ABSTRACT
I think the best way to explain the effect growing up in a strict Roman Catholic family had on my psyche is to tell you about Catholic boys, the boys I went to school with for twelve years at Christian Brothers College, Fremantle, Australia. Italian boys mainly, sons of immigrants, with fathers who were fishermen and builders. Darkhaired, olive-skinned boys, compact and muscled, with deep brown eyes and pencil mustaches. At night I still dream of them, find myself entangled with them, in their father’s fishing nets, in the bathroom of the house I grew up in, or find myself muttering their names David Pensabene, Angel Bario, Paolo Schiliro, Karl Cicanese, Marco Vitali like the beads on a rosary. Whether I like it or not, in the realm of my sexuality, and in the realm of my imagination, Catholicism’s influence has been indelible. It’s left me with a very Catholic desire, not to observe doctrines, but to pervert them. Here are some of my perversions.
