Monday, August 9, 2010

Catch You on the Rebound!

Things have to come full circle. I am checking my self here… because back on May 27, 2009 I wrote an entry called “Because I’m Fucken Queer till 2010” and said basically that I will catch you on the rebound. So here I am- one day after Judge Vaughn R. Walker of San Francisco struck down Pro. 8 declaring it unconstitutional. (Yes this post IS late- cause it actually happened on August 4th and today is not the 4th). I’m happy about the results, we know that the battle is not over (rolling my eyes) but we can still celebrate- we have to celebrate the small victories to keep us going to the next one. Small victories that fuel our strategy, fuel our passion. Even though my niece is already making plans to plan my wedding, dolphin themed at that! I am not ready to take that step. Not because I don’t believe in marriage etc I am familiar with it’s chameleon-and-one reasons it’s been institutionalized in societies, I believe in the principal of the thing and of course there is the emotional and spiritual definition the ritual validates as well. The big L-O-V-E! Yeah, I’m down for marriage cause I don’t like how Prop. 8 feels too much like “separate but equal” status. It is the principle of the thing, think about it: not all women or people in general who are pro-choice would go out and get an abortion or support the idea of their loved one getting one. So be against marriage but don't be down for Prop 8 either! Whatever, Down with the bullshit already. Hey but you know what, smart and persistent that was the key to the Civil Rights movement. One victory- desegregating education, desegregating counters. After another victory- boycotting buses and sanitation workers striking. The people kept on keeping on because they believed that change was possible- there had to be a better way to live. I will continue believing because I believe in change. I’ve had my probaditas of cohabitation and I’ve liked it. Nesting, some call it, entangling more and more into each other as the years go by and then maybe have some little chicks. Sure, why not it’s not so bad. Some Queers would argue that why go for marriage when there are so many other pressing issues going on that we can and should address. And I say to those Queers, hey guess what they are being addressed- read the newspaper, read someone’s wall for god sake, post a comment, SB 1070, the fight for a national HIV Prevention Strategy which we finally got, education reform, US out the Middle East and I’m sure we can still hear ‘Free Mumia” shouted across college campuses. There is a cause for everything and everything is its cause. So WHY NOT this one? Cause we should remain Queer and not be forced to morph into straights clones to be treated as equals, we should be equal just as we are, and....? Well you know how the rest of the argument goes. The irony is that Judge Vaughn R. Walker used the whole Queer/Outsider argument to support this case- he argued that gays are a minority group that deserve equal protection! He is arguing that the courts should use what is called “strict scrutiny” when dealing with sexual orientation in the same way that all race-based classifications are subjected to strict scrutiny to ensure that policies are not violating constitutional rights, as in gays having constitutional right to marry. So we are queer, his opinion says so now that that’s settled let’s go and be equal protection Queers. Sure maybe marriage isn’t your thing but look at the political/legal ramifications this case has brought. Look, maybe you’re not wearing the veil but open your eyes man! It’s not just about being accepted in society, as if that were so bad, it’s not just about “gay-lesbian-trans-love” it’s about gaining some sort of political leverage, having the laws work for us when filing for discrimination, leverage for when we as Queers turn to the system and don’t have to still feel disempowered cause the law don’t treat us good neither. Sure it could’ve happened some other way but this is the opening that we have and the lawyers are gonna run with it, try to take it to historical proportions.

On another note let’s talk about gay student suicides, why is it that nationwide, gay youth are four times more likely to attempt suicide than their heterosexual peers? Studies show that 90% of LGBY youth have experienced some form of harassment at school due to their sexual orientation and two-thirds of LGBT students reported feeling unsafe at school.[1] But the problems don’t end there, as a community; we have to deal with alcoholism being an integral part of the gay/queer scene. This friends, has to do, at least partially, with the alienation that many of us experience not only from our families but from various types of social support. Many youth feel like they can’t report their experiences to school administrators- who are they going to turn to? The church, their families…school is already crossed out of the picture. I’m not saying that marriage is a panacea and will make these problems go away but it will set off a ripple effect in the many institutions set up in our society to directly/indirectly provide social support to young/older people alike

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Healing; circa 2007 but gotta keep it REAL-evant


I look at my wound

A fleshy calaca

Speckled with pink and red dots where hair follicles

Once existed.

It is my cortada with its rosada edges

an umbra of swollenness.

I look at my wound

Slimy como un gargajo

Me llena de asco

But why does my mouth water when I look at it?

I focus on the pain

Feel it throb up and down my arm

Makes my nails tingle

I feel the throb until my clit tingles.

I ignore my cut for days

Leave it exposed, victim to the elements

Vulnerable to infection.

“Huh I should put something on it. Some ointment or something.”

I research the web under branding and in the process

Learn about the highly infectious nature of burns.

One degree more and I could’ve damaged the nerve endings.

I cover my wound with a Band Aid

To silence the pain.

My thoughts get the best of me

I get chilled with loneliness, paralyzed with irrational fears

My thoughts run wild

ever present

bare

like bones

I reach for the Band Aid

And as I pull it off the stinging mixes in with another type of pain

The pulling of tiny hairs from their root “sssss, uh.”

Pain.

Pains

make me who I am, makes us who we are

Our bodies are screaming with pain

Physical, mental and emotional

Pain brings us together

It repels us

“Get away! You pained me.”

“get away you’re damaged goods.

Look at my wounds.

“Cover that shit up.”

I struggle not to be hostage to my pain

But it is my pain

Fuck you for giving it to me

Fuck you for not knowing it.

“Can you see my wound, it’s only residue?”

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Abandon: HIT ME BACK TO HEAVEN


(sound of voices praying)
I stopped being a Catholic when I was thirteen, but I still can’t stop confessing, professing my shit, yeah exhibitionist to the core, the showing must go on. I was borne to be an artist. I like pain. I do. It’s always lived in me, so I learned how to like it. I learned how inflict it on myself, cutting, pulling the scabs, branding. I’ve always done it alone, to myself the technique growing with time. Why? Uhhhh it feels so fucken good you just don’t know. The next day any movement reminds you of the soreness, breathing alone can cause it to sting. Maybe I’m really a submissive. Submissive. It’s an exercise in letting go. I’m not gonna try to control my life. I have to let it go, like I once did. I’d close my eyes believing in the feeling, the safety I felt in those prayers those fears laid down to rest in between those pages. But that type of faith seems so long ago and the memories turned bible page thin. I didn’t want to stop believing that things would change, that:
(in Prayer tone)
I would not lust otras como yo.
Not be broken down by rejection
Not be so fucken horny
Those prayers ceased, as did the weekly rituals.
(Sound of hand slapping face)
Te va castigar dios. If he was going to do it why can’t I do it to myself? Take my faith into my own hands. I searched for a replacement, not sure how many miles my pedometer has tracked of my strolls up and down the beach, como la pinche llorona trying to figure how I let things get to here. And still I don’t learn that like the waves you have to ride it out. Found a way to some other commandments. S/M felt like a way to command who and what would hurt me. Did I say controlling pain? But if pain is my pleasure then…oh what a tautological bind. The welts, rakes and burns, are they not strong enough to exorcise my demons.
Let me believe in myself.
If I can’t believe in my ability to love and be loved, the most basic of things then how can I succeed, how can I stop being a FUCKEN TOOL! Yeah, I am a fucken tool, look at what I build, you tripping over it right now. Just call me craftsman…I build what I can but sometimes it was hard to build me. Couldn’t jack up myself so I jacked myself up, physically. A tool, beating myself against that hard surface that would never change, never chip and sculpt to my heart’s desire, one so muddled in self-doubt.
Submissive
I feel crazy like I need to go off, fireworks, like the motha’ fucken Drake of theater, only prettier. Bet you no rapper knows this definition of busting on stage,
A black box MC, mistress of cock-inesssss, of cocks and circumstancesssss that keep bringing me back to this place.
Cual de los dos amantes sufre mas pena, la que se va o la que se queda
The one that stays, in that moment, in those feelings, suffers cause when they leave it feels like they’re yanking me from my roots. I struggle to recover and get caught up in the
(in singing tone)
anything you can do I can do better, anything you can say I can be meaner, I can be colder…I can do better, I can do better, better, better. For myself each and every day. My hands are bound and I pray, bound in prayer, bound in play-
Some people measure growth spurts with markings against the wall
Scribbles
The 3rd year, the 4th year, 5th year, 5th scar on my arm. Growth entails making better decisions, they say but all I’m doing is trusting love (huh) seeing where it takes me. And it has taken me to a lot of beautiful places, people have touched lots of special places.
People leave traces
on my soul
And when it’s time to grow you have to, like the roots you have to yank and re-pot. Pick a bigger pot, more soil, water and it will grow.
Blessed is this blood that I shed for my art
Blessed is this blood (chuckles) that pumps from my heart
Blessed is this blood that I shed here today hoping to grow in an amazing way.
No catechism, no communion, just confession, cutting, cicatrizando, caressing, I’m the worst communicator in the world, a writer, a story teller, the worst in expressing my needs. So I write pieces and then I master pieces to make sense out of my life…(chuckles) My life, my life, my life a constant conversation with myself
(sound of voices praying)
pushing me to go and to go and I don’t know where that is. And damn these headaches! a constant halo of heat squished in between my brain and top of my dome. Tension, caused by my apprehension, cause I don’t speak, I don’t speak my mind but my mind speaks to me all the time and won’t fucken shut up and I have no choice but to listen.
Submissive
Clear, honest consensual the basic rules of play, but when it’s for reals, you can’t hear, what I say…I say I’m not topping enough, not good enough, not good enough, not enough.
Submissive
Give up control. I am not even gonna try anymore…acts of kindness fade like cicatrices- it’s only when it’s hot, warm and sore that you pay attention to the wound, then it, I fade into the rest of your skin, the rest of you. And too bad that we only see ourselves from the inside out, not outside in, except maybe on Facebook, seen, seen, oh to be seen.
I am not even gonna try anymore gestures are always left to be misinterpreted and my questions kill more than just the mood. I am not even gonna try anymore, no more of this topping from the bottom, topping with a soft caring hand mistaken for weak but quick bitch feel my grip- as I grab at…nothing, still coming up empty handed.
Submissive
I surrender so that you
MY You
You hear me…
Will one day too
I surrender, I surrender
I submissive
I a tool…. Come- play- with- me
Involve our entire being
Abandon what’s been played
Hit me, hit me, hit me back to heaven
Through ceremonial play
Baptize and purify me
Pressed that hotness onto my skin
Forever and ever not even death will do us part
With this brand
I me
wed
to this life of abandonment
on my journey
doing it for love
doing it with faith.

(photo credit: Raquel Gutierrez)

BLM Owes Me Nothing!

(R.I.P Vanessa Guillen) 1. I think that when you organize a social justice event; participate in a rally or a cause it’s because...