Donald's dream seems to slowly becoming into reality... My hats off to those how have shared so unselfishly in this space. Ronn for his lyrical lines, Lonnell and Shayne for being so open and candid, Randolph for is intellect (brotherman got me reacquainted with both my dictionaries and thesaurus)....
These indivisuals are giving the courage to open up a little. A few weeks ago, i decided to have a few friends to write about me among them Donald was a participant. The guideline was a list of questions i.e. physical appearance, behavior, intellect ect... To my surprize, a couple of people that i thought should have known me a little better than most have not answered. But those that did seem to be in agreement that emotionally i am close, private and share little with others. Emotionally, my friends know me little, hence the reason for this post.
I grew up in a culture where emotional strenght is highgly valued, at least in my family. Keeping your emotion in control is very important in building one's character, dignity and personality. One's emotion is to be kept private, personal and off the public arena. That premise aside, growing up with my maternal grand mother in an environment where the partenal sin has become my inheritence, i grew up fighting. My Grand Ma who was my rock made me understand that I was at war and at an early age she tried her best to harm me with arsenal needed to become a warrior.
My offense if you may was the circumstances that bring about my birth. For about a few months after my birth my family was torn assunder. Mom and Dad got divorsed, my father's mother had custody of my two older brothers, I went to my maternal grandmother, mom split on her own and my father was communiting between NYC and Port-au-Prince, re-married all before permanently moved to New York. It took me years before I realized what my existence has represented for my family- a bastard child. My Gran Ma knew what that meant for me and its consequenses that awaiting me with such status. She did her best to protect me and when she moved to NYC and left me behind, my life had taken a turn straight to hell. I was about six years old when she left for the state in the care of my aunt. That was when my battles really started. Everyday was a struggle with that woman watching my every move. Whatever I did was wrong in her eyes. She never missed an occasion taunting me about my dark complexion as it equates to my misdeeds. She would jumped on every opportunity to try to break me mentally. Alas, Although I resisted and tried to keep her from getting control of my emotion that I have lost so much of myself in the process. In a way, she had won. In my resistance, I built walls around me, making it hard for me to be emotionally open, ungarded and warm. The ultimate price I have paid and am still paying, is not sure of my ability to love. True love which I have yet to experience, one needs to be vulnerable, compromising and definite ungarded for that to happen. And that could be such a harsh and difficult lesson to learn when one's emotion is so set in a particular way. If I am to expire tonight, the only regret i would have is that of not having the priviledge to have experience love.
Until next time... pyoruba. p.s. any reflection and comments are welcome.....peace always! posted by P. Yoruba Paul @ 10:45 PM [ e : w ]
Quick story:
During the summer of '94, my mother and I had a horrible arguement. An arguement that landed me in the emergency room with a cup of charcoal tipped to my lips and E.R. personnel hovering over and around me trying to monitor my condition with a look of preceived empathy on their faces.
My mom and I had been pretty inceperable. Me being her only child, her only fully functioning son, and her being the only constant parent in my life. Through thick and thin, she was there for me - little did I know, that support was strictly conditional. The conditions were that I had to bring no shame and/or embarassment to her or our family.
During that faithful summer, I invited my boyfriend out here to stay with me for the weekend. I did not bring him to "my mother's house" but stayed in a hotel room downtown. A wonderful weekend was had by all, until that Monday, when we returned to the hotel room to find the message waiting light on the telephone blinking. It was my mother. She had a few choice words for me, which basically boiled down to get your ass home NOW!
When I got home, there she was in the livingroom, sitting in the recliner, pissed off. She and I traded harsh words, hurtful words, among each other. When it was all said and done, she had flew out of the house in a rage, and I locked myself in the bathroom, rummaged throught the medicine cabinet and decided that I did not want to be of this world anymore, especially if my own mother could not/would not accept me for who I was and continue to be.
About an hour later, while lying in the medical gurney, here comes my mom, racing around the corner, in a panic. Her words, "why would you do this to yourself?" For the first time in my life I wanted to slap the shit out of my mom, but since there were several police officers, a mental health specialist, and my respect for the woman that brought me into this world, I refrained. It was still difficult for me to understand why she would not take any reponsibilty for what had happened. After that, I returned to Atlanta, where I was attending college. She and I never spoke again about that day, or the events leading up to it.
On February 6, 1997, I lost my mom to breast cancer. I cannot relate to anyone person, effectively, how hurt I am that I was NEVER albe to share one of the most intimate parts of my life with the one person that meant the most to me in my world. I regret till this day.
Since then, I have seized the moment with my dad (my stepfather who is the only father I have ever known, or wanted to know) who has accepted me, my life, and all those in my life, unconditionally.
I say this (1) cause it feels good to get if off my chest but (2) in hopes that someone else will learn from my mistakes. Talk about it, no matter how uncomfortable you may become; before there is no one to talk to. posted by Londell Jackson @ 5:57 PM [ e : w ]
When one does not decide, he makes a decision, in a sense, right? In this case, my father is deciding not to acknowledge my sexuality. Since I came out to him, officially, through a letter which I presented to him in person and awaited his response, I don't think I have heard any of the following words escape his very judicious mouth: gay/homosexual, bisexual, sex, partner/lover/boyfriend/equivalent, relationship (in the romantic sense)... You get the point. Like that ubiquitous mentally retarded family member or the secrets of the past, we don't talk about it to each other.
My father is a loving man. He knew I was gay before I told him. While I was waiting for him to confront me with it, he was patiently waiting for me be proactive about coming out to him. As I sat and pretended to glance into space while he got to the good part of the letter, the corner of my eye focused on the deliberate and practiced expression that filled his face. My face. Damn, we look just alike--me, his only child, only son. He was calm and apparently felt no need to comment on what he just read. Eventually, that night we hugged and he let me know that he still loved me. Thankfully, he knew well before I told him; I knew that he knew, too, before I told him. I was just deciding not to decide on whether to tell him until he mentioned it to me.
And now, a good friend of his has passed on yesterday morning. He had been suffering with AIDS. His wife left him for her female friend mid-illness, not too distant from his death. And all I could hear running through my head as my father's eyes --my eyes-- moistened were thoughts that made me want to bring up my being gay. But, no, this was his moment. I didn't ask if his friend were secretly gay. I did not create a segway into a deep conversation about my being gay. And he had that moment just as well as he had that moment when, apparently with a memory lapse, he assumed that I was going to have children in the future. After looking at me and remembering he grew silent. Maybe out of remorse for one of several reasons or perhaps feeling the discomfort in the room.
One of us needs to decide to stop not deciding soon. Maybe I should be sending this to him right now. posted by Shayne F @ 11:53 AM [ e : w ]
Should be: www.awasteoftime.org
It is a measure of my increasing maturity that I don't write D. A. Brown at the link below and cuss her ass out!
Years ago I would have emailed her, sent out a letter thru regular mail and gotten several friends to do the same. But really, do we want to be included with such ig'nant folk? Let the bigots have their space and we have to create and support our own positive spaces.
One good place is Chuck Tarver's Blacklist. Here's an excerpt from his introduction for the site:
First, the people listed are of African descent, Black. Second, unfortunately some members of the Black community have sought to disavow the contributions, identities, or worth of many of the people listed here.
While you're there, check out the B.LA.R.E. Arts Report and the Blackstripe.
Peace to you and yours... posted by ronn @ 12:10 AM [ e : w ]
Thursday, December 20 Just a little ranting!
I am thankful for a space and a place such as this blog. I have to admitt that the name "blog" is a little unorthodox, but that is neither here nor there. Not too long ago I receive a forwarded message re: the black pilot which was killed in the Pennsylvania plane crash on 9/11. There were 2 sites that were referenced, but the one that I visited was A Good Black Man.com. I went to the site and was encouraged by what I saw. I very professional site, articulate, etc. It is a valiant effort at creating a community for and about black men. Then I read the mission state page.
The mission statement is very supportive until you get half way down the page. Here is where it begins to talk about homosexuality as it pertains to their site. I won't bother to quote it, as I would like you all to see it for yourself, but I was shocked and hurt. It is so hard for me to understand the positioning of the person(s) who would write such words.
Why is the black community (I refrain for saying African American) so damn caught up in the church, and so blind to the distruction the church proliferates in our community. I know, not all churches are like this, but an overwhelming majority are.
Please let me know your thoughts. posted by Londell Jackson @ 4:59 PM [ e : w ]
Link of the moment:
I've always loved Miss Ru. Imagine my surprise when I discovered her blog!
She's currently in NYC and I would love to meet her. Of course, I'm too shy to write her and let her know that I admire her and would love to meet her. If only she were going to Donald'sBlue Light party this coming weekend.
Peace to you and yours... posted by ronn @ 3:51 PM [ e : w ]
Wednesday, December 19 i think he is on to some ting' but in a way that conviently overlooks the grass roots of economics..since not everyone has internet connection, let alone awareness of such opportunities,i.e., list, or chat or blogging..or free style..as i might say in reaction to his thesis.. never-the-less, i do think his points are worth the reflection..esp., cause his referances are of black men..and their creative drive both culturally and personaly..thus..2 points to the boy..
Tuesday, December 18 anxious for some quality time to write, and reflect; yet not really catching on or finding such time; like now, in an office on the 26th floor, at an office computer which is not intimate, i.e., comfortable, or even warm. Still... caught up in the idea of "being known " as a primary human motivation for so many actions on our part. My inquiry proably stems from the the 'predominance' of either the culture of vanity or the culture of apperance so inherient in our 'sub'cultural rites and rituals, as well as our day to day behaviors. In essence, ourblog is yet a manifestation of such driving need in oursleves individually and as a group. I do read the logs on a regular basis. I am looking for something of myself; I am acquiring a 'certain' notoriety, perhaps, significant more to my self than to you or others outside of this texual experience; yet, gained just the same. I am factualized by the posting, the known, and/or unknown reactions/responses to the posting are my notoriety; now this is such a small matter, in this context; however, when we go much futher than to post on the internet; we raise our voices in quiet places when someone might over hear; we see one person on a cell phone and immediatly need to make a phone call too; we shop not so much from need as to be seen and known for shopping; many of us do own several versions of the same 'ting.We go futher still, when we our sexuality/desire is yet another means to notoriety; Once I use to meet men, or guys as I prefer, on what I will call a one to one basis, i.e., the most basic introduction of two unknowns; however, now I seem to feel I don't meet guys so much as become enlisted in their "quest of notoriety" esp., when attached to any social event, e.g., clubs, parties, or special occasions like "At The Beach" the once a year flesh out in LA. I must cease, this observation for now, since i am at work; and work is my only reason for existence right now, not, the relationship I do or might have wit other's like myself. I wanted to continue the original thread I started thursday, the 13 and perhaps make it seem less so strange and twisted. I have a need to understand the culture of notoriety in black male queer behavior and rituals; why do we need to have such acknowledgement and/or is it need so much as tend to want? Are we a culture of vanity and self reflection turned into facts? And what facts constitute our existence? I should have never got off the bus this morning. Stayed on it till the end of the line. posted by randolph webb @ 3:39 PM [ e : w ]
Sunday, December 16 Frigid...
My mood matches the weather: cold, uninviting and unpredictable.
I need to make some changes and get back to that positivity begun about 18 months ago. I need to restart my creative juices. I need to show my baby more love (not that I've stopped loving or lessened love for him; I just have demonstrated it enough in recent weeks).
Above all else: I NEED TO COOK MORE! I'm getting sick and tired of fast food and food on the run.
I return you to your regularly scheduled day -- while I eat this damn beef patty with cheese.
Peace to you and yours... posted by ronn @ 7:24 PM [ e : w ]
It's cold up in Harlem now; I guess winter is officially here. The men will start wearing their super-stuffed goose down jackets with their cute little boyish hats. There are a lot of attractive men in Harlem - some of them might even like other men, but there's nothing in our culture here that nurtures a public display of that attraction/affection. Gay Men of African Descent moved up to Harlem earlier this year to root itself physically in the Black community - a move I applaud - but I know that even with GMAD's presence, the visibility I crave won't come overnight. So I try to give parties at my apartment every once in a while because there's no nightlife here for us. It can be very boring, but I'm usually not bored enough to venture downtown or to Brooklyn, the Bronx or Queens. Well, sometimes you have to create what you want to see ... posted by Donald Andrew Agarrat @ 4:08 PM [ e : w ]
