Alan Watts: Exploring His Philosophy and Spiritual Teachings

BEAUTIFUL GIs, soft naked shoulders sweating in the Vietnamese sun, looking over their naked shoulders for the bullet from the crackling leaf in the jungles, looking over their naked shoulders for the CID man who’s gonna bust them for dope, who’s gonna bust them for love, who’s gonna dress them in pink tennis shoes, pin their heads down over their cocks between their legs, throw them out dishonorably, send them to jail, send them to the front lines. Gonna have those beautiful shoulders sliced with bayonets, sliced up like shoulder roasts, blood pouring from the crevices, blood spattered across the blue sky, across the sparkling sun that glares in the camera lens, a red explosion across your color TV. I was just watching a beautiful boy, beautiful naked shoulders. I wanted to touch and kiss him; I love him. This poem was part of a leaflet for the October 1969 Moratorium distributed by Gay Liberation in San Francisco and Berkeley, a pivotal moment in gay history and LGBT activism. My boyfriend from high school P.E., my boyfriend from commuter-cycle rides to college from El Cerrito, my boyfriend from the newspaper, my boyfriend from sociology class, my boyfriend high up on the balcony of the Student Union, my boyfriend swimming naked in Yosemite’s backcountry Washburn Lake. My boyfriend in bed with me, kissing my cock. I snapped you on the butt with my towel; I held you tight from the back of your motorcycle. I put my hand on your shoulder before we said good night after our double-date. I held your hand on the walk to your house to study with you; I held your feet as you slid into the sky. Into the sea, I swam under you, I swam around you. I stroked your naked liquid body in the icy water. Soaped your body in the shower and rubbed against it, kissing your cock. Let me lick up the blood of my gay brother. Wrap up his remains—his foot, his eyeball—in a towel dripping with blood and put them back on my bed for me to play with. I’ll lick my sheets so my mother doesn’t know I had company on the rag. Soak the sheets in cold water, spread them out on the line in the sun. Well, you can do your thing. Just stay away from me. I want to go on hating and killing, hating and killing. Hi there, Gook. Let me cut your beautiful body up limb by limb. Let me cut off your cock and put it in my pocket as a trophy-souvenir. Dying soldier / South Vietnam. Don’t touch me, queer! I dig chicks, Vietnamese whores. I didn’t know you were queer, George; you know it’s against regulations. Don’t kiss me now, friend, while the sergeant is watching. Beautiful Vietnamese man, let’s suck and fuck. Let’s not kill each other anymore. I love you, brother. You’re my buddy. We’re gonna die tomorrow. I want to hold your cock and make it feel good tonight. I want to put my cock in your body and feel together with you tonight.