MySpace vs. RealSpace

I think that this MySpace gig is fascinating...

Think about it: MySpace friends exists within the confines of this dot.com generated universe...we can Add friends as we see fit...we can Delete them as well...damn, we can even request or deny them entry into our world...

I smiled while thinking about this...especially as our friend's lists grow and comments are posted from folk that I haven't talked to in RealSpace...I guess this is the genius of the invention...it causes MySpace to hit head on with RealSpace...

So here it is...what's the lesson? In RealSpace we too can Add friends simply by connecting with them...being real...and open...however, in RealSpace we can very well delete friends by doing the converse.

I am happy that MySpace exists in the world of the URL, otherwise I would be in trouble...I am fotunate that in RealSpace, we can cling to those who trek daily with us in our lives. I should put up a Friend's List on my frig to remind me of who they are...and how thankful I am for having them...

Yeah, I might do that...on second thoughts, I should just tell them and show them how much I appreciate them...

Breathe again...

Okay, I just got back to Jersey from the mountains of Pennsylvania. It was amazing!

It is nice to get away and lose one's self in the beauty of our natural surroundings. The mountains made me remember my own vulnerability. The rivers and streams made me consider the need for tranquility in my life. The dirt roads made me consider how things were...

I had a chance to breathe...reflect...and live!

I guess that it is why it is so important to take time out for ourselves. And even more important to spend quality tine with those that we love.

I need to go away more...it helped me to appreciate what and who awaits me at home.

"Brown bodies + no money = Worthless?"

As I am writing this entry, the people of Somalia are once again facing the devastating after effects of a major flood caused by the overflow of the countries major rivers, the Shabelle and Juba.

Pictures of Brown bodies, moving about through soon-to-be disease infested waters are mere snap shot glimpses on world news channels. One will notice the minimal emphasis, on part of our world's media and "first world" governments, placed on the millions of Black bodies affected in a country that is notorious for its lack of infrastructure and war ridden history. Apart from the movie, "Black Hawk Down" centered in Mogadishu, and the running "jokes" (horrific as they are) about hunger stricken skinny Somalians (especially out of the mouths of other Brown people) that have pushed the country into the public eye, why no attention and world support now?

Why are the news stories about the millions of Brown women, men, boys, girls, grandmothers, and grandfathers relegated to a mere two minutes?

Why haven't the Obamas, Sharptons, and Rangels attempted to wake the world out its slumber?

Why? Because Brown bodies, surviving in countries, territories, cities, and villages, that are impoverished...or without resources that we can use (unless we are already using them)...are seen as nonentities...and not our priority!

Brown bodies + money = we can tolerate you...Brown bodies + no money = Worthless!

Poetry Shower...in the mood to let it rain...

“In Art Form”

Is that a kaleidoscopic image of me
hanging on your bare wall?

Why am I smiling you ask?
Because friend, you painted me with such intensity.

Yes, it was rather difficult to recognize my likeness.
My eye seems to have gotten lost in the glossy red coat that you used.

I assume that you picked a hue and type that screamed “lurid”.
Am I really?

Oh, I can see how that can be fascinating,
A boy a girl? A man a woman? An x or y, chromosome that is?

Well, I figured that you could have portrayed me as an apple.
After all, we apples are always fearful of being de-cored.

Yes, I have one dear friend.
Would you spell that s-o-l-e or s-o-u-l?

You may, yes you may hang me up for public display.
Some passerby may recognize and see themselves in me.

You’re right, “but what if…?”
I am recognized and despised

Have I ever seen an oil cry?
Yes friend indeed, when one uses the wrong paint

Well, I’m off to visit the sculptor.
I heard my bust is complete.


“Untitled”

Whose job is it anyway to ensure that I am taught the truth:
that I am a princess or a prince in wait?
Who will advocate for me when I am told that
I am nothing more than a slut or a future pimp
to be or not to be like my good for nothing mother and absent father?
I say, who will look me into the deep of my eyes
and see the traces of my visions and dreams
that appear like a kaleidoscope sometimes?
I ask, who of you will stop and remind me
that I am God’s child, truly loved, verily blessed,
oh so revered, and the apple of God’s eyes?

I am lost like a precious piece of jewelry
that has slipped out of your hands
and into a dark crevice for someone else to find.
I am searching for my true self
in the midst of shadows that appear to cover my identity.
So will you hear me, feel me, and respond to my call?
Will you bring together the pieces of my broken legacy for once and for all?
Because I need you to restore me to my throne
Open your eyes
because the dream is over and we have been sleeping far too long.


“Simply letters”

Help me to “c” things as “u” do.
The only problem is,
When “u” try, remember that i c
Things differently.
But don’t worry, if i seem to be slow
2 comprehend, don’t bend
Because it will only take 1 minute to go from
Y to o k, i c.

"Metro ...what?"

Sandwiched between hetero and bi, no pun intended, lies yet another tern that someone thought would be useful to describe brothers that are the GQ, picturesque, and manicured type. Now sistas everywhere have another category to place their male counterparts in. But women beware! You walk a fine line by subjecting your brothas to yet another construct designed to further define us merely by external means.

Sistas have done away with the jocks, the playas, the down-low brothers and now are fascinated with the, “to be or not be” pseudo-homosexual male type. I must caution that those are sacrilegious words for some! This label is problematic to some brothas who maintain poise, class, and a keen sense of style because it seems to imply that we are classified “metro” simply because we desire to present ourselves in society as jazzy brothas. Even if that were the case, what’s wrong with that? Think about it. We can redefine a Brook’s Brother’s suit and add pizzazz to a pair of Kenneth Cole loafers just by the intrinsic cool in our blood. But is that enough to label some brothas “metro”? Maybe so! After all, “metro” is the term used to represent the subway lines is many major cities. We are fast-paced brothas with skills maneuvering through the metropolitan arena in an attempt to break through barriers. But what of “metro-sexual”?
Our sexuality – the essence of our being – is that of cosmopolitan bliss positioning us as lovers that value the professionalism of our sisters, or brothers (oops!), while admiring her new business suit at the same time. How’s that for enlightened sensuality?

Sistas, if “metro-sexual” identifies the brothas who attempt to look good and make good, count me in; however, if it is another attempt to ridicule, I guess I will have to wait until the dawning of a new label to appear before I purchase my metro card.

"Mind trek...My story and someone else's..."

Mothers probably do not think that while they are resting in their rooms after a long day of work or play that their young boy child is entering into exotic territories like that of same sex fore play in the living room with his best friend. In fact, the thoughts of any child undergoing sexual exploration, especially if he or seemingly enjoys it, are difficult for some to consider. When I reflect back on that moment and attempt to relive the experience, I remember the absence of my parents in that very scary but excitable minute of intense bliss. Parental absence in a time of vast experimentation is the substance of the volatile adolescent period. In the dearth of moral boundaries and ambiguities lies a place where experience of the “taboo” is alluring. The thoughts that race across the mind of the young boy while he is sitting in class behind his chiseled desk become the markers in which he chases or becomes that in which pursues him. In the secret of the bathroom he lives out the thoughts about his male teacher and his attractive best friend who is the ideal masculine archetype. While struggling through his multiplication tables and grammatical rules at his kitchen table after school, his mind returns to scenes that replay over and over again like a television switched between stations airing GI Joe and Glow. The boy wrestles with the social cues that remind him that boys do not wear pink, boys do not jump rope, boys do not dare touch a doll, boys do not entertain gossip, boys do not talk with a “twang”, boys do not walk with a “swang”, and boys do not because boys simply can not but girls can. In the absence of the parent the boy child lunges into a process of self-discovery that can be described as complicated.

In the confines of the mind, the young boy experiences both the comfortability and the troublesome atmosphere in which he takes flight. It is much safer for him to play make believe as he fantasizes about that special someone, another boy, taking an interest in him, than it is to share his desire with anyone else. The young questioning boy becomes an experienced dreamer. He maintains the ability to cross into fiction from the world of reality at any given time. He masters the art of living through fantasy. In the quiet of his mind he beckons to life that which he desires. Yet, his mind is never truly free of perplexity. He constantly poses the question, “Why?” He longs for God to enlighten him about his difference but God seems to always remain silent. He is sent on a journey to discover the answer, to listen to God offer a response, but he will learn that seekers of truth must walk through a barrage of uncertainty. While he attempts to summon the intense sensation that would result from being held or liked by another boy he runs into a wall of inner angst that has been scribbled with inscriptions that read, “What will your family think about you if they find out that you were a faggot?”, “You are a disgrace and a poor representation of your mother’s son!”, and “There is a special place prepared in hell for people like you!”. This wall represents terror and forces him to constantly run in the opposite direction. For a while, he will not garner the strength necessary to tear it down and move forward. He may never be strong enough to stand before the wall forthright, with a sledge hammer in hand, prepared to remove the barrier that stands between him and freedom. But he will revisit that wall many times perpetually looking forward to the day when it will exist no more.

The ways of the world are puzzling to the questioning boy. He looks at the world through the eyes of a contemplative who remains reflective and who at all times dreams of a world where he can exist without shame and burden. He envisions himself undergoing a metamorphous transforming from a ghastly caterpillar, one that the world despises, and into a vibrant butterfly that arrests the attention of all. The life of a sexually ambivalent boy is full of individuals who are socialized to betray and hurt him, especially if he has a proclivity towards “femininity”. As his friends mature in age they will come to learn that his “peculiar” ways and his “weird” taste are too embarrassing for them. His mother and father will challenge him to “be a man” and to “get rid of his sissy ways”. His male classmates will create “funny” names for him and pick him last to join their teams during their gym period. And strangers on the street will pass by and he, because of his inner anxiety and budding fearfulness, will assume that they are armed with an x-ray vision called “gay-dar” that can see directly to the core of his sexual identity and fascination. Because of this, he becomes a master of wearing a mask.

On any given day in the life of the young boy who sets out in search of his bemused sexual identity, he may find that gloom is the best adjective that can be used to describe his mood than that of happiness. A sunny day, even with its’ effervescent rays of light kissing the earth, will appear to be full of clouds as the young boy basks in sorrow while sitting in his room. He imagines life to be a continuous event of unfortunate circumstance in which he will embark upon marked as “different” and, therefore, inferior to his heterosexual counterparts. He imagines the days which lie ahead when dad will ask, “So what lucky female are you escorting to your dance?” He foresees the moment when all of the boys will list the names of all the baroque girls with whom they share some fascination and he will be left to describe his “best friend”, who happens to be a girl that he also finds attractive, but will be forced to leave out that his true secret interest in one of the cool boys in the group. His early days will be full of daunting deliberation, but he will learn that most of the fearful thoughts will be lived out day to day in the refuge of

In the solemn darkness of the young boy’s mind, he will be visited with dreadful thoughts of apprehension concerning his very existence. On many occasions the thought of death will seem to be more appealing to him than living a life that is accustomed to hatred and self-loathing. The tragic irony that is weaved throughout the pages of this young boy’s life is the fact that the deeds and remarks of others will eventually serve as the medium through which he will gain inner strength; yet, during his formative “pre-out” years he will often find himself enslaved to the thoughts of others. Thus, in his life others will serve as both the source of his motivation and angst. In the stillness of the night, the young boy contemplates ending his short life. He considers exiting a world where others are not that kind. Moreover, he still ruminates over his “difference” and ponders the easiest route to tranquility.

For many, the preceding paragraphs may appear to be nothing more than overly sexualized perversion and immoral liberal gab that stands as a witness to the erosion of the moral fabric of our conservative nation. While others will read this musing with distrust for a written expression of an experience that is beyond their scope of reasoning or familiarity. And there will be a few who will succumb to the sentiment of human conditionality, brokenness, that is present at the core of this lived-in reflection and see the homosexual male through the eyes of one who has been enlightened through a vicarious experience. Yet, there is one, or two, who will feel and re-experience afresh the inner feelings and thoughts that once saturated their beings as they peruse the pages of this writing. As they read, a tear will fall from the corner of their eyes and it will begin to blur the words on the page so that they will appear to be no more than an abstract combination of life’s intense moments to be shared with others as they pass through the rigorous corridor of life. Regardless of the response, the story must be told from the point of the view of those living their lives or struggling to live their lives as confirmed homosexual or bisexual males (and females) day to day. One must walk in the shoes and path of another to begin to understand, without judgment, another.

Answer the question...

This slogan, coined by the Quaker –led Society for Effecting the Abolition of the Slave Trade in the 18th Century, posed a serious moral question that was meant to quicken and convict the conscience of those who approved of the dehumanizing and ghastly African slave trade in the Americas. Although it should be noted that this particular group of abolitionists sought to merely eradicate the slave trade and not necessarily slavery itself, this slogan and the emblem that bore it spoke to the premise that African men and women, young and old, were moral, intellectual, spiritual - need I go on – equals to their imperialistic oppressors.

Is there a need to pose this question once again? I would answer, most avidly, hell yeah!

As a gay black man living in America amongst scores of diverse groups of people, I often find myself kneeling, as if pleading, like the image of the brother engrafted on the coin before others defending my equal status as a moral, intellectual, spiritual – need I go on – equal to my myopic country men. The ferocious physical acts of brutality and the malevolent psychological effects of slavery that my ancestors were subjected to is incomparable to be sure. Yet, the countless numbers of young black men who get by, not sojourn, in the most dreadful closets of their lives and the young women who are subjected to ridicule and isolation because of who they are…who they know themselves to be…and who they love is enough to shatter the hope in their lives. Simply, it is time out for the self-righteous, all-perfect, and hope-deferring socio-political, theological, and psychological shackles that are often imposed by the other.

Am I not a man and a brother? Moreover, am I not a creation of God, a free thinker, a child of liberty and promise, and an American? Am I not a tax-paying citizen guaranteed the rights extended to those in our democracy?

Unmask?

One of the most amazing feats that one can achieve in life is to live life in such a way that one can be totally, completely, and fully transparent. It begs the antiquated question: To be or not to be? And forces us to appeal to the noble advice: "Know thyself."

Living in a time in which the zeitgeist (the spirit of the times) insists that we cover up the very nature of who we are...If we are overweight we seek out medical procedures like liposuction to transform our figures, if we are too dark we use decolorization creams or light makeups to change our shades, if we are gay or bisexual we hide in the secrecy of our closets in "straight" relationships...need I say more.

True contentment will only come when we invite the world...albeit our trust issues...into the real rooms of our lives! So I invite you to sojourn here...for a moment...get naked with me.

Unmasked!