mellifluous breeze: there's a smell in the air, the truth is farting again

Breeze The Civilian (What's Up Wit Me)

2009-06-02T11:59:00.000-07:00

So what’s been goin on with me? Dude! All things considering, everything’s pretty cool. I want to bitch and moan a complain but the truth of the matter is, I’m healthy, I’m employed, I got my own place and I’ve got opportunities to upgrade it all so… yeah… I’m doing pretty good.

There is a part of me that feeds on despair. I would blame me being an artist but it’s one of those “What came first, the chicken or the egg” type questions. Did I start writing about the shit around me first or did I create the shit in order to write? I don’t know what came first… my inclination to bitch or my inclination to write about it?

I do know that physically everything is cool. I think that somehow, cosmically, I have slid a little bit. I have felt like this before and it’s usually much more intense. Like if I were to read my horoscope it would say something like all your moons were shoved up Uranus and got stuck or something. This feels more like, Jupiter is just a little darker, a little colder than usual. Like last year, it felt like my all stars were lined up pretty well. 2009, my Little Dipper is askew, my Orion is lopsided, my chocolate is in my peanut butter.

Like my love life. Usually when people ask me how is it going I tell them the truth and paint a verbal picture that would explain exactly what it is right now. Think of a dirty little kid in overalls a lá “The Little Rascals”. He’s dragging behind him his favorite red wagon with only three wheels down and dusty country road to play in a field. He knows he’s dirty, he knows his wagon is broken, he’s smiling and can’t wait to play. Yup… that’s me.

I’ve decided to become a “civilian” this year. I have been one for quite some time now, maybe since the year started; civilian in the sense of not being consumed with policies that are affecting my people. I can only remember one other time in my life when I took this stand, back in college when I was just obsessed with marching and picketing and doing whatever I could to create a somewhat peaceful and fair communist-esque existence for mankind. Then I fell in love, then I fell out of love… then I wondered, “What exactly is this life that I am fighting so earnestly to defend and cultivate?” So I decided I would put in a job transfer from the “Angry Gay Black Man” department to the “Man with a Life” floor.

Somehow I wound up taking on the case load of Angry Gay Black Man again last year and I sort of want my life back. I definitely think that there is a way to be socially and politically aware while being spiritually fulfilled and a hot piece of ass at the same time… I’m just not there yet. If you’ve ever wondered why I’m so enamored with Tori Amos... that’s why. I think she is one of the few people who have perfected it. I wrote a poem once in which I truthfully stated that, “Angels can’t fail with the right ammunition”, well... what’s going on with me… I’m just gathering my ammunition right now. These battles that are going on in this country right now, spiritually… I just don’t think I was meant to engage in them, I don’t think at this point I have anything to offer or share… at least not in the big ego driven macho way that I usually participate. I think right now, quietly living my life as a law abiding, God-fearing, poetry writing, ass fucking man is the loudest and most succinct political statement that I can personally make… right now. I’m putting everything in fate’s hands or if you want to get religious about it… God’s hands… at least for right now. I’m just taking my breaths, gathering my strength, living my life, charting my stars, with my little red wagon behind me, smiling, can’t wait to play.

Sweet Angeles, Hand Jobs and my Mother's First Name

2009-02-02T11:53:00.000-08:00

I got picked up at the Blue Oyster last Sunday by this amazingly muscular and attractive Mexican dude named Angel who gave me a hand job while he drove me home. I also bumped into Reagan again at the Blue Oyster too. I bumped into him a couple of weeks ago also. He definitely noticed the changes in my appearance. He didn’t even recognize me at first. Both times he was with somebody and both times it was pretty obvious that he just wanted to pull his dick out and fuck me right then and there… but both times he was with somebody. The first time it was with his “boyfriend”… this insecure bear-like dude who I have always assumed was whoring himself out to whatever sexual need Reagan and his friend’s came up with. Something about that guy just smacks of low self esteem; he just doesn’t seem to have a backbone. But there is something between them because they have been “together” for years now and when he saw me, as much as he obviously wanted to stick his tongue down my throat, he politely gave me a bear hug while NerdWhoreBoy carefully watched on. When I saw him this time he was with some black dude who has a video on the web sucking some white dude’s dick and getting pissed on ... so the attraction between him and Reagan is obvious. This time, with whatever emotional bond or obligation that he has to the black dude not being nearly as strong as NerdWhoreBoy, he was a lot more flirtatious with me... rubbing my head, fully enveloping my body with his and rubbing on my chest. It felt good. I have to admit that it felt really good. But I doubt anything will happen. Did I mention that I decided not to have sex unless it’s with someone that I care about?

Well… I decided not to have sex unless it’s with someone that I care about. No particular reason. Nothing really happened for me to come to that conclusion… nothing consciously at least. I don’t know. I want love. It’s a haughty goal, I will admit… but it’s not like I’m waiting to get married or for this extremely special relationship. I guess… I really do want it to mean something, something special; something more. I hate those couple of seconds after a one night stand when you clean up and you both go. I want to say that it’s awkward but it’s not really awkward at all, it’s actually pretty predictable. It’s like that aftertaste after saccharine. You know its coming, you know it’s gonna be horrible, but you just put up with it because of it’s no muss, no fuss sweetness. You get all that goodness without the extra added accoutrements of fat and calories. Well… I want the sugar. I want to be bothered. I want to have sex with someone and have them feel obligated to spend the night, and get breakfast, and call me every once in awhile to see how I’m doing.

Paraphrasing a conversation that I had with one of my best friends one night… I want to kiss somebody who knows my mother’s first name.

And it’s hard dude… like… I totally need to get laid. But I just remember that aftertaste. I could have totally pinned Reagan down and fucked the shit out of him right then and there. But then he’s going to go… and I’m going to be miserable… yet again.

But Angel was okay. That wasn’t like saccharine… more like… Equal or Splendora…. It was okay.

Hunger

2009-01-22T11:49:00.000-08:00

I’ve been thinking about the idea of hunger. I haven’t made any astounding conclusions or theories but I do think when people speak of basic human needs and basic human forces that drive our nature like revenge or protection or self preservation… hunger has to be in there somewhere; that emptiness, that space that needs to be filled, either with food or money or sex… and I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing, that’s the fucked up part about it. You can’t declare your hunger to be bad, it’s just life. We’re all addicts of one thing or another, I think it’s all about moderation and timing. I need to eat… and laugh and fuck and listen to really good music. I would say that I’m addicted to all those things. But I can’t do all those things 24 hours a day, no matter how euphoric the feeling is when I’m surrounded by them… even though the hunger for those things can just be so fucking overwhelming sometimes. I would so love to be this prolific porn star with a killer sound system and his own personal chef… but alas…

Funny I didn’t mention the writing thing in my list of addictions. It’s so getting away from me and it just totally sucks. I have so been trying to control my ego with my weight loss. I have somewhat thrown my internal self deprecation into high drive as of date. I have just been bombarded with compliments and support and I just don’t know how to take it outside of finding some reciprocal negative thing to accompany the compliment. I considered taking on the finer art of self mutilation; cutting myself, taking a little razor and making little incisions someplace secret on my body to let out some of that aggravation, self doubt and pain. But… that shit just seems painful, so I’ve just decided to be cynical instead. There is much less clean up and scar tissue when you’re just an asshole.

But I digress… the writing thing. One of the things that has been planted in my head with the weight loss is this idea of exactly how strong I am. I have been swimming in the idea of how mortal and fallible I am for years now. This weight loss thing has been convincing/reminding me how virile, capable and beautiful I really am. It scares me a little and I am by far not well equipped to accept any throne or “successful” or “accomplished” but I am solely accepting the fact that I have some strength, I have some beauty, I have some purpose here. And with that comes the writing thing. If I can lose 110 pounds, I can write a book. It’s just going to take some major efforts on my part. I am going to have to really, really rearrange some things around this year. It’s seems like this year is going to be the year of change. Ha! I just got that… change! Yes We Can!

EVERYBODY Got Their Something

2009-01-19T11:46:00.000-08:00

My horoscope in LA Weekly this week:

Libra (Sept 23. – Oct. 22): Mexican scientists have discovered a way to transform tequila into diamonds. Even the brands that sell for three dollars a bottle work fine as raw material. The catch is that the diamonds produced are too small to be used for jewelry. But they do have numerous practical uses: in surgical instruments, for example. You now have it in your power to preside over a comparable alchemical change Libra. What could you do that would be like turning lead into gold or tequila into diamonds?

For example...

Madonna before she became MADONNA... the tequila that eventually turned into diamonds...

Why I Could Never Be A Good Stalker

2008-12-15T21:43:00.000-08:00

I just became MySpace friends with Diesel Washington. Now I want to label him as pornstar Diesel Washington but after perusing his MySpace page I realize he’s more than that but, you know… the first time I saw this guy he had this white dude in a headlock and was fucking the crap out of him.

So I’m looking at his pictures and enjoying his profile and it suddenly occurred to me… when I grow up I want to be Diesel Washington. He’s everything I want to be. Well not everything, but in the “Second Life” game in my mind, he is most definitely my avatar. He’s tall, he’s muscular, he’s really dark skin(three things I have never been and always wanted to be), and you know… the porn thing can’t be a bad thing to put on your resume. Seriously, if I was a muscular 6’6” handsome dude with a ten inch penis, I don’t care if I was applying to be a fry cook at McDonald’s, I would totally attach a .wmv clip of me fucking the crap out of some white dude while I had him in a headlock to the application. This barbarian society of ours is just too patriarchal to pass up an opportunity to cash in on the allure of a penis based orgasm. Hell… I’m thinking about shoving a bratwurst in my underwear at my next performance review to see if it would help with a pay increase.

But it got me thinking, if I could, I would follow this guy everywhere. I would be a Diesel Washington stalker. I think I have that obsessive compulsive/addictive characteristic that could in effect make me a classic “stalker”. I think the only thing that has prevented me from being an official stalker of many people that I admire is the fact that I’m really really lazy. Like, Tori Amos came into town this year. Everybody who knows me knows that I worship the ground she walks on, she breathes out, I breathe in. When I finally got a chance to meet her in Amoeba Music it was one of the most defining moments of my life, and my natural intention was to stay there, hours upon hours if necessary, to catch a glimpse of her getting in her car or maybe snip a lock of her hair so I could maybe clone some of the DNA in it to create a homemade Tori or maybe serenade her with one of her songs, singing at the top of my lungs, “I WAS NEVER A CORNFLAKE GIRL EITHER TORI! IT WAS THE BEST SOLUTION!!”

But alas, I was kind of tired and really hungry so I got a Jumbo Jack with cheese and came home.

And now there’s this Diesel guy who I could totally see myself following around like a little puppy if given the opportunity… you know… if I’m not hungry or tired or America’s Next Top Model isn’t on or… Tori doesn’t happen to be in town at the same time.

I could never be a good stalker. I don’t think I have the attention span. Lately for no particular reason I’ve been obsessed
with all things dealing with the Manson Family and the Sharon Tate murders. It was just so senseless, so brutal and so… just… beyond my realm of compassion to feel sympathy for the people who committed those crimes. It was just so horrible. I’ve been watching some interviews of Susan Atkins, one of the women who slaughtered the eight month pregnant Sharon Tate. She is now in her 60’s and is now riddled with terminal brain cancer. She’s been incarcerated since 1971 and her husband/attorney has been trying to get her a “compassionate release” since her physical state is in such disrepair. The California Board of Parole Hearings denied the request meaning that she will more than likely die in prison and I don’t feel altogether bad about that decision. On a more selfish note… I will say that I’m a little pissed that someone who murdered an eight month pregnant woman can get married in jail… twice… and I can’t. But I guess in the “Second Life” game in my mind I would like to talk to her, and the rest of the Manson Family and go, “You know, seriously guys… wouldn’t you have rather just gotten a Jumbo Jack with cheese and went home?”

Tales from the Troll – Summer Lovin’ (Feel Free to Cut and Paste)

2008-11-26T03:28:00.000-08:00

At the end of each year, I like to reflect about all of the things that have happened during the
year. Unfortunately, I haven’t really done that for the past couple of years because they have totally sucked monkey balls. But for what it’s worth… 2008 kinda rocked. I have to say… I really enjoyed being 36 years old.

It’s kind of early to be raising the flag on this year considering we got over a month to go but I do feel as if enough has happened to review. I have often said that I feel like Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta and the beginning of Grease, dreamily pining on about their summer adventures now that summer is over and they have each gone back to their respective plebian lives. That’s definitely how I feel; for me…. summer’s OVER. It was a good run, but now we got to get back to normal life again.

The year started with me making an effort to take control of my weight. I was never really going to talk about it until I got down to some ridiculously
Olsen Twin-eque weight but… I joined
Weight Watchers back in January. Unbeknownst to me I found out at the first weigh-in that I had ballooned up to 384 pounds… and I’m 5’7 [yeah, go ahead, insert audible gasp here]. As of last Thursday I am down to 288… that’s a loss of 96 pounds. Another 4 pounds and I will have lost 100 pounds this year. I’m still as big as an elephant but it’s more of a… baby elephant… a cute baby elephant with a pierced nipple.

Because of this, I have become a lot more comfortable in my own skin this year and have been hanging out in the “Bear Community”... which is a whole other conversation but I’ll just say… it was interesting. No, I take that back, it’s been fun. It’s been amazingly, earth shattering, unbelievably fun actually and I have enjoyed every single moment of it. I have, however, been associating with a group of folks who I have so affectionately termed, “The Mean Girls” (you know who you are… feel free to cut and paste this shit). There is an encyclopedia worth of conjecture, assumptions and accusations surrounding The Mean Girls that could be written but I’ll just sum it up like this… everything was fine, until it wasn’t, and now it’s not. And it is a little sad but I do imagine myself to be Olivia Newton-John, moved to song thinking about those “Hot summer niiiiiiiiights!”

Obama won which was great but Proposition 8 passed and that completely sucked. It sort of propelled me into the fight for gay rights in the country and gay visibility in the black community. This past weekend I attended two panels that gave an opportunity for African American homosexuals and heterosexuals to dialogue and I also marched in a pro-gay rally that marched down Crenshaw Boulevard from Vernon to King and back. Yeah…
Crenshaw… gays and lesbians [yeah, go ahead, insert audible gasp here too]

I got to meet Tori Amos! She hugged me! Twice! I don’t remember what I said to her. I do remember security saying, “Sir… you have to breath…”

I also met Poet Laureate Al Young at the Squaw Valley Community of Writers Workshops during the summer. This is also a whole other conversation but it would not be an understatement to say that that experience as a whole completely changed my life and the way I see
everything. If Malcolm X had Mecca, I had Squaw Valley.

The Ex-boyfriend and I (or Notaboyfriend if you’ve been paying attention) have settled into a comfortable albeit guarded friendship. He has moved in with his current boyfriend and they are cohabiting quite well… supposedly. It feels really good to not hate him... it took up so much energy and so much time. I’ve always said that not all of that weight I lost was fat… some of it was notaboyfriend baggage. I honestly wish him and the new dude well. I’m not particularly optimistic… but I really do hope everything works out for the best.

I shaved my head. I was bored.

I haven’t been up to San Francisco all year… I don’t know how that happened but… I can’t repeat that next year… I MISS JEN!!!

I’m an absolutely horrible uncle. I have five nephews and one niece and I’ve pretty much neglected all of ‘em. That’s going to have to change next year too.

As I get older I am really digging my parents… I don’t know how/why that happened.

I had a pretty amazing kiss with a pretty amazing dude the other day that has had me smiling ever since.

But like I said… the year ain’t over yet, we’ve got a lot more game to play. So we’ll just have to see what happens. But still, damn, DAMN… “those hot summer niiiiiiiiights!”

The Most Stressful Vacation (God is in the Morning)

2008-11-16T23:48:00.000-08:00

So I took a vacation last week. I have been looking forward to it for about a month with the abstract goal of finding God. Yup… I had every intention of finding God within a five day period. And the truth of the matter is… I think I did find her. I think she’s in the morning though… and I have a tendency to wake up after 2:00 p.m.

Monday, November 10, 2008
I finally get paid. I was supposed to get paid the Friday before but because of some snafu at work, I didn’t get it until midday Monday. I woke up pretty late and decided to go to the gym. There was this husky football player looking dude on one of the stationary bikes in the corner wearing a long t-shirt and the shortest, tightest shorts I have ever seen on a guy. I so happened to be on the treadmill a couple of feet away, testing the theory that you can’t have an erection while running at the same time. I came home and just lounged the rest of the day. I wanted to do so many things this day but I figured… fuck it, it’s day one… I’ve got the rest of the week.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I wake up around 3:00 p.m. Go to the gym. I see the cute football dude with the Daisy Dukes and am so shocked that he notices me that I can’t think of anything to say to him when he looks at me and says hello… outside of turning away so he doesn’t notice that damn erection again. Later on I get into an intense screaming match/argument with the umpteenth person about the whole
Proposition 8 brouhaha, this one including two of my very best friends. After the argument is over I get on the internet and get into even more discussions with several other people about the issue. At this point I am so frazzled and on edge that I decided to journal about it for a little while then go to sleep. But before I go to sleep I decide to post a couple of paragraphs from my journal on my MySpace Blog.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I get phone calls, texts and emails all day from several of my friends telling me about how my blog has somehow ripped the very fabric of existence... who knew? I also have been lecturing to a friend of mine about how he needs to be more cognizant of the things that he says to his friends because he might be hurting them. I've been trying to take my own advice in this instance. I can honestly say, I never meant to attack or demean anyone specifically. But what I can say is what my great grandmother used to tell me... "I threw a stick at a pack of dogs, and the one that barked, is the one I hit." I was just making statements in a general direction...
anyway.. I wanted to go to the beach today, write a little, maybe get in the drum circle. I go to the gym instead. I can’t find the guy.

Thursday, November 13, 2008
The company that gave me a loan so I could have several dental procedures decided to make an electronic transfer from my checking account without my authorization leaving me in a negative balance… and the fees associated with it. I go to the gym again. I realize I have lost my opportunity to talk to the Football Daisy Dukes guy. I go to my Weight Watchers meeting and realize that I have lost damn near a hundred pounds over the past year. I also realize that I doubt if I will
ever stop loving my ex. It’s like when you’re bleeding, you don’t want all of your blood to stop all together, you just want the wound to heal and the blood to be redirected someplace else. That’s what I’ve been doing, redirecting those feelings someplace else.

Friday, November 14, 2008
I wake up at 4:00 p.m. I go to the gym. That dude is gone. I imagine what
would I look like in really short shorts. No one understands why I’m laughing uncontrollably in front of the mirror. I talk to a friend of mine who tells me that this whole Proposition 8 thing has “traumatized” me. He is the third person to use that EXACT same phrase. I pledge to try and avoid talking about it just for a little while. I walk to Santa Monica and LaBrea to get some cologne and on the way back, Proposition 8 protesters have taken up shop on Sunset Boulevard. I join them. I get on CNN for a couple of seconds.

Saturday, November 15, 2008
Screw the gym. I masturbate instead. My friend Dale is throwing a party at his house, I hop on the bus and boogey my way over there. I have an absolute blast. It was the first time that I can remember where I went to a party and just did not come off as this blubbering, drunken fool. Well… at least that’s what I remember… I got really fucked up! A friend of mine brought his digital camera and was taking pictures all night. I looked really cute. I kept saying,
“You know, if I saw this guy on Adam4Adam… I would totally fuck him!” Near the end, somebody brought up Proposition 8. I don’t remember everything, but I imagine one of those pictures to be of me with my head making a full 360* rotation on my neck… spewing split pea soup.

Today
I wake up at noon. I go see a friend of mine about doing some collaborative work with him. I get back home at around 3:00 p.m. and pass out again until about thirty minutes ago. It’s 11:25 p.m.

This is when I realize, I had so many plans for this week, so many things I wanted to do. And I realize that I needed to wake up earlier to get out of my house and out of my own head to do all of those things. That... God is in the morning, and I keep waking up after 2:00 p.m. And by that time, I’m busy dealing with my own crap and not paying attention to her.

So with that said, I’m little excited about getting back to work tomorrow. I’ll wake up early, think about the ancestors on the way to work, and exactly what the fuck am I doing in the big scheme of things, maybe write a poem or two in between updating the company’s website or making another database. I think I might have had too much time on my hands this past week… I’m kind of looking forward to some distractions.

Proposition (H)8

2008-11-12T02:22:00.000-08:00

This whole Proposition 8/ Gay Marriage thing has greatly affected Los Angeles and has completely shaken my personal life to the core. And keep in mind, I never expected it to. I put up my Militant Queer cap over a decade ago. But this issue has definitely drawn a line in the sand between me and some of my most dearest friends.

In the past I have had issues with friends who have proven themselves to be politically and socially antithetical to my most treasured core beliefs and I truly struggled with trying to be friends with these… “Nazis” as it were. But I just couldn’t. I could not find a palatable level of camaraderie with someone who was pro-life or against women in the workplace or against homosexuality or felt that there should be stricter immigration laws because there were “too many” Mexicans in California or that the welfare system should be completely eliminated as well as affirmative action. I found it increasingly hard to be civil or share a cup of yogurt with someone who was actively working against everything that I am actively working for. I eventually dropped these people and... I have never really looked back or regretted that choice.

But here I am again and I just have to investigate my own belief systems, exactly how sturdy are the friendships that I have and am I at the end of the day being short sighted and throwing away a half way decent friendship over
policy… again.

For the past week or so, more than one of my African American homosexual friends has declared that they are passionately
against gay marriage. I want to believe that this is an anomaly but there is a quantifiable percentage of the African American LGBT community that voted to ban gay marriage. I’m beginning to get the impression that this is because a vast majority of them are highly religious and saw this not as a legal issue but a religious issue. One of my friends told me that anything that degrades the sanctity of the traditional marriage unit of one man and woman is a direct threat to Christianity and above all, he is a Christian first. Keeping in mind that he is a flaming Black homosexual, I tried to explain that the definition of “traditional” did not include Black people for centuries and we had to fight tooth and nail to be included in the idea of “traditional” in this country; that the same people who drafted Proposition 8 are the same people who denied interracial marriage, who forbid Armenians and Mexicans from owning land; that this isn’t a religious issue, we’re not trying to redefine marriage in the church, just the law, we’re not trying to reinterpret the Bible, just check off married on our IRS tax forms. After a lengthy discussion… it all funneled down to what I have heard several times from deeply religious homosexuals including my own ex boyfriend, that at the end of the day, he truly feels that homosexuality, including his own, is wrong, is a sin and all homosexuals, including himself, are not going to get into heaven.

After having this conversation with a couple of other friends I discovered that they are also carrying that same level of self hate and they truly just want all the protesting to stop because “the people have spoken.” Well, we’re a minority, at one point the people have “spoken” against women’s right to vote, against Blacks right to vote… if we were to solely listen to the mouths of the majority we would still be in slavery. Just because the votes are in and the people have spoken doesn’t make it right and there is something in me that burns hotter and hotter each day trying to get that across to people, particularly my own brethren who
feel as if this doesn’t directly affect them as gay black men. I’m finding it hard again to break bread with people who feel as if homosexuality is an abomination. Its bad enough you feel that way… but then why would you turn around and ask me over for dinner or… to go to the bathhouse with you? It’s just been drawing this line in the sand for me and I have just been in heavy meditation thinking about it.

The truth of the matter is I have always found it hard to be one of those people who accepts everything about a person. I can’t go, “Billy is a convicted child molester, but he’s good at heart and makes a mean pot of spaghetti” or “Carol nails live cats up on her wall for decoration, but she’s really funny and listens to Tori Amos.” I can’t just glide over those monumental aspects in order to get to the juice of a persons character.

I’m about to lose friendships here and it’s just really bugging me. I don’t want to be reactionary… but I also don’t want to be blind either and have people think that I accept or condone that type of unfathomable soul/self deprecating behavior or try to have that shit flake off into my world view. I just got some heavy thinking to do.

My Dear Country

2008-11-05T17:30:00.000-08:00

It’s the day after America’s most monumental Election Day. I have been a fool to not document this journey. Though I don’t particularly feel like investigating every crook and cranny of this race right now either. Needless to say, Barack Hussein Obama II is now the 44th president of the United States of America. America now has its first president of African descent. It’s such a monumental event that I can’t fully envelope the idea around my head nevertheless express it with the most succinct words of honor, humility and pride. My people were stolen from our homeland and were forced to cultivate this land for the benefit of European immigrants, a benefit so great that they have been able to survive and thrive for generations from that toil. We on the other hand, not only have been denied the same benefit, but our spiritual selves seemed to have been raped, mutilated and left for dead with each passing decade. Obama being the President Elect of the United States of America is such an enormous sign that, after all these decades, after all these centuries… I just feel like… Obama being elected President of the United States, not appointed or deemed to be so by some status quo but elected… I honestly do feel like Africans and African Americans have achieved some sort of… spiritual reprieve. That whatever shackles we have been wearing all this time, physical, spiritual, emotional, either forced on us by other entities or self imposed… it just feels like… they’re gone. I don’t know if those words accurately describe the totality of what I feel right now but needless to say… fuck yeah! We got a Black President!

However…

Proposition 8 passed by a vote of 52% to 48%. This has been the anchor that tethers my otherwise relinquished joy to cold hard reality. I may not be a
nigger to this country anymore but I’m still very much a faggot... and it just fucking sucks. Actually, I’m just extremely pissed about it. This morning I almost wished that McCain would have won, the world would have made a little more sense to me. I can see a conservative Republican regime rejecting homosexuality but a liberal Democratic one? Wasn’t a major tenet of the Obama campaign about the acceptance of all Americans, to do away with those tiresome archaic prejudicial paradigms and archetypes that exist? Wasn’t a vote for Obama a vote for equality for all hard working citizens? I can accept McCain winning and Proposition 8 passing but for Obama to win and for Proposition 8 to pass... it's like...homosexuals are still waiting for our reprieve. I am extremely happy that Obama won, but I just can't go screaming into the streets in a fit of riotous joy that I see my heterosexual counterparts doing… this is not
totally a happy day for me. Maybe a little better… but I’m not really
happy.

Squaw Valley - Day Seven

2008-08-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

Squaw Valley Community of Writers, Writer's Workshops
Day Seven

Today is pretty much the last day of the workshops. There is some ending ceremony tomorrow but all consorted purposes, today was the end of Camelot… and it actually pretty sad.

I have done a complete 180˚ turn about this place. Well… maybe not a complete 180˚ turn, but I do think that in certain instances I have underestimated this place. There is something magical here, and I do feel very privileged and lucky that, for a brief period of time, I was actually a part of it… that I was a drop of blood that ran through this place's veins. Right now I am in the huge hall where the majority of workshops and talks took place. We finished our absolute last panel discussion about an hour ago and there is only a handful of people here just mulling about… reading a book or chatting. I, like every one here at this point, am a little exhausted… it just been an overwhelming week.

All week I have been completely freaking out over my work being critiqued. Sometime Wednesday my roommates and me decided to take a little a break and head to Lake Tahoe which turned out to be the best idea ever. We were trying to find the movie theatre and thanks to the wonderful people at Mapquest… we wound up smack dab in the middle of an unincorporated forest.

On our way back trying to find the nearest paved road we accidentally found this little spot where we could park the car and observe the most idyllic view of Lake Tahoe I think humanly possible.

Afterwards we got something to eat and finally got to the movie theatre and saw the new Batman movie (which was extremely disturbing to me by the way.)

So by the time my material was up for critique I was pretty cool and laid back about. In general a lot of people liked but it needs a lot of work… and I got some amazingly good feedback on how to make it so much better. I am really eager to get into it start to reconstruct it.

By the way… the Poet Laureate of California Al Young actually critiqued my work. Let me repeat that… AL YOUNG… THE FUCKING POET LAUREATE OF CALIFORNIA CRITIQUED MY FUCKING WORK! I mean… come on… do I really even need a Christmas this year?

Today I had a one on one conference with author Cai Emmonswho I absolutely love and who, just coincidentally… gets my work. The more I talked with her the more I… I just wanted to cry, I really did. It's such an orgasmic feeling when someone established in your field… gets you. She gets me. Man… yeah… I can totally skip Christmas this year!

Squaw Valley - Day Five

2008-08-06T06:26:00.000-07:00

Squaw Valley Community of Writers, Writer's Workshops
Day Five

Really busy. Really, really busy. But it's actually very fun and very rewarding. I don't know if it's the life changing, awe inspiring thing that I guess I have been hearing... not that that's a bad thing. I think it's just presumptuous to expect God to show up where you want her to. I'm not going to fool myself into thinking that the people I've met up here will be lifelong friends but… I am definitely open to that experience… and that HAS to count for something.

Tonight, twelve of my colleagues will read my manuscript and tomorrow each and every single one of them will tell me… in detail… what they thought about it. Yeah… I have bought just about bottle of Pepto Bismal in the Squaw Valley area. I know it's just me being self conscious again but I think I just off as Omarosa to these guys. I'm a little antagonistic and I make everyone blatantly aware that I'm African American. If Omarosa is the bad witch of the east, I am definitely the good witch of the west. I use my powers of racial intimidation for good…

Squaw Valley - Day Four

2008-08-05T11:32:00.000-07:00

Squaw Valley Community of Writers, Writer's Workshops
Day Four

One of the things that these workshops have done is brought out a ton of personal issues that I pretty much have been trying to deny or fake or just get over. I have a huge "thing" about race. I am consistently standing in judgment of my friends who seem so awkward when put in situations that involve demographics that don't include their own. I took one of my friends to my company party last year and she was like this extremely awkward fish out of water as she was surrounded by this brood of people who were neither African American nor lesbian like she. I silently judged and scoffed at the idea that she was unable to play that inevitable game of life of assimilating into a group of people while keeping true to yourself.

Low and behold, eight months later, here I am surrounded by (supposedly) straight white folks and I have never been so blindly defensive in my life. And these are some of the nicest people I have ever met and still this situation has brought out some of the worst parts of my psyche, which I kind of dig… so I can deal with it and get over it.

Today I decided to smile. I remember smiling. When I used to work at a bagel company a grillion years ago I remember one of the administrative assistances showing me the notes a manger took during my initial interview for the job. He wrote in all capital letters VERY NICE. SMILES A LOT. It's funny thinking about that now. Despite the fact I had to take out a $4,000 loan for some major dental reconstruction surgery a couple of years ago… I don't really smile. I can't remember the last time I did… especially to a stranger. So… today I decided to smile. And I felt a little of the rhetorical jiggaboo that I felt has been silhouetting my head like some halo made out of used Newports and crushed St. Ides cans began to fade away.

I smiled today, and talked to a girl. Her name was Xan, and I like her very much.

Squaw Valley - Day Three

2008-08-04T08:45:00.000-07:00

Squaw Valley Community of Writers, Writer's Workshops
Day Three

I have declared the house that I share with my roommates to be NERD HOUSE. Earlier on during orientation one of the organizers was explaining about how we need to keep the house that we are renting in the most optimal shape and although inevitably there will be some "Party Houses" just make sure nothing gets broken, everything stays clean and there is absolutely no trace of any party happening. I automatically hoped that my house would be that Party House. Last night during dinner, I sat with my roommates and just took a good gander at all of us. One guy who I absolutely love began to ponder about what type of superhero we would be if we were superheroes. He was just jazzed about this idea. I think he wanted to be Wolverine or something. I decided to invent some new superhero named Breeze who basically does the same shit I do but just bathes on a daily basis. I don't remember everyone else's choices but afterwards we went into this lengthy discussion of Freud v. Jung and early Chuck Palahniuk novels. After that, one of my roommates insisted that we have a name for our superhero group… and that's when it suddenly occurred to me… we're the fucking Nerd House!

We have Wednesday off from workshops and meetings and I imagine that's when a lot of the social parties will be going on. I decided that we were going to throw our own wild ass party… complete with cocoa and finger sandwiches and we may drive into town together and catch the new X-Files movie… a matinee of course. We are all such fucking nerds! And I think it is the absolute funniest thing that 1) I fit in perfectly, 2) we are all brilliantly proud of our demographic!

I shouldn't be writing nearly as much as I am during this retreat. It's really about reading other peoples works and taking notes from workshops and meetings. They very much discourage even bringing your laptop here. But I can't help it. It's like a nervous twitch for me. It's either this or get my tongue pierced and suck on it all through the day when I feel inadequate.

So far the critiques have been pretty brutal, at least in my opinion. One of my roommates is actually also in my group and he disagrees but I just think that some of the comments have been sort of cut throat. Then as luck would have it, I actually had to read HIS manuscript last night and critique it today and I think in this scenario I was probably that brutal asshole. At one point I said something to the effect that the characters in the story seemed kind of hollow, almost like mannequins and they needed some more description and characterization to flesh them out. Supposedly, this was the bar of brutality for the rest of the critique and my comment was used as the example of negative energy at the table. Or it was probably just me over analyzing again. I did just feel kind of awful when it was over.

And of course… I'll be on the chopping block Thursday so… I'm thinking Wednesday afternoon I'm going to buy everybody chocolate bars… I'm not above bribing to get some love…

Squaw Valley - Day Two

2008-08-03T11:30:00.000-07:00

Squaw Valley Community of Writers, Writer's Workshops
Day Two

Okay so, I skipped day one. I didn't really skip it, I was just really busy getting myself acclimated to this place and convincing myself not to just ask for a refund then head over to San Francisco to the nearest Bear Bar and drinking myself into oblivion. But alas… I'm here.

Back in 1969, novelists Blair Fuller and Oakley Hall, both residents of Squaw Valley, founded this community of writers. From what I understand, it was a ground roots sort of "Hey, you like to write, I like to write, lets find some other folks out there who like to write and get together and talk about… writing." Thirty nine years later it's expanded into this very prestigious little community of highly skilled writers and poets. Every year they mount these intense week long workshops in fiction, screenwriting, poetry and various other literary pursuits.

The Community has a very competitive admissions procedure and the level of writing is high and yeah… I got in this year.

Yesterday was my first day and the whole thing has just been one big shock to the system. I have been having extreme boughs of cold feet about this whole thing. I'm definitely getting over it now but on the seven hour(!) drive up here I was freaking out. I just got nervous thinking I was too short, too fat, too ethnic, too gay, don't have the write clothes and most importantly, the demon that has been scratching at my soul for far too long now… at the end of the day… maybe I'm just not that good of a writer and maybe I use the fact that I'm short and fat and gay with no fashion sense as a crutch to feign some sort of ghetto literati fabulousness. I began to freak out at the idea of being surrounded by these genuinely talented writers with something to say and all I have is a butt-load of bathhouse stories and enema jokes. I do have to say that once I hit the part of the freeway that splits between Sacramento and San Francisco it was a true matter of wills to head to Sacramento. I so very much wanted to just go to San Francisco, meet up with some friends, bum around the Castro district, have several drunken orgasms and forget the whole brouhaha. But alas… I'm here.

Squaw Valley is near Lake Tahoe and the whole scene out here is the most idyllic mountain lined countryside I have ever seen. It's actually quite breathtaking and little bit annoying and off putting for an uber-urban guy like myself who is accustomed to urine filled subway systems and circumventing the rogue upstart gang fight. For the urban, nothing is as tall as a building, to experience anything taller is awe-inspiring, to realize man didn't create it is downright religion finding.

The Community of Writers rents out local summer houses and condos for its workshop attendees. I am in this amazing three bedroom condo left type situation. When I first got there it just reminded of the "Real World" where I go this amazing space and realize that this place is MINE for an extended period of time. And like the Real World… I've got roommates. I was supposed to have five but so far only four have shown up. One is in the master bedroom this is spacious, private and has his own attached bathroom. Another is in the other spacious private bedroom, though that doesn't have a bathroom. That guy has to share the only other bathroom in the house with me and the other two guys; we stay on the undersized second floor room that houses four twin beds and seems to stay uncomfortably warm no matter what time of day or night.

I have been so awkward. I am so lethally afraid of becoming "that" roommate, that one roommate that everybody hates, who is so obliviously annoying and tactless. I think in the process of trying so hard to become that roommate… in certain instances I have become that roommate. Put it like this, when I first got food to put in the refrigerator, I took a sharpie and put my name on all my stuff then patiently waited for my roommates to come so we could have a "house meeting." Yeah… I am "that" roommate.

They separate all of us into groups of around thirteen. Each one of us has brought fifteen copies of our manuscript. Each night, each one of us will read a manuscript from two people in the group and the next morning those two manuscripts will be critiqued by each and every person in the group. Last night started the process, instead of popping popcorn and watching movies on cable with my roomies, we all spent all last night in complete silence… reading. Today we went to our separate groups to make our critiques. I haven't had a chance to talk to them about it yet but I can tell you that my group… was BRUTAL. Thursday, my manuscript makes the rounds I am scared shitless about it! I can only imagine how they are going to just mutilate my stuff. In the end, I know that more than likely every single thing that they tell me is something that I will need to hear and make my work stronger but still… it is just the most horrible experience to have people break you down like that. I think if someone says that I'm just not that good of a writer and that I use the fact that I'm short and fat and gay with no fashion sense as a crutch to feign some sort of ghetto literati fabulousness, I will spontaneously burst into tears and head straight to Frisco.

Where the Hell is Matt?

2008-06-29T01:54:00.001-07:00

I just found this video and I can't put into words why this thing makes me cry every single time I see it.

Celtic’s wins 17th NBA Title

2008-06-18T00:06:00.000-07:00

Okay... it TOTALLY sucks that the Lakers lost but... remember that dude who stood me up who I was supposed to share the moon with? Yeah... he was a huge Lakers fan.

Karma is a motherfucker!!!

The Ballad of Breeze and the Lonesome Moon

2008-05-19T03:27:00.000-07:00

So I went out with this dude. We agreed to go to a potluck thrown by some friends of mine Saturday before last. He came over to my place first and we walked up to the Bourgeois Pig which was thankfully pretty empty at the time. We just sat and talked and got to know each other and I pulled out my “Table of Honesty.” It’s this thing I have going on where I make an atmosphere where the truth and only the truth is laid out, no matter how uncomfortable or heinous or self deprecating. I really felt this need to tell him where I stood as far as relationships go and why I don’t truly trust him… mainly because there are eerie similarities between him and my ex… up to and including that not only do they know each other, but they even have same first name.

I tell him that I’m not going to punish him for the sins of his doppelganger but I would be a fool not to notice the similarities. He kept saying, “Don’t judge me based on the other guy. I know you had some bad experiences with him but I’m really feeling you man. I hope you give me a chance.” So I took a needle, and I made the tiniest little hole in my heart, just big enough for him to slowly seep into, but small enough to close if this whole thing turns out to be shit.

We talk for a couple of hours about life and our plans and what we want to do. From what I gathered, he unfortunately is not of the “passion” clan whereas he is motivated by an intense passion or fervor. He’s a nurse. He’s been a nurse for 18 years, that’s what he knows how to do, it pays the bills and he doesn’t see himself doing anything else… period. I tell him about being true to yourself… particularly when you’re in a relationship. It’s really easy to lose yourself in somebody, particularly when you’re in love with them, but you should never loose yourself, never lose your consistency. If you love dancing and eating almonds don’t stop dancing and eating almonds if you meet somebody that you dig. They dig you because of who you are, and if you stop dancing and eating almonds, you’re not being yourself, you’re going away from what they found attractive in the first place. And if they are worth their weight in salt… they would never ask you to not be who you are. You always have to remain who you are. You can comprise. Relationships are all about compromise. But you need to know who you are and what you need in order for you to you know what to give away so you can keep what you want. He was quiet for a couple of seconds then said, “Damn man, you are fucking deep.” I didn’t really mean to go so far off in that direction… but in retrospect, I think I was talking to myself as well as to him, reminding myself, “Don’t do this shit again dude. You can like him all you want, you can even love him, but don’t you dare give yourself up to him… I can feel that you want to.”

We kissed. We kissed a couple of times. Right there, in public, in the Bourgeois Pig. Luckily it wasn’t too crowded and I doubt anybody paid attention aside from the chick behind the counter who I was pretty ambivalent towards considering the fact she charged me $8 for two bottles of water and a glass of ice. But we kissed and held hands and just talked about life and it felt really really good and it was the first time I ever went out with somebody and felt like they could take my heart away from my ex. My ex has always been that bar, that friendship/relationship I have always wanted. This dude is the first person I ever went out with in which I believed I could get the intimacy, companionship and conversation that I like… and it could possibly… supersede what I had with my ex… this dude kissed me in public and held my hand. That was major to me. Major.

We get to the potluck and have a ball. We agreed to leave at 6:00 p.m. because he had stuff to do but I was having such a good time I decided to stay. I walk him to his car, made out with him again, told him that I’m really digging him and he said that he was digging me too. Sent him on his way then went back inside and got completely toasted.

Now according to my friends (a.k.a. black gay database), this dude is a player. Once he gets what he wants he’ll stop calling all together, most of the time he’ll get a new number completely, but he never stays around for long… ever. That’s his M.O., love ‘em and leave ‘em, he’s been doing it for years.

When I mention him to my friends I consistently keep saying that we are just talking, not really dating, not really seeing each other, just talking… which is the truth. No one tends to believe it for whatever reason. And I do have a track record for attaching myself quickly and vigorously, but I tell them as I tell myself… we’re just talking, and I have no intention of trying to move in with him. Although, a week into it… I was smiling thinking of him.

We agreed to hang out this past Friday. My friends were meeting at the beach to have a barbeque, have a few drinks and watch the sunset and I invited him to come along.

I take the bus from Long Beach to Playa Del Rey and on the way I call him and leave him a message telling him that I’ll be at the beach and I hope I see him there but to call me in either case just to let me know he’s ok.

Nothing.

I get to the beach and I eventually meet up with my crew. The sun goes down, the moon pops up and we laugh and talk and listen to 70’s soul and funk on the radio. My mind could not get off of him.

I call him again and text him.

Nothing.

It was that damn moon. At one point my ex calls me out the blue and I try to convince him to come out to the beach with me but he is extremely tired and a little under the weather, he’s going to take a Vicodin and get some sleep.

So I sat there with those people and made the sweetest lemonade out of the sourest of lemons… I was so fucking lonely, and so fucking disappointed. It was that damn moon. Just looking it, I so just wanted to walk a couple of feet away from our campsite and have that dude tell me something sweet and me kiss him on his neck and tell him, “I give up, let’s do this man.” With the way I was feeling, I would have said the same thing to my ex if he would have shown up. Then I was thinking about how I could lose the both of them. Then I was thinking, hell, technically I already did, my ex has a boyfriend and unless this dude is unconscious, in jail or trapped under a big ass rock… he’s gone. The moment that the black gay database was talking about came… just like that. And truthfully speaking, it hurt a little bit. I was trying to pretend that it wouldn’t or that I wasn’t invested since it was only a little over week. But you know… it was nice to dream. I guess that’s how it feels like… just… waking up from a really good dream. It’s not devastating… but it’s definitely irritating… and little sad. For whatever its worth I really did like him.

That night, chilling with my friends and that moon... I kept hearing that little speech I gave to him about keeping yourself, being true to yourself, not giving yourself up completely to somebody. Even if I had never met that dude, I would have went to that beach party anyway. He was just accompanying me… he wasn’t the inspiration. And that was what got me through that night… that I was supposed to be there to have a good time, with or without him. And my original concerns and assumptions were absolutely true… you got to keep yourself dude. When the person that you’re digging leaves… all you’re going to have is yourself. And if you’re really lucky… you’ll have friends around who you can share the moon with instead.

Tori Amos Inks "The Comic Book Tattoo"

2008-05-14T02:04:00.000-07:00

This July the ever-growing relationship between comics and music reaches new heights as Tori Amos and Image Comics release COMIC BOOK TATTOO, a 480-page, full color anthology adapting the themes and ideas behind her songs into a lush volume of sequential art. Read more...

Could the summer be ANY BETTER now?! This and the Sex and the City movie and Chuck Palahniuk's Snuff... man... I think I just had an orgasm...

An Apology (Soufflés and Shit)

2008-05-08T00:23:00.000-07:00

Wassup peoples. I do feel as if an apology is in order. I have definitely been out of sorts for no real apparent reason, I keep thinking that the stars in my constellation have been out of sync or something… my Jupiter ain't been in line with Mars. But nevertheless, they seem to be swinging back, I'm calming down and things seem to be slowly coming back to the palatable sense of dysfunction that I'm used to.

So if I have offended anybody for what ever reason recently, I say with a weary heart… "my bad." How about this… I even apologize for that whole kill cab drivers thing… ok I don't really mean that but like I said… I stop carrying a baseball bat with me…c'mon that has to mean something right?!

This year has been an experience for me. I've just been trying to soak it all in and just claim responsibility for all of the stuff I've made… the soufflés as well as the shit.

Kind of got my heart all twisted up again. I'm just so weird. There was a time I thought it was the most childish thing to have crushes on people or to be attracted to people. Several people who I know, even my own parents, said that they just couldn't see me actually with someone romantically for the long haul. I think everybody thinks I'm this fiercely independent person who just could never compromise that much… almost like Gloria Steinem… you would never think that she would actually need nevertheless want a man as much as she touts her independence as a woman… but here she is, married and really happy. Or even Ani DiFranco or Madonna… back in the day… who would have thought.

Well… I'm getting there, slowly but surely. Not really giving up my independence or fire but, my heart is getting twisted up right about now. I'm not ready and I'm not sure if I want it but… for right now, it feels pretty good, and that's all I'm paying attention to right now.

A friend of mine keeps asking me, what do I want… in the long haul… what do I want. He has asked so many times, I know he's expecting me to go on and on describing the perfect man and the perfect relationship. But every time he asks me I keep answering the same way, "I want to write. I want to be a professional writer, books, screenplays, poetry, magazine articles, song lyrics, short stories, whatever it takes to pay the rent and get me some peace. I want to write."

And it's true. As much as my heart is getting twisted up right now, and as much as I want to just… surrender, I know it all can go to shit. I know this time next week I could be solo again, lonely and masturbating and drinking too much… and then what will I have? What I've always had… my writing. When I think about my life and what makes me happy… I want a dude, I mean really want a dude… but my writing, well… I pray for a dude in my life, but my writing... is my religion.

ANTM Update – 08,04-30

2008-04-30T00:19:00.000-07:00

For those of you not in the know, I'm a HUGE America's Next Top Model fan. Truth be told, I actually don't watch television at all. It's actually become more of a decorative piece of art in my apartment more than anything. Except Thursdays when I catch Lost and Wednesdays when I catch Tyra and the crew on ANTM.

Supposedly Project Runway is the modern flaming homosexual's reality show of choice but since I never got cable I never went in that direction, but Tyra suffices just the same.

Each year thousands of girls audition from all over the country and only twelve are picked to compete. This year Tyra opened up an extra slot for a thirteenth girl. This is the tenth "cycle" of the show and all and all a very enjoyable one. Not the most noteworthy but still pretty enjoyable. It's pretty stupid how I get so invested in these girls but what can I say, I've always had my favorites and I root for them the same way a straight dude would root for his favorite team in the Superbowl.

This season girls, in order of elimination are:

Kimberly, 20 year old blonde from Worchester, MA who actually quit on the first fucking episode! I was really surprised that Tyra didn't bitch slap this chick for wasting her time…

Atalya, 18 year old African American sistah from Brooklyn who despite being a sistah… was pretty forgettable. Outside of maybe the Cyndi Brady lisp which was kinda cute…

Allison, 19 year old Sarah Silverman look-a-like from Waunakee, WI who sort of came off as a real bitch and whom I was thoroughly excited about when she got eliminated but who made me laugh and endeared me to her during her exit interview…

Amis, 20 year old weird white chick from Bartlesville, OK who I actually really, really liked but I knew she had a snowball's chance in hell of actually winning, (truthfully speaking, outside of Adrianne from the first cycle, no one with personality ever wins on ANTM)….

Marvita, 23 year old sistah from San Francisco who I was really, really, really hoping would take the show and the world by storm. I was very much invested in her since I saw so much of myself in her ghetto ragamuffin ways and was just hoping she would put the rest of those bitches in place. Even though she got eliminated, I'm looking out for her….

Aimee, 18 year old Mormon from Spanway, WA. Did I mention she was Mormon? Next…

Claire, 24 year old mother of one from New York, NY who was so tall and strikingly odd looking I thought was a shoe-in to win this thing. I was really shocked when she got eliminated; I was really rooting for her also…

Stacy Ann, 22 year old sistah from Miami, FL who I thought was just cute as a button and though it broke my heart to see her leave, I never really thought she was going to make it to the final three….

Lauren, 22 year old alternative riot grrrl from Brooklyn, NY who has been my absolute favorite from the beginning. I'm in love with this girl and was really hoping she would take home the prize with her rough around the edges, fish out of water, punk rock attitude but even I had to admit that the whole act was just wearing a little thin after awhile….

This week the final two were Whitney, 20 year old plus size model from Atlantic Beach, FL and Katarzyna, 22 year old from Roslyn, NY who had about as much personality as a glass of milk. Katarzyma I actually thought was going to win this thing being the sanest and quietest one of the bunch but I think the judges were also a little bored with her and sent her packing this week.

That leaves Whitney with Anya, a striking 19 year old from Honolulu, HI with the weirdest accent since Björk, 22 year old Iman look-a-like Fatima who hails from Boston, MA who was gunning to be this season's "crazy bitch" (every season has one crazy bitch) but was beaten by a landslide by Ms. Dominique, a 23 year old drag queen from Columbus, OH who could very well overtake Jade from Cycle 6 in being not only the series' crazy bitch but maybe reality t.v.'s crazy bitch. Omarosa might have some competition on her hands now…

Personally I'm gravitating towards Whitney. I just love Whitney and even if she gets cut now she came a really long way. The only other plus size model to make it this far was Robin and that was way back during the debut Cycle so I'm hoping that she at least makes it to the final three.

I have a feeling it might be a battle of the bitches Dominique and Fatima which I got to tell you… would be must see television! I think I would want Dominique to win… I would love to see a drag queen win this thing…

MONTHLY BREEZE (APRIL 2008 EDITION)

2008-04-08T00:39:00.000-07:00

First let me say... I feel much better since that little tyrant about the taxi drivers. I’m not really up for apologizing yet but I haven’t picked up a bat in DAYS!

Now that THAT’S out the way, for those of you keeping score... this is the newest Monthly Breeze... sanitized for YOUR protection.

A little late but still as fresh as evah!

So here you the go, the brand spanking new edition of the MONTHLY BREEZE!

You can download the printer friendly version here.

Past issues of the Monthly Breeze can be found in the BREEZE MAGAZINE now available via Cafepress.

Breeze Magazine, Vol. 1

Issues 1 Thru 11

Featuring articles, "Why Cicely Tyson is God", "Urban Homosexuality 101" and "Pink Office Politricks"

Breeze Magazine, Vol. 2

Issues 12 Thru 19
Featuring articles, "The N*gger v. Faggot Conundrum", "Much Ado About Mary Kay Letourneau" and "Semantics of the Down Low Brother"

Breeze Magazine, Vol. 3

Issues 20 Thru 30
Featuring articles, "Men in Black (Dresses)", "A Lighter Shade of Gay" and "Incareceration Fairytale Truths"

Read and/or wipe with accordingly.

Enjoy!

OPEN PLEA TO KILL ALL TAXI DRIVERS

2008-04-03T23:17:00.000-07:00

Just a rant I have to get off my chest and then I’ll be over it. I have a feeling that I’m going to fall in love with a taxi driver. I say this because I have always absolutely hated bus drivers and have always damned them to hell and then I turned around and fell in love with someone who just as it so turns out happened to be a bus driver.

Well there is new piece of meat in my gun’s telescope, taxi drivers. I say this from the pit of my soul that I absolutely hate every single taxi driver that has ever existed and I damn the lives of all future taxi drivers.

This is rage. I want to remember it so I can understand it better. Tonight, I actually caught a glimpse of Rev. Fred Phelps’ soul as I stood on the corner as taxi driver after taxi driver passed me by. After passing me by, one taxi driver had to stop because of a red light at the near by corner. I couldn’t help myself. I ran to the taxi and asked if he was for hire. He never even bothered to turn in my direction. I pounded on the window and said that his light was on. He just pointed at his fair box and shook his head no. Right then my life flashed before my eyes as I tried as best as I could to convince myself that getting arrested for busting this guy’s driver’s side window, yanking him out and stomping him into a bloody mess would probably not be good idea. But the more the idea of letting this Arabian cum mold get away with it just angered me more and right when I had got to that "fuck it all" point, the light turned green and he sped away.

Not before pounding on his window a couple of more times, calling him a racist motherfucker like a 1,000 times and most importantly, getting his Cab number… 3553, Checker Cab Company.

I could feel Fred Phelps in my heart, him and his brood of sheep picketing a funeral of a homosexual brought down by AIDS or AIDS related causes with their chants and picket signs, "AIDS kills Fags", "God Hates Fags", "God Never Loved You", "Burn in Hell Fag". I could feel that rage. I understood it. I still do. Right now as I type this I can see myself going to the home, hospital and funeral of every cocksucking taxi driver that has ever been shot in the head, raped, mugged, beaten with a baseball bat, burned or mutilated and chanting and picketing quite proudly in front of their families and friends "God Never Loved You", "You Got What You Deserved", "One Less Piece Of Trash To Take Out", "Who Will Stop For You Now?"

I have to remember this hate. I have to remember how bright and alluring it is like some brilliant kaleidoscope that rushes through your system like a sweetness you have been hungering for so long. All that hatred pent up, all that rage washing over you, everything that you’re not supposed to say or think in polite society boiling, just boiling inside; bubbling over any sense of decency or political correctness that you might have proudly held onto for so long. It’s the white liberal woman who has been on the forefront of civil rights all of her life, even walking with Martin Luther King in the march on Washington, who gets brutally raped by a black man and when asked she just breaks down and goes, "It was a NIGGER! A NIGGER RAPED ME!" It’s the male feminist who lost the support from the majority of his male colleagues by trying to stop the demonization of the feminine within the church, state and home, to find his wife getting ganged banged by her teenaged students and having to pay her child support and alimony during the divorce and him breaking down and saying, "All women are cunt whore bitches who’s womb is a wound that needs to permanently heal over!"

It’s that carnivorous fury that burns and burns with what seems like no end.

I hate taxi drivers. I hate taxi drivers. I hate taxi drivers! I wish they were all dead, every single one of them. If I were to wake up tomorrow morning and saw a report on CNN that every tax driver in the United States suddenly disappeared leaving only a puddle of blood… I would be ok with that.

If there were ever a day designated as a free for all to torture, beat and/or mutilate any taxi driver on the road I would be ok with that. I would even offer my name for the celebrate holiday, Breeze Vincinz Day.

Tomorrow I might apologize for this ranting and to the families who have lost someone who drove a taxi due to violence and to the families who have taxi drivers in them right now worried for their safety.

But for right what I have to say to them and to the taxi drivers themselves is… yes, I am pissed, yes I am raged filled, and if I had a baseball bat right now I think I would risk a little jail time just to go back out on Hollywood and Western and crack a few windshields of taxicabs passing by… and I may be an over emotional asshole because of that. But just keep I mind… every pint of blood that I wish you would spill is only a reflection of the disdain that you have for me.

While I understand the heat of a Rev. Fred Phelps-like wrath, it’s not as linear. I don’t hate taxi drivers "just because"... I hate taxi drivers because they hate me. And if passing a brother by on the street with eight grocery bags and a laptop is not hate, it’s a really close fucking cousin of it.

I might apologize tomorrow but tonight, to all taxi drivers I say fuck you. Fuck you! FUCK YOU!

Love!

2008-02-20T23:23:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure what’s going on with me this year but I have definitely been on this high that I have not been able to get down from. I’ve just had this burst of optimistic energy that I haven’t felt since my twenties. Truth of the matter is that a lot of 2007 was spent praying to God for 2008 to be a breakthrough year for me. Somewhere around Christmas Ghandi kept haunting my apartment writing “You must be the change you wish to see"over and over my apartment walls in cinnabar juice. Either that or my spleen started to naturally produce cocaine… either case, the colors of my life got turned up somehow and I’m truly digging the scene.

Now for the longest time I’ve been threatening to do something about my weight and this year I actually got off of my fat lazy ass and sought professional help. My body and I have had one of the most abusive relationships known to man. Ike and Tina had nothing on Breeze and his arteries. I decided to get the both of counseling before we killed each other. And as luck and the buckets of sweat that I have exerted over the past month or so will have it… I actually lost 16 pounds. Keep in mind this is the heaviest I have ever been in my entire life. I have friends who have had gastric bypass surgery who have often asked if I have considered it to which I constantly have sang a very strongly bass pitched, “No!" But then I weighed myself earlier this year and found out how close I am to a baby whale and that I am going to have to lose half more than half my body weight to get to my “recommended"body weight. Dude, seriously, I would have known that beforehand, I think I would have picked up a gastric bypass pamphlet or two.

But nevertheless, today I am a Buick minus 16 pounds, and I’m pretty proud of that. I imagine this is going to be an annoyingly slow process. I don’t I’ll actually be even remotely close to my goal weight until next summer… but that’s cool. Me and my arteries have been on speaking terms all year so far and as long we’re friends, I can wait.

Now I mention all of that because I have totally been on this subliminal “Boyfriend"hunt since the year started also. Again I have no idea where that came from either. Somewhere around Christmas I think John Holmes also haunted my apartment and wrote “You must get laid on a regular basis"over and over my apartment walls in semen. Either that or my spleen started to naturally produce ecstasy… either case, I’ve got a hard on that could cut glass and I could probably sit on a fire hydrant with room to spare right about now.

Though honestly, I do “blame"the weight loss. It’s not a lot but I have been very active this year, more so than in a really long time. For the past couple of months I have reduced my physical activity to sleeping, typing and the occasional bowel movement. Just walking half a block to Sunset Blvd. has had me winded, sore and covered in sweat. Last Thursday I walked about three miles then climbed the stairs to get back to my apartment.

And anytime you get more physical… you want to get… more physical. Sometime this weekend I just exploded and I did what I said I would never, ever, ever do again… and placed a personals ad! I try not to be judgmental but I always thought people who do that type of crap were akin to desperate losers… how the might have fallen.

Afterwards I joined an online big boi community and this is when it hit me… I have absolutely positive way too many too many profiles and blogs up. I can’t keep a track of all of them. As it stands I’m on MySpace, Facebook, Yahoo 360, Hi5, Blogger, Kingz Place, Bear Zone, Bear Citi, Bigger City and Adam4Adam. It’s just too much. And they all basically say the same shit… “I’m from Chicago, I like Tori Amos, I’m as big as a baby whale and my spleen might possibly naturally produce crystal meth."

I am just way too overexposed right now. But also… I am on this mad hunt to find a boyfriend, or at least a notaboyfriend who’s a good lay. The personal ad is going to be up for the next three months so I think after that I will probably just pull EVERYTHING down and just keep MySpace.

In the meantime… Breeze is looking for LOVE!

P.S.

If you know any dudes in the L.A. area who dig articulate men who are obese, hairy versions of Gary Coleman with predilections towards white hippie chick music... send ‘em my way!

Monthly Breeze (February 2008)

2008-02-10T12:32:00.000-08:00

All right people, for those of you keeping score... this is the newest Monthly Breeze... sanitized for YOUR protection.

And just let the record show... second month, second Monthly Breeze... this year is turning out to be AWESOME!

So here you the go, the brand spanking new edition of the MONTHLY BREEZE!

You can download the printer friendly version here or you can see the online version at www.breezevz.com/newsletter

Past issues of the Monthly Breeze can be found in the BREEZE MAGAZINE now available via Cafepress.

Breeze Magazine, Vol. 1
Issues 1 Thru 11
Featuring articles, "Why Cicely Tyson is God", "Urban Homosexuality 101" and "Pink Office Politricks"

Breeze Magazine, Vol. 2
Issues 12 Thru 19
Featuring articles, "The N*gger v. Faggot Conundrum", "Much Ado About Mary Kay Letourneau" and "Semantics of the Down Low Brother"

Breeze Magazine, Vol. 3
Issues 20 Thru 30
Featuring articles, "Men in Black (Dresses)", "A Lighter Shade of Gay" and "Incareceration Fairytale Truths"

Read and/or wipe with accordingly.

Enjoy!

Bold As Love

2008-02-06T00:33:00.000-08:00

Once I get a moment to catch my breath I'll actually sit down a write a "real" blog entry but until then I thought I would post what I've been going through lately.

I just read my boi Amarillo's blog and I thought it might be cool just to post a song to tide me over until I get a couple of minutes to really write.

So in the meantime, here ya go...

Anger he smiles,
towering in shiny metallic purple armour
Queen jealousy, envy waits behind him
Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground

Blue are the life-giving waters taken for granted,
They quietly understand
Once happy turquoise armies lay opposite ready,
But wonder why the fight is on

But they're all bold as love
They're all bold as love
They're all bold as love
Just ask the axis

My red is so confident that he flashes trophies of war and
Ribbons of euphoria

Orange is young, full of daring,
But very unsteady for the first go round

My yellow in this case is not so mellow
In fact Im trying to say its frigthened like me

And all these emotions of mine keep holding me from
Giving my life to a rainbow like you

But I'm bold as love
Just ask the axis (he knows everything)

Bold as Love by Jimi Hendrix