soft boy.

wat is a heart?
hows does it move?
touch?
can it
be great enough to manifest itself like love
even when starting encounters speak contrary?

my thoughts are always corridors
walking trauma
and male shaped silhouettes
who made their own endings
from acting…

acting…
i am acting.
screaming
and begging rape
with a soft voice

“your body feels warm”
he kisses to me
for once this room is closed to the other eyes moving about
we kisses
scratches
sucks nipples
bites and makes well before another tearing.
he massages into me. my limbs can hold but feel cold
should i be a bridge…

should i decide that
then i know. i must be be
much more than carrying.

cause healers cannot heal with cold hands
and a love gained through dissonance
no matter wat other intention was present

i came here to feel something. i came here to feel something. i came here to feel something.
i came here longing for something at first physical.

“i want you so much”
our skin desires intention
and i manifest truth out of his words regardless of what their actual meaning is.
i need him to be truth speaking.
to encourage my own
to encourage a new blossoming
flowers don’t birth out of maddening craze and i have been in this one for a month of Sundays.
my spirit begs for an out
warns me of its coming death
if i am not careful i will be a vessel
hollow

our skin
with thirst, limes, sweetness, and courage
have moved over these places before
where seeing is discouraged, where we retrace the same
continuously obsessed with reworking the outcome
because we know no other way to meet passed exposed asses, one syllable smoke signals, or wanting eyes.

continuously obsessed with a world free of harm.

spirit and craze
like oil and water
originate in separate powers
sit in disharmony
things move without gravity, up walls and ah question, albiet foolishly, that if i can move past these same steps
if i can get to a point past heavy
then maybe something more can be mine
truly

an’ if pieces of mah heart are found
shattered,
neglected,
in filth,
then i ask for them to be spared of wat hurt can be added
save them the strain mah running gave.

i came here to feel something physical
because it is one of the only ways i know to connect

i see him in smiles
he offers an opening
an’ i can’t hold that real

its whimsical
a memory- an air thought
of asking to be held
a sensitivity

a space my heart knows and yet cannot discover

only evil finds itself unable to find reason in kisses
an’ its a constant undoing
to find reason
it demands great bravery of us.

an’ here i hear, ancestors
be careful young creator, we need you well enough for words

we need you well
unpenetrated
left alone
from from bad alchemy
transmuting disease.

we bout to live now.

morning thoughts on being a “have not” and what power is.

we are dealing with evil.

the society in which we live is a wicked one- let there be no doubt. in a socety built on the creation of classes of “have nots”being exploited, drained, and killed by a wealthy 1% of the population, there can only be suffering. in capitalism there is only room for this kind of order- because monopoly means that there is a singular power controlling industries and profitting. there can never be a comprimise between the rulers of this world and the workers. there can only be a total shift, in which the workers and those neglected and shut out of formal “wage slavery” (aka a 9 to 5) take back their power and run the society for themselves. the oppressed must use their power to destory hierarchy and the ideas that it necessitates.

but what is “power”? and where is it? how do they have it and we dont?

the capitalist/ 1%/ rulers of this world have material power. money means power and is protected by force. the systems of government seek to care only for the wealthy while holding up the illusion of working for us all. but anyone looking closely enough will see the true nature of our “representatives”. their true faces- mostly white, owners of industry. police protect these representatives and the laws that they create. and most of the oppressed population believes these laws because we belive in “fairness”, “democracy” and the like- even though it is never in play. Where is there democracy when millions of Africans were stolen for labor, killed, raped, and tortured in the creation of this land? Where is there democracy when the native population of the Americas was wiped out to make space for the colonial European power and forced onto small pockets of the lands their ancestors thrived and dreamt on for generations? Where is there democracy when this imperial land starves other nations and forces them into slave-like labor for capitalist gain? Where is there democracy when the prison system of this country houses a majority black and brown population while bodies of armed men, given the “right” to protect us, murder us for sport? Where is there democracy when the majority of this country is dying unnecessary because of lack of access to basic health care, healthy food, and work?

there is none. there is only a dreamed illusion that supports this “democracy” and guns that defend it. “democracy” in this reality is a dangerous lie.

in creating a class system- it is important to destroy the self confidence and self fullfillment of those who will make up the lower classes. it happens all the time in this world. folks are starved, told their bodies are ugly and unworthy, given food that is dangerous to eat and wears down the body (simultaneiously destorying the spirit)- folks are given scraps of jobs (and told to be greatful because everyone else is unemployed or jailed), and given guilt- the oppressed are blamed for their condition. “you are poor/ unsuccessful, because you aren’t working hard enough, because you aren’t playing the game, because you are . . . “

all the while, the media dictates what the picture of success is- shifting every so often to include a smaller amount of tokens. (faces of oppressed populations that will help maintain the illusion of fairness- that everyone can succeed) the oppressed are being sold a pipe dream, because now to fill the void of what they/ we ,suppossedly, don’t have (“beauty”, “wealth”, “health”, etc. . .), the oppressed are told to buy their healing (get surgery, buy more clothes, purchase the shiny/ updated versions of that indigenous healing that the colonizers demeaned and destroyed) or to numb it through addiction- to food, to drugs (“legal” and “illegal”), to violence, to escapism via television or videogames, to sleep, to sex, to domination (esp in the case of working men and men of color, the society teaches you to take your power back through controlling what you can- your interactions , your children and partners, your friends)

all of this creating unhealthy dependancies and ideas of these things.

the aim/ goal in all of this is still the takng of power.

the oppressed are having their power stripped by being told that it doesn’t lie inside themselves. 

the oppressed are starved. but not powerless.

chanting down this Babylon means looking inside ourselves for what can be healing- and leaning on one another when we feel low or destructive (self and otherwise). the methods of healing and growing our own gardens are being pronounced as “new”, “trendy”, or otherwise “a thing of privilege” are ancient and ours. we, the oppressed, created them. we knew how to hold earth and breathe life before it was called “organic”. we knew the multiple beauties in our bodies before we were called fat and we had ways of harvesting food that would produce health and longevity. we created- in free time and healed through that.

part of the “power” that has been stripped from us ain’t really gone. its just been hid behind distraction.

  “i believe i have inside of me everything that i need to live a bountiful life. with all the love inside of me i will stand as tall as the tallest tree.” – celie, “the color purple”

part of that power is in self love and “actualization” and community. and it is hard to cultivate because we are surrounded by conditions that are of opposite intentions but we must seek it. we must use our lives to build community strong enough to sustain us and we must talk about the lies being fed and how to undo them through truth and establishing centers of power for ourselves where everyone is growing and knowledge isn’t specialized and held by a “boss”. we must all be workers that build together and share in the bounty of our work together. and we have to tell one another that we are beautiful- especially when we feel low because that is how we gain power. we gain it by living for ourselves and our community. we gain it by healing and living for our healing. we gain it by questioning our thoughts and our actions. we gain it by seeking life outside of these parameters given. 

seeing space. understanding culture. and why we must fight, even as we are gagging on the Charisma Uniqueness Nerve and Talent.

This morning was trying for many reasons. but i felt good. i rode about ten miles and had some important and fierce debate.

i ove for Rupaul’s Drag Race. I am so glad that i get to escape into show- regardless of all its fuckery- because i believe that Drag and the Queers are important. We in many ways are the life blood of the culture. We are often hated because we represent a freedom that is desired and not held by so many because we are crushed under the endless boxes and ideologies of Babylon.

Are Drag queens and Queers perfect- hell no. We is just as flawed. We is just as riddled with contradictions, and evils. Just as everyone else. I think though that our unique position aand lens is one that must be seen through because there are truths taught in alienation. The outsider sees things that the assimilated cannot always because of their proximity to the seat of power. It is because of their very privilege that the privilege are blinded because they do not have to experience the world in the same manner- with the same life movings as others.

Recently the “whiteness” (white supremacy and air time of white queens has dramatically increased in my opinion and i believe that it does reflect the need for capitalism to assimilate queer lives and identities in the same way that it has/ is doing so to others that have been outcasted – People of color womyn etc. . . The price that this system will pay for not creating this false (and slight sense of inclusion) is dangerous. James Baldwin so wisely stated many moons ago, as he reflected on the Black struggle in the county, that: “the most dangerous thing a nation can do is to create within itself a body of people who have no allegiance to it.”

Thats real. Capitalism must make us feel like we belong on some level to keep the majority of folk ,who is tired, confused, lost, etc, asleep.

Media and art are key to this. Because the two things are far reaching, both in soul and in space. They are also warriors tools of our liberation. Which is why discussions around the development and use of culture must be had, in conjunction with our movings and organizing.

In response to my anger at the increasing “whiteness” on the show i was met with some very provoking emails that id like to share. Below are the messages and my responses. Holla and let me know what ya’ll think =)

once again, its all peace and love and lets keep it that way.
Remember. We’re not here to be shady, just fierce.
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anonymous asked: girl only 1 out of the past 4 winners have been white wtf are about you talking about trying to make this some big race deal.

for me-

i think that it is important to remember that while this show brings a tremendous amount joy and pride. Rupaul is one of my idols and will forever be because of her contribution to the culture and to my life. I really do believe that she speaks some of the best thoughts/ politics on finding love and alienation.

i also love Rupaul because she is Black. And i am unapologetic about that because Black queers have had major contributions to the queer world and to the larger world that are often times ignored and brushed aside- or white washed. This is the same of alot of queer communities of color. And it is important to recognize that this show- while it may just be entertainment to some also in part represents that. Rupaul and the contestants herself stand on the shoulders of that history and come from that very history.

because of the way that the society works (it is structured around what makes profit and what is “marketable”. ) the network that sponsors the show is always going to be looking for ways to increase the rating /popularity and etc… through appealing to wider audiences (this is what folks call mainstream- which historically and still today often means portraying something that is easy to consume for audiences that are either majority white and straight or operating from that lens because “whiteness” and “straightness”, in my opinion, are also ideologies in addition to physical forms. And we’ve seen this happen with a lot of shows in different forms. Some shows aren’t as popular (because they don’t reach a “wide enough” audience which in many instances means it’s very specific to a particular people and don’t have enough interest to get the ratings.

Because of this and because of the very nature of all of this. Logo and Drag Race are in a position of having to “sell” queerness to larger audiences of straight folk and this show in particular, which is built off of alot of the Ballroom scene and Black drag and/or gay history, is in the position of selling “Black queer culture” not only to a larger straight audience BUT ALSO to an audience that is not that familiar with it. In fact, the audience- as are almost all socialized to devour this countries media- is socialized without even thinking it, to appreciate the white/ western world view.

Over the past two years (in which we do see a drastic increase in production value, funding, promotion, etc. . we have also seen a decrease in queens of color that are viable contenders for the title. we have also seen an dramatic increase in white queens receiving access, air time and fame to/ from the show. And i believe this is because this helps to make the show more acceptable- more consumable by the masses. Male bodies of color have increasingly become more objectified and de-humanized. The pit crew was never much but they really have been blatently reduced to dick shots and i do not think that this was a mistake that these are two men of color. I definitely don’t believe its a mistake or coincidence when i look at how my brother’s bodies are treated in the gay community and the larger community.

Does this mean that white queens have no talent or place? No. Not at all. White queens have also had great impact and left brilliant legacies in the world of drag (on and off the show) But we do need to talk about access and privilege. Who has access to the means to get exposure? Who has access to create their own spaces? Who makes/ enforces the rules in this space? These questions are real to me. Because beyond the realm of this show- these queens are real people and lead real lives to have roots in all of our communities and socializations. Black and Brown folk and queens of color in general are on the shit end of these questions and that must be recognized. If we were to ignore that it is easier to receive attention and notability for white queens than it is for others… if we were to ignore that white queens in most cases do hold access to greater wealth and have the power to define these spaces- ones that dehumanize, objectify, and ultimately alienate a lot of queer bodies of color- there we would be affirming racism by ignoring material realities.

It is also a sore spot for me because this show was not built exclusively by queens of color but they overwhelmingly (and i will say by far were responsible for the popularity and success before the immense funding came. the first two seasons the ones that set the stage for it become bigger and bigger in later ones) This contribution is also due in fact to the legacies and ways that drag has been shaped in particular communities of color: the Black and Brown Ballroom, Puerto Rico, Laos, The Philippines. It would be a mistake to just look at my post in the context of who has won the show. Im reacting the the body and entire spirit of this beautiful show.

And as i see gentrification, genocide, and the like threaten the lives, cultures and livelihoods of folks of color- i cannot look at this show and not see it as apart of that process of stripping access and reinforcing the lines of privilege- who has it and who doesn’t. This process is not new and in fact a very historical process by which new ways to see/bring cultures to the larger view ultimately become exploitation for profit, disrespect and appropriation. And in this process important space,which was fought for and validated through the expressions and lives of people of color, is taken and altered. Afterwards those who were instrumental in making these spaces are often left – unable to make a living off of their inventions and even denied the praise and respect they so rightfully deserved.

And this is because this show and all media/ art are reflections of the culture and it’s intentions. I don’t want to blindly watch a show. My reactions, i feel are very rational and i would also like for you (if you message me again to do so with respect and not immediate assume anything about what i think.) And lets not use the discomfort to create harm.

im so down to share- talk discuss and disagree but lets do so kindly.

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Anonymous asked: You sound jealous and poor.

And you would appear to be a punk because there isn’t a name behind this comment.

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luno:

thegentlemanjigger (me):

“words can never hurt you. only your perception of those words.” – Jynx. Spoken like a white person

Luno:

Apparently, as a white person, I am immune to the negative effects that some words have.

Please forgive me for never checking this privilege. Never again…

Oh god. Comma splices, sentences ending in prepositions… That was a mess, dude. Reading it almost hurt my eyes. Perhaps you’re right about me [the honky] needing glasses. Why don’t you check your “eyesight privilege”?

I’ll have you know that I don’t just identify as being white. I’m actually transethnic, bicurious, postindustrial, transpermic, bifocal… and don’t even get me started on my headmates.

I also find the words “white” and “folks” racially charged [TRIGGER WARNING]. They remind me of my ancestors, who were often called names and made fun of by people of color. Did I mention that I’m transgenerational?

Clearly you don’t realize the hypocrisy of “struggling” to break from the “oppression” of words while simultaneously labeling someone as “this white person”. So explaining it to you would be an exercise in futility.

I’d say that not everything in this world is black and white, but looking at your post history, you seem to think it is. I blame people like you for ongoing racism.

ME:

#1. last time i checked when ever folk started going on and on about a correct way to write they usually were feeding into some kind of white supremacy. because there is no one way to express of speak a tongue- especially one like english in the United States (because it isn’t even in the original form.)

#2. weak comeback. if your going to come for me then i suggest you actually come. I don’t believe in half stepping- not even in dialogue so don’t start off with some weak, racist argument.

#3 if you would stop and not consider your history to be the only one that is relevant or in existence (which is something that privileged folk are always doing having a hard time doing because the privilege of not having to think about others oppression in relation to your own blinds then from actually seeing any kind of intersections and movement) then you would also learn that the word “folk” isn’t always a slur. As a Black person from South Carolina, who moved to Washington DC, and now stays in Oakland i can say that when i use the word “folk” i am not speaking from a place of hatred or prejudice. the word for the “folk” ,for the folk i grew up with and for the folk i continue to be around, is one covered in love and not meant to be an insult. once again the privilege blinds. makes you appear to be ignorant in public when ignorant statements come from you keyboard.

#4. You’re absolutely right that #3 have a long ass break for parenthesis and more commas. you know why, because if you look up the rules that you want to reference when you attack my writing, you will see that they are being used more than proficiently. Want some examples you can take look at at home? Look into a James Baldwin book and notice the commas. Look into a Walker book and clock the structure and flow. Then come back to me. hell, even look at some damn Hemingway or Steinbeck.

#5. no where did i say everything is White or Black. My usage of those labels is very important though because I am talking about a particular socialization of privilege that white folk have that creates statements like the one that Jinx made. And privilege isn’t just exclusive to White folk- just to clear that one. If I were trying to make a specific point about patriarchy and male privilege then i would very deliberately identify how men (or folk who are male bodied) are relevant in the matter. Calling out the fact the “whiteness” is not the problem. The “whiteness” and the lack of any kind of accountability is the problem.

Also, i don’t really care if you were White in terms of the skin color because the “whiteness” im referring to is in the spirit, socialization, language, and mentality

#6. Don’t come out like a lion and go back in like a lamb. Its misleadingh to act like im attacking some “civil comment” you made. I have no time for folk victimizing themselves to dodge a point. Your response to my post (which had nothing to do with you, was not on your page, and was not sent to you by me) was sarcastic. If I have never spoken to you in my life then i take sarcasm as shade and so im gong to respond with it. If you can’t take then don’t dish.

finding our father’s hearts

finding our father’s hearts. coming to understand them. seeking to wrap forgiveness around them. and still hold them in an honest embrace is the deep workings of feminism. undoing the patriarchy is hard and landing in a place that is healthy for self despite whatever violent communication is heartbreaking at times. for some this may mean leaving them on the curbside. for others this may mean reaching for hands unfamiliar. its all work. hard work. another lesson im being taught returning home. beyond the promises of “i will be better than him” that i made to myself there is small hope. i hope we can work towards one another someday.

“You Must Come In At The Door.” excepts from “Just Above My Head” by James Baldwin

my relations with father Baldwin are complex. of course the magnitude and wealth of his work serves like no other. But his contradiction around race (the focus on queer white men as objects of desire sometimes and the down playing of Black male intimacy) get to me. To be clear, we all have our contradictions and i love James Baldwin. But just as I love him at times and am “over him” others – the same goes for me and the people who love or observe me.

that aside, this book is like my Bible. It inspired my pen name and dozens of other meditations and reflections. This particular passage approaches queer Black male relations with an honest and prose that has yet to be matched for me. The reflection and introspection is amazing. From the act of giving head to the holding of one another- the navigation of space and flesh for us (Queer Black men) comes with many entanglements. He articulated them so well and from there, gave us some solutions, if we are willing to see and dream them.

well done brother.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

They curled into each other, spoon fashion, Arthur cradled by Crunch.

They did not sleep long. Arthur woke up, and peed in the sink, as quietly as possible. He ran water as quickly as possible. He lifted the shade and looked out the window. It was night, he had guessed it to be around nine or ten o’clock; thee were not as many people on the street as there would have been on a Saturday night in Harlem. most of the people were already inside some place, or they were on their way, and their voices, and their music muffled, filled the air, filled the room. He dropped the shade.

Crunch lay as he had left him. One arm was at his side, one arm lay stretched where Arthur had been. His breathing was deep and slow- yet Arthur sensed that Crunch was not entirely lost in sleep. Arthur crawled back into bed, pulling the covers back up. The moment he crawled back into bed, Crunch, still sleeping, pulled Arthur into his arms.

And yet, Crunch lay as one helpless. Arthur was incited by this helplessness, the willing helplessness of the body in his arms. He kissed Crunch, who moaned, but did not stir. He ran his hands up and down the long body. He seemed to discover the mystery of geography, of space and time, the lightning flash of tension between one- moment?  one breath and the next breath. The breathing in- the breathing out. The miracle of air, entering, and the chest rose: the miracle of air transformed into the miracle of breath, coming out, into your face, mixed with Pepsi-Cola, hamburgers, mustard, whatever was in the bowels: and the chest fell. He lay in this urgency for a while, terrified, and happy.

He held Crunch closer, running his fingers up and down the barely tactile complex telegraph system of the spine. His hans dated  to discover Crunch’s beautiful buttocks, his ass, his behind. He stroked the gift between his legs which held the present and the future. Their sex became rigid. Crunch growled, turned on his back, still holding Arthur.

Arthur moved, in Crunch’s arm, belly to belly, Pepsi-Cola, mustard, and onions and hamburgers and Crunch’s rising prick: Crunch moaned. Arthur knew something that he did not know he knew- he did not know that he knew that Crunch waited for Arthur’s lips at his neck, Arthur’s tongue at the nipples of his chest. Pepsi-Cola, mustard, hamburgers, ice cream, surrendered to funkier, unknown odors;  Crunch moaned again, surrendering, surrendering, as Arthur’s tongue descended Crunch’s long black self, down to the raging penis. He licked the underside of the penis, feeling it leap, and licked the balls. He was setting Crunch free- he was giving Crunch what he, somehow, knew that Crunch longed and feared to give him. He took the penis into his mouth, it moved, with the ease of satin, past his lips, into his throat. For a moment, he was terrified: what now? For the organ was hard and huge and throbbing. Crunch’s hands came down, but lightly on Arthur’s head, he began to thrust upward but carefully into Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur understood Crunch’s terror- the terror of someone in the water, being carried away from shore- and this terror, which was his own terror, soon caused him to gasp, to attempt to pull away. at the same time that he held on. His awareness of Crunch’s terror helped him to overcome his own. He had never done this before. In the same way he knew how Crunch feared to be despised- by him- he knew, too, the he, now, feared to be despised by Crunch.

Cocksucker.

Well. It was Crunch’s cock, and so he sucked it; with all the love that was in him and a moment came when he felt that love being trusted and returned. A moment came when he felt Crunch pass from a kind of terrified bewilderment into joy. A friendly, a joyful moment, began.

So high, you can’t get over him.

Sweat from Arthur’s forehead fell onto Crunch’s belly.

So low-and Crunch gasped as Arthur’s mouth left his prick standing in the cold, cold air, as Arthur’s tongue licked his sacred balls-you can’t get under him. It was as though, with this kiss, they were forever bound together. Crunch moaned, in an absolute agony, and Arthur went down again.

“Little fellow. Baby Love.”

You must come in at the door.

He held the prick in his mouth again, sensing, awaiting, the eruption. He, and he alone, had dragged it up from the depths of his lover.

“Oh Little fellow.”

Then shaking like an earthquake, “Oh my love. Oh love.”

Atlanta was still. The world was still. Nothing moved in the heavens.

“Oh Love”

Curious, the taste, it came, leaping, to the surface: of Crunch’s prick, of Arthur’s tongue, into Arthur’s mouth and throat. He was frightened but triumphant. He wanted to sing. The taste was volcanic. The taste, the aftermath, this anguish, and this joy had changed all taste forever. The bottom of his throat was sore, his lips were weary. Every time he swallowed, from here on, he would think of Crunch, and this thought made him smile as, slowly, now, and in a peculiar joy and panic, he allowed Crunch to pull him upward into his arms.

He dared to look into Crunch’s eyes. Crunch’s eyes were wet and deep, deep like a river and Arthur found that he was smiling peace like a river.

Arthur asked Crunch, “All right? do you feel alright?”

Crunch put Arthur’s head on his chest and ran one long hand up and down Arthur.

“You the most beautiful thing ever happen to me, baby,” he said. “Thats how I feel.” Then, “Thank you Arthur.”

“For what?” Arthur asked- teasing, bewildered, triumphant and – and safe in Crunch’s arms.

“For loving me,” Crunch said.

After a moment, he pulled up the covers. They went to sleep in spoon fashion, Arthur cradling Crunch.

“Just Above My Head”, James Baldwin (pgs 209-212)

land grabs.

i knew you’d be a nasty motherfucker.

one of the ones you bed

and break up with

only to- be made to suffer through

a river of pleas and insults.

hurt feelings

and things not completely turned over being thrown

as violently as our fathers threw fists.

 

as fast as our mothers covered up our queerness by playing up the need for every child to self express.

 

as deadly as the silence we fucked in.

 

I knew my number should have stayed mine.

knew you’d get mad

same as i knew showing interest in your life would get me in your pants.

 

i knew that we both were being unfair.

Both praying on emotion for ends left unsaid.

 

we are two Black men.

who are  predators of flesh in so many ways

and victims of a nervous condition

perpetrated on us

by a colonial power.

 

and when speaking, thats how it out to be told.

with truth laying on some part of it.

how you like me.

you like me submissive

like some bitch- open for use

a hole

to be bred and pumped

full of your cum and misery.

 

touching is for your own pleasure,

rights and permissions.

 

because i ,like the boys before me,

will suffer you, for now.

 

In our longing for shinning armor,

horse backs, candle light, dope dick,

and lips wet with emotion

there you stood- erect

with promises.

 

I am growing tired of once a month fucks,

forced embraces and half held “hi’s” preluding

“lemme see that ass”, “suck me”, “you like this dick?” and “roll over”

 

You like me submissive

because i am for you.

like i am for you.