Okay.... So I'm still missing relationships. Notes on The Perfect Partner.

I think that finding the perfect partner is about
first learning to be the perfect partner... even
without one.

I'd have to say that I'm probably the most optimistic
that I've been all my life about the prospect of
sharing life with someone. Namely because I'm having
one of the greatest relationship "vacations" ever
(going on 3 years). Yeah, for some of you that's
nothing, but here's the context. I'm one of those cats
who loves to be in love. I spent the late part of my
teens through most of my 20s being a serial
monogamist... but after some very painful break-ups
(all minimized as such cuz I'm not the weeping type)
I've taken some time to re-evaluate my issues, my
expectations, the choices I've made when considering
being involved with black men.

When I've fallen, I fall hard. I'm the kind of brotha
that can't imagine being in love with a brotha and not
wanting my mama and the whole world to know it. It's
kinda complicated being a hip hop/poetry boho
basketball fag with as many straight friends as gay
ones and dating in this culture where black gay
masculinity is so perversely aligned with DL. Being
masculine doesn't make you DL. You don't HAVE to hide
it, you CHOOSE to (and sometimes for good reason, so
no hating there). All that to say...

I think that my next partner will emerge from a number
of the men I've met over the past few years who have
been consistent, warm, sometimes sexual, sometimes
not, honest in ways we're conditioned not to be,
exploratory in terms of their notions of what a
relationship between two people can involve (e.g.,
other people, children, etc...). Most importantly,
loving me won't be the shield that protects him from
more deep seated self-esteem issues. I have been the
psychoanalysit hubby before who helps my partner come
to "vast realizations" about his life and experience
"immense personal growth". I became revered. it made
me less sexy. damn intense and spiritual... but not
the exciting cat with the mean mugg in the club he
pleaded with to smile.

We don't arrive perfect, but we can at least have a
sense of what our issues are and be in process. I
think it's sexy for man to be real in that way. I
have met very few who bear their souls without the
fear of rejection. many of us hide behind templates
for relationships that were never intended for black
men who love each other in the first place. I dare to
venture beyond those confines to a deeper, spiritual
sharing... but it's not about making somebody feel
warm-fuzzy. It's about safety. It's revealing who I
really am... and not holding back for fear of losing
someone. it's about being too busy trying to love
dude that it hasn't occured to me that i might lose
him. And i have before... in that same way. But i
wouldn't do it any differently. so sometimes I'm too
out, or too poz, or too social, or too struggling
artist for some brothas looking for their Huxtabellian
relationship... and I've been there and done that, so
I'm cool.

I'd pretty much been in jaded space for some time...
and it's been a little off-putting when I've met
brothas in DC who are like "all you need is a brotha
who gone love you right" (as if I've never heard that
before or missed the pickup line in cheesy
Blaxploitation sitcom). They are seriously on some
instant lover shit like it's instant oatmeal. So I
back back to working on nurturing the friendships i
have with black men. Most are platonic, some are a
little more. I realized that I'd fallen in love with
men I didn't particularly like. I realized that
sexual chemistry can not alone keep a relationship
going. And i begin to be real about my needs for
intimacy and affection. If I'm feeling lonely, it
doesn't mean I want a relationship... maybe just a
cuddle or some company. I have friends who I can get
that from... (and then some, with some). I've found
that a man who is a good friend to his friends will
more likely be a good lover... and one with few
friends, or who "can't stand" every other person at
the damn club... I'm scurred of them...

Okay.... before the monogamy/"we're just like straight
people, just gay" zealots come out of the batcave with
that ridiculous argument and call me ho ho ho, like
it's Christmas Eve, consider this: I'm on the verge
of turning 33, well-educated, half-way attractive,
POZ, out of the closet, and a damn beast in the
bedroom..., praise Jebus. none of those are changing
anytime soon and some are essential to who I am. So
am I concerned about growing old and single? No.
While I have my moments now when I miss the focus and
clarity sometimes provided with a life-partner (i'm
damn good alone, even better when a brotha's lookin
out for me), I've found a certain peace of mind and
spirit in just doing me... and knowing that when he
comes, I'll know. He won't read off his resume or
boast about how much better he gone be that I've ever
experienced, he'll reciprocate a warmth and patience
that says "yeah, I'm willing to take time with this,
I'm a little anxious too; but damnit, we're both
falling, and I'm willing to float under this parachute
as long as you'll let me" (the proverbial parachute
is: context, timing, moment, chemistry, and emotional
safety granted to those patient enough to have it
appear. it takes time to build a parachute you can
trust will keep you safe in the fall).

I know. It sounds more warm-fuzzy than me on hip hop
stages or basketball courts (grrrrr. don't tell my
homies, yo.). but deep down, I want it again... and i
think I'll have it too... and it won't be scary. no
more fear-based love for me. it'll be easy because
there's nothing that makes me more proud than sharing
my life with him and knowing I'm getting a damn good
deal too. it'll be a love grounded in freedom not
restriction. no room for jealousy. I'll long to love
all that he wants to be an do, inasmuch as he returns
the same. It's a concept called "compersion"...
pretty interesting if you google it. I think it was
used in the batman movie and I plan to go back to see
if I heard it right (plus, it was a damn good BATMAN).
Allright, Tim'm... .shut up!

(now if i could only believe what i write beyond the
writing of it. There's this notion in philosophy
called interpellation where the thing itself becomes
actualized because it was spoken, claimed. black
grandmas would just say "claim it"... like saying "I
do", and really meaning it. So I'm claiming it...
there's just no urgency. It'll be damn good and more
lasting than those times before, so I welcome his
patience in showing up for me, and letting me reveal
myself.

(verklempt. grrrrrr. butch it up, nukka).

peace.


tim'm
www.reddirt.biz

Today... I miss "married" life.

for all of my huckle buckle scipperphilosophy and singledom playnigga embellishments, I miss the focus and (false?) security of having someone whose responsibility it was to look out for me and ax how I'm doing at the end of the day. I miss meals together and my moms asking how "we're" doing. I miss my nephew asking when he can visit me and my dude and play X-box or basketball. I miss the random phone messages during the day. I miss the feeling i used to get when someone asked about my sig. other and we'd just made some bomb-diggety love the night before and morning of... and then some... I miss talking about how we were going to raise children and planning a future. I miss how focused my work was when I was partnered and how he'd make me chill out when life seemed to be getting the best of me. i miss the money you save when you have two professional adults in one household. i miss thinking other people were attractive, but squashing the thought when I considered what I had at home...

(but I don't miss a lot of things too). But today I miss the good things. Today it hurts a little to miss the good things. Easier to justify this space I'm in by reminding myself of the messed up stuff.

i'm in a bit of a funk... and I think that's what I miss.

damn them nukkas. damn them.


that's all.

Learning to Dance Again

(for ernest brown. thank you!)

he is
a lost soul
basking in the after-funk
of heartbreak
spirit strugglin
to remember rhythm
recall the joy
of unshakled, bad-ass
Carl Lewis-like feet:
they understand
what it means to be free
like they understand
the texture of earth
and love

his heart
like his feet
have hardened.
but someone
whose smile shines tenderness
helps him dance again,
some Dunham, Chuck-Davis remix
with capoiera sensuality,
some Tyrone Aiken, Robert Moses
foot-arch
some harlem renaissance shuffle,
some b-boys blues shaken off
on cardboard
or baby-powder scented dancefloors.

so he sweats
for all the crying
his eyes have failed to see.
lets go enough
to see his journey reflected
a small town boy
with a big heart
accent still thick
like the one his mouth has forgotten
and arms strong enough
to absorb the weight
of his memory:
what it felt like
to have someone he loved
fall out
of love with love itself

life is lighter
learning to move
this way
remembering rhythm
to forget it
so that it could be found again
like a heartbeat
like somebody making him blush
or dance again
consistent
as sun comes back
and joy too!

Marriage = 1 man and 1 woman? Nukka Please!

yeah... I know i'm "doin too much" with this post, but why not dream a bit sometimes.

I'm looking for 2 wives and 2 husbands. any takers?
that way nobody gets on my nerves.

okay... before you have a heartattack, this is my strategy. I'll dream of what I'd want in a different world and move back to reality as much as is needed.

what I'm looking for/guidelines/rules:

* super intelligence required. must understand some variation of postmodernism, Negritude, or postcolonial studies. No need to understand Spivak's intro to grammatology or anything, but at least be able to talk about how crazy some of Dyson's and West's boho-conjugations are.

* everyone has to find everybody else equally hot.

* college educated (call me bourgie boho. oh well)

* must know the whole chronology of De La, KRS, and Roots Manuva

* must have very high tolerance for garage, house, breakbeatz, trip hop...and have a good sense of rhythm. Masters at Work, has to be more than education update, pa (and ma)

* no consecutive cuddles or freekydeeks (enough goodies to go around)

* no prioritizing (communal shooky shooky. don't get shook).

* my mama must approve of the womyn (at least pretend to love Jesus, praise the Lord...)

* my brothas must approve of the men (intricate knowledge of black american athleticism, weightlifting, boxing, and shit-talking, and 80s samari and karate cinema helps). Beat-boxers and capoiera heads encouraged. please be able to handle the rock.

* must be down with homeschooling (ain't sending my kids to no schools here... and I'm an educator).

* i guess you'd have to be bicycular (bisexual) for this to all work, right?

* no hating on my extensive 80's collection of one hit wonder pop icons.

* be thick or we won't click. and prefer thickness. if you ain't cornfed, go find the cornbread.

* penchant for poetry (know the Beats, Black Arts, the Renaissance, (substantive, not theatrick SLAM), good hip hop lyricism.

* must submit an application that must be approved by Angela Davis and Carl Hancock Rux

* no excessive femininity. girls butch it up. boys, butch it up. but keep it cute. grrrrrr

* womyn must appreciate a good tounge lashing

* men must submit to weekly salad tossing

* feminist sensibilities help, but nothing fanatic

* southern a plus

* nice lips a big plus

* women must be comfortable with being bottoms and tops. same for men.

* I'm POZ, so we only play safe...

* if this doesn't quite work out... we cool. still be our friends, but you gotta find a replacement before you can bounce, yo.

okay.... I'm tired.


that's why my black ass is single.
worth a try though.


Tim'm