Personal Stuff

This page is getting a tad big, so I've added an index now.

What's With That "Rev.," Anyway?

In February of 1990, I was ordained in the Universal Life Church. I did this by sending them a self-addressed, stamped envelope, and then sending in the card that I got. I have a nice certificate that hangs above my desk at home, certifying me as a Minister. I own a couple of priest-collar shirts, which I wear often, though usually not with the little plastic thingy that gives that distinctive white splash. The collar and the pentacle together make for some nice cognitive dissonance.

Now, lots of people accuse the ULC of being "merely" a "stamp-church," or a tax dodge, or note that the founder is an illiterate, and so on. But I think it's a worthwhile thing, even if you only become a minister so you can give people an extra point on their Purity Tests. Psychologically, I think I did it to eliminate label mania. I dropped out of college, finding it to have been a pretty hollow experience, at least as far as getting out of it what was advertised. (I met lots of interesting people, had fun debating, and many other things, which had little to do with my classes 90% of the time.) But I still had residual societal guilt about not being "qualified." So, I decided if we live in a society that cares more about silly authority-tags than reality, I'd get one (a tag, not a reality) cheap.

This is not all to say that a spiritual dimension hasn't grown out of it. Like an arranged wedding that blooms into love, I've found that I like the idea of the pure meaning of a "minister": one who helps others. At risk of seeming corny, I have always been dedicated to not increasing the amount of hurt in the world.

As to the secular part of it, yes, it is a "real" ministry--for all U.S. law cares, I might as well be a Bishop. I can perform weddings (and I have, two in fact), sign baptismal certificates, and get the occasional travel discount. And I get to stick "Rev." in front of my name.

Other Qualifications

I collect weird qualifications now. It's habit-forming. I have, also from the ULC, a Doctor of Metaphysics, which doesn't do anything particular except allow me to stick "Ms.D." at the end of my name. I only do that in particularly obnoxious moods.

I have a degree in Advanced Locksmithing from the Foley-Belsaw Institute. So far, I think I've had two paid jobs. Being able to pick locks is actually as cool as you think it is. No, I'm not going to tell you how to do it here. Not because I'm all that secretive about it, but it is a bit complicated.

On Names

There's a long tradition in the occult of assuming special names. They are "holy names", "mottoes", "craft" or "circle" names, and so on. The idea is that they serve to create sacred space, just like specialized clothing, settings, tools, scents, and whatnot.

My only holy name so far is "Chaplain Oksimoron the Portable, KSC", which I garnered by becoming a Discordian. Obviously, I don't take this kind of thing too seriously. Oddly enough though, I'm quite careful about the choice of my net monikers. There's a story behind every one, but the one I most like to tell is why I chose "Cipher":

Back in high school, I had my first exposure to multi-user chat programs. I don't even remember the name of it, but on our TOPS-10 system at the Career Enrichment Center, a magnet school in Albuquerque, we had a basic chat program. I don't think it even supported multiple groups.

Anyway, I was the one student in the whole place with the good fortune to have dial-up access. Everyone else had to be on-site to use the chat program (or DECwar, a fondly-remembered timewaster).

It's important to know that, at the time, I hated my body. It was a constant annoyance, it wanted maintenance all the time, it got hurt, and perhaps worst of all, it had taken to bugging me for sex continually. With the chat program, I could have my dream--I could be pure mind. Racism was impossible, sexism was impossible, discrimination of any physical kind was impossible. (I was very naive back then.) Of course, what I didn't like to admit to myself was that the intellectually powerful would be unquestioned masters. (This has turned out to be only a fond dream, as well, but I think it's likely just as well.)

I think my first name was something fairly boring, like "Black Dalek". I was a big Dr. Who fan. But it wasn't long before I settled on "Cipher", by using a thesaurus. I wanted something that conveyed mystery well, and it suited the bill. The fact that the word can also mean "a non-person" just added a bittersweet irony.

As Cipher, I never gave out my "real" name. I never told any physical details about myself, including gender (it got out that I was a male sometime later). The reaction, as many on the Net know, was astounding. It caused people a lot of anxiety in some way, and it did have a desired effect of piquing curiosity. I was a minor celebrity, and my secret was unassailable, since I didn't sign on as Cipher when I was actually on-site.

I think I eventually "came out" in that situation. Fame is lonely when no one attaches it to you in person. I've never been able to so wholly separate my virtual life that I don't want to meet the people I like on-line.

When I hit the wider Internet some years later, and discovered the wonderful Forum program, connecting people from all over the U.S. and some other countries, I went nuts, sometimes spending eight hours chatting online. This is why I can type 75 wpm.

I went through a variety of names then, choosing specific mysteries. I was Mayin, then Rev.Mayin when I got ordained in the ULC, Nagual, Abraxas. For a good year or so I was Shiva. This was particularly interesting, since men tended to mistake me for female, even though Shiva is a male deity's name. I decided to play along, and cross-dressed quite a while. I specialized in being mean to men who were assholes, who seemed to be in the majority. (This started me on a torturous path to feminism. After seeing how awfully most women are mistreated on the net, I opened my eyes and saw that what was going on was just a more blatant version of women's everyday lives. On another side, the men were easily fooled, because I presented to them what they wanted, but the women usually caught on that I was not one of them.) When I discovered the world of MUDs, I took on a female persona there as well, Nilakantha (one of Shiva's nicknames--it means "blue neck"). As her I indulged in tinysex all over the place, adding, in all likelihood, to the anecdotal statistic that says most tinysex is between virtual lesbians played by straight men. (Well, actually I'm bisexual--more on that later.)

I spent a while on irc as "Baphomet"--there, I was Holy Defender of #gblf, the Gay, Bisexual, Lesbian, and Friends channel. I put a lot of energy into fighting the assorted bigots who would attack the channel, eventually garnering a rape threat on my voice mail. It seems odd that a man who hates gays should threaten to rape one. There you go, I guess.

I got tired of all the fighting and stupidity of the net and took a long sabbatical. Now I pretty much go by Cipher. Though I no longer conceal my identity, it has become a very real name for me. Just don't call me that in real life.

On My Legal Name

"J. B. Bell" is my full, legal name. Yep, that's it. No, it's not the name I was given at birth. No, it doesn't "stand for anything", or at least, not anymore. Because I have a good sense of humor, people who repeatedly bug me about it rarely realize how much it irritates me. Here is what I don't mind telling people:

I got people calling me "J.B." when I moved to Philadelphia about two years ago. I wanted a clean break with my old self, a new sense of confidence. I had gotten very wary of even close friendship--I don't even quite remember why, now--so I felt having some secret to hold back, to have exclusively to myself, might make me feel more confident. I also didn't (and still don't) like the way that some people were allowed to use my first name, and I didn't get to use theirs. Bosses, doctors, and other authority figures, I feel, use this psychological tool as a way of enforcing their dominance. We like to pretend, in America, that we don't have a class system, but it doesn't take a whole lot of reflection to see that it is indeed there, just concealed.

Friends and even lovers took to my new moniker without much difficulty. It is an odd thing, to have someone call you by a newly-chosen name in the throes of lovemaking. I think perhaps that's when you know you're serious about a new name. Originally, I had thought to give out my "real" name only to close friends, similarly to the way it is (or perhaps used to be) in England: first, you use "Mr." or "Ms." and the last name, then just the last name, and finally, the first name, which shows serious intimacy.

I guess most people, at least hereabouts, prefer to remember just one name. So I've ended up kind of stuck with the new one, particularly after spending some pretty serious money getting it changed legally. (Tip: don't change your name in Pennsylvania. It has some of the most restrictive name-change laws in the country.)

Nowadays I leave off the periods, to avoid tantalizing people.

I think choosing a name is a very interesting psychological and spiritual experience. I learned a lot about myself and society going through the process, and I expect to continue.

Sexuality

As I mentioned earlier, I'm bisexual. Of course, it's hard to say that without a bit of qualification--there are as many ways to be bi as there are bi people. I guess I'm almost a "50/50" bisexual or Kinsey 3, in that overall, my attraction is about equal between men and women. It varies day to day, in cycles I have never successfully charted.

My Coming-Out Story

For those of you tired of reading coming-out story after coming-out story, you may want to skip this bit. Anyway, in retrospect, I think I have had feelings of bisexuality as far back as I can remember. The first explicit stirrings, however, happened around the age of 16. My first "experience" was with another boy, who was 14 at the time. It was a fumbling, embarassing few months of furtive encounters when we spent the night together, never speaking of "it", feeling embarassed afterwards, never kissing.

Every time I remember this, it makes me angry. Furious that we never had a chance to have even some kind of sincere affection, much less some grand thing like declaring our love to the world. (It wasn't love. I don't think it would have worked out. But we didn't get to even try, really.) It makes me think of all the other people, all over the world, who have had to lie, to live in fear, to crush themselves into ill-fitting roles in life. Then there are those who are kicked out when their secret is discovered, to live on the streets; those who are beaten, or killed, by parents, by strangers, by their own governments. And worst of all, those who are murdered by the very societal pressure that tells them that they can not, must not, be. And so they agree and snuff out their own light, rather than try to carve out their own safe place in an atmosphere of cancellation.

Are you offended by my discussion of who I am? Do you wonder why I have to make such a "big deal" out of "it"? Do you think I'm shoving my sexuality down your throat (a phrase I always find ironic in how it reveals the fears of the speaker)? I say all this, and more, because of a simple goal: Never Again. Never again the shame, never again the hiding and lying, never again the death. Comparisons with the Holocaust are cheap, but it's a fact that when the camps were liberated, most were set free, even given reparations. The homosexuals (and, I think we may assume, some bisexuals) were put right back into prisons. (A couple of asides here: 1) I don't mean to compare the plight of gay people in Nazi Germany in some competitive way with the other victims of the Third Reich. In the sweepstakes of oppression, there are no winners. 2) The fate of lesbians in Nazi Germany is less well-known, as they didn't have their own category.)

Yes, things are easier now. It's easy for a white male like me to complain about oppression from my nice computer and good job, with plenty to eat. Even in comparison with other queers, I've had a very easy time of it. But I am one of those voices; I won't be silent. That's why I tell my story, which I continue now after the long digression:

I remember very little of my life until high school. I think it wasn't until my Junior or Senior year that I really came out. I have the Net to thank for the courage to do so, to a large extent.

That, and my first girlfriend, whom I have to thank, in a weird way, for not believing me. She's the first person I remember coming out to. After talking about my attractions on and off for some weeks, she challenged me, said that I was just being "fashionable".

"How do you *know* you're bi?" she asked.

"Because I've had sex with a man!" I blurted out. I hadn't told her about my first experience before then, but she made me angry, so I hauled out the big guns. In retrospect, it's annoying that I felt I had to "prove" anything--you don't see anybody asking straight virgins to do that. It ended that argument, though.

I came out fairly gradually, at first, mostly on the net. Soc.motss was very supportive, as were most people on the forum chat program. The next step was coming out in my .plan. My weird strategy then was simply to get all my friends to get accounts, and to read my .plan. It worked, though. They were, seemingly, very accepting, though I think it took quite a while to get full acceptance. (There's a subtle kind of homo- (or bi-) phobia, the liberal kind, which while appearing accepting, would really like you to not make such a big deal of it. The argument is that they're cool with it, so *what's the big deal*? Argh.)

I finally came out to my dad in October or November of 1990. I had used a few ploys for attention, first getting a gold stud in my right earlobe (now totally meaningless), then wearing a pink triangle, and finally shaving my head. These all proved too subtle. (Anyway, dad is used to my outrageous carrying on.) I had come out to Edna, a person in my life who might as well be my mother, a few weeks previous. She had told me that now she had to be a party to keeping my secret, and that finally motivated me to act. In classic net.geek fashion, I told dad in email. In classic dad fashion, he didn't reply for several days. However, when he did, he affirmed that he loved me regardless, respected me regardless.

As far as how my family has dealt, I've been really lucky.

After that, nothing held me back. I blew off the closet door with a bazooka, declared war on bigotry, joined Queer Nation, and generally made myself about as obnoxious as possible without actually making it to national broadcast.

I haven't been much of an activist lately, excepting the fact that I don't generally restrain myself when I get the urge to tell someone that they're being a twit, or when I want to thank someone for helping out The Cause. I guess I've mellowed out a bit; I still look for outlets for activism though, and look forward to new challenges in this area.

Relationships

Although I consider myself right around 50/50 as far as gender attraction goes, the great majority of my intimate involvements have been with women. I chalk this up to these facts: 1) it's a lot easier to meet women for differing-sex relationships, and 2) I think Men Are Scum. I'm trying to socialize with more queerfolk nowadays, and trying to get over thinking Men Are Scum, since it doesn't seem to help much. I do still tend to be kinda negative about men though. So many of us so depressingly fit the stereotypes.

What else to say about relationships--uh, hm. I dunno. Nice when you can get them. I think honesty is the most important thing. Since I'm polyamorous (a fancy term meaning "not monogamous"), it is doubly important to understand one's own feelings and to communicate clearly with one's partners. Really that's pretty much it, I think. I'll add more if I do think of something else.

Polyamory

Yep, another weird thing about my sex life. Well, like bisexuality, it's not only about sex, but anyway. "Polyamory" is a term coined to avoid the less-savory connotations of "polygamy", plus the fact that "polygamy" refers specifically to marriage, while "polyamory" just means "many loves". Many polyamorists, myself included, aren't particularly keen on marriage.

I suppose one of the biggest things that people think about polyamorists is that we're all just fooling around, philandering, dicking around, whatever you want to call it.

Like so many things, this is a bunch of crap, of the type "stereotype." The polyfolk I have met are some of the most concerned about faithfulness in its truest sense--being true to yourself and others. If you want to maintain relationships with multiple people, you have to be scrupulously honest. When my partner and I both know I am seeing someone else, that is not "cheating". Cheating implies someone is being dishonest, which I have never done. (Well, maybe I have before--but I haven't thought of that as being polyamorous, or tried to justify it that way.) Anyone getting into a relationship with me knows that I am not monogamous, and if I don't believe they're sincere in accepting that, I don't do it. It's not worth the pain.

As I mention above in bisexuality, the net effect is that probably most polyfolk are actually somewhat less sexually active than plain vanilla straight monogamous types--there's just plain not as many of us. That's fine with me (well, most of the time; obviously it gets to me sometimes), because if I try to fit myself into the usual cultural molds, I find myself cramped.

By the way, when I talk about inculturation, and straight white male etc. people, I don't mean to say it's impossible to be that way sincerely. It's easy to make those default choices, but because they're defaults doesn't make them invalid.

On Madness

A couple of days ago was my 25th birthday. This is a significant date for me, because the age of onset of schizophrenia is usually from 18-25. I have reason to worry about this, since my mother is schizophrenic. Half of all schizophrenics have a schizophrenic parent. This doesn't mean that having a schizophrenic parent gives you a 50% chance, but it certainly gives me pause for thought on my weirder days (or months).

Apparently my mother started showing symptoms as early as 1981, when I was 11 years old. My memories of the time are fairly faint. In fact, I cannot remember most of my middle-school years. There is simply a big, blank spot there. It's funny, though, I didn't even realize until some years after the fact that I had a selective amnesia. One of the discoveries I have made about the mind, by having one, is that it will do anything, absolutely anything, to convince you that it is in working order. When I met someone in high school, who claimed that I knew her all through middle school, and didn't remember her at all, I thought she was just weird.

I still don't remember most of it. Isolated memories, incidents, most of no particular import. I can't tell whether they are real or made up, to fill in a hole with ideas of what was supposed to have been.

This is probably the major insight I have gained from my mother's sickness and the impact it has had on my memory: the purpose of memory. I do not believe we have memories the way an accountant has records. Memories have very little to do with What Happened. They are stories. Life, as it is, has no narrative thrust. No purpose. No inherent goals, rights, wrongs, or indeed any absolutes, except for the terrible facts of birth, suffering, and death. But we remember things. I think memory is an act. Not some passive looking back, but an ordering of events, often at variance with other people's memories, and more reliable records. That, to me, is sanity: to be able to weave a tapestry of memories into a story that makes sense, that creates something of beauty, even if it is sorrowful.

I think it is the same with history. The bare facts are murder, starvation, senseless disasters, and so on. But a little creativity renders great nations, staunch leaders, exciting villains. It is all mythology. The question is, will the history we choose to write make a myth that improves the world, or will it be another tale of domination and destruction?

I do not endorse self-deception, or mass deception, as in the writing of histories that forget populations of millions. I mean that there is no "objective" view possible, and that maybe that is just as well. I am religiously something of a Gnostic, but I jokingly call myself a "reformed" Gnostic. I think that reality is at some base level an illusion, but I think it the height of foolishness to seek "escape" from it. How could one know, having pierced the veil, that one is not dwelling in yet another illusion? And so on. This is the flaw of complicated spiritual hierarchies. So my conception of my existence here is that I should go ahead and exist here.

My mother? Let me tell you about my mother. I like to think I am reconciled about it, the fact of her sickness. I speak about her, usually, in rather callous terms. To say I still love her would, I think, be inaccurate.

Well, it's been a couple weeks since the above paragraph. Predictably, a lot of my ideas about it, passionate at the time, have turned now to dust. Mom is doing fairly well nowadays, on medication that seems to keep her stable. She has never given up her resentments about her past, and delusion mixes with reality--her story is a trap, a closed loop that admits of no escape. I have already mourned her, really--any funeral would be a formality--for the mother I knew was gone many years ago, and I am left with an alien inhabiting a shrunken body, desperate for a love I little know how to give.

I try to be kind. I visit her sometimes. Clearly she gets more out of these meetings than I do.

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