Black Girls Have Lesser Search Parties.

Some lights are extinguished without
the very human dignity of breath.
The flicker small with hopes of one day becoming important and disappear quietly.

They go into the night air.
If there were screams they must’ve
surely been drowned out by
their contemporaries.
Left waving in silence at the abyss.

The magnitude of notoriety
is only given to particular flesh
in this world.
Notoriety, which through wealth, makes their glow something of worth.
Which, through media, makes them memorable.
Which, through the very structure of violence, makes their hurt real.

Some lights wait in corridors for acknowledgement-
laboring intently to be seen.

Wick lit.
Wax wet.
Stain dry.
Wanting.

Never realizing the strength of their own warmth.

Practical Concern (For Thomas Duncan)

No one wants to die that way.
Caught between the notions of practical concern and real terror.

His body was an experiment, fertile.
Made ripe through melanin.
His body was carted over every middle passage,
over every needle thermometer- red.

The continent has lost a great many to this crisis.
And the few valid voices are given
to missionaries turned martyr.
The modern day saint is a pale faced news short.
An Oklahoma native,
cherry cheeked,
destined for darker lands.

Lucifer is epidemic.
Black cancer.
Flu scare.

And our bones have become less visible
Our bones have become less visible
Our bones have become less visible.

thinking beyond victim blaming

with all this speak on the weakness of the “black dollar” and black folk’s inability to maintain “wealth” in this society i want to offer this: consider for a second what the material makings of this society are. capitalism is based on white (western) ideology and principle and i don’t necessarily wish to be a success in that manner. “wealth” is built on exploitation and destruction- in order to create monopolies, capitalist must rape natural resources and starve smaller businesses- they must also steal means of self determination from others (historically indigenous folk and women). Black folk have not been given resources or education around a lot of finical literacy- that is true. however, i want to also consider that Black folk do not and have not, historically, held money in our minds in the same way as what this society dictates. we give our last to one another in the name of community and survival. we give to our institutions sometimes more than we do our bellies because the African world view is one of unity. we are not well if the collective is not well. i think it is easy dog Black folk out or play one another- call each other stupid for not holding money as long. it’s important to look at the material facts while we criticize. 

p.s. if a people were placed into slavery, spiritually and physically exploited, and then made into “equal citizens” without any knowledge or tools to move in the same society that degraded and raped them then how could we expect them to be any kind of knowledgable about the way this shit works.

p.p.s. for folk who will say that Black folk invented money i would argue that capital is not functioning nor does it have the same mode of operation.

Roleplay.

There was barely a soul in the theatre come the end of Thursday. It was always a quiet day here and i liked that. I wanted to be with myself- away from the thousands of eyes that found me in the day light. I came here to sit undisturbed and touch myself. My day had been spent in public smiling and looking at visiting white folk. I worked the door downtown at one of the largest hotels in the city. I saw them come from all around to vacation somewhere out of the way of the bigger cities- a place that was not quite big but held some kind of adventure. And they stayed downtown cause that was a place that was not as close to Black folk as others. They felt safe. I would watch them, person by person, come into the hotel. Each one of them past me with a new disgust. Some stiffened in my presence- became like boards and moved by. Even in the light of day, and with me in servant drag, They were scared. There was a strange energy in the air. It is a curious thing to observe them- walking both in fear and superiority. I was after all in servitude to them, just as my ancestors had been, and there was part of them that sat in that moment with jubilee. At the same time, they were scared, in complete terror. Most days I wanted to abandon any questioning and reach out, grab them by the throat, and kill them. . .

 

That day, a young man jumped back when I approached him. I stood with my hand outstretched, ready to take his bags from him. Our eyes found each other. He looked back with a kind of need I wasn’t used to seeing in their eyes in the hotel- it had been other places. I saw that need in the baths and arcades- in movies and theatres. It was longing and a terror more than what I found in the eyes of White folk who were not sexually moved by me. I ignored what sensation was there and grabbed his bags. There was a thought, about how ridiculous they were, dancing about in my mind.

 

I reached for my sex in the theatre and thought about robbing them blind- being every bit the savage they feared and salivated over. No more smiles- only teeth for biting. My smile had been made numb long ago anyway. On the screen, the regular mix of porn played. There were some men here. They’d hidden themselves so as to avoid being seen or talked to. I never spoke, never gave them eye contact, never invited company. There was nothing in them that I needed. We were there in a collective of silence and wanting. The only sounds were those from the screen. The action mounted. Three men took turns penetrating a fourth. If there was anything happening at that moment, it was rendered irrelevant by the screams, sounds of flesh slapping, and moans on the screen.

 

I spit in my hand- inhaling the scents- found my dick and began to stroke it. There was violence. The bottom on the screen barely seemed to enjoy himself. He sounded in pain. It seemed to be all that he could do to stay on the bed- each top pounding more intensely than the former. Something moved in me and I came to arousal- growing more solid with each movement. In the dim lighting I could see others caught in the same moment I was- somewhere lusting and loathing the thought of being a player on the screen. And why was that? What brought us to this point of wanting to pour our misery into another man in this way? Many of us had partners- woman, man and otherwise? Were they fucked like this? Were they here too, enjoying the show as we were? If Brandon was here, i’d hoped he never find me, there was no love here. There was no softness. There was just thrust- just sex.

In school, there was a boy that I would fuck like the one in the movie. We’d take turns pounding away almost crying- pushing all hurt deep. Afterwards we’d barely speak. I’d throw a joke or two, he’d laugh and talk about some girl he thought looked nice and we’d leave it there. Always, we reminded one another to be cool- to keep our thing between us. The world couldn’t know of what we did. There was nothing in the universe or in us that could bare the hatred that would bring. So, we kept it in us. Nothing in our relations lent itself to any kind of friendship beyond these sessions. Nothing developed beyond what was had there.

 

In the dark, a white boy moved closer to me. I felt him before I saw him- his energy. My hand began stroking faster. I held myself still, moment by moment, attempting to ignore him. At the very last second I turned to see him. It was the boy from before. The same boy who thought I was coming for his bag. This time his eyes were all hunger. I looked at him- his own hand reaching to grab his sex through his jeans. “I oughta rob you for real, this time.” I thought.

 

Eyes danced. A moment and then a discovery. A chill and then. . .

 

“Suck my dick.” i commanded as effortlessly as pouring water.

 

Heat and hunger. The corners of his mouth widened into a kind of crazed smile and he sank to his knees. “You want this huh, boy? You want some of this big black dick?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

I knew he did before there was speech. They all did. As scared as they were, they were also curious. In here they could get lost- roleplay. They could become submissive in ways that daylight would never condone and become what the society guarded against most- a white man in service. He gave me a slight glance. My dick waved in front of him- measuring his face in the small light.

 

“Go on boy.”

 

He began. I grew in his mouth. There was wetness streaming, pulling, gagging, and choking. He threw looks my way. Part of me wanted to see him moving up and down on me. Part of me wanted to see what his eyes held now. Was it still hunger? Was he scared? Did he care what happened to him here at the mercy of the nigger doorman? Did he want some kind of intimacy? That curiosity never won out. My eyes averted his everytime and found dissonance in the screen. He felt nice. I dug deeper with each breath- began to push his head down on me. Seeing someone requires heart. That sight requires movement and understanding- requires the emotions that bring folks to conclusions involving marriage and moving in and such. You ain’t seeing anyone in this dark. Here, there was only moisture, moans and half thoughts. Men came here to release- use and be used.

 

Again Brandon came to my mind. For a moment the White boy became him and we locked sight. He cried, bit down and let out the same sigh I heard when his favorite Aunt passed. No longer smiling, no longer wanting me. He cursed me- for using this boy, for white men, for our ancestors, and for my dishonesty. He cursed me.

 

The boy at my crotch was loosening up. He may have been losing steam. I grabbed his head again, more forcefully. He had to know that he wasn’t done yet. Seas moved in me. There’d be waves crashing soon. He choked- letting up for some air. My sex was covered in spit and lust. His sight travelled from it to my face- lusting for an expression that would tell him where this journey was going next. I could never use Brandon like this. It wouldn’t even look right, His body felt too pure to me. It didn’t trigger the same rage nor did it beg to be degraded. We were both Black men, stepped on daily. His voice just as quiet as mine- just as smothered by poverty. We knew the same notes. There was no justice for our hard work- nothing more than what we celebrated in one another. Our labor was produced jubilee for others who sat in privilege. Others, who ruled over our material lives and looked at us like beast in a zoo.

 

I grabbed the man, before me, and forced him down on my dick. I was close to exploding and only wanted to hear the sounds coming off of the porn. My eyes closed and I began the final round of thrusts. Tension mounted. The boy could barely hold on. Images of his expression, when I reached for the bag, came back more vivid. I became harder. I saw him scared- saw every pale face, every milk toned look of terror. He braced himself on the arm rests. I opened my eyes as I came. He couldn’t avoid any of it. We both were wet.

 

My core shook. The boy removed his mouth. My sex jumped in the cool air.

 

“shit!” I exclaimed.

 

I sank into my seat. He looked at me. Somewhere in him wanted to speak. I got up before he could. I wiped as I walked and placed myself back in my pants. I left before he could speak. There was nothing to say. When I got home, Brandon hugged me- probably ignoring the smell coming off of me. When he asked me how my day had been I responded with a sigh and a small mumble that was meant to sound beat but not defeated. I came into the bedroom with him after showering and we laid together- him spooning me.

 

“I love you, Eugene.” he whispered.

 

“I love you too, pa.”

 

“You off tomorrow? What do you want to do?”

 

“Lay here. Be with you. I think that I’m tired of being outside. Maybe we can go for a walk.”

 

He squeezed me and laid his head on my shoulder, giving me a small kiss.

 

“I love you.” another squeeze. Sometime later I pretended to fall asleep. I listened to Brandon float off to sleep. I let out a few tears, then turned to see him. I searched his face- leaned in kissed him and watched him sleep. There were no sounds other than his light breathing.

 

breaking skin: thoughts from mah diary about mah addiction

grounding:

i feel very alone and i feel very powerless.

i feel this way often even if i know that this ain’t truth.
i feel this way often even though i can feel small bits of power moving in me.
i feel this way because i am alone and powerless-

in part, at least.

and i feel this way because my mind has been stuck here and because that thinking makes mental realities into material trappings. i know that battling through and out of depression means challenging myself to see future colors, even when they are not as clear from where im at. and i know that i have to find myself, and value what is there so fiercely that it blinds any thought daring to be contrary.

i am piecing together what healing means to me and what it looks like for me. and i am so lost and have no real idea of what digging myself out of this hole looks like but i want to try. because i feel the need to-because “dying off ain’t so easy either.”, as a friend once told me in a garden.

and at core-that means truth.
even when no one wants to hear it: truth-because ultimately it is for you.
even when folks are uncomfortable-because ultimately it is for you.
even when you are uncomfortable-because ultimately it is for you.

in the process of trying to be healthy members of community we must first work within ourselves and thats why i say ” . . . because it is for you”. i believe we carry one another in spirit. so we can only be as loving with one another as we are with ourselves.

during the attempt to understand my drug addiction and depression i have/am writing. i want to start sharing some because i want to own what i am. i want to articulate where i am so that i have clarity and because i feel that i am alone and i want folk who are like me and who can maybe find this to find this.

this is an introduction and a warning for folk who may have feelings of discomfort reading about things about drug use, sex, rape, etc . . . feel free to communicate reflections and thoughts in the comments and to me through email but please do not place harmful words in the comments. if they are placed, they will be deleted immediately. i have no time for folk to find discouragement in this space.

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in my movings, i have found discouragement. i recognize the beauty in my heritage and myself, however it isn’t something that is always easy to access under the immense racism, homophobia, poverty and illness of this world. i have not held the strength to overcome and instead have sought to escape. loving Blackness ain’t easy when i can mostly remember poverty, homelessness, violence attached to it. loving my queer self ain’t too easy when no one is there with you feelin’ the same as you. this world has been made to destroy self worth because thats how Capitalism works- that is how you submit to working/breathing/and living for someone else. you do that by destroying the foundation of a being. and if you destroy enough folk then you create communities of trying hands not able to grasp the tools of their liberation because they don’t see the strength in their grasp.

when i was small i would run away from my house-sleep outside. didn’t hold friends close. hid inside myself. slept. ate. drew. was alone alot. and so on. i found every outlet i could to remove myself from the realities of homelessness, homophobia, racism, cancer, drugs, police violence, and neglect. when i graduated high school, i ran, across the country. i hoped that leaving the poverty and Blackness, that i had learned to hate, would bring about a new life. a better life. and i came to San Francisco, not knowing that moving doesn’t heal. being in a place so filled with the opposite of my earlier life took a toll. i became hateful-more so. angry and jealous of white folk for what was given to them through the systems of white privilege that exist. i saw myself more as worthless and as a fraud. i didn’t feel as though i belonged in a university because i was “poor”, a “nigger”, and a “faggot”. i was not “smart” to any of these people. and so i ran again. i didn’t commit to achieving any excellence. i committed to surviving what was to be in that school. at the same time, i felt worthless because i was undesirable in the “heart of gay men”. i was “fat”, and Black which meant a nice fuck toy or target of abuse for most men. eventually, i would be numb, let myself be that. i thought: if this is what i have, then i will be it-at least i can find some numbness in it. and through this it became so hard to see what was worth seeing: i had/have a supportive community of folk who love hard on me and believe in me, i was making it through a university while many weren’t, i was surviving — apart from family on another side of the country. my mind was/is socialized to go to the endless shades of blue instead of finding the blessings that are. i didn’t/couldn’t appreciate them. i was focused on wanting and desiring without recognizing the worth in my face. and in this negative space i was also casting a spell on myself. as allowed misfortunes to guide my sight, i began blocking out the good. becoming cynical and becoming jaded. and not speaking on it because i didn’t want to seem as pathetic as i believed i was. i wanted people to not invest deeply in my thoughts, as they rotted, because i was not permanently invested in any of this world and because i was did not want to worry anyone. i wanted to exist and then fade as quietly and as numb as possible. i recieved praise, love and acceptance in for an artist, being funny, and being “intelligent”. but i never completely saw those things in myself.

i assumed a character playing up those strengths in order to please folk and to gain another kind of high- one of ego. one built partially in a manipulation of reality because people only knew as much as i allowed them to. as much as i believed appropriate or “enough” for them to see. i took all those things which might make me “unattractive”, “unpopular”, or otherwise completely abandoned and repressed them. my saddness, my contradictions . . .
i desired to leave this world as a character i believed at the time would be “perfect”. what i was really doing was creating more walls of silence. more contradictions. more saddness.
and in arrogance, i often thought highly of myself. i felt as though i had found some intelligence and power in this reality through illusion.

i began using men for sex frequently because i wanted to not feel hurt by them. i wanted to feel power over them. i saw power in being “desired”. in reality i no longer view that as “power”-not the power i want to harvest. i don’t believe there is anything productive to be had in using and being used. this world of exploitation is built off of usage. my ancestors were used to create this nation. their lives were drained and used. their spirit energy almost completely smashed. and that continues-workers (those receiving wages and those who aren’t) are used to create profit/or personal wealth (which isn’t always monetary) for a small amount of manipulators. and in this, there is a way that “using” is normalized. in order to “succeed” (attain money, stability, notoriety) in this reality most paths require that you must use and or be used. pimping and allowing yourself to be pimped out is normal.

when i became HIV positive, i partially felt numb.

i felt it coming on-i helped to create the reality when i consciously stopped caring for myself. i did not know how to have safe sex, or speak in any way that was honest during sex because my goal was to get off a load and to leave with a false sense of power. i didn’t know how to speak to men because i was only taught to relate to other men either in aggression or sex. i was not a man. i was a “faggot” and so i never learned to have those friendships because i didn’t trust them and i never learned to feel at ease because the adult men i saw, throughout my childhood, were violent and damaging. they were hurting immensely and i turn hurting others.

and i said to myself again: “if this is what there is, then let me not feel it. not completely. it’s too much.”

when i began using meth it brought me into a more intimate place with white folk-white men. they were/are the majority of the folk with the access. for me this was/is dangerous because of the immense anger and guilt and jealousy and envy i harbored/harbor towards them-which in-turn meant that i also held/hold an immense amount of contempt and hatred for myself that is in the process working through. i wanted all of what i perceived as not having and i decided to do that through allowing myself to be used. each time more blatantly. each time i tore a new skin-i broke with this reality more and more. i began to not care because it seemed pointless. as i allowed this mantra to sink in, the drug took root in that. it grew power in that and played on that. i began to love my oppression more, and care about who i fucked/fucked over less. i began to love it because it meant that i could play in a world where i could be kept numb temporarily and so nothing mattered. i became/am someone who is unaccountable or trust worthy to myself and others. i am working towards finding again and rebuilding that. and it is hard but “dying off ain’t so easy either.” and nor is shying away from those who love and believe in you. because they can help you save yourself, if you allow them.

i was raped. i was very high and in the process of being raped. and i was so high and confused/scared and numb that i didn’t come to realize it till months later. initially, what was clear about what happened was the conclusion. a few of my friends hunted me down and found me-marched up to hell and demanded i be let out. and i was. that act of beauty and courage still astounds me.

memories still come back to me and i remember being told how to remember the event by the man who orchestrated it. and because i never saw some of of my attackers i could never clearly say what i assumed. and so i sat on assumptions and repressed them. the importance of seeing those memories now lies in their truths. they tell me where i was at/am mentally and what danger is. they tell me how to love myself and to forgive myself. they tell me how to take accountability for and how to treat my body better. and they give me lessons, that must be remembered, about trust and what evil is. and evil is hurt moving off of hurt. evil is hurt becoming sorrow and creating danger.

the point in this remembering and reflecting on parts of myself is for me. and you.

because i want to be with you (the world. the community. the family. myself)

and i cannot do that as i am. i can only be here if i choose to work to harvest the kind of power i need and want. which is the same power i see us all needing and wanting. and that is love. because that will be the basis for us trusting and moving and the building organizations, spaces, and relations with one another, that will end this Babylon system-this world of the normalcy of “use”. and that sounds mighty vague to many but it is true and simple. we cannot love or move outwardly if we are not doing so inwardly. in my understanding, part of that involves the owning of truths-the sharing of truths and the holding of truths. if i do not write or speak i will be crushed under the weight of silence. patriarchy teaches us silence, as a way of repression, so that exploitation may win. i am choosing in this moment not to use and to allow myself to be used. i wish to share what i can and hope that it can do what it will/must.

for me, i hope to continue to plant seeds of healing
and find new places to find flight.
another beautiful part of community and what i am coming to value more each day is in the love that is there and how it can save.

part of my quest to find worth in who i am and my existance here is rooted in the tremendous belief held in me. my folk will not let me fade away because they see in me a potential and value that i am trying to find for myself. that makes me want to believe and do work.

and because work needs to be done. and i cannot feel accomplished or rested as long as i know i am not contributing to that work. and love needs to be found, seen, and spread. i have seen villans and zombies. i have been them. and i know we can hold more in our lives. i have seen men cry to themselves without tears and fight when there aren’t words. and i know that ain’t inherently in us and that we can be better. and i know that the work of us being better is crucial to work of making the entirty of humanity better. and we have to do that amongst and for ourselves as male bodied folk who face particular oppressions, commit particular offense, and suffer from particular loneliness because of our hurt.

and i can’t do that work for everyone. . .

not anyone really- unless i am doing it for myself.

that makes me want to heal.

White Privilege and Private Property: hateful hoes are trying to privatize succulents

White folks are forever trying to call the police. Girl I’m just liberating this succulant from your Berkeley hell. Over it. She just mad the summer coming and she ain’t got any melenin. this hateful hoe talking about how she bout to call the police to come check this out- what the hell we need to check out?! A brother getting a succulent?!
 
good day hefer, especially since i spent about 5 minutes trying to tell her that her homegirl (the white womyn accross the street who planted these shits) told me i could stop and take one whenever because they’re community plants.  
 
thats why i took the damn plant and rode off shouting “STOP trying to privatize plants!”
 
she got some nerve! See, thats the whiteness: she doesn’t even know what it means to have the police called on you as a Black person- she doesn’t know they could roll up shoot me and keep it moving- they could roll up arrest me and keep moving- they could roll up and beat me and keep moving.
 
Why?
 
Because this is a racist ass fascist ass state that gives privilege to fucks like her, who have the luxury of days off from work and quaint houses in Berkeley. Raids, arrests, terrorism, police murders etc… are not a reality for her so of course she will just call the police for no damn reason without even trying to communicate properly with me. Part of her privilege is that blindness, the other part is the entitlement and the socialization that tells her she’s in charge of the universe and can come out of a house to order me to stop my bliss when im not even in her yard. 
 
i have no time for the whiteness. 

 

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.