W'sup Downtown ~ Jersey City

There is always something going on in the neighborhood, my neighborhood, downtown Jersey City ... which I like to call New York City's coolest borough, though very much on the down low. First off we have my favorite coffee shop, with dessert delicacies made fresh daily (try the quiche!), wire-less internet and cozy eclectic atmosphere, it's a local favorite for downtown's vast creative community. Sweet Priscilla

530 Jersey Ave.

Jersey City, NJ 07302 ~ 201.240.5021 And on August 6, at 7 pm ...

You are invited to an Opening Reception for an exhibition of herbal-dyed cord applique tapestries by ...

Chief Z. O. Olorutoba

@ Sweet Priscilla ... btw Newark Ave. & Christopher Columbus Dr.

taylorMADE ~ The Misbehaviors of Danté

The evolution of a story ...

taylorMADE, which I'll also put under the favorites section on the right so it'll always be on top, is going to be SGL Café's on-going fiction section, which is how my first ever published short-story,

A Taste for Cherries, began. Plus, I wanna play with characters while getting feedback at the same time. Don't mince words either.

The first in the taylorMADE series will be

... The Misbahaviors of Danté (though I'm liable to change the title any second). Danté is a favorite character of mine because he's me to the second power. I have no idea where the story is going (I never do). But I'll keep working on it, right here, and we'll see how a story can evolve.

When following its development, always start from the beginning ... 'cause things may have changed drastically. I plan to keep it short.

The Misbehaviors of Danté (photos are of my boy Mikey, which I included because he's not fem, not butch ... but just right hot.) I love it when a guy makes me tingle . . .

… yeah, that almost imperceptible tickling beneath the skin of the neck, which fires off nerve-endings intermittently, trailing down your spine before disappearing into steamy nether regions. I first met Tim through the two Louies. That’s what he did that first day. He made me tingle, all over … and grin like a fifth-grader with a secret. I hadn’t seen him in a while, years actually, but as I dodged traffic to reach the corner where he stood, we were almost face to face again. He fidgeted as he watched me approaching, after almost turning the other way when our eyes first touched. A knot twisted in my stomach as my mind recalled the way he looked that August day, how sweet he’d been … and how instantly hooked I became on his little red-headed Latino ass. Yeah . . . I tingled when our palms first touched. Louie number two introduced us with a subtle but smug fanfare—mostly with his eyes—like he was giving me a birthday present he was confident I’d like. I should’ve known right there, but the blood in my brain had dashed off for some reason. Besides that initial tingle … his reddish hair and pale features got caught in my chest and stayed there, hidden, like a virus waiting to spread and kill me on one of those desperate nights. He was young too; I wasn’t exactly sure how young and didn’t wanna ask … plausible deniability and all that. The four of us lounged on thick carpet amongst loose over-sized pillows, shoeless, watching music videos. The room was small, and the flat screen taking up an entire wall made it seem even smaller. Tim sat cross-legged preparing to roll a meticulous blunt … while I lounged next to him asking questions, watching his lips, enjoying his scent, tingling. He’d been shredding the weed on the low marble coffee table by candlelight, painstakingly reducing the pungent herb to an almost powder-like state with just his fingernails. As he told me things, glancing over and smiling occasionally, my eyes kept taking snapshots. His white doo-rag caused his eyebrows to arch a little, and the pale pink cap cocked precariously brought my eyes down to the matching wife-beater. He was just young enough, confident enough, masculine enough … to not just ‘get away’ with that look, but also to master it. I wanted fuck him stupid, right there in front of his boys. Thanks, yo . . . his lips said, and then pursed themselves to sip his Parrot Bay and coke. My eyes trailed over the tangerine stubble which was rode his upper lip, masqueraded as sideburns, and peppered his chin. He winked and smiled—lips shining with coconut rum—and the tingle which raced through my core like a lightning bolt rocked me … visibly. Louie number one slapped him in the head and barked . . . What the fuck!? C’mon … roll the shit already! He was in a foul mood that night, and his raspy voice—like he’d smoked for seventeen of his nineteen years on the planet—lacked its usual trill of excitement and seemed even deeper … but added to the wise-beyond-his-years gangsta mystique. Back in the day, he would’ve rolled like Jesse James no doubt. Despite having that knowledge, I couldn’t say no to him. A’ight, a’ight, calm down, shit, Tim responded, mild indignation coloring his cheeks as he flinched from the attack. The light in the room came from the candles on the coffee table and the TV screen, where R. Kelly was trapped in that damn closet again. The torches out on the deck, which lent citronella to the breeze, powdered his cheek with amber glow. He glanced up at me for a nanosecond and went back to the weed. But in that brief time, even in the dimness, I could see him blush. Yo Danté, why is it always hot as a motherfucka up in here? Louie number two said, rolling off his pillow like he was dying, ultimately crashing into me. I could smell the Big Red he was chewing when he added … Can’t you put the AC on? Sweat trickled off his face, actually, both Louies were sweating heavily. I looked into his dark close-set eyes and my mind flashed to the other night when they’d arrived unexpectedly in the wee hours, high as the Death Star, claiming they were locked out and had nowhere to go. I put number two on the sofa. The next morning, he came out of the shower, steam trailing down the hall behind him, his hair clinging to his sharp features like a drowned rat. With my towel clutched about his waist with one hand, he tipped to my door and pushed it open more. Then stood there, watching me watching him … as number one snored naked beside me. Nah, I said, I like it hot. Yeah, Tim looked up, Hazel eyes glistening, I’m good too. Y’all niggas fuckin’ crazy, yo … it’s like Jamaica ass hot in this bitch. I started to tell him he was free to go somewhere cooler, but thought he might not be gracious enough to leave his boys, at least Tim, behind. He stood and slipped out of his ‘gi-normous’ white tee-shirt—identical to the one Louie number one was wearing like it was the uniform of their generation—partially revealing his pale physique to me for the second time. He rubbed his stomach and stared with that little smirk. As vibrant and as beautiful he was, for some reason, there was something just a little strange and unsettling about him. Louie number one was less of a mystery. We met because he sold drugs, which led to his being my supplier for that and other things which sometimes cost money. It was cool … we had nice little arrangement. Then the other Louie began to pop up with him and three of us would chill. That day in August, Tim showed up too, and I couldn’t stop tingling. Yo, yo, check out this chick in this video. Tim said, This bitch is no joke son.. Carmel complexioned, Rubenesque and very butch, an afro’d presence took over the screen, punching the lyrics through my speakers … and Tim was transfixed. I’d seen her before. The song was called ‘Good Luck’. The group was ‘Basement Jaxx’. The vocal powerhouse destined for greatness was . . . . Lisa Kekaula. Tim said, as if reading my mind. Louie number one nudged his namesake, casting a look of vague disdain on their red-headed compatriot. Then he sprang up and shoved Tim aside … Gimme this shit! Gonna be here ‘til muthafuckin’ New Years waitin’ for your ass to roll. He frontin’ kid. And ain’t like she’d give him none anyway, number two added, displaying the smirk which reminded me of an irritation in my craw with his name on it. The bitch pro’bly hit a pussy better than you, Timmy boy. But oh shit, that’s right, you don’t like pussy do you? Tingles. Tingles all down my damn spine. Tim sprang off the floor. Leaning over number two, fist poised to strike, he said, What I tell you, yo!? Then, in a flurry of movement, he punched Louie in the ribs and any other exposed body part he could catch. I watched the melee, with Louie trying to defend himself against the onslaught. He took the beating with amusement and veiled surprise, then squinted purposefully again, and fired one last pathetic round. You trippin’ kid. Tim sat down and slipped right back into our flow, ‘Basement Jaxx’ isn’t her group though, she’s really the lead singer of . . . . The Bellrays. Tim looked surprised that I knew the group, as if someone twice his age wasn’t supposed to up on the latest music. But I love music, and when I first heard that song, her voice, I felt a connection so strong it was damn near sexual. Damn near. But the growing vibe between me and this young red-headed & freckled Puerto Rican kat, who refused to wear the uniform of his generation, was the real deal. I noticed the way he sometimes watched my lips when I was talking. First, penetrating eye-contact, then lips and then back again. Almost as if he wanted me to see, as if he wanted me to know that it was all good … and was just waiting for me to say the word. The two Louies lit the blunt and were talking, sweaty and conspiratorial, watching us. Tim glanced over at them and stiffened a bit. When he turned his attentions back to me, his gaze no longer tweaked my nipple or stroked my cheek, but flitted about my face as if unsure of itself. I knew right there that he wanted me. But I also knew he was conscious of what his boys thought, worried that they were sitting over in the corner judging his every move. I could see the fear, dancing with the candlelight flickers in his eyes. I leaned closer and asked if he was alright. Wait … Louie number two said … I mean, smoke … don’t you wanna smoke? He handed over the blunt. The clock moved … and the room was cloudy as we all were lounged about, beyond the Death Star because the shit was bangin’, lost in our thoughts, when Tim’s voice in my ear shocked the hell out of me. Whispering directly down my ear canal, he said … Show me your bedroom. Naturally, I tingled, then popped up and took a second to scan the Louies. They appeared to sleeping, number one still with a burning cigarette in his hand … which I snubbed out. But by the slight smirk on number two’s face, I could tell he was hardly asleep. I couldn’t figure him out. Was he testing me or Tim? Either way, we were both about to fail it. I personally planned to fail the fuck out of it … repeatly if I could. C’mon … I whispered … this way.

(( TO BE CONTiNUED ))

Updated 06.31.05

Kamal Raza Butt ~ SGL explained ~ Black Bootie & the Beach

First off ... Kamal Raza Butt, a middle-eastern man, was beaten to death by a rascist mob in London. So sad. And so expected ... having had a front row seat to 9/11 and it's hateful aftermath when middle-easteners became The Theocratic States of America's newest niggers. I hope London doesn't explode, because the only way we're going to end this insanity is by embracing the Muslim world, and not by trying to destroy it, or exploit it for its oil. You know the saying, 'You catch more flies with honey ....' I got a big mouth sometimes. Yeah. And it sometimes goes off without me telling it to. You know it.

In political terms concerning SGL matters, I would be on the extreme left. Hard-core DL kats, and the varying degrees thereof which I'll call their brethren, I'd place on the extreme right. Like rutting Rams we butt heads religiously, but I'm beginning to notice something strange and kinda wonderful ... we always wind up breathless, exhausted, and somewhere about the middle, almost ready to cuddle.

I got a cool-ass email from Jahlaune in response to A 'Gather' in Bklyn: The Rebuttal.

I'll share one line with you,

"...I enjoyed (as usual) your blog. I respect all you had to say and in all fairness I did talk to my partner and tho he didn't side with you (LOL) he did liken it to the water buffalo lodge in the Flintstones..." -- JKH

I screamed at that, and for some reason, pictured the Raccoon Lodge, and Ralph & Norton in those funny hats, wiggling the tails in salutation. But back to point, his words let me know that neither of us is far off the mark as previously thought. Which in turn, gives me great hope that our community will recognize the 'additional' emotional damage being inflicted ... on our brothers ... by our brothers ... with impunity. No FATS No FEMS should Rest In Peace, right along side that other insulting, and homophobic, descriptive ... Straight-Acting. Thanks Jahlaune for the classy note ... and for making me see a glimpse of light at the end of this tunnel. ~~~~~~~~~~

Got another email from someone confused over the meaning and necessity of the term, SGL.

Hey, I am on a few lists with you, a white man who (mostly) lurks. I did something rather foolish and I realized I have no idea why I did it, except for a need to rant at that particular moment. Harkening back to my younger days perhaps. I’ll explain in a bit. Why does this involve you? Well the rant was over the choice of the phrase SGL. I didn’t get it, so I belittled it. I’m asking you because I respect your opinion and realize I have no information to even have based my rant on. I don’t know why it’s a popular phrase, although I did hear it had something to do with a writer from the Harlem Renaissance at the time. See, I’m asking because I used to be that white guy. That one white guy that would join a list for black people (glbpoc springs to mind, where JEH ripped me a new one quite a few times) and think I had an inside track because “I love black people, I like black men, even if I know nothing of them, they were still pretty, why can’t I hang out with you guys?” kinda people. And I am exceptionally grateful the moderator DIDN’T post my post, because it was, idiotic to say the least. Now I am married, my partner’s African-American. And really, I’ve discovered that there is no inside track to the “African-American experience” because, Uhm I’m not African American. No matter how or what the circumstances, even living 2 blocks from THE CORNER in Baltimore I’ll always be that white guy. So I am trying to educate myself and learn not to speak on some topics at all. So I am asking you to explain Same Gender Loving to me, if you wouldn’t mind, because I think I’m a bit too stupid for my own good on this one (and let’s face it, most things.) Sorry to bug you. Take care,

Hey yourself ...

A wise SGL man by the name of Cleo Manago said it much better than I ever could. But Kudos for being man enough to admit that you don't know everything. I adopted the term, at first, just because I hated the word 'queer' which was suddenly everywhere. All over the TV, dancing happy little queers bum-rushing the world with their style and wit. Although I was happy to see homosexuals gain visibility, I just wanted a term that said, 'Nice, but ... thats not me.' I'm not queer as folk, nor when I eye a straight guy am I pondering his make-over. All this explains why I globbed onto the term SGL like a gelatinous space organism desperately in need of sustenance. Then, after I found The Black Men's Xchange, I learned it went even deeper than that, much deeper .... SGL explained by Cleo Manago.

On the Freak Tip ... This Saturday (July 30th) it's all about Sandy Hook beach for the naturalist type ( or the lascivious sort, like me ) ... The B.L.K. S.U.N CLUB (nudist club) is having it's second annual SOULAR Eclipse. Yes, kiddies ... Sandy Hook on the Jersey Shore is gonna be chock full of big ol' Black Bootie in all shapes and sizes. Nasty little freak that I am ... I wouldn't miss it.

Photo credit: Jonathan Atkins.

Contact blknudistman1974@yahoo.com for details about SOULar Eclipse on Sandy Hook.

On the Freakier Tip ... The idea of writhing with a roomful of beautiful men I barely knew, at one point in my life, was irresistible . . . no, even more than that . . . it was so intoxicating it couldn’t help but to be habit-forming. When I came out in the eighties (not that I was ever really IN anything), I cast aside my life as a Jehovah’s Witness and delved into a lifestyle that was intensely stimulating because it was so forbidden. Someone took me to a bathhouse in NYC, I forget exactly where it was or what it was called, but I got a rush from being there, an intense rush, greater than the one from another substance I’d just learned to snort. The light touches and burning stares in the dark corridors … the dim inviting rooms with passion and posssibility on display … the scents of testosterone and cologne and poppers and sex … and of course, the moans. It became my thing for a minute, sex & drugs. But when I tossed the drugs I became less interested in that wild wild west kinda sex. No, let me rephrase that ... I became less willing to take a chance with my well being on what I believe (in my upper brain) to be somewhat risky behavior. Yeah … I still wanna be there. Doing things … doing all the shameful and sinful things that titillate me so … so fuckin' much. But no. I’ve toned down my life. Oh, yeah … and my boy would kick my ass. Maybe if I was single though .... But anyway, here’s that group I referred to in an early post … be safe … be safe … be safe … be safe …. And if anyone has any stories to tell, I'd love to hear them. ~~~~

BMOCO Group MEN OF COLOR party will be on Friday, July 29th, 10:00pm-5:00am in Manhattan on the UWS. Donation Fee Schedule: $10 before 11pm $15 between 11pm-12am $20 Afterwards FULLY AIR CONDITIONED PARTY ROOMS BMOCO is the Premier Party for Big Men of Color(Chubby, Fat, Husky, Stocky, Black, Latin, Asian, Native American, etc.) and Men of Color(Skinny, Thin, Toned, Muscular) who admire them. BMOCO Amenities are all FREE and are Various types of Beer, Soda, Water, Snacks, Condoms and Lube. Clothes strip policy is as follows: shorts above the knee Underwear (boxers, briefs, thongs, Jockstraps) Tank top, wifebeater, A-shirts, sleeveless T-shirt or nude, whichever you prefer. NO LONG SHORTS, SHORT SLEEVE T-SHIRTS OR LONG SLEEVE SHIRTS. NO STREET CLOTHES OF ANY KIND IS ALLOWED IN THE PARTY AREAS. If you would like an invite to this party, please reply to BMOCO@aol.com with your FULL description and/or pic. Please indicate date of party in subject. BMOCO Group "ATTEND THE BEST OR ATTEND THE REST"

A 'Gather' in BKLYN ~ The REBUTTAL

"Any time something is written against me, I not only share the sentiment but feel I could do the job far better myself. Perhaps I should advise would-be enemies to send me their grievances beforehand, with full assurance that they will receive my every aid and support. I have even secretly longed to write, under a pen name, a merciless tirade against myself." ~~ Jorge Luis Borges, 1907 ~~~~ Thanks Larry L. for the cool quote.

I got a note from Jahlaunehunt@aol.com last night regarding that Brooklyn function I blogged about. Here is the email in yellow, weaved with my response:

Jahlaune ... despite being an admitted quirky self-absorbed asshole, I understand your ire at my supposed intrusion into your personal affairs regarding the cool jam-session, 'A Gather in Brooklyn'. I apologize if I offended you. But then again, when someone bumps into me in a club ... I apologize also, because that's just the way I was raised. Though in a sense, I did intrude on your personal space, insinuating discriminatory behavior in a private event in a private space. My bad. Although you posted the orginal flyer (and this email) to a group (NNY'ers) with twenty-thousand some odd members, you still have the right to your privacy. I really don't think you "caught it" from me in my BLOG (RingNews), if only because I never actually threw anything. I praised the event for being cool & positive, and thought when I first read it, that it was what OUR community needs more of ... places where brothers who love brothers can come together and slough off all the bullshit we are bombarded with on a daily basis for being black ... AND same-gender-loving to boot. However, the "be masculine" disclaimer just fucked up all those good vibrations. I'm sorry (there I go again, it's a knee-jerk sorta thing), but it did. Suddenly I was at a hot club known for its pick & choose policy, wondering if I looked good enough, tall enough, ripped enough, stylish enough, masculine enough on that particular night, to gain access to their inner-sanctum. You said ...

Wow I caught it from Mr. Taylor in his Blog about the fact that there was a disclaimer on the ad for the gathering in Brooklyn that was held for masculine brothers that play an instrument. I see this as hating because there is no law that states drag queens, semi drag queens and overtly feminine men needed to be there period.

You're right, there is no law. You have the right to snub as many people as you choose to, that's what makes America, uh, what it is. The Christian Conservatives would like to string them up Iran-Stylie, so I guess you're not alone in your stance. Just remember when they do it, your boy, who you describe as a "feminine man", isn't gonna be immune.

I was the host and someone else put up the money for the jam session. If he had wanted it any other way that's the way it would have been.

Or ... (just playing devil's advocate here) ... you could've taken some sort of stance against the blatant discrimination against an entire class of SGL men, a faction which has enough on its plate and shouldn't have to put up with bullshit from the greater community of African-American dick loving men like ourselves. I stand by that.

Moreover and directly to the point I date a feminine man and he wasn't there either.

First off .. ?!!? Second ... he clearly wasn't wanted there. Kudos to him for not being dense.

Ironically, when situations like this occur and a person feels snubbed I offer a sincere apology.

'I'm sorry, you're a little too cunt to get in here, but much luv to ya bruh.' Nice. Real fuckin nice.

Regardless that it wasn't intended to hurt a persons feeling but rather to hold a function with a like minded group of mature individuals.

... who just don't like associating with the queeny element, yeah, I got that. And it's your right; I got that too. But is turning your back on these fellow SGL men good mojo ... considering the fact that in the grand scheme of things, regardless of personal delusions, you occupy the same lower echelon?

Because I have always admired your writings and comments I must admit that I was shocked at the poor choice you made in your stance regarding this issue. I can only assume you felt the need to hopefully gather a army of like minded pea brains that would what? Storm the Internet with banners saying fem's need to be everywhere they want to be?

Ouch. Not sure I like the pea-brain part, my friend ... seems clichéd. I would have tried Neanderthal-brained, or maybe ... amoeba-brained, or anything to suggest an organism which obviously can't see the obvious ... but that's just my style. Storm the internet? Yeah, actually, I figured we'd put all our peas together and maybe come up with something thought-provoking to disseminate. What better way to make people question their actions and those of others ... if not on the net?

For the record I am thirty years old and this may be the upteenth party we have hosted. Never are they advertised in the yahoo groups and I because i enjoy these groups thought there would not be any problems in doing so. Moreover you might need to understand The area where these events are held designates who should be invited. This was not a sex party or meet and greet or hook up for those that are without signifigent others.

The 'area' designates who should be invited? I'm not gonna touch that one. In your defense, sex parties are notoriously and blatantly discriminatory, which I half-heartedly understand. I personally can't get my groove on if a guy is watching me--or god forbid, touching me--who doesn't make Mr. Wigglez rise and say w'sup. But we are talking sex here, not a jam session. The fact that I can't hump someone who doesn't turn me on ... in no way correlates to not being able to share professional and/or social space with them without feeling uncomfortable. But in response to the sex-party disclaimers of no FATS or FEMS, other groups have sponsored their own events. Good for them. And I can hear you thinking that's what fem musicians should do, get their own thing and leave yours alone. I guess they probably should. But just think of the possible heights which could be reached if all the walls just fell down, and everyone embraced diversity--which, I thought, is what we were all fighting for. It's not like you've gotta 'get it up' or anything. Although in this case, you clearly like fem guys sexually ... therefore your support of this disclaimer alludes to a pathology of another sort.

Secondly, sometimes these events are held for lip stick lesbians and butch lesbians are not invited. I have (as usual) never heard a complaint or temper tantrum thrown by the females.

The tiny green vegetable masquerading as my brain is having difficulty with this logic, explaining away one sort of snub with another ... I'll have to meditate on that. Suffice it to say, lesbians do tons of things which I don't give a BLOG about.

Third and foremost, a jam session is hosted with front money from various musicians who are in town working. It's a discreet affair except for the music and whoevers money has went towards the liquor and food has the last say on who gets invited. Secondly, would we be at fault for having a jam session for just musician union members? Would there be an outcry from non union musicians who don't make a living from music? Surely, Sir you are not as simple as your blog presented you to be.

Actually ... yeah ... I am. Sorry.

I hope this clears up any ill conceived thoughts you may have harbored regarding bias in this case. Last but not least. I appreciate all the people who wrote civil letters asking why singers were not welcome. I will post this response in this e mail, Because singers sometimes require special keys, tempo, etc the piano player requested no singers. Even tho they sneak in any way! A gathering is a very pleasant way to meet people and perhaps sir you might want to host your own and then you can dictate who gets in. On a last note I enjoyed meeting the brothers that came out and told me they were from Nubian New Yorkers. It was great to put a face with the e mails! Jahlaune K. Hunt

Bottom line is, you're going to do what you feel is right. More power too you in that respect, and I do wish you the greatest success, sincerely ... because there is nothing that warms my soul more than seeing SGL brothers getting together and doing their thing on the positive tip. That's why I put the event in my blog in the first place. But I would've been remiss if I'd let the disclaimer go unnoticed, as if it wasn't a swipe at a lot of good brothers I know, who just may happen to have the tiniest swish in their flow. I'd be curious to know, Jahlaune, how your boy feels about this exchange? Maybe I just take things too personally; maybe I empathize a little too much. I've never been overweight either, but I have large friends, and seeing the disrespect OUR community doles out to large brothers just makes me wanna cry. But here's an unquestionably positive gathering that I recently discovered, one where all or welcomed, and one that I came away from feeling invigorated ... like I'd just had my battery recharged. The diverse amount of positive-minded SGL brothers in attendance boggled my little green brain to such an extent I could barely speak through-out the evening. It's called The Black Men's Xchange http://www.BMXNY.org ... and over the course of one evening, it restored my faith in the possibility of OUR community gelling as a force to reckoned with. You should come too, Jahlaune, everyone should experience it at least once. Here it is:

Welcome To The Black Men's Xchange. This email/post is for the gathering on Friday, July29th, 2005BROTHERS! ALTHOUGH NOT REQUIRED, BRINGING A POTLUCKDISH OR BEVERAGE OF YOUR CHOOSING WOULD BE A GENEROUS OFFERING THANK YOU!

TOPIC: WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL ABOUT INTIMACY?

* What does vulnerability mean to me?

* How does self-trust affect my capacity for intimacy?

* What don't I trust about myself?

* What does it mean to let another man in?

* Is there anyone in my life whom I am completely honest with, and without ego?

Let's talk about it among other brothers at the BlackMen's Xchange. Location: 730 Riverside Drive [@ 150th Street]Suite 9EHarlem, NYTime: 8:00PM - 11:00PM [Every Friday Night]For information:Call 212/330-7660or email us at BMX_NY@blackwebportal.com Check us out by logging on at:

http://www.BMXNY.org Directions: Take the #1 or #9 train to 145th Street, or the M4 or M5 bus to 149th Street.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++BMX SUMMER 2005 CALENDAR

Sunday, August 21st, 2005: BMX NY Picnic[tentative and more info to be announced later]PLEASE NOTE: BMX NY WILL BE ON HIATUS DURING THE MONTHOF AUGUST 2005 AND RESUME ON FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 9TH,2005!!!!! PLEASE MARK YOUR CALENDARS ACCORDINGLY, ANDLET OTHER BROTHERS KNOW WHO MAY NOT RECEIVE THISEMAIL/POST! THANK YOU!! - BMX NY STAFF

Ronnie Paris: Brown Baby's Don't Matter?

Theocrasies in action:

Jermaine Jackson described the prosecution of his brother Michael as "a modern day lynching." Well Jermaine was so very wrong ... because the real thing hasn't changed one iota since the day Billie Holiday penned 'Southern Trees'. It still involves a rope, a neck, callousness beyond comprehension ... and an absentee deity saying let it be so.

As reports from Iran filtered around the internet of two teenage boys being publically hung for the crime of homosexuality ... here in America, the land of happy family Christian values, where just this week a black man was found guilty of torturing his three-year-old son to death because he thought he might be gay one day ... the top story on Keith Obermann's Countdown, I mean the number ONE story ... was the embarassment suffered by Jude Law when his three-year old son caught him feverishly fornicating his nanny on the pooltable.

Yeah. Top story. And they mentioned that missing blond woman in Aruba. They mentioned her a lot, poor thing, all over CNN, Scarborough Country, The Situation w/Tucker Carlson. I didn't watch Hardball, but I'm pretty sure little Ronnie Paris wasn't mentioned. Nor was the BBC talking about any of it, naturally, dealing with London's second wave of bombings.

Little Ronnie's murder at the ripe old age of three lacks elements to make it a media frenzy in America. He wasn't rosy-cheeked enough ... AND ... his own bible-toting father beat him to death to 'save' him from being gay. In America, as we know, there is nothing more loathsome than being black and gay. I guess Jude's kid will be damaged from the sight of his pops gleefully fornicating someone other than his fiancé, and I guess this trauma makes the story more news worthy than a brown baby getting slapped in the head until he's dead. Ronnie Paris is the newest member of a rapidly growing list of people killed for being, or suspected of being, SGL ... cases which are rarely ever solved. This one was. Yet American media says nothing, it just sits there, silently complicit in the death of a little boy.

Iran is the barbaricly Theocratic melanoma of the planet ... but at least she isn't pretending to be anything else.

If this shit don't make you wanna holla ... then what the hell does?

Everyone who belittles a person for being SGL, hides the fact that he or she is SGL, spews rhetoric diminishing the humanity of the SGL community is complicit in this murder ... as surely as if they stood by his father while he beat him. And it does make me wanna holla ... at top of my lungs ... and then grab my Boo and move to Canada.

~~~~~~~~~~

But in on a ligher note ... It's Relationship Month @ The Black Men's Xchange.

This Friday Night's topic: July 22 - Boyz From the Hood – Date or Dick?

I'll see you there.

Big Lies, How & Why to Maintain Them

"If you tell a lie big enough

... and keep repeating it,

people will eventually come to believe it.

The lie can be maintained only for such time

as the State can shield the people from the political,

economic and/or military consequences of the lie.

It thus becomes vitally important

for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent,

for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie,

and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State." --Joseph Goebbels, Hitler's Minister of Propaganda

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'Nuff said.

Good News (for a change) & Florida Black Pride pics

Canadian Press Ottawa — One of the most raucous debates in Canadian history resulted in a vote that made Canada the fourth country to sanction same-sex marriage on Tuesday.

The Senate erupted in a loud cheer as it adopted the Liberal government's Bill C-38, which will give gay and lesbian couples the right to marry in courthouses and city halls across the country. The 47-21 vote came after years of court battles and debate that divided families, religious groups and even political allies. The final word in the debate came from a Liberal senator who read to the hushed chamber an e-mail from a Yukon constituent. “You have no idea what a difference it makes to the human spirit to know that you are treated equally under the law,” said Ione Christensen, the 71-year-old senator from Whitehorse. ~ Courtesy ... Globeandmail.com ~~~ I couldn't agree more. Wake up, my absent-minded ex-cotton-pickers, weren't WE pleading for the exact same thing in the sixties? And to those who don't see the correlation ... seek therapy before crossing the street. ~~~

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Pics sent to me from this past weekends ... (thanks Willie B)

Central Florida Black Pride Event

Ain't we beautiful. Proud, OUT, and diesel. Makes me wanna head south ... (pun intended), and to quote spoken-word artist/poet baron., "Brothers I love you openly ... 'cause you're beautiful."

Luther Vandross: The Straight-Washing of an SGL Legend

I got a little heated this morning with the women of Crunk & Disorderly over Chris Crain's Washington Blade article called The Straight-Washing of Luther Vandross. I was ready to be annoyed by the Blade's white columnist's take on the subject, but once again, it is my people, descendents of slaves, who piss me off the most. After expressing a slight detachment from the reality of Luther's sexuality and trashing the blade article, they went on to make light of the author's (Crain's) beating at the hands of gay bashers in Amsterdam two months ago ... even posting pictures of his battered face. Here is the comment I left behind ...

"My people ... ... Why do we get our draws in a knot when the subject of Luther's sexuality is broached. Stevie Wonder could see Luther was gay. Get over it already. This article, to me, did not accuse Luther of having AIDs ... it only pointed out the fact that the Washington Post had. And this one section ...

“You’re trying to zero in on something that you are never gonna get,” laughed Vandross. “Look at you, just circling the airport. You ain’t never gonna land.” Let it be noted that in the history of humanity, no straight man — and certainly no straight African-American man — has ever refused to say whether he’s straight or gay.

... says it all. And he's right, African American men especially are much too afraid of appearing weak to EVER refuse to answer that question. Which makes gay ol' Luther a helluva lot more man than most. I applaud him for at least not lying about it. Luther is one the greatest artists who ever lived ... if his sexuality diminishes that fact in your ideology, then you need to check yourself. And one more thing, I love your BLOG ... its witty, insightful and informative ... but making light of a man, any man, being battered for walking down the street with his partner by a group of violent homophobes (bigots) is beneath you. Descendents of slaves should know better than to look down their noses at anybody. " ~~ TS

I've had a really hard time with Luther's passing. And I felt guilty for not writing about it ... I felt guilty for not caring that Luther never stood up and sang gay & proud, which is a courtesy I don't extend to any other SGL individuals (especially those in positions of visibility). Why was Luther the exception to my out-and-in-their-face rules I've ranted about for years? I can't answer that question now because it would require some serious introspection and a lot of coffee. Maybe another time. But today's Crunk was the kick in the ass I needed to speak on the subject at all ... if only about not being able to. But what the hell is up with black women getting twisted over Luther's gayness? Has the man-pool evaporated so that fantasy is better than nothing? This Homophobia in our community is a killer disease that's spreading rapidly, and eating away at all that is good in those afflicted. Crunk & (quite) Disorderly is just the latest malignancy to bubble to the surface.

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Ja Rule ~ The 'Sensitive Thug' In Rehab?

Pictured below with my new baby boy Raz B ... is there's some secret finger action goin' on there between them? Maybe plannin' a little SGL on the DL? Hmmm ... I use to do that shit myself, strokin' that palm to let him know the deal. Of course, there was never anything DL about me ... I'm proud to say. But can't you just hear Ja thinking ... "Damn, I wish he'd wrap dem big-ass lips 'round mah ..." Alright alright, on with the news ...

Word around the hip-hop entertainment industry is that Murder Inc. rapper Ja Rule (born Jeffrey Atkins) is in a drug rehab facility. Branded the "sensitive thug" by many fans, Ja Rule was never shy about recording his views on relationships and women--causing quite a stir among his female fans. So when it was revealed that the rapper had engaged in a long-term intimate relationship with groupie-turned-author Karrine Steffans, while many fans were shocked, others weren't surprised at all. Allegedly, Ja's wife Aisha, of 4 years kicked him out after the release of Steffans groupie tell-all book entitled 'Confessions of a Video Vixen'. To save face he reportedly entered a drug rehab until the Superhead-Super-Saga dies down. But judging by the allegations and the he say/she say comments which have been made since the release of the book, it doesn't look like the Steffans hype will die down anytime soon.

~~ Courtesy ... Crunk & Disorderly

Raz B Rockin' Black Gay Pride ...

... And ain’t got sense enough to be ‘shamed.

Everyone’s heard by now. I’ll tell you again though, exactly why I believe this gig is good for him … for us … and for everybody. When I first heard that Raz-B was slated to perform at Oakland’s Black Gay Pride, my first thought was … I knew it, I knew it, I KNEW IT! But I quickly calmed down, because my rational mind knows that performing for a gay audience in no way makes the boy gay, and I didn’t relish being like so many others quick to paint with the fag brush. But damn, I couldn’t help wondering, what if he is? What if Raz-B {who, along with his B2K cohorts, tapped into my inner perv the moment I saw their little jailbait asses gyrating on MTV} ... really was down? What if he came out openly and said, “Yeah I’m gay … so fuckin' what?” So what? I’ll tell you so what. Because of the pressure on African-American males {coming mostly from within our community} to be the best, the strongest, the fastest, the straightest … to identity as homosexual is to identity with all that is opposite of what a man allegedly is … and against everything their mamas raised them to be. I was listening to a CD just the other day by ADODI Muse: A Gay Negro Ensemble. Titled: Ain’t Got Sense Enuf to be ‘Shamed ... that line rang in my head bringing back memories of my grandmother saying the very same thing. She wasn’t talking to me personally, and I was too young at the time to really grasp what she was saying, and doing. She was referring to my aunt’s effeminate boyfriend. I couldn’t figure out why my grandmother hated him with such passion, nor why she called him “that he-she thing”. But sadly, she did call him that, and she did say that phrase every time he left the house. “Lord hav’ mercy,” she’d shake her head and say, “And he ain’t got sense enough to be ‘shamed.” Yeah, he should’ve been ashamed. How dare he be the person he was born to be? There was also a time (I’m sure my grandmother would remember) when black people couldn’t look a white person directly in the eyes, we had to cower, humble ourselves … in other words, we had to be just a little bit ashamed … for breathing the same air, for simply existing on the planet. Even my grandmother, may she rest in peace, must have known how dehumanizing that was, and that everyone has a right to walk the streets, to hold their heads up, and to unashamedly just BE. This post started out as a nod to a hot little shorty with the balls to buck convention, an excuse for me to pepper my BLOG with imagery of his sexy little ass. But as my fingers moved they dug through old wounds, stirred up shit about my people, black people, which pisses me off to no end, and forced my lascivious nature, temporarily, into the backseat. Descendents of slaves should know better than to discriminate. But we don’t. It seems like we are just as ignorant as when we spent our days in the sun picking cotton for free, mumbling to a higher power busy doing other things. Descendents of slaves should have sense enough to not look down their noses at any other man.

And yet …

when I Googled the subject of Raz B being gay, I found the most backward, ignorant, bigoted statements from descendents of slaves, whose ancestors hung from trees, bloated and twisted, all because they didn’t have sense enough to be appropriately ashamed of themselves ... just for being born. Okay. I’m gonna climb down from my pulpit and get back to the point. Whether Raz-B is gay or not is so irrelevant. If he does not buckle to the pressure that he must be under and go through with this performance … AND … if he responds to personal questions the way Luther Vandross did, with a simple, ‘That’s none of your business’, then he will gain so much more than he ever had before. Yeah, he’ll lose some fans. But they were never really in his corner to begin with. However, the new fan base will consist of, first ... Same-Gender-Loving men who, unfortunately, are starved for an SGL luminary and itching to throw some of their disposable income in his direction, and second ... younger fans, even younger than him, emboldened by his unprecedented and ballsy move back into the spotlight. Even if he is straight … but proves to be strong enough, straight enough, to deal with being painted with that fag brush the Hip-Hop media and his peers love to brandish as if it’s a weapon, we will support him in droves with a loyalty, an homage that his former fickle teeny-bopper fans never could have bestowed. I’d personally bow down and anoint his feet with oil. Okay … I’m drifting toward nasty now … but after all, that was my original intent. I just hope that Raz goes through with this and lets all the gay innuendo slide right off his back {ooh … there I go again}, because it may energize and awaken SGL artists who are currently on the charts, bribing and conniving to keep their secrets. Seeing one little man take on the homophobic monster that the industry has become, may inspire them to stand up and be counted ... finally.

Will the Hip Hop media rip little Raz a new one for daring to align himself with fags? Or is this the beginning of a new revolution in the music biz, one that sees that a black man can be gay, or in league with gays, and still be marketable? A new renaissance of sorts, where black gay and male, actually fit for the bean counters? It's all supposition. Is he, isn't he? Will he, won't he? Will other's in the biz support him? Will we?

That's a lot of pressure on his cute little shoulders, I know, attempting to start a revolution with a questionable outcome.

Time will tell. But one fact is certain. You can't possibly have a real renaissance, or revolution … without a bunch of fags in the mix.

Bobby & Whitney ~~ Ghetto Royalty

The Brits have been embarassed by their royales for centuries ... now its our turn. Being Bobby Brown, Bravo’s new reality show featuring alleged R&B badboy and his equally beleaguered pop goddess of a wife has people talking, shaking their heads, and some at choice moments … even cringing in embarrassment. First off ... It’s clear to me that the Browns still are firmly versed in the art of getting high. Yeah. I said it. You never see them drifting off to take a hit or toke, but those of us once well versed in that particular 'art' ... know the behavior.

I could be wrong, have been once or twice. But if I was a betting man . . . . As I watched the show Bobby and Whitney turned into people I’d seen before. In the restaurant where he painstakingly drained all the glasses on the table before leaving … I’ve got an uncle who used to do that, said that since he paid for them all he was gonna drink them. Then he'd systematically go around the table draining glasses.

He was a little ghetto, that uncle. Just a little.

Then there was a point where Bobby was so drunk he couldn’t get his shoe completely free of his foot; a dilemma which caused him great stress and went on for much longer than seemed necessary. Whitney, meanwhile, puttered aimlessly nearby refusing to play that game with him yet 'again'.

Again? Was staggering in a stupor a nightly thing?

Behavior like that is what has people shaking their heads and worrying about the children. But bitching about how they act and how it’s a shame and whatnot . . . won’t change the fact that the Browns, in spite of global celebrity, awards and ample fortune, are still GHETTO as HELL. We’ve all got family members who act just like that … some of us ARE that family member. We’ve got friends and family who get drunk and have difficulty removing their shoes, friends who will say the most hideously inappropriate thing and embarrass the fuck out of us … and yet, they remain on our Christmas lists.

These are two very bold, very famous, very rich, people putting their crazy lives on camera for all the world to see. I think, if nothing else, it lets us know that the rich and famous do the same things that us average Joes do ... just without a camera crew documenting our every move. Of course if we had them, most of us would have stopped the cameras the moment Bobby went up "doodie-bubble" road. That was a cringe moment. It also reminded me of a friend who happens to be known for the inappropriate 'shit' conversation. I understand the pair better now (having been confounded more than once by my own shoe in a drugged stupor), and give them the highest KUDOs for having the balls to put it out there raw, straight up, no chaser. And think about it this way, the show kinda gives us all a chance to keep an eye on their kids. Yeah, they’re gonna have some issues. But how many of us grew up without being a little screwed up by our parents? And how many celebrity kids, for that matter, aren't destined for therapy anyway? Yeah, little Bobbi has years of counseling ahead of her . . . but probably not as much as 'Blanket' Jackson. Just like there is room on this planet (contrary to some) for fats, fems, and old heads ... there's certainly room in this world for the phenomenally flawed, unashamedly ghetto, Browns. Whether we like it or not, the Browns are our Ghetto Royalty. So stop bashing them and hating them. They aren't making "us all" look bad, because it's not their job to represent the entire black community. But they do however represent the cream of a growing class of filthy stinking rich ghetto heads . . . a class that will have us cringing in embarassment for many many years to come.

Embrace them. Embrace them like you do that loud aunt who never rings the doorbell but opts instead to scream through the window. Embrace them, because if we're really honest with ourselves ... they are us ... at our best and worst. I’ll keep watching because I believe they'll never cease to amuse, amaze … and embarrass the fuck outta me. I love 'em anyway.