So, ex-swimmer Ian Thorpe has finally "come out." Apparently, he's very brave. Well whoop-dee-doo!
When I came out, I was told I could lose my job and career in education if I didn't use a pseudonym. Friends looked around to see if anyone was looking when they talked to me. Members of my family said I shouldn't get involved in the lifestyle and should steer clear of pride events in case I was spotted by the authorities. There was no fanfare for me by the media, Ian. Quite the opposite. But then I came out as a nationalist.
Homosexuals, one notes, have been very privileged by the media for some time now. Did I mention privilege? Yes, I believe I did. It was not so long ago that the media were all fawning over Orlando Cruz, an openly homosexual boxer who was to fight for a version of the world title. He would have been the first openly homosexual world champion, but he got bashed around the ring before losing, and the media promptly forgot about him.
Before that, there was Gareth Thomas, another brave soul who was forced to continue tackling well-developed young men on the rugby field, before being thrust up onto the media's C-list celebrity circuit because of his homosexuality. He now scrapes a living through punditry and reality TV. Terrible.
A little joke, which apparently offended the Nile mosquito community, meant that she had to sit out at a time when she was swiftly improving in both the triple and long jump. The year before, she had achieved her personal best in the triple jump: 14.72m, which was good enough for fourth place in the Games.
Yes, truly the love for one's own people is the love that dare not speak its name these days. Let us remind ourselves of what Oscar Wilde actually said at his trial:
"The Love that dare not speak its name' in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep, spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as the 'Love that dare not speak its name,' and on account of it I am placed where I am now. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an elder and a younger man, when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it."Eloquent words indeed. Was this the love he had for his fifteen-year-old rent boy Walter Grainger? The love of a middle-aged powerful man for the nubile young buttocks of a poor young boy he plies with drink and money. There has been a lot of this sort of love at the BBC and in Westminster of late.
|Some young Ganymedes for the |
delectation of the discrete gentry
Since the liberal elite decriminalised homosexuality in the Sexual Offences Act of 1967, they have pushed further and further until we now have homosexual adoption and laws which virtually forbid any criticism of the acts of parliament that have been passed to the advantage of homosexuals. Let us be frank: homosexual adoption is child abuse. I remember Michael Barrymore and his "partner" (what is the homosexual obsession with cowboys?) were talking openly about adopting a child – just before they went for a dip in the pool.