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DescriptionAn imaginative collection of memories and observations written from the perspective of a young man who was orphaned early, who was gay, deaf and Russian. He was simple and complex, light-hearted and serious, whimsical and infinitely strong, and when he loved, he loved with all his heart and soul.
A former sex worker and later a husband, he was an amateur activist and philosopher, a startlingly intelligent, passionate individual able to intensely appreciate even the small wonders of the world and the people for whom he cared.
Part diary, part dialogue, and part rhetoric, “Silence Is Multi-colored in My World” is based on actual experiences. It is a literary portrait of a man with nothing to hide and everything to reveal. It is a slice into the willing veins of a mental and emotional free bleeder. A memoir/biography with photos.
Reader Rating: Not rated (0 Ratings)
From Nancy Ferrer, Outlaw Reviews"It made me laugh, broke my heart, and made me think of so many things. What a funny, bright, kind and loving young man! His pain makes me hurt, yet he had such an enormous capacity for love in spite of the cruelty and injustices he endured. I just want to hold him in my arms and not let go."
From Andune"...this book transcends all differences, stereotypes, judgements and becomes the sharing forth of a very honest human experience relevant to all of us, connected to all of us. Indeed, we are not alone. I wish I could have met G.Y.S. and had a conversation, but since that was not to be I feel grateful to get to know him through his words, his visions, his sense of humor and honest dialogue."
From Bob C. at Stagewalker.Gather.Com"It is an inspirational, often poignant, occasionally brutal, collection of essays about love, life, beauty, suffering, triumph, joy, pain and responsibility. Pick it up. Read it for the insight it provides. Five stars."
Excerpt:THE FRANKNESS OF FACE
His smile was extremely nice and warm, as were his eyes, the look in them. He stood at a high table carefully sipping the mug of wine I've given him just a few moments before, our glances occasionally meeting over the brim. I do it often enough anyway for it's a habit for me, but I smoothed a piece of hair behind my ear sensing his eyes would follow the action.
When he’d first walked up to the stall his clean-cut handsomeness struck me immediately, for I've always greatly admired dark-haired men. Not quite my style being beardless, but he was reasonably young, reasonably fit and well-dressed. That he fancied me was clear in his flirty smile, but perhaps he’d just be another passer-by and nothing to come of it, but maybe...just maybe he would speak to me on a personal level.
A group of students arrived, high-spirited and demanding, blocking our mutual view, and soon I became distracted trying to understand their orders for they were asking unnecessary questions. The stall where I worked only served glühwein, in only one size and for only one price, so there was nothing much to discuss. This had been my winning argument in securing this job although the proprietor had been skeptical at hiring a deaf person, even though I'd been sent over from an agency.
I had no problem whatsoever in preparing and serving the wine, accepting the money, and returning their security coin when they returned the mug. I was personable and attractive enough, and had a work record of reliability if not extensive experience. Besides, this job only lasted the weeks before Christmas when the Weihnachtsmarkten (Christmas markets) were open. It was simple work. I had everything necessary except in his opinion: hearing, but I didn’t need it.
Finally the young people moved off, and flushed with pride because I'd again successfully handled taking orders with a minimum of confusion, I glanced towards the table hoping to find the man, but it was empty. Strange, and somewhat disappointing. Strange in that when one returned the mug, one received back the 1€ security deposit, and no reason not to do so, for they were only plain stoneware mugs, nothing special to keep. Disappointing, for the obvious reason. With less enthusiasm I returned to washing and drying mugs, pausing a moment to check the next batch of wine brewing.
Such is life, I thought to myself, for the thousand thousandth time. Then a shadow crossed the corner of my eye, and summoning at least an expectant expression I turned to the front counter, and blinked with surprise for it was he. Chagrin, hope, and nervousness rattled around inside me, as I took his cup and laid a coin on the counter, pushing it towards him. He pushed it back.
"Keep it," his lips said. "What's your name?"
I told him what it was, returning his play with pertness, "Why?"
"Because, dear," he smiled, "I wanted to ask you out."
This I understood, and I was so very pleased. His hand found mine across the counter, a firm grasp. He pressed my fingers briefly.
"When is work finished?" he asked.
"At eleven," I replied. "Is this too late?"
"No," he said, but half-turned away. I knew he was saying something else, probably telling me what he had been doing or would be doing while he waited for me, but he only turned full faced to me at certain words that he must think important or charming. I could only catch bits and pieces of what he was saying from the thin but pleasant looking lips.
"Ah, I'm sorry," I said then. "Could you please look at me when you're speaking so I can understand you. I must read your lips, you see, because I am deaf. I can understand you well enough if only I can see your mouth move."
He blinked, blinked again, taking this in obviously. He frowned, looked away sharply, then back at me, hand unconsciously moving away from mine. His face was changing, cooling, settling into wary lines. His top lip curled slowly, the eyes that had showed such warmth before now darkened. Now he looked at me like an unflushed toilet.
"Deaf," he said incredulously, with a sniff of laughter, handsome face gone ugly, "wow!" He shook his head, turned and walked away.
Cool as ice the core of me. My hands and feet seemed to burn with it, my head felt light and empty, but the burst of anger I felt soon settled. Anger not at him, but rather at the rush of shame at my handicap, the automatic apology I thought I'd made myself stop thinking and saying years ago. It took some moments to let the negative emotion bleed away into the chilly air of the night. Not so enthusiastic my service after that. My eyes didn't want to meet anyone's anymore, and after the stand had closed, my walk home was slow and stuttered.
It happens. It happens more than hearers might realize, that change in people's expression when you tell them you're deaf. Many times it's pity, sometimes it's annoyance as if it is a personal affront to them, an inconvenience. Impatience is characteristic also, especially when you have to ask them to repeat, or slow down or look at you.
Then there are the times when disgust shows, as if you are less than human, something to scorn and disrespect, to treat as if you have no feelings or intelligence. A couple of times you even get those looking for a date, who now have added interest in you as if you can't see the nefarious slide of their thoughts to misuse. I can still scream, buddy. Count on it! I've had to fight men off in the past who thought to take advantage of me, and am no novice in self-defense.
Sometimes though, the expression doesn't change, and it's the blessing of the universe, when they accept your admittance with only agreement to look at you, to slow down just a bit. That's all we ask for, all that's needed. Just like every other human, we still seek and deserve love. Because of a disability we didn’t ask for, we are not less than others.
Silence Is Multi-Colored In My WorldBy: Red Haircrow