Perspectives by Incongruity: Kenneth Burke and Queer Theory (Essay‪)‬

[1] I spent several years of my life looking, waiting for the right time to die. In my early twenties, I fantasized about being martyred, killed for a purpose, a cause, something that would make my death bearable for the others, those who cared. I felt no risk in drugs, random sex, walking on the ledge of skyscrapers. I waited for a divine gust of wind to blow me over. I waited for my mouth to betray me, go too far, force me into a conflict where an unexpected gun or knife taught me a lesson. I grew exhausted waiting. [2] To look at the human motivation that propels the actions of self-destruction is a complex and multifaceted investigation. Why would a person, let alone an entire community, consistently engage in self-destructive behaviors? How could self-destruction become so prevalent in a culture that the idea of mortification could arguably be a cultural value? Research on gay men, both younger and older, has indicated statistically a disproportionate percentage of drug abuse, alcoholism, suicide, suicidal thoughts, and high-risk sexual behaviors (Herdt and de Vries; Macdonald and Cooper; Nicholas and Howard; Remafedi). Why do gay men have an elevated tendency to engage in acts of self-destruction? Theoretically, the question requires further inquiry. For me personally, none of the answers provided add up as I run theories through my body seeking some glimmer of identification. Simplistic answers, such as internalized homophobia, resonate from a distance, but don't help me get close to what I feel. My love and acceptance of my gay friends and lovers is deep and experienced without conflict. My image of self is strong, compassionate, and empathetic. However, something exists under the skin that I continue to scrape at, tear through, in a fight to find release. Guilt lives within, and pain always feels magnificent, if only providing the slightest release of pressure. For me as an academic, queer theory opened a door of potential that has failed to mobilize, making a home for itself safely in the comfort of the mind. Queer theory worked on my head, but failed to provide release under the skin. It pushed my body further and further away from the mind, reinforcing the binaries it so valiantly hoped to dismantle. Still, I can't seem to let it go. My head understands the whispered suggestions that queerness has run its course, has failed to fulfill its promise, has been high-jacked by white male academics, and reeks of an academic trend that is now passe. My guts refuse to loosen their grip on the naive thrill and hope it once offered.