HOW TO BE A
SUPER MAN

a psychoanalytic reflection by
Charlie Danger






people always ask me how i got to be a postmodern gay urban superhero, and the truth of the matter is that it all started in 1978 with my first viewing of "superman the movie". for years afterward, my dreams, day and night, were superpoignant, and my formative years were thus unconsciously presided over by the Man of Steel:

christopher reeve appeared to me in his big shiny, silky outfit with his big shiny cock right in the middle of it all, and i said, you are superman! you are superman! and he grinned and he took me under his big muscular arm and he flew me like he never flew lois over the metropolis over the big lights and freeways over the ocean. he held my hand and held it tight and several times he clutched it to his breast in brotherly affection and begged me to look down at this big world that was all his and mine because we were up there looking at it, and he said that it could always be this way, him and me, and that i could wear such leotards someday myself, and he gave me chills of inspiration.

there was nothing hidden behind his words, no hesitations or question marks, just pure truth. that's the only way he spoke. no lies, no intentional ambiguity. he even told me he was really clark. he trusted me, he believed. i told him i loved him, that i would endeavor to be just like him, that i would run around in tight and shiny fabric and save the world with him. he never doubted me. he looked me in the eyes often and gave me great comfort there. he told me not to worry, to keep on going no matter what, to keep on flying.




1978