Sebastian Kohn got Monkeypox.


Gay Soros exec screws several men during Pride weekend, suffers excruciatingly, but blames Society

A reader sent this horrifying Guardian story describing a NYC gay man’s experiences with monkeypox. Sebastian Kohn (the victim) describes the pain that comes with this condition. Excerpts:

I got monkeypox, and it has been an absolute nightmare.

When New York Pride festivities kicked off on 24 June, I was aware that monkeypox was an emerging issue – especially for gay men – but I was also under the impression that the number of cases in the city was relatively small. It was shocking to me how limited the city’s testing capabilities were. At that time, it could only process ten . tests per day.

I had sex over the weekend with several men. A week later on the 1st of July I felt very tired. My fever was high with muscle aches and chills. I also felt very fatigued.

First I did a Covid self test: it was negative. Then, I began to suspect monkeypox. Then I sent a text to a friend: I’m waiting for the rash start.

I’m a 39-year-old man from Sweden, living in Brooklyn and working in philanthropy. My work for the last decade has been primarily on reproductive and sexual health. I have followed this outbreak closely from its beginning. I had even tried to get vaccinated when New York City launched an initial vaccination drive on 23 June. Like many other New Yorkers, I was unsuccessful in getting an appointment.

Two days later, my symptoms started to manifest as anorectal lesion – sores that irritate my rectum and anus. Itchy, stinging sensations initially followed by itching. At this stage, I was not afraid. It would not be severe, I was healthy and had no other underlying medical conditions. It was terrible.

Ah, Sebastian knew that monkeypox could be a problem but couldn’t resist celebrating Pride weekend. After all, how better to celebrate gay pride than by screwing several men over the course of one weekend. The city’s health bureaucracy with its “absolutely deplorable testing” is responsible for this outbreak. Kohn was not aware of the severity of the outbreak. He didn’t know that anonymous sex was bad for gay men, but a terrible STD was spreading around. It’s stupid city officials. He tried the previous day to get his vaccinations, but was unsuccessful. Sebastian would be expected to cover his mouth on Pride Weekend.

Sebastian was not happy:

After I went home, the rash started spreading, and I began to feel anxious. The lesions appeared to be mosquito bites, but they soon turned into blisters. They eventually popped and then scabbed before leaving scars. They were all over my head, face, arms, legs, feet and back. Five of them just happened to be on my right elbow. At the peak, I had over 50 lesions, a fever of 103F and intense pain, prompting a panic attack. Ironically, my penis was the only area where I did not have lesions.

The next day, I received my STI results and was positive for gonorrhoea. Monkeypox is still unknown. From my neck down I started to get hives. I also developed arthritis pains in my shoulders, headaches, and strange pains in my shin bones that made it difficult for me to stand. My body would go crazy at night with the pain, itching, and constant scratching from my lesions. It was frustrating, lonely, and I felt isolated. While I knew that I was very sick, it wasn’t difficult for me to create a plan of care on my own.

My anorectal lesion, already extremely painful, became open wounds. It was almost like three fissures were right beside each other. When I needed to go to the toilet, I could scream. It was very painful to even clean the bathroom, or wash my hands. Each time it took two hours.

Read the entire thing. Sebastian continues to blame public health officials, claiming that this “shouldn’t have happened.” Sebastian does not accept responsibility for his grossly irresponsible actions. Sebastian Kohn: Who are you? He works for George Soros. )

Meanwhile, the same public health authorities who did not stop Sebastian from poking or being poked by those strangers on Pride weekend have now discovered two cases of monkeypox in children. More:

One is a toddler from California; the other is in an infant who is not a U.S. resident and was ‘transiting through’ Washington D.C. Both had no contact with one another.

Health officials stated that both of the children had been doing well, however they warned that children younger than eight years old are more at risk for severe monkeypox.

It is believed that both of the children were infected by the virus through ‘household contact’. Dr Rochelle Walensky stated that both children had been in contact with bisexual or gay men, which is the area where the majority of cases have been identified.

What kind of contact do you need? One does wonder.

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Bethel McGrew writes a typically interesting piece about whether or not it is “winsome” to speak frankly of matters like this. Ron Baity was a Christian preacher, who indefensibly and unquestionably spoke crudely about homosexuals. But she goes on to say that there are gatekeepers among the “winsome” Christian set who believe that any negative comments about homosexuality or gay behavior is wrong. McGrew is an Evangelical. Excerpt:

It’s one thing to state that Christians must be able to sing in various “keys” depending on the situation. Jesus displayed all emotions, including anger, sadness, humor, joy, laughter, and gentleness, depending on the situation. We can do the same without losing the conviction power of the gospel if Jesus did it. It is quite another to proclaim forbidden keys. Matthew Lee Anderson, an evangelical critic, does exactly this. Anderson declares that homosexual acts “are insanely disgusting and their perpetrators corrupt the society around them”. This should be banned in polite society.

I don’t. There is something I think there is to be done about maintaining a healthy disgust at the “What Homosexuals do” even though my journey to that point was quite different than Ron Baity’s.

This section will provide some background information. In my early years of social criticism, I was introduced to the memoir writings of Joseph Sciambra. Born in 1969, Joseph spent the 90s fully immersed in the gay scene, in the Castro district of San Francisco. He entered that world as a desperately lonely, obsessive-compulsive, porn-addicted college kid who thought he might find something resembling love. He didn’t find love, it is obvious. He was open about the fact that he did indeed find love, and he wrote nothing but praise.

I already had strong conservative views so it wasn’t necessary to convince me of anything. Joseph’s raw memories were still shocking to me. These memories were nearly impossible to read. These were horrible, painful, and very sad. They were sometimes disgusting. They were, as he admitted, disgusting. He and other men living in the same lifestyle degraded themselves daily, as he admitted. They tortured one another at times. They would engage in betial play where they literally reduced themselves to dogs and pigs. They did all this because, to quote gay journalist Randy Shilts, “there was nobody to say no.”

I encourage you to read Joseph Sciambra’s writing. It is a searing, vulnerable writing. It is written by someone who escapes Dante’s Inferno. He then finds himself on board a ship to Purgatory and has been delivered from Hell. Sciambra’s writings are not about the horrible things people do to their bodies but rather the total spiritual despair of it all. Sciambra is not writing about gay lesbians, but gay men. Sciambra’s world, which he has been a part of for some years, is one of gay men and women without love. It’s a place where rutting males are like the undead.

After he had left the Inferno Sciambra (a native Californian who was a San Francisco resident) returned to the Catholic Church. He found this was no comfort. In this essay, Sciambra, who is now in his early 50s, begins by talking about how he’s facing yet another surgery to repair his anus, which was so damaged from years of anal sex that he has trouble with continence. A friend of mine recently shared with me the story that Sciambra’s mother (now a retired doctor) once told him that it was difficult to be passionate about Pride or other issues when you have to face gay men in their early middle years being forced to wear diapers. Excerpt:

In Randy Shilts’ groundbreaking study of the early-AIDS era in San Francisco, “And The Band Played On,” he described how city health-officials were alarmed by the sudden rise of illness and disease among the gay male populous:

Between 1976 and 1980, shigellosis had increased 700 percent among single men in their thirties. Only seventeen cases of amebiasis were reported in 1969; now the reported cases, which were only a small portion of the city’s true caseload, were well past 1,000 a year. In the last four years, cases of hepatitis A among young men aged between 30 and 40 have quadrupled.

According to one study:

Anorectal symptoms in men who have sex with men (MSM) may be caused by conditions related to infections for which they are at increased risk (eg, proctitis, perianal abscess/anal fistula, anal warts/dysplasia, human papillomavirus [HPV]-associated anal cancer) or conditions seen in the general population (eg, anal fissure, hemorrhoids, pruritus ani).

…and another:

In one study among men who have sex with men (MSM), routine screening found that 85% of rectal infections with chlamydia or gonorrhea were asymptomatic. Anorectal STIs can cause anal discomforts such as anal pain and urgency.

I am constantly reminded of the excesses of my past. Bathroom has been turned into a prison cell. The basic biological functions of the body are painful and excruciating. This is my last chance to laugh from hell. The gay community is strangely sexualized in the public toilet. The public-private area was often the site of harassment and persecution in our youth. I remember being assaulted by an older man at school’s boy’s toilet. The restrooms were used as places for hooking up, sexual voyeurism and semi-secluded areas to enjoy nameless, quick-sex at a Castro disco and gay bars. This practice was semi-disgusting when I arrived in San Francisco. I found it revolting that certain bars had urinal troughs only in their restrooms. I promised myself that I wouldn’t sink this low. Within a couple of years I’d be sitting on the toilet lid, with my feet on the seats, and waiting for any man through the open doors.

I think that this chapter could have had an entirely different ending. A priest in the Catholic Church advised me to settle down with one man and drift out of gay life. It was possible that I would have ended my life. However, I chose not to. Today, I’m often sickened and discouraged. My condition is often one that gay men experience, and I don’t feel the temporary benefits. Although I wish I could say that this part of me gave up, it was because I wanted to be morally upright. In reality, my body couldn’t take anymore.

Now I spend too many of my awake moments thinking about what has happened in the past. Further driving me to mental instability is the fact that I often wonder what happened. My almost daily anxiety is caused by my inability to cope with the world’s neglect of my pain and that of many others. There is an amazing scene in “Jaws” where Quint, Hooper and Brody are together. The three men are alone on Quint’s fishing boat while he tracks a man-eating shark. They then sit down at a table and drink liquor well into the evening. Quint and Hooper suddenly start to discuss their scars, which are usually caused by shark encounters; Brody doesn’t have anything to say. Quint and Hooper see their male-bonding banter as a way to share their similar experiences. But for Quint, this moment is deeper. Hooper spots a scar, a Quint-removed tattoo. The shadow of that tattoo was the only physical expression of Quint’s former service upon the USS Indianapolis during its fateful last voyage in 1945. It was impossible to erase, and he tried. But the memories remained. He cannot erase those.

One poignant story from those who survived the Indianapolis was the massive hallucinations that some men experienced as they floated through shark-infested waters. Some of these men would drink the saltwater due to extreme heat, and swim toward the ship they claimed never fell. The men were never seen again.

Although they were in very different situations, I sometimes see them running away towards some mythical city. They’re gone. Like Quint, my wounds won’t heal. Sometimes I even openly share the pain no one else can see. I don’t want to be noticed, but the wounds that still plague me are embarrassing and awkward to show. Even in Churches, where voices are trying to silence those who don’t agree, it can be the only way to express your feelings. My pain is real. My pain is real The Catholic Church, an earthy institution has participated in deceit. In a desperate need to be understood and compassionate, many priests and prelates have abandoned any form of instruction in favor of total affirmation. They don’t accompany, but they direct people to the right places. If someone feels same-sex attraction they will be considered gay. When I was growing-up, priests would tell you to be safe and use a condom. Today, however, this is not the case. When a priest tells you that your homosexual identity is indelibly linked to the part of you “that gives and receives love,” how is a desperate and disoriented soul supposed to interpret such a message? My mind sees many ways gay men can give and receive love. One of these is through anal sex.

How many young boys or men turned to the gay community because of being sexually abused, or even told by priests that God made them that way? We won’t know. Many of these men have been silenced.

After some years, Sciambra left Catholicism in disgust, because he saw that the Catholic Church, at least where he lived, was either silent about the spiritual and physical death-in-life of its gay communicants, or actively served as the convention and visitors’ bureau for the Hell out of which Christ delivered him. He converted to Orthodox Christianity not long ago. This was just in the right time to speak out against prominent Orthodox voices and academics who want to introduce to Orthodoxy corrupt thinking which has led to Mainline Protestantism and Catholicism being so low and made men such as Joseph Sciambra suffer for their sins.

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It is a mistake to suggest that the church must choose between Father James Martin, a Jesuit priest and Pastor Ron Baity. Both do damage. Only one of them is loved by the media and is the favorite of Pope Francis. Sebastian Kohn’s blaming of Society, specifically public health officials, for his agonizing condition and not saying anything about his reckless and disgraceful behavior during Pride weekend — which is how he contracted monkeypox — speaks volumes about the dual-mindedness required to lead that kind of life. Kohn et alia may have to practice ketman to live with themselves, but why should the rest of us pretend not to see what it plainly obvious?

Another thing: Sebastian Kohn appears in the video clip of the Open Society Foundation. This is the George Soros Philanthropy, where he is an Executive. This is promoting the Soros Project to legitimize and celebrate prostitution. It’s what Monkeypox does to make a living, he advocates whoring. George Soros believes this is the truth that all of us should believe.

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