COMING AND GOING

Putting the “No” back into Anonymous Sex 
© Breeze Vincinz

Spurred by the recent tragedies involving the deaths of young gay Black men in New York City, a friend of mine decided to pen some helpful tips that could prevent such tragedies from repeating.

Stories of sexually active gay men who did not survive precarious situations have always been the “ghost stories” for me and my friend, both of us sexually active gay men who have at one point or another have found ourselves in our own precarious situations. We tell the seedy details of our own sexual trysts and laugh uncomfortably at the thought that outside of pure utter luck, we have no idea why we survived and so many haven’t.

My friend’s list consisted of ten things you can do to ensure your safety if you decide to have a one night stand, or as it is more affectionately termed in the community, “if you decide to bring a trick home.”

When I first read his list I looked on in it with a heightened sense of humor, not really taking it seriously. I decided to pen my own comical version of the list. But after informing me of his true intentions to help people and then pondering over all of those ghost stories, my laughter wasn’t uncomfortable, it went away altogether.

With that said, these are my ten tips to help protect yourself if you are so inclined to bring a trick home. It is written in jest, but there is some hardness to this candy, and I hope it helps.

The Continuing Guide To Living A Promiscuous Homosexual Lifestyle on a Budget in an Urban Environment

1. DON’T tell those catty bitches where you are about to get some. Somebody should be aware of your location but the last thing you need is Laquiesha and them prank calling your ass while you’re getting some dick from Dave the Drug fiend.
   
2. DON’T meet someone from a chat room unless you have accurately Googled their ass first. Or in the very least have caught the last episode of “To Catch A Predator” and/or “America’s Most Wanted”.
   
   • ...and maybe “America’s Next Top Model”.
     
3. DON’T refuse if someone asks if his boy can come over too. Seriously dude… how many times are you going to have the opportunity for a ménage a trios?
   
4. DON’T let the guy(s) entering your apartment walk further than two feet in before they completely undress naked. They might have weapons but at least you can get off before the knife fight starts.
   
5. DON’T forget that this is a one night stand/booty call. C’mon people… “Pretty Woman” was bullshit, Julia Roberts knows it, Disney knows it, you should too. A trick is a trick is a trick, you’ll never be able to turn a ho into a husband. Under no circumstances whatsoever do you share your personal information.
   • However, if he decides to share his, remember it with pristine recall just in case you run short on cash one day and you need to get a credit card in his name.
     
6. DON’T miss the opportunity to take pictures of the dude in various states of undress, preferably inebriated. MySpace has been getting boring lately, we need YOU to spice it up.
   
7. DON’T go through any special hoops to hide your valuables. He should be naked by the time he reaches your $1,000,000 Fabergé Egg.
   
8. DON’T go over a stranger’s house… if he lives in the projects. In this case judge a book by the cover. Statistically speaking, poor tricks are 90% more likely to give you drama than rich tricks.
   
   • Stay away from gated communities. If you get caught up in there… giiirrlll…. I hope you can jump.
     
9. DON’T do anything with a dude before you give him a thorough look over his body. Once he strips, check for lesions, sores, gun shot wounds track marks… stretch marks. There is nothing worse than giving head to some dude in the dark and tasting scar tissue.
   
10. DON’T let your guard down when it’s over. Make him put on his clothes within two feet of the door and gently kick him out. If you made it to this point and the sex was good, make a mental note to invite him back over and to show your appreciation give him three feet.
    • If you got to this point and the sex was bad… quickly kick him out flail your arms about while screaming at the top of your lungs about how bad he was. A chorus of either “One Minute Man” or “Short Dick Man” would be appropriate here.
    
    
    • If you get to this point and the sex was good but you suffered a body injury, amputate or try to amputate the nearest body appendage to hold him until the police come. In the meantime make sure you put some clothes on girl and make some tea and when the po po comes and asks how you know the dude smile demurely and say in a pronounced southern accent “Why I don’t know officer… I was just sitting here having tay…”
      

REPRESENTATION WITH INACCURATE SIMULATION

(c) Breeze Vincinz

One of the multifaceted aspects of being part of a minority demographic is the appointment of accurate representation to the masses. I have often referred to this phenomenon as “crabs in a barrel” whereas a bunch of minorities are in a barrel like crabs trying to claw their way to the top for acknowledgment and as soon as you get there… you got a brood of all the other crabs around you clawing at you, trying to bring you down so they can get to the top also.

What I have experienced is that more than likely… the crab that actually made their way to the top, forgot all the aspects of being a crab, up to and including the lifetime of clawing they had to do to get there and all of the clawing that’s still going on; and it is these amnesiac crustaceans that supposedly represent your best interest.

In short, there are people and organizations out there who are getting paid to represent you that don’t have slightest fucking clue about who you are, what you do or what you need… and they don’t have the slightest intention of ever finding out, particularly if it means getting back in the barrel with you.

In the black gay community I have seen this time and time and time again where some hollow non-profit gets an astounding grant based on ghost intentions to help the “community” and they don’t even know where the “community” is. Here in Los Angeles, there are organizations that supposedly exist for the sole purpose to help enrich the greater African American LGBT community, a community that quite frankly is in need of enrichment but whom thirsts for it and welcomes it whenever possible. However, these organizations are trying to target the African American LGBT community… in West Hollywood. Now those of you not in the know, West Hollywood, while a predominately homosexual area, is also predominately Caucasian. So trying to do an inclusive study of the African American LGBT community in West Hollywood would be similar to doing an inclusive study of Nazi Concentration Camp survivors living in the Marcy Projects.

And it is this disconnect that just pisses me off. Because more than likely these studies are being made in West Hollywood because these organizations either don’t know the social trends of the LGBT African American Community and/or they are simply too afraid to be enveloped by them. Which just begs the question, how are you going to accurately represent a people that you don’t know or even care to associate with, and how many slave ghosts have haunted your sleep because you get paid to do it?

Not too long ago I participated in a townhall meeting where several members of the African American LGBT community spoke on which current issues will most affect their choice in the upcoming presidential elections. The majority of the panelists spoke on their concerns about the current state of healthcare, tax incentives, social programs and a general need to get out of the Republican/Bush rut. But there was one brother who said that he personally felt that the greatest issue that should be addressed is the war on terrorism in an effort to not suffer another attack on American soil. And while I do have a concern about the current war, I do have to say that I was simply astounded that, out of the plethora of influences that attack us specifically as African Americans and as LGBT on a daily basis that his main concern was with the war or terrorism. The last reported Hate Crime Statics show that in 2004, there were a total of 8,804 victims of a hate crime. 1,190 were anti-LGBT and 3,322 were Anti-Black. In 2006,

In California alone there were 245 reported Anti-Sexual Orientation Hate Crime Events and 844 reported Anti-Race Hate Crime Events. It’s easier to be caught D.O.B. (Driving While Black) than it is to catch a cold, too many brothers are coming up missing or dead from some low self esteemed fueled DL sexual tryst and Hip Hop is still trying fuel it’s hyper masculinity by degrading women and homosexuals. Your main concern is the war on terrorism? In my head I imagine this scene where he goes to some rally to support the war but is pulled over by some cop who doesn’t believe a Black man could drive a BMW and then finally has it impounded it when he sees the gay pride sticker in the back window.

I think that problems overseas should be addressed and I think our foreign policy needs a complete aura enema, but the truth of the matter is… the Civil Rights movement hasn’t ended. We’re still fighting for justice and equality right here, right now. I just think it’s a somewhat lofty aspiration to negate the social atrocities in your own home in an effort to fix problems abroad. I’ve always felt that terrorism existed because there was a breakdown in communication, that the attacks on American soil were not random but because our adversaries did not agree with some fundamental tenets of American life, and I think that’s because… they just didn’t understand them. The way I see it, every human being to ever exist has wanted the same thing, provide for you and your family, give honor to your God(s), and get laid as much as humanly possible. I think our adversaries couldn’t see the forest through the trees and couldn’t realize that at the end of the day we want the same thing. And America, so (in)famously known for it’s brutally empty machismo, never presented that olive branch. Hell, we don’t even provide that same dignity and compassion to our own citizens. In other words, we don’t listen how loud our own radio is before we are so quick to try and get the neighbors to turn theirs down. And more than likely, theirs is only so loud because ours is.

I also think that is why same-sex marriage is simply not a priority in many African American homes, gay or straight. Honestly speaking, we’re still trying not to get pulled over and beat on the way to the chapel. Yet there are organizations here, also under the auspice of enlightening the African American LGBT community, whose main agenda is to promote same sex marriage amendments. But that agenda is not on the greater African American LGBT community’s schema. We’re in need of better educational programs, better vocational programs, more job opportunities, sensitivity training for our heterosexual counterparts, efficient liaisons between the Black church and the Black Gay community, better health programs, self defense training and discussion, HIV education and advocation… things that will make a difference in our lives, our families’ lives and generations after that. Legalizing our love life is great, but we still need to stop the legal system from demonizing our everyday life first. The Civil Rights movement is not over, and I think that is something that would be easily found out if these entities geared towards African American communities would actually go to… African American communities and do the work that needs to be done and not just play some contemporary Uncle Tom/whore amalgamation by collecting a paycheck for being the type of non-threatening “niggers” who smile pretty for the grant writers and have no clue as to needs of the greater African American LGBT Community.

THE BALLAD OF THE AMERICAN BLACK BEAR

(c) Breeze Vincinz

A friend of mine used to run a, entertainment business on the East Coast that catered to the needs of overweight homosexual men of color. In it’s hey day the business thrived and everyone involved enjoyed the fruits of their labor, including the notion that, even in the most minuscule of levels, they were providing a service to a demographic that was grossly underserved.

The business has since devolved and my friend has since moved here to the West Coast, the hope being that the success of said business would easily transfer to California’s (in)famously oversexed gay shorelines. But alas, ever since his pudgy little toes touched down on Los Angeles’ sun-kissed terrain, he has found it increasingly hard to recapture the verve once established and even treasured back East.

We sat and discussed the current state of Bear affairs over our weekly Malibu Chicken special at Sizzler. “Bear” is a gay slang term used to identify homosexual men that are usually heavy-set with facial hair and hairy bodies. The Bear Diasporas actually are pretty wide including men who are thin, muscular, smooth, into leather or uniforms or have other physical attributes. But nonetheless, as it stands, for all intense purposes, the both of us would most definitely be considered Bears.

For awhile now I have considered myself to be on this Dian Fossey-esque exploration into the great beasts whereas instead of gorillas, I have studied the great American Bear for all it’s glory. I’ve been to Bear bars, Bear clubs, Bear orgies and was even invited to a Bear dinner but declined because it would have interfered with my weekly Malibu Chicken at Sizzler. All in all I have found most Bear outings filled to the brim with some of the most cordial, hospitable and affable men I have ever run into in my life (which is saying a lot considering the fact that I live in Los Angeles). But there is also another blaring consistency that is quite obvious in every Bear event I have participated in, little to no Black men. 

There have been several upstart little grassroot efforts made to have gatherings here that cater to zaftig men of color and none have had any lasting resonance. Then my friend comes into town with a heart filled with big dreams, creative ideas and elevated cholesterol levels with hopes of carving a little niche for himself here in the untapped “Big Boi” market of Los Angeles and I have watched as those hopes and dreams trip, stumble and fall in the shadow of juggernaut party promoters catering to the new generation of barely legal, fashion obsessed, technologically advanced, ADD, anorexic gay black men who desperately want to sit with the cool kids. And that’s how they get them; they set up this table filled with immensely beautiful and over muscled models with the promise that they can always eat lunch with them. Then there’s the Bear table. You know who’s there… me, my friend, and the marks left on our hips from binding jeans after too much Malibu Chicken from Sizzler.

We are in a very peculiar demographic, we are a subculture, inside of a subculture, inside of a subculture. Less than 25% of the country is African American. Theoretically 10% of those people are homosexual. And even less percentage of those people are Bears. So at the end of the day, our pride parade would consist of about like twelve people (five of whom I’ve probably already slept with and two I would never admit to).

One of the problems I have noticed is that there is a large percentage of African Americans in general that really don’t want the extra baggage that comes along with being with another African American. I think its akin to not wanting to spend the rest of your days with your partner talking about how neither one of you can get a credit card or find a barber who can cut a descent fade. I guess the mentality is, “I just don’t want to think about being Black all the time and at least one of us should have a credit score over 500.” Which is all good I guess… unless you don’t mind being black, your credit score is over 650 and some cute Black dude tells you that he doesn’t date Black dudes because he doesn’t want to put up with the “drama”.

Then there’s your typical run of the mill African American gay man who isn’t trying to be “out”. In general we are a very religious people and very family oriented and in general, African American gay men usually feel it’s either homosexuality or God and you’d be pretty hard pressed to find someone who would give up God for… anything really. And as a people, we haven’t really gotten to that point where sex (gay or straight) is good or righteous or acceptable. It’s still taboo, we still don’t talk about it or at least not enough.

Then there’s the mainstream gay community whose main agenda is public displays of homosexual pride at any and every given opportunity… at all costs.

Then there’s the Bear community who is usually masculine, heavy-set blue collar guys who don’t mind being masculine, heavy-set or blue collar.

Then there’s Los Angeles whose delusions of grandeur has been oxygenated into our atmosphere since its inception. It’s about image here, not necessarily what you look like, but what you represent. So an overweight guy here can still fit in as long as it is clear that he clearly abides by the strictest rules of contemporary fashion which translates into, “You can be fat, but you better be fierce!”

And that’s where the conundrum lies; finding masculine, openly homosexual, heavy-set, African American men who don’t have delusions of grandeur of being America’s Next Top Model who actually like other African American men… which brings us back to it being a subculture, inside of a subculture, inside of a subculture; that’s the table dude, me, my friend, and the marks left on our hips from binding jeans after too much Malibu Chicken from Sizzler. 

It’s no wonder his business failed.

I, on the other hand, have been delving into the wonderful world of the Bear in all its Caucasian seasoned glory. Who knows if I’ll ever actually date a White boy but I got to tell you… I’m starting to feel more of a kinship with the people who understand why I would rather sit at a table at a restaurant than my so-called Soul Brothas who scoff at the fact that I can’t fit in a booth, which is a very scary thought because I have always felt more of an connection with Black people than Gay people. Who knew that all that chicken grease would make my vision clearer?

But alas, I don’t see me trading in the profound love I have for my people, my Black men… unrequited as it may be. I still go to Bear bars, Bear clubs, Bear orgies... and I do very much enjoy the friendly fur of these, my ivory toned counterparts. But I’m always holding out for those Black Bears, aware, proud and not too bruised by this pin prick of a world.

CHANGING OF THE GUARD

© Breeze Vincinz

For the past couple of months I have seen some of the most despicable, backstabbing, wicked, deplorable acts being perpetrated within the Black Gay community and I think at this point I have officially had enough.

For those of you not in the know I have worked and been associated with a few organizations that serve the Black Gay community here in Los Angeles and while I have definitely only been on the peripheral in terms of the organizational duties of these businesses, I have been front and center as a handful of narcissistic bastards whose egos far outweigh their capacities spend far too much time and money (sometimes even there own pension funds) trying to destroy establishments whose core purpose is to do nothing more than to serve the community. What’s frustrating is that these bastards were once a part of the same organizations that they repel against. And what’s even more frustrating is that they never showed as much passion, fervor or dedication during their employ and/or association as they are now trying to raze, destroy and emasculate.

One of these organizations’ sole purpose is for the protection of Black Lesbians. During the course of the past couple of years, this organization has hobbled along trying it’s best to maintain fiscally and socially but their has been so much in-fighting, so much miscommunication and so many grossly enlarged egos that for every step the organization tries to make forward they wind up taking two steps back.

It’s now come to the point that every time this organization makes even the slightest move, this clan of disgruntled, cowardly, superficial witches swoop down to thwart the efforts being made. But at what cost? And to what end? And where was this mystifying fervor of excitement back when they were part of the organization and needed that strength the most? It’s to the point where even personal pension funds are being used to destroy. If you are going to sacrifice your financial stability, why not use it to build community instead of tearing it down?

Recently, yet another coal hearted, inhuman, bastard vampire stole the identity of a colleague of mine and under that stolen identity, began a verbal assault on various members within the Black Gay community here in Los Angeles. Who does that type of evil serve… and at what cost? And to what end?

It seems every day lately when I open my mailbox I see the work of these demons in flesh operating as the voice of the Black Gay constituency and I feel myself getting angrier and angrier as my questions never get answered… who benefits if you destroy organizations that benefit Black Lesbians, and what does it say about you when the only way you can speak your words is to steal someone else’s voice… and when you do that… who does it serve… and at what cost! Because at the end of the day… it is the Black Gay community that is suffering; there are hundreds upon thousands of Black Gay people in this country, present company included, that need to feel validated, authenticated and empowered. And if during the course of your day if your main concern is to tear down organizations that help Black Gay people or to steal the voice of a Black Gay person to push your own agenda I still have to ask… who the fuck are you serving… because it surely isn’t the Black Gay community… and I most certainly doubt you looked up for inspiration.

I often discuss some of the dissension I have witnessed to a heterosexual colleague of mine who does not quite grasp why there is so much discord. I usually brush it off with the inclination that, it’s a gay thing, he just wouldn’t understand. But the truth of the matter is; I don’t get it myself. To me, it comes off a little like cutting off your nose to spite your face; instead of dealing with the whole, you destroy this one part, and now the whole thing is fucked up. Instead working out your issues with a particular Black Gay organization, you put in this effort to disrupt their events, fucking with everyone involved: the Black Gay organization, the event sponsors and the greater Black Gay community who would have benefitted.

And for what purpose? And to what end?

During this season of presidential primaries I have noticed that the main chorus being sung from all of the candidates is “change”; that there were certain decisions made during this administration that were “questionable” to say the least. Most notably solving problems in a very patriarchal “cowboy” way. And the more I think about that, I think about what I said to my heterosexual colleague in regards to the conflicts I have seen in the Black Gay community. And I realize that, it’s not a gay thing. This concept of stripping down your adversaries to only their adversarial acts… it’s an American thing. Once you strip a person of their character, culture and history and leave only the repugnant parts that can serve your agenda, it’s much easier to hate them, or blame them, or bomb them. And as millions of Americans who are ravenous for “change” can tell you, it just doesn’t work.

This clan of disgruntled, cowardly, superficial witches maligning the work of an organization that benefits Black Lesbians to further their personal egocentric agenda just doesn’t work.

Me calling a group of women a clan of disgruntled, cowardly, superficial witches because of their current heinous actions, maligning all other aspects of their character, just doesn’t work.

Change is desperately needed, present company included. And no matter what the results of the 2008 election is… a change is going to come. I look forward to the changing of the guard here in America. I hope I can learn from the examples that will be set. I hope we all can. In the meantime, there are still lessons that can be learned from the mistakes that have been made. And I hope that with every decision we make as Americans, as Blacks, as Whites, as Gays, as Straights that we do it asking those pertinent questions like… who does this serve, and at what cost?

I just have a sneaky suspicion that friendships, reputations, lesbian retreats, pension money and thousands of soldiers’ lives alike could have all been saved if they were asked beforehand… and the answer came from above.

JIGABOO PORNOGRAPHY

© Breeze Vincinz

I remember when the movie Malcolm X came out they had plans to do a X-rated spin-off titled Malcolm XXX. Fortunately they couldn’t find a single African American actor, gay or straight, to agree in a production that would spoof the legacy of Malcolm X. It was a bittersweet revelation whereas at least in one point in history the highly religious African American community looked upon these lost soul sex workers as having some shred of morality. I imagine when Mr. Marcus, Lexington Steele, Midori, Gene Lamar and Randy Cochran collectively and publicly refused to participate in the project, it was similar to Shug Avery proclaiming to her father, “See Daddy, sinners have soul too!” at the end of the Color Purple.

But alas, although there was no Malcolm XXX, there was still Black Meat Warehouse, Black Bitches White Cum, Pain In Da Azz, and the ever so cleverly titled… Black Meat Warehouse 2. And with them returned the flood of judgment and morality. (I always wondered how long that shit with Shug Avery’s father would last once he found out she did it with Miss Celie)

Now the truth of the matter is, I think you would be hard pressed to find somebody who has never in there life watched a porn. I think it’s as American as baseball, apple pie and the denial of any involvement in the Iran-Contra affair. When I was first dealing with my sexuality as a teenager I came to the correct summation that the main cause of homophobia is the idea that once someone declares themselves to be homosexual you automatically imagine them giving head to a member of the same sex. It’s not about love, it’s not about relationships, it’s not about this person wanting to raise a strong black family with his partner… nope, once Julian tells you he’s gay, a hologram of a dick is automatically fixated in front of his mouth. And this is where porn comes in… because in porn, it is all about the sex. It isn’t about romance or love or commitment… nope, you fast forward past all that stuff and get down to the nitty gritty.

I also remember during my trek to become the flaming homosexual that I am today, shopping for porn with my Caucasian cohorts back in Chicago in my twenties. We giggled uncomfortably at all the naked men in various states of depravity, wondering with stars in our eyes, “Will I ever be able to get my ankles behind my ears like that too?” I distinctly remember us getting to the African American section of the store. My twenty something heart was all a flutter at the thought of some Malcolm Jamal-Warner or Alfonso Ribero looking guys butt naked getting it on. Imagine my disappointment and horror as I looked at rack after rack of anorexic and crusty Black men who looked as if someone gave them a couple of bucks to film them giving each other hand jobs then they went off, got some Mad Dog 20/20 and went back to their wife and kids… at the shelter. I remember my friends politely saying, “Hmmm, I don’t like these videos.” I figured the thought bubbles above their heads read, “I wouldn’t touch these jiggaboos with a ten foot pole!” And looking at those boxes of malnourished and inebriated black men… I could concur.

One of the most fascinating and frustrating things about porn is that it is just about the only form of mass communication that is truly carnal, uninhibited and improvised. Outside of Federal laws that (thankfully!) prohibit the participation children, animals and death, it’s a free for all. I have watched some porn that has simply amazed me. Not necessarily because of the sexual acts, but mainly because of the accoutrements that are involved in getting the scene right. I remember this one porno where all of these so called “gangstas” about 20 maybe, were up in a house up in the Hollywood Hills. There was one white girl and she was just waiting to be gang banged, but none of the so called “gangstas” wanted to touch her… except for this one guy who proceeded to fuck her, outside, on the lawn, in front of around 20 other black dudes egging on the scenario. The sex itself was ok… but I was just amazed at how far they went. There was no limit. Anybody can do and say what they want. The words “nigger” and “bitch” are allowed here, at any given time, said by anybody. (Personally I have never heard the word “nigger” uttered as often as I do in gay porn, even more than your typical run of the mill gangster rap song.)

This is why the porn industry is the billion dollar industry that it is today. It is the ultimate release of politically incorrectness in the most sexual of settings. Every stereotype is laid out before you in glittering, slathered up extravagance, the mammy, the pickaninny, the big bad buck, the innocent country white girl… all there for you, lubed for your pleasure, without explanation or judgment, they know you want nothing more than an oiled up black nigger bitch, and for $49.99, they will provide that to you… no questions asked. And who in their right mind, black or white, would ever admit in polite society that an oiled up black nigger bitch, male or female, gets them off? Yeah… that’s why it’s $49.99, and that’s why oiled up black nigger bitch videos sell so well underground.

So I watch the porn of today, mainly man on man, mainly all African American. Not too much is changed. No… I take that back. I guess I have. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older or maybe it’s because my priorities have changed or maybe it’s because with each passing year, a little of the humor I used to consistently find in life’s atrocities is being overshadowed by the historical and sociological attributes that have created the atrocities in the first place, but I look at Black Gay porn today… and I’m not aroused, and I’m not amused. They actually went ahead and made Malcolm XXX. I shutter at what could possibly be next… Stokely “Cock” Michael, Rosa “McArthur” Park… part 4. If porn is a reflection of society’s most basest and carnal attitudes, I wonder if that thread of morality that existed back when the original Malcolm X was released still exists today… or in our heart of hearts do we really see ourselves as oiled up black nigger bitches?

Now mind you; not all black gay porn is plebian drivel, but if I do say so myself, in contrast to our Caucasian counterparts, we got some catching up to do, mainly in the production value of the films. Say for example:

1. Wave caps. I don’t know when this became a trend but every video I have seen lately the brothas are wearing wave caps. Seriously dude… if you are getting the bottom pounded out of you… do you really care about the curl pattern in your hair at the time?
   
2. Eat a meal. Maybe I’m a little bias because I’m about the size of a Buick right now, but even still, it is a bit disarming to see men have sex with each other who appear as if they get fed through a tube when the cameras stop rolling.
   
3. The Handsome Factor. Again, a little bias. But I have to figure that at some point the producer or the director of “Cum N My Black Azz” would have to draw the line at someone with… oh let’s say… braces or psoriasis or a care free curl. I know we’re not making an Oscar award winning epic here but… seriously… how about some dudes with large endowments without gunshot wounds.
   
4. The Ebonics PR. Now this is something that affects the African American community in general, the idea that if you spell words out phonetically and in broken English it will seem more ethnic. NOTE TO EVERY PR FIRM IN EXISTENCE: STUPIDITY IS NOT ETHNIC, IT’S JUST STUPID. Say for example one of the more interesting loglines I have come across for a porn video: “Be Takin Dat Dick Til Da Brotha Cums In Ma Azz Fa Sho”. I would like to be aroused by this but I don’t know if I can use my own tears as lube.
   
5. Acting. There have been many a time when I’m watching these films and going, “Dude, it’s just a movie.” You know what I’m talking about? Where the scene is some “gangster” or “drug lord” taking his revenge out on some poor innocent bottom boy and he’s screaming at him and smacking him and degrading him and really getting into his character of a drug dealer? Okay, dude, you’re not a drug dealer, you’re a porn star, stop yelling at that dude and stick it in… I’ve only got so many quarters left.
   

I once got into an argument with a friend of mine about the aesthetics of pop culture. Basically he felt pop culture never affects society, only reflects it… which I think is bullshit… I think it can do both. I think Madonna is a prefect example of someone being a product and creator of pop culture. On that same level, I think porn can be both a reflection and creator of sexuality and sexual views. I list all of those things I felt were erroneous with Black Gay porn because I do think it is quite interesting the way our sexuality has been molded over the years. In 80’s and 90’s we had to integrate condoms into our sexual practices in order to survive. Now, it’s being integrated with… wave caps and rusty ankles and… “Be Takin Dat Dick Til Da Brotha Cums In Ma Azz Fa Sho”… and I can’t help but wonder, even though it is pornography and on the cusp of “civilized” society, is this evolution of this particular furrow in our sexuality really healthy? 

Understanding the ripple affect whereas one drop in the pond can affect the rest of the water, I think I would like to see the bar raised on this, our lowest common denominator; putting the maturity back into our movies that are for mature audiences only. In reality, my attention and resources will definitely be used to uplift the people in more traditionally political and/or artistic outlets. I do feel you can inspire and incite change to a wider group of people using less graphically sexual accoutrements, but still… I do think I would sleep easier knowing that the next generations of Black Gay men aren’t masturbating with thoughts of poor lighting and gingivitis kissing. I mean… that has to be a step in the right direction towards liberation.

THE REBEL WITH A CAUSE

© Breeze Vincinz

Pornography as described by Merriam-Webster is defined as material that depicts erotic behavior intended to arouse quick intense emotional sexual excitement. I imagine most Freudians claim Merriam-Webster's dictionary to be their bible. Maybe I'm being cynical but it just seems to me that the basis of modern day society is the management of sexuality and perversity. It seems to be the diving board in the construction of everything from baby toys to skyscrapers to governmental policies; the main query being, "will this somehow arouse the most depraved of us to the point where the monkeys will overthrow the monkey house?" Everything has to go through that filter. Let's go back to the baby toy suggestion. I can only imagine the canals a new toy has to go through to make sure that a generation of toddlers aren't slobbering over some thingabob that while smooth, bright and too large to swallow doesn't even remotely resemble parts of the human anatomy that are smooth, bright and too large to swallow.

Now as a confirmed bleeding heart liberal, I have been trained to taunt and ridicule factions that try and make this a more anal retentive country. In the metaphorical Woodstock of existence I have rolled around naked in the mud and shit with my brethren as the acid rock of life is played on the stage. I have smoked a doobie passed to me by someone else with a noun for a name as we smoothed clay and excrement out of our hair. I missed the last presidential election because I was too busy spending the day arranging my Tori Amos and Joni Mitchell cassettes and giving head to my boyfriend and I'm damn proud of it! But alas, as I grow older, I have begun to appreciate, if not the actual presence, then maybe the concept of the keepers trying guard the gate of decency.

While I appreciate an ever growing world and the artistic interpretations of that evolution, there is something to be said for its reciprocal effects, for every angel born there is a demon sired. And while I have shed tears in the presence of some of the most ethereal art I have had the pleasure to experience, there is also a Brittany on the MTV Awards, there is a Hot Ghetto Mess and most recently, there is a 2 Girls, 1 Cup.

For those of you not in the know, and I pray that this means you, 2 Girls and 1 Cup is a video that is making its rounds through the annals of the information highway. It features two women defecating and vomiting into a cup then taking turns consuming the excrement and vomiting into each others' mouths, eliciting sexual arousal from the acts.

A friend of mine suggested that I take a gander at this little nugget of heaven and for the life of me my anarchist spray painted little hearted just wouldn't let me do it. I will admit that there is a mild curiosity, I have even gone so far as to see the first two seconds of the video where the two girls are embraced in a homoerotic kiss but I couldn't bear to see in actuality what my imagination has already sickened in my mind. But it wasn't your typical right-wing "lemon" fear whereas I was afraid that it would be so tantalizingly awful I would be interested in licking again, this was more of an adult morality calm of, "I don't need this in my world view."

There have been several things that have occurred in this life in which that high road didn't seem necessarily haughty, just simply a good choice. I never saw the leaked pictures of the deceased body of Lisa "Left-Eye" Lopez. I thought that it actually was a breach of Geneva Convention rules on the treatment of prisoners of war when pictures of Saddam Hussein in his underwear shuffling around after his capture were shown in newspapers and I was even more thrown at the pictures littered everywhere showing the torture and abuse of prisoners in Abu Ghraib. When Madonna is photographed with naked men surrounding her, MTV bans her, when Lynndie England is photographed with naked men surrounding her, they preempt Saturday morning cartoons to show that shit.

And all of it, the graphical reproductions of it, I don't need to see. I can honestly say in my heart of hearts, from the pits of my very existence, that I can live a full and meaningful life without ever having seen Iraqi prisoners pile their rectums up on one another in front of two redneck soldiers, Saddam Hussein in his boxers, the corpse of a beloved R&B star, two women defecating and vomiting into a cup then taking turns consuming the excrement and vomiting into each others' mouths. Not that I want my world view to be filled with kittens, lemonade and dandelions, but the more I am made aware of the depravities of this pin prick of a world, the more I understand the fight to keep the few precious kittens, lemonade stands and dandelions patches we have left around.

And keep in mind; I say all of this while (metaphorically) covered in mud and feces, smoking a joint and listening to acid rock. There's an old saying that a Republican is a Democrat who's been mugged. When I hear about things like 2 Girls, 1 Cup, I begin to feel like that robbed Democrat, getting out of the mud and shit, putting down the bong, taking a shower, cutting my hair, damning those dirty hippies to hell.

I gave my father a copy of my poetry book "Life as a Boy" for Father's Day last year. I never discussed it with him outside of him saying how immensely proud he was of me when he opened the package. After a recent conversation with him, he informed me that he would never show that book to his friends and he deemed the work pornographic, something to wit I took great offense to. But after a talk with my sister I began to see the bigger picture. I began to see that that threshold of civility is different for everybody and I tend to think that no matter how you fight it, it gets lower as you get older. I can call my father a 63 year old stick in mud for being offended by poems about fellatio and enemas but I also can hear the young calling me a 36 year old stick in the mud for being offended by 2 Girls, 1 Cup. Who knows, maybe if we were all 22 we would read my raunchy poetry, watch offensive videos then tape our reactions and post them on You Tube to see if we can get the most hits and wind up on Letterman.

But alas, I've come to the conclusion that I think I'm just too much for my Dad. I think that sometimes I force him to experience some of the more verboten aspects of my life and demand him to accept them and me whole heartedly and that maybe I am in the wrong for doing that. I am sure there are certain things that he can live a full and rewarding life without ever having experienced either and maybe my short story, "Enema: A Love Story" is one of them. I often imagine what my reaction would be if my kid came home and showed me his latest work "2 Girls, 1 Cup". It's a startling thought. And I've been reconsidering the idea of pornography, profanity, being cutting edge and turning over the apple cart just for the sake of turning over the apple cart ever since.

I've been trying to come to terms with the artistry of being a cart turner, the rebel rouser, the revolutionary. I don't think I want to leave the mud and shit but I also don't want to get anybody else dirty that doesn't want to get dirty and I most certainly don't want to add anything else even more septic into the shit I've been playing in all this time. And I guess at the end of the day I want my shit to have some higher purpose, some higher goal, some resonance. There has got to be more to life than mindlessly smoking weed and playing in shit, and there has got to be more than watching two women eat it.

GAY SUBJECTIVITY

© Breeze Vincinz

One of the occupational hazards of living in Los Angeles is this city's incessant fascination with the life and lifestyle of celebrities. It's an old yet frustratingly true cliché about the ole city of angels. You can't take a crap in this city without having somebody with a respectable imdb profile in the stall right next to you. And with them come the paparazzi who have blood signed deals with the devil to get cash for getting even the most indistinguishable shots of even the most indistinguishable celebrities doing the most indistinguishable things in exchange for a little dignity, a little honor and more than likely at least one testicle.

And as much as intelligent contemporary audiences decry the audacities of those lizard cunts with auto focus and telephoto lenses, somebody's paying attention to them. Here in Los Angeles you will be hard pressed to turn on the television and not find some Entertainment Tonight Extra TMZ Insider TSH (That's So Hollywood) Celebrity Exposé drivel showcasing the beauty of the rich and thin (then demonizing the ones who decided to make that their goal then fail horribly at it).

And while rich white girls have been notably and understandably demonized during the celebrity witch hunts of 2007, I did find myself fascinated with the celebration and/or degradation of three E-List celebrities last year, Chris Crocker, Sanjaya Malakar and Perez Hilton, mainly for the noticeably gay slant they brought to the table.

Even if you haven't been keeping up with the sink hole known as Brittney, more than likely you have seen blonde by bottle Chris Crocker crying his baby blues pleading to cyberspace with all the desperation of a dying man for the world to just "leave her alone!" Sanjaya Malakar was one of the most memorable reality television stars by having the most consecutive off key performances in the history of American Idol. The fascination, celebration and eventual degradation of both of these individuals, however, was not totally in what they did in 2007, but more in who they are, two really fey men.

There have been many people who have supported Brittany's crazy ass in the past and there have been a plethora of people whose voices could induce gastro problems in cows on American Idol, but none have ever done it with as much direct and indirect male girlpower as Chris and Sanjaya and I often wondered if their heightened feminine appearances was a major factor in the media's voracious need to rake them over the coals. I can't help but wonder if America's longtime apprehension of effeminate men and homosexuality in general was the true reason these two were put on the spit? And as homosexuals, what exactly should our stance be?

Enter Perez Hilton. Perez Hilton has been slowly making a name for himself by being the "go to" guy to find all the dirt in regards to celebrities. Like Chris and Sanjaya, he too carries himself in a flamboyantly gay manner, to wit his critics attribute to being his allure or deterrent depending on their current mood. But without the gay hair and Cyndi Brady meets West Hollywood lisp, seriously, would anybody give a shit about Perez Hilton? He uses his flamboyancy the same way Don King uses his hair, and for that, I can't be mad at him (despite the fact he actually could be siphoning off the gay civil rights efforts made of the past couple of decades in effort to buy a couple of more boxes of Manic Panic AfterMidnight Blue).

I know that I am not comfortable with the idea of my own sexuality being so subjective to greater society; I don't want it to be the ulterior side note one keeps handy, ready to be used as icing if I succeed or bullets once I fuck up. I could simply be a hack writer. But with the whole gay thing, I would be the hack writer without a gag reflex because I give head so much. And I guess I don't want the lack of having a gag reflex to my "thing". I don't want it to be my blue hair, my off key feminine tune, my mascara-running call for a better Brittany understanding world. I would want to just work on not being a hack writer.

But God bless those three for taking their lemons and making lemonade. Let's just hope I can be such a mixologist if I find myself caught in the predicament of my craft on the spit and my sexuality dangling on display. Just a forewarning, if you ever see me with pink hair, now you know why.