Saturday, December 03, 2005

I am a stupid non-whore.

So, after all that chest thumping and rageletting (akin to blood), I had a moment of very real reality.

"What if Lex was right here... right now. What would you do? Would you curse him out?"

Sadly, no, I would hug him and then work my way towards cursing him out.

Sometimes, I really hate being a Libra. Which is better than just hating me. Eh?

Went out to the Rose last night and experienced really strange gender dysphoria. I think it was because, in that space, there was *no* mistaking how I was being read and part of me felt like I couldn't blame them because I do have a dick and they are just switching on their protection beams because white folks be scared of B/black folks and blah blah blah and in all that consideration, who *I* am got lost. There was no escaping it, lesbians walking up and talking to me, "he" this and "he" that and "man" this and "man" that and experiencing all this playground shit of being a "real"... I forced myself to look at the liquer across from me and think of how much I would need to consume in order to break my mood. I found that incredibly sad and it forced me to figure out my gameplan.

Part of me is glad I was there.
Part of me wishes I had left.

I should have left.

I stopped my hooks reading because I needed to think over things. It's one thing to read it and quite another to really get it, to really see it and create strategies of resistance... I am so often staging existential one Q battles against... *shaking head* a monkey flinging poo at a wall.

Terrorism, thinking about the ways in which I am terrorized racially.
Mental health. Last Wednesday, as I sat listening to my iPod and intensely churning out something that is beautiful and needs work... but I have to share because it was *eerie*... I wrote:

I keep trying to follow my North star
because the revolution of the South
never freed me.
Something was put onto me I cannot unscript
not through sex, not through drugs, not through
charming through accomodation
or strutting around like America's Next Top Model --
the revolution of the South never stopped the terrorism
never made me stop looking out windows and drawing curtains
never made me stop jumping from every unidentifiable sound
I knew
I knew it would get me when I wasn't looking
not a person or shape -- a presence.

Just as I wrote the last line and stared off into space as to better hear myself through my arranged chaos, this guy... I don't know whether he was on crack or emotionally ill -- in some ways, one and the same... I'm not debating it... but he started talking to me. Now, I love my mornings. Especially when I get enough sleep at night and everything goes swimmingly and all my i's are dotted and t's crossed.. I love bring in my big warm coat and my bag with my pens and highlighter and index cards and books and paper and schedule book (cuz I keep it ol' school like that... seriously, I am more organized when i have a paper calender.... *shrugs*) and umbrella... my ankle boots... my scarf and glove... happiness for me can sometimes be habit. Anyway, he started talking to me... I took off my headphones and he would stop talking. If I looked directly at him, he would stop talking. But if I attempted to just be by myself amongst people -- he talked. It was bad.

Today, on the bus to Wildrose, something similar happened. This time, the guy was punching his hand with his fist and throwing his shoulder into the wall of the bus. I looked at him and he stopped. I looked away -- same MO. Different guy because the first guy was really quite beautiful. I kept looking at him. I have been looking for my friend Charles Payton (if anyone reads this and know him, please send him here... it has been COMPLETELY too long and my mail to him at his old Navy addy doesn't work. :( hook me up, please) and he looked... "of" him and that was throwing me off. Obviously, I pulled him to me, but when it happened again... *shakes head* I made myself that way I make myself whenever I am frightened for my well-being and safety. It's weird. I am considered "a big guy." Sure, I'm fat, but I'm really muscular. Since I have grown to these propotions, the only person to step to me was an even bigger redneck with a thing against nigger faggots and nigger-loving faggots. When he tried to hurt Ryan, I hurt him as warning and it worked. Anyway, I don't live in this body. I am graceful and light and short and have long slender limbs. If throwing up didn't hurt my feelings so much, I would have an eating disorder. Damn right, I said it. I understand narcissism... don't you?

Anyway, I made myself as hard as I could so brothaman knew, whether he was crazy or not, not to bring that shit over to me because I will kick your ass. When he got off the bus, I felt this... energy.... I was learning away from it automatically... I had to relax my muscles peacefully because I was cramped for being so tough. No wonder all the women at the dyke bar saw "a man" -- as survival technique, I had to reach unto my little bag of useful things. Zatanna says it best in the last comic of hers's in _Seven Soldiers_: "Magical battles happen where the inside meets the outside. When what is and what seems [...] lose distinction and belief becomes a weapon more deadly than bombs." - Grant Morrison

Maybe my folly was believing I had to defend myself against either of these brothas semiticulate stories of the terrorization they are withstanding as well. One *cold* assed morning, this brotha got onto the bus with busted shoes and a blanket. You just knew he was cold. And I looked at him and then looked away. What was I gonna do? Say/Nod hello? Scoot my chin out at him. Play some stupid macho-get better brotha game? Because playing stupid Mama - I care about you so much I am going to nurse you back to health games are reserved for those who are part of my tribe. I wished I could give him one of our too many throws. I wished I could give him a pair of shoes. I wished I didn't have so much shit I didn't use. I still haven't gotten off my fat ass and *have done* anything about that... but... but I meant...

I believe too many people's energy is residing within me through too many people touching me, but I can choose to unbelieve that. Choice is wonderful. I want a tee-shirt that says, simply, "Choice is wonderful."

So far, far as I can tell... I am the only human having a pure human experience -- which is to say being awake and aware in this dream and slipping here and there. I wish tonight was my usual Friday night. Lots of loud-talking obnoxiousness with Rye, Degrassi - Next Generation and South of Nowhere.... or whatever it's called... then two movies and food and conversation and Jos and Lux0r.

And today I am supposed to hang out with Eryc at 2... I am SO not going to make it. I forgive myself and I will let her know... ... sleeping pills would not be a bad idea.

Shanti + Bedtime = delicious blend.

Out and out,