’s disgraceful to condemn someone for their being, not their own individual actions.

It’s disgraceful to threaten mortal harm on a loved one, through coercion or scorn, because of some delusional hereafter they read explicitly in a non-science book.

And I’d sooner lick Amy Schumer’s cum, praising its worth, before I consume the holier than thou watered Koolaid of the church who preach of heaven and the harm inflicted on their saviour — while enacting their own hell on Earth and inflict pain on their sons' minds daily.

An organised religion of the barbaric period is no archetype to follow. The little gay heart of Therese Belivet, on the other hand, now that’s a saviour.

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