As seen in

Happy Holy birthday
H. Rachelle Graham

The Mormon Church and I went on a date. I mean we share the same birth date.
   I used to brag to anyone who would listen that not only did I share the birth date of the one true church but I also was born on what many members believe is the birth of the most important human/spiritual being who ever lived.
Now I know the truth.
   The Mormon Church as the only true church is about as realistic as purple aliens landing in Salt Lake City the same year I was magically conceived.
   That year, 1978, is also the same year African Americans were granted the priesthood. Way too many years after the rest of the country deemed them equal and worthy.
   Kurt from Glee said my words exactly, “The reason I don’t go to church is that most churches don’t think much of gay people or women or science.”
   It is a shock I now strongly worship Kurt’s words, since my Mom used to brag that out of all her daughters, I’d be the one, the only one, who would go on an LDS mission. I did seriously consider the idea on my 18th birthday, when I chose to spend it in the temple. Not a surprise as I spent a lot of time in the temple ducking under holy water for ghosts, who most likely don’t want to belong to a church that excludes anyone who is in the rainbow.
   Then I never could imagine I’d be in sin city on my 21st birthday, enjoying free drinks and penny slots. I hated disappointing my Mom, but in the long run she still found ways to be proud of me. Ultimately, all that matters to her is that I care about other people and stand for what I believe in, even if it is different from her.
  Recently, I impressed a friend of mine by remembering the exact date of the church’s restoration. His eyebrows raised and jaw dropped as if I’d just told him I was an angel. He doesn’t know the other side of me. Many don’t anymore. I read and re-read the triple combination about 50 times. Obsessed didn’t even begin to describe it.
   Not until my last year’s birthday did I realize my spirituality was good enough. Nature turned into my church. Equality turned into my core belief. Pure love and acceptance of self and others are what matter.
   The quote I wrote on Facebook said it best, “I imagine a world where people don’t debate health care, where suicide isn’t common. And all temples are open to everyone, especially the homeless. A world without brainwashing, where family is love. And all hate crimes are sentenced, no matter the victim.”
   Even though it is widely accepted Jesus was born in the spring, and not a specific date, I still feel my birthday is special. The only others are Jan. 4, April 20 and Nov. 13. Why? The most important spiritual examples in my life share those birthdays. They are family members who go way beyond the simple definition of love.
   I can’t stand on a pulpit and tell my exact testimony beyond a shadow of a doubt, but I can tell you without question, I’ve seen Jesus in these three people.

I Ruff

As seen in Q Salt Lake

My former bishop compared me to a dog; my puppy hated that so much she went in for the bite. Fortunately, neither of them ever pressed any charges.
   While it’s true that I’m close to my dog, Faith, definitely beyond the normal realm of connection between a dog and their human companion, I have not asked Faith to marry me or exchanged rings with her. Besides, whenever I even try to touch her fingernail she nips off mine.
   With this in mind, I can’t understand how my former bishop and so many other “religious” leaders actually say this with a straight face: “If you’re going to ask a woman to marry you, you might as well ask your dog, too.” Oh, excuse me; I should ask my dog instead of the woman I love because that would be the same thing or, to use their terminology, equally as “morally-wrong.”
   First of all, it must have been an acid trip that led him and so many others to jump from a woman to a dog. Contrary to popular belief, shape-shifters are not real, just like vampires or werewolves. While, sure, it’d be nice if Vampire Rosalie and I could dance off into the twilight together, that’s only what happens in the movies. I just can’t figure out why a person asking a dog to marry her is somehow just as non-fictional as same-sex marriage.
   Second, the worst consequence of marrying a same-sex partner might be that we’d have to deal with people comparing our love to bestiality Well, there’s also the not going out in public without being tackled by nine men in penguin suits, or the fact we have next to zero rights desepite paying taxes like everybody else. But these things are not our fault. Same-sex couples will not hurt others; no lonely plural wives or half-human half-dog offsprings.
   No one is abused or taken advantage of in a mature same-sex relationship. Can we say the same of all heterosexual relationships, especially since most of the religiously-dominated ones still adhere to strict patriarchal values? Where the woman’s feelings come dead last in the family, even though they do most of the housework and child-rearing on top of holding downcareers?
   It may be true that two men or two women can’t physically procreate together, but so what? Neither can a significant number of straight couples, but they can raise, support and provide love for a child, while fostering an environment that doesn’t breed hate, ignorance or how to use God as an excuse for their bad behavior. It’s no wonder the first study of its kind done by Bos and Gartrell found that children of lesbian couples have higher self-esteem, more confidence, do better academically and have fewer behavioral problems.
   It would have made more sense to have my bishop reward me for having the courage and strength to use my own free agency and judgment; to stand up for what I believe in and live in a way, in the only way, that can make me truly happy and healthy. Instead of bringing me to tears many times, the church could have used their power and money to help a “cast out” and “abused” group of people by accepting them for who they truly are: a kind and benevolent people.
    I hope the day will come when my bishop will not compare my orientation to bestiality, but will want to bring me back to his ward with pure acceptance and unconditional love. When he will look on my heart and not my orientation. When he will remember the moments I spent in his family room, or served the people in his ward. When he will remember that we are “brothers” and “sisters.” Then he will not see me as a monster, a person who would marry my dog and take advantage of the being I love so much I call her a child, but he will see what my dog only took seconds to see: the pain he caused with his words.

Alternate Dimension

As seen in

‘It’s the most miserable time of the year.”

   While I shopped at a few superstores for Christmas presents, the exact song played on the loud speaker, making me seriously consider shoplifting for the first time in my life. I needed to get the hell out of there before I screamed alongside the kids of the large family in front of me. Somehow the obnoxious kids managed to stop throwing a fit long enough to keep changing their minds, delaying their parents for as long as humanly possible.
   Meanwhile, the redundant words of “It’s the hap-happiest season of all, with those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings,” brought me to plug my ears, praying to go back in time to when ‘gay’ meant happy; before super-stores and over-population.
   But then it dawned on me. There’d go my Prozac.
   Also, I’d probably be locked somewhere in an asylum. Then again maybe the sanity level would be higher there than in the real world. This way I wouldn’t have to deal with ‘trying to act normal’ when I feel anything but. The grunting and monosyllables could turn into complete catatonia without anyone batting an eye.
   Numerous studies confirm depression is at its highest during the Christmas/Hanukkah season. Yet suicide rates go down, as few actually have the energy required to successfully take their lives.
   As someone who’s spent over 10 years with a black cloud over my head, holidays morphed into something I dread more than going out on a blind date. I spend weeks on my leather couch, in my pajamas, with my laptop in front of my face, trying to avoid everyone and everything that reminds me of the pesky thing called life. Marathons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Vampire Diaries turn into my alternate hell dimension.
    The only real escape I get from the blues is when I’m asleep, in the form of nightmares and dreams. Sleep is my best friend and my dog is my second; having no energy to deal with ‘other’ personalities, employment searches or high-pitched kids.
    I read an article recently in Psychology Today, claiming depressed individuals literally see the world as ‘more gray.’ This doesn’t surprise me in the least bit, as depression tends to destroy both the physical and internal worlds. Like seeing through a distorted looking glass, without the blue caterpillar or white rabbit, but with the Mad Hatter trapped inside your own body.
    It pisses me off that people actually fake having a mental illness, as in Brian David Mitchell’s case, when people are suffering for real and don’t have access to treatment because these creeps are spending the needed money or are making mental illness out to be a charade; something one can turn on and off. Believe me if I wanted too, I’d turn my frown into a smile any day.
    On a side note, I get that some people want to blame every LGBT suicide in Utah on the Mormon Church, but mostly suicide is just the result of a severe untreated or sometimes, a long-treated illness, that eventually kills all hope inside you, leaving you broken and weak, to the point even brushing your teeth is too much effort. You really start to believe everyone around you would be better off without you.
   Sure, it can’t help to be raised in a church or society that tells you that you’re evil for something you can never change. Or having friends, society or family turn their backs on you; all of these things can be triggers or can help push you off that cliff.
    But all in all, a person who dies of suicide is really no different than a diabetic who ends up losing their battle with the illness. It doesn’t make them weak or to blame; neither are the people or community around them at fault. Sure, there are exceptions. Most to blame are insufficient health care and ignorance surrounding the reality that mental illness is really no different than physical.
   Every day is a struggle for someone with a severe mental illness, like me. It can be more painful than a physical illness because our problems are not noticeable and therefore, easily dismissed and labeled as ‘crazy’ or ‘nuts’ or ‘psycho.’
   I fight the exhausting battle of depression every day, but I live through the fire, finding ways to reduce my symptoms. The simple things are what make all the difference. I wanted to punch the crisis workers through the phone when their only advice for my suicidal ideation was to ‘take a walk.’ But now I know a little goes a long way, especially if that’s all you have left to do.
    The last time I was in the hospital the Twin Towers were being attacked. Getting the help I need through Valley Mental Health, covered under Medicaid, brought energy and hope back into my life, ultimately saving the state thousands upon thousands of dollars.
   I went from being a zombie to being a human again, and even during the holidays, at the most miserable time of the year, I see light at the end of the tunnel. For the wave will hit again, bringing me back up. It always does.

Cursed; young adult novel

Well, I got some 'good' rejection letters. Its hard to believe that exists, but it does. They are any kind of response from a busy editor/publisher/agent that is more than three simple words, "No thank you." or a standard Dear John form letter in the mail or e-mail that is sent to thousands upon thousands of other wannabe's or rejects. Based on the advice I've recieved, I'm re-writting my entire novel. Only made it to chapter four so far, including the final chapter, but it's coming along like a fast-moving snail. Here's what I have so far, feel free to rip into it, tell me what you hate or hopefully love. My audience is targeted to mostly high school teens, but hoping older lesbians, like me, would enjoy it too. Wondering  most of all, if my character, Lisa, is believable and the story so far feels real.  Thanks for reading!

Chapter One

Desire

Inside a coffin wasn’t the place I thought I’d end up at sixteen. Media’s number one culprit would point at the town’s homophobic religion, one actively fighting even the mere existence of the L word.

Surprisingly, in my case, the knives that cut the deepest were held by other so-called sinners because they attacked me right where it hurt the most, in the heart. They first pretended to love and accept me before the ‘real’ truth came out in the form of lies and rumors; the main culprit, my first girlfriend, a sociopath at her best.

A burning desire for her lips cursed me in, like a seductress wolf she bit into my heart, eating and changing my flesh forever. Ironically her first name, Eve, and her last, Blood. She captured my innocence and with it came my youth.

The sun descended slowly into the night, leaving a reddish-yellowish burn on everything it touched; including my normally peach skin, covered in runaway freckles. A tug on my scalp caused me to tear a few runaway strands of my long hair out of the chain of my half-moon pendant; a gift from my parents as they said I was always half in this world and half where the spirits roamed.

I drowned when I was five, ever since then I could hear spirits. Nobody else knew, and it was mostly just random chatter. But, sometimes a broken, howling voice from a lost soul kept me up at night. I usually only heard sprits who hadn’t crossed on, who were trapped in purgatory, but there were exceptions. Usually when loved ones were in trouble, their screams haunted me, spurning me to action.

Sometimes all I could do was listen. Listening was the art form I did best, but at the same time, it was the thing I sucked at the most.

A peppy song blared on my satellite radio the music droning out the incessant dull chatter. I sang at the top of my lungs, the only place I could sing in public, well when it was night out.

When the song died, I picked up the remote and changed the station, ending up by accident on Sounds of Sunday. If there were one more ‘Jesus’ song, I was going to scream. Throwing the remote out the window of my cherry-red Buick Skylark, it shattered on the gravel road. A surge of control relaxed me momentarily, until I realized I’d have to replace it with my own barista money. Minimum wage with the occasional tip didn’t go far, especially since ‘cute’ leather boots called out to me this morning. ‘Always acting before thinking’, something my older sister liked to remind me of constantly. Could she be more irritatingly perfect?

I pushed the button manually to change it to a hard rock station. Ahh! Heaven.

I was just so tired of the Catholic Church being shoved down my throat everywhere I moved and breathed and it seemed at times, even pooped. Living in Harper Grove wasn’t easy for someone like me, but then again, living here wasn’t easy on anyone. The high suicide rates weren’t surprising, despite the fact it was a town of like three thousand people at most, right smack in the middle of nowhere. If boredom didn’t kill you, the judgmental death glares would. I had to do something wretchedly evil in a previous life to get stuck here.

I stopped my car in the middle of the Harper Grove graveyard, in front of an industrial-sized cross gravestone of my dead relative, but I didn’t come to mourn my great-great grandfather. I came here for two reasons; one of them was to bury my Holy Bible once and for all and the other one was to study biology as the graveyard was surprisingly the quietest spot in town for me to do homework; the last place the recently dead roamed, not wanting to be reminded of their passing and preferring to be among the living. Not me. My favorite place was to be alone, with no one telling me what to do or judging me.

The darkness swallowed me up, as if warning me to turn back around. I didn’t listen as I closed the door to my Skylark. A lonely deer stood about ten feet from me, studying me like a hawk, ready to attack. It was so cute; I wished I could go up and pet it. My miniature black dachshund, Faith, rested on top of the back dashboard, without a single care in the world, except sun bathing her tiny stomach.

I scanned the graveyard, making sure no one was there. I was in the clear. Time to begin! I clicked my key chain button to open the trunk and retrieved a small shovel and my worn juice-stained scriptures. Finding a moist patch of dirt, I started digging. A part of me wanted to get busted so my sister and ‘former’ best friend would see me on the news; Local Teen Arrested for Grave-Robbing At least, that’s what they would think I was doing, as the real reason would sound like a poor excuse. And they thought me coming out was bad news?

“Put your hands up.”

Turning around, I tripped on a rock and fell into the small hole I had just dug. I prepared to bolt alongside the scampering deer, until I got a good look at who stood in front of me, Eve Blood, everything about her screamed New York City, from her jet black hair to her sculpted legs that went on forever leading to a flat, belly-ringed stomach. God, those narrow dark eyes had this way of looking through your soul and mocking you at the same time. But it was the thick glossy lips that really made it hard to stop staring.

Eve stepped closer; her proximity causing my blood to race. “Scared you into kissing dirt, didn’t I?” The single pimple on her cheek stood out because it was the only part of her olive-shaped face that wasn’t perfect. “Wow. Those are ill boots. Where’d you get them?”

“Huh? What?” I asked, sounding like the biggest freak on the planet. Of course, my luck caused me to run into the hottest girl in school while I looked like I needed to go to an insane asylum with my shovel still clasped firmly in my hand. “The store,” I finally managed to say, making it worse. Duh, might as well have said a garbage can.

Eve ignored my lameness, as she focused on the gravestone behind me, with my exact last name of Connor. She smirked. “I love visiting dead people. Sometimes they seem more real than regular people.”

Was she insulting me? In order to hide my flushing face and my real motive for being here, I tossed a patch of dirt over the holy books. Then again burying the Holy Bible would be saner than digging up my former relative. I stopped cold in my tracks, studying Eve instead. But looking at her didn’t help my calmness level.

“Isn’t that illegal?” Eve laughed, pointing to the shovel, seeming to enjoy my humiliation.

“Maybe,” I shrugged, cracking my knuckles, a nervous addiction. I stood up, trying to collect my nerves. “You going to arrest me?”

“I wish I had that kind of authority.” Eve stepped on top of the grave, formed a fake gun with her fingers and then spread out her legs. “You know I envy him, all of them.” She scanned the cemetery, wearing a scowl. A dark shadow checkered her body, as she stepped in and out of the lamplight, making her look scary.

This girl switched moods more than anyone I had ever met. “Salty much,” I said, feeling like a hypocrite as I clicked my trunk open and tossed the shovel inside. Instead I retrieved my biology book, ‘reading’ flashlight and yellow highlighter and moved over to an oak bench; expecting Eve to take off any minute in her midnight blue Geo Tracker, leaving me for someone more interesting to talk too. Maybe a dead person, perhaps?

Surprisingly, the tan girl stepped over to me in her high heels and sat down on the bench next to me. I wondered if I had fallen asleep studying and didn’t even realize it. “How can you study here?” Eve asked, bobbing her head at my biology book.

I glanced around, but there was no movement or lights coming from the mortuary, a white-brick building about five-hundred feet away. The place still as dead as can be. How do I explain to one of the most popular girls in school that I hear voices and this was my favorite place to be? I settled on pointing to my flashlight, as if that explained anything.

As if reading my thoughts, Eve said, “So what’s your secret, Lisa, isn’t it?”

I barely managed to nod, as fear swarmed through me. I decided to change the topic to something that wasn’t about me, “So how you liking Harper Grove so far?”

“A hick town where everything is forbidden, even Halloween, and everyone is so disturbingly innocent, it makes me want to gag.” Eve adjusted her black beret and then touched my arm, causing the hair to stand on end. “So what’s a good girl like you doing grave-robbing?”

Great, if this got around. My social status would go from loner to freak and fast.

Eve read the fear on my face as she lifted up her hand in surrender mode and said, “Chilliax, your secrets safe with me.”

“That wasn’t what I was doing.” I stared into my unopened biology book, afraid if I looked at her soulful eyes I would lose the ability to form a coherent sentence. I rambled on, still focusing on a purplish dissected plant on the cover of my book. As someone failing the class, I sure spent a lot of time studying. Lying, on the other hand, was something I did well, “Just had to bury a keepsake for my great-grandfather. Something he wanted with him when he died.” Hopefully Eve won’t notice the fact he died before I was born. I finally looked up and met her face, deciding to focus on the imperfect pimple, made her seem more human, not so mature and angel-like.

She nodded, not seeming to care if I was telling the truth or not. “Don’t have to explain to me.” Eve winked, before adding, “You’re not the only one in a graveyard after dusk.”

I drummed my fingers on the book, another nervous habit. I had about a century of those. “What are you doing here?” I asked, a little too quietly. But, noise drifted easy in the dead of night, the only other sound being crickets chirping away.

“My mom said she needed space to think, but what she really needed was the chance to spend time alone trying to pick up on rich men without the burden of a teenage daughter. So she shipped me to this Garden of Eden, excuse me Garden of Hell—”

I meant the graveyard, but didn’t want to correct her; too entranced by watching her lips move up and down. She kept talking, but I zoned out. I tried not to stare at her partially open breasts as she leaned over, the V-neck of her Hollister top showing more than she probably figured. Her laced Victoria Secret bra made me wonder how a sixteen-year-old could be so full, without the added enhancement of surgery. She could even star on one of those sexy lingerie commercials, how in this planet could she still be talking to me? The girl with stringy a million freckles and strawberry hair, with random green strands from swimming so much; a pool was my second favorite place to be. It was quiet, like a whole other world, the water drowning out the voices from above. I got over the fear of drowning rather quickly, just wish I could go back in time and never go in the pool that day, so I wouldn’t be cursed with hearing so much. All the time!

“You there?” Eve waved her scarlet red fingernails in my face.

“Yes, sorry. Garden of Hell.”

“That was like five minutes ago. Where have you been?” Eve sighed, leaning her back on the bench, her shirt going where it was supposed too, covering her breast. She continued, since I seem to be having mute problems again. Something I used to do in junior high, cursed with extreme shyness. Unfortunately, Eve brought it out in me again. The one person I wanted to impress more than anyone in this dead end town. And here I was making the biggest fool off myself. “You know people say you are always trapped inside your own head, I didn’t believe them, until now.” She picked up my tiny braid and played with it, sending shivers down my spine. “But, you are certainly cute.” ‘

I smiled hesitantly; worried my face was red as a tomato.

“And those dimples are adorable.”

Was it possible she was flirting with me? No way.

“You know what, I’m cold. Can we sit in your car? My heater is busted.”

I nodded, picking up my textbook and reading light, trying to focus on walking without tripping as I headed over to my Buick and clicked the car doors open. I wondered about holding the door open for Eve, but that would probably look moronic. It wasn’t like they were on an old-fashioned date or something.

I climbed in my car, immediately turning the car on, the heat immediately came on full blast. As someone who was always freezing. I didn’t realize I was shaking until the heater started working. I might as well be drugged for how unaware of my own feelings I was with Eve so close beside me.

Eve reached for the sunshield, but it was absent, lost in my parent’s garage somewhere, so she adjusted the side mirror, using that to check her make-up; applying more raspberry-colored lip gloss, something she obviously didn’t need more off. Finally, she placed her long legs on the dashboard and turned my way, studying me closely with her eyebrows uplifted, like I was some kind of cell specimen. “So who do you hang out with in school? How come I rarely see you?”

I could count the number of people who talked to me on one hand; especially after my best friend stopped talking to me when I told her I liked girls. Most of our friends were actually her friends. I quit the swim team because I hated it anyway; team sports were never my thing. I was a loner. Always have been, always will be. But Eve didn’t need to know that. “The theatre slash choir crowd mostly.” Well, my so-called gay boyfriend was in the crowd, sometimes I tagged along if I got really lonely.

“Hmm…Oh, the deer came back.” Eve leaned over me to get a better look. I couldn’t focus on the deer as the intoxicating aroma of Eve’s berry perfume and the soft touch of her skin made me melt in place. She pulled out her cell phone and took a picture, then sat back down in the leather passenger seat. “So when did you know …that you liked girls?”

Shit. Am I that transparent? Eve read the tense expression on my face so she held up her hands and said, “Chillax. Who isn’t at least bisexual anymore? It’s not like I’m going to announce it in the newspaper.”

I swallowed, fear running up my lungs. “Nobody reads it anyway,” I said, trying to recover, but my shaky voice betrayed.

“Then why the sudden heart attack on your face?”

“Just think a personal life should be just that.” There were only four people in my life who knew. My parents, former best friend and current best friend; my parental figures knew because my Mom felt the need to clean my messy room up, finding an issue of Curves that revealed the half-naked bodies of the cast of The Real L Word. Surprisingly, my Mom only said, “We don’t like it, but we love you anyway.” We’ve never talked about it since. I figured my Dad knew since he’s acted weird around me in the three weeks since.

My best friend knew because I was secretly in love with her and wanted to see if she felt the same way. I never got around to asking her how she feels about me because she called me a sinner and stopped speaking to me since I told her three months ago; but Hailey was more of a religious nut than my god-worshiping sister. Did I mention Hailey’s boyfriend is my twin brother, Trent? A whole other story, let’s just say Trent would fit in well with the cast of A-List.

“Want to go to coffee?” I asked, wanting to get to know Eve better, without the social dictates of school. Since she’s so attractive and interesting, Eve was swallowed up already by the Chosen Ones, the most exclusive group in school; the confident ones who excelled at something great and never worried about being purposely tripped in the hallway.

After Hailey’s rejection, I went from the athletic crowd to the bottom of the social food chain where the other losers roamed, with atheist, drama freaks and the like.

“Can’t,” she said, without any further explanation.

Trying not to show any disappointment, I forced a smile, focusing on the flashing car lights in the distance. Was she saying no because she didn’t want to be around me anymore? If so, why hadn’t she moved from my car?

My heart beat so fast I wasn’t surprised if Eve could hear it, but when I turned to look at her, she seemed faraway, lost in her own world. “Love the moon tonight. It’s a myth that stars are the actual objects needed to make wishes, the Moon is the most —“

A loud cry broke through, interrupting Eve. Only she couldn’t hear the painful, haunting noise, her thick lips kept moving up and down. My upper arm felt as if a sharp blade ripped into it as three words screamed as if right next to me, “Let me die.” The voice was muffled, making it unrecognizable, as if it came from someone’s painful thoughts, not words. I lifted up my shirt, blood dripped down my arm. I found the source from a deep cut, looking as if it had come from a knife. Only the non-existent object wasn’t stopping, the cut grew deeper, and there was no way of controlling it.

Gay Witch Hunt

by H. Rachelle Graham
Lipstick Lesbian as seen in

With special thanks to Pagan and a straight military ally.

“Kick him out,” Lt. Orrin Hatchass screamed
 “What’s he guilty off, sir?”
  “He looked at me. Must be a queer,” Hatchass said. “Queer. Queer. Queer.”
   It’s officially a modern day gay witch hunt as military officers spend $1.3 billion to investigate private e-mails, call friends to chat and go through closets to find the incriminating color pink.
   America keeps ex-convicts while discharging lawful men and women, who may or may not be homosexual. Any heresy can be grounds for starting an investigation. For example, if a guy drinks apple martinis and a girl likes football, their whole life secrets could be torn inside and out, due to anyone having a problem, even if it’s the janitor.
   Imagine having your dream job taken away from you for absolutely no reason other than you may look or act like you’re gay; 14,000 men and women had to face this harsh reality.
    I can’t understand why being yelled at constantly is anyone’s dream job, but I’m sure there might be some perks, as many people do join the military willingly. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t even join if a gun was held to my head.
   Since my military aptitude consists of only what’s in my worst nightmares, I had to consult expert witnesses.
   Like my friend Pagan, who was discharged for doing his job well. A lower servicemember, who is also a Mormon, asked if he was gay. Fed up with lying and being investigated he finally told the truth. An act so heinous, according to the military, that they told a loyal, intelligent and good-working man to start packing.
   Hardly seems just to find yourself losing your job and dignity because of something you can’t change. Imagine if the tables were turned, and a heterosexual had to hide his/her spouse, orientation, favorite actress/actor and kids.
   I feel better knowing most of the military puts the job first and doesn’t care about the orientation as much as duty to the country. With holding the country’s weapons at their disposal, it’s important they’re thinking with more than a few screws. This outdated policy never should have been enacted in the policy and according to a Quinnipiac University poll done in February, 70 percent of Americans understand this policy is homophobic and pointless.
    Even right here in this state where many tiny Orrins hatch from large conservative families think the policy is bogus.
    For example, a straight Mormon man I interviewed. Let’s call him Steve, is currently a military intelligent officer and has been since 1990. He always thought the policy had no basis in fact or form.
   “Every year in the guard, we have a sexual harassment brief, so arguments for Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell don’t hold water,” Steve said. “I don’t care what religion, color, gender, or orientation a person is if they do their job and they do it well.”
   People, like Steve, used to be in the minority but is now in the majority as DADT gets closer and closer to dead and buried status. Thank God. Unfortunately, the rotten policy took and destroyed lives in countless ways, by bringing lesbian, gay and bisexual members to suicide, rape or further harassment from their fellow officers.
   Just as the witch hunt’s insane nature was revealed; the cause chalked up to irrational fear. As the study to repeal DADT supports, gay military do not affect combat readiness and unit cohesion. The gay military hunt is soon to be revealed for its true nature, fear of different orientations.

Last Days

Proud to be a Witch
H. Rachelle Graham

I'm an ass.
   Well, according to the last days, the Bible says good will appear evil and evil will appear good. Even though the Last Days were predicted thousands of times before, starting almost as early as people could talk, this must officially be the last days.  Mayan calender is correct, we have a few more years left so start packing.
   For example, being a democrat or donkey is bad and being a republican or elephant is good. Older, exclusive, rich and Christian are somehow better while being poor, middle class, liberal or inclusive is 'witch-like or demonic. I'm glad I'm a blue-horned demon.
    I'm also proud to be a witch.  If not being a witch means being the next Christine O'Donnell, where any type of pleasure is evil, women's rights are in the home and someone that believes it's a choice to be bullied non-stop and have everyone you used to love hate your guts.
    Since when was it 'good' to be Carl Paladino; death to all gays. And bad to be Obama; wanting health care for all, including babies. Where it is 'good' to let homeless people suffer and 'bad' to tax the billionaries to help the poor.
     "Wo unto them that call evil good, and good evil, that put darkness for light and light for darkness, that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!" (2 Nephi 15:20 Book of Mormon)
     I personally know when I taste the sweet hot cocoa of life that it's not bitter. I know it's not right to bang down peole's doors whether you are a liberal or a republican and tell them to go to hell or that they are better off committing suicide. But I'm not so sure some of these people in power know what's light and what's dark. What's kind and what's not so kind. What's sane and what's plain mean.
     I worry about the United States of America because they don't seem to know what's good and what's bad. Many, especially those that took power on the tea party ticket, seem to only care how big their pockets are or about recognition and power itself. Not that there's not democrats guilty of the same thing.
   As history shows time and time again; pure selfishness follows the last days of an empire. Are we at the last days? Is that what the GOP really wants? Death to health care, locking up the mentally ill instead of funding their treatment, growing homelessness, slaughtering immigrants and lack of equal rights.
    The GOP win of the House isn't a forward move. We are taking rapid steps backward for human kindness and Christ's most important lesson; love one another.
    I think its time to move to Canada!! Anyone with me?

                                                          Photo by Dick Layman, Public News Service