Get Well Presence (for Kaya)

8.28.03
tim’m t. west

A Savior, I am not…
But I do have presence for you
Have showed it when you swore
I’d forgotten…
Bay bridge trips
After hip hop slips
and appointments
Intentions for coffee
As an excuse
To avoid staring in each others
gaze

This guttural nigga
Has already wailed for you
But you,
Weary and wondering
If black can love you back
Question my presence

A multi-cultural candle
Some scent between Bombay and Kingston
Has burned to see you better
And a message was left
Perhaps delivered by someone
Unable to carry the sentiment,
Breathing just barely
Struggling to press 7 digits
Tongue too thick and boondock to say
oncology

So as much as I want to try
I cannot visit you…. not like that
I fear that while my words
Can do many things:
Make niggas fall in love
Make people release they shame in an exhale
See they reflection break lose in a tear
Still, they cannot heal you
But I stubbornly push words out
Searching for the next lyrical inadequacy

Kaya Nati,
just like blakkboy or reddirt
Slip off my tongue
Like it sticks to my tongue
Juicy and black
And lollypop

Brother, warrior, fierce spirit
Why have I always been afraid?
Why have I convinced myself
That it was not worth losing you
To your collapse into yourself
And so losing myself before I can notice
You are missing
Me, other brothers, yourself even

Your movement has been too swift for we
Slips like the turn-back
To see one’s own shadow
Chasing and hiding from itself at once
Magnetix soul
Bamboo djembe rhythm and ballet slippers
And you, an embodied medium
Carrying the wait
Of their sound and fury

Will you pray for me
So that I am strong enough to hold you
When you get better?
Can you promise to act like
however tight or loose
The embrace
or whatever nigga or art-thang
be pre-occupying my wandering spirit
that you know deep down
That I have never let go
Of anything I’ve believed to be beautiful.

Remembering Kaya

my friend Kaya.... the way his spirit is reminding me to remember him: a movement, a dance, an intensity, a brotha, a friend (and then some)... I will carry his legacy in the arch of letters I write that curve not as graciously as he moved in Jamaica or East Oakland.

My friend Kaya transitioned...

beautiful spirit
beautiful dance
a wind
a thought held for a beautiful moment
has left to continue through me

i'm a bit cried out,
but remember
the feel of their names in my mouth:
wanda alston, nate "issac" manigualt, kaya nati

i remember
and remain inspired

ya'll pray for a brotha. I need it.


tim'm

In Memory of Nate

Play Mate
(for nate)
April 5, 2005
(c) 2004 tim'm t. west/red dirt publishing

I loved my friend
He went away from me
There's nothing more to say
The poem ends
soft as it began,-
I loved my friend"

- Langston Hughes


he could have left us another way
the unfortunate news coming
like a rumor or "guess what?"
but it came like a sign
something larger than life itself
and left an impression
of what we should never again
take for granted
the precious breath of life
a simple game
we choose to play or not
as he played
till there was no breath left

it could have come in an email
or newspaper clipping...
or channel 9 news
but we were fortunate enough
to be there
angels around him
and watching over us
loving him enough to encourage
next breaths
hold his hand
and selfishly hope
like we've never hoped before
that it was not his time to leave us

so perhaps the creator chooses
the time
the place
chose us to be there
joyous moments
of love and basketball
and the smile we should never forget
in the moments before...

perhaps we were chosen
to be students
for lessons he so unselfishly taught
through his actions:
sitting out so we could play,
encouraging from the side lines,
planning moments beyond the court
for fellowship and support,
or the way he played
through pain in the knee
because we simply insisted
because we were comfortable admitting
we needed him.

next up
is someone who has been waiting
to play
but cautiously,
and without pride, courage
or confidence
that this game is meant for them to play
and he remains their guide
and mine and ours
fixed in our memories and hearts
the inspiration for life's next moves.
so we can choose to play
or stay stuck
refusing to get the point

without question
continuing to play this game of life
is what our friend
would deem a win, a victory,
a full smile
hearty as a Charleston Sunday dinner
strong as arms and backs that
rebound
over and again
knowing that our lives
much like our friend's
offers not many play mates
more precious.

Have you seen my friends? I haven't. LOL

the Phab 4: Yourn Truly, Bravette, Chad, and Harry in DC (May 2004). Don't we look like a band? LOL

Nostalgia

stands on the edge of
the most endearing things about yester-year
smiles and tears alike mesh into memories
that strip them of any hurtful residue
and we are shaman and goddesses
never doubting our power to make memories
sweeter than the event itself.
we are a sometimes broken people who long
to remember remembering
the echo of a neglected moment
and hold it like an infant
a puppy, a promise, a civil right
and preserve it as if its passing
was the death of hope itself.
we are nostalgic because we are hopeful
because we need to be reminded
that there are many reasons
to relish next breaths
create new memories
recall the simple brilliance of our living.

Learning to Cry

I have waited for my tears to come for a long time
Never really fought for love, when it seemed to slip away
I never let myself cry over broken hearts
Sucked it up like a man’s man- unmanned
Developed some script of strength
A guise of guardedness
A mask
A pretense of resolve
But inside I had been breaking
Excess boiling over
A residue of emotions building
exploding
trying to own my shit and not blame
coping with the losses unexplained
So between midnight and 3am these days
I allow the tears to do more than well up
suck up courage to help them get unstuck
take my own advice
and remember to breathe
before wiping them tenderly away
Understanding these are first steps
towards a new day
I learn to smile through their falling
a good hurt
And stay up relishing memories
of all things good about being held well
remembering that good love is loving good
Even when things don't seem as they should
When loving don’t make sense
When there is no evidence of your loving
beyond your own confidence

And I think
Someday,
I may have water enough from tears
To baptize myself in the safety
of a love (again)
Like I’ve never been hurt at all

Black and Blue?

Here's one remedy. There's the compilation that i contributed music to, also featuring the work of Hanifah Walidah and Mrk Drkfthr (both based in NYC). The 2004 Election deepened whatever blues many of us were already experiencing. I'm not so naive that I believe the system itself isn't flawed-- but after many over-intellectualized years of not voting (my excuse: voting demonstrates my investment in a system that has consistently disenfranchised so many people, even as it provides small gains to a few tokens willing to forgive the impress of a racist, sexist, homophobic legacy... blah blah blah) . Well I saw this bumper sticker a few years back that said: "Don't Vote? Don't Bitch!"... and that was motivation enough for me. It wasn't enough that my "ancestors worked so hard for the right to vote"-- since most of my direct ancestors died penniless and disillusioned with the small gains made by generations in my family whose work and diligence would never be compensated by a "lesser of two evils" vote at the poll. Still, voting for me has become symbolic. I vote because I want to have the right to bitch and complain about all that's wrong, and also applaud what's moving in the right direction (dissent and revolution, are as patriotic as uniform flag-bearing). I want to hold "leaders" accountable... and since I still think the system is a mess, one way I've responded to this is through my he-art. Me and some very talented friends created this compilation that more or less moves through three sensibilities: thoughts, actions, love (cuz we should never lose sight of the fact that some good shooky-shooky-now, can make us forget which white guy is in office and what war or legislation they're endorsing). I love the blend of the music and the opportunity to include new material on the compilation. The music is beautifully complemented by interviews of other artists responding to the election (my favorite of which is the finale' "Bling Bling Revolutionary"). From me, Check out "Negrolosophy" (with ButtaFlySoul), "Movin'" a track I did with Deep Dickollective from Proto-Negroes, and a rare, jazzy and vocal number with Raymond Jones on piano about love escaping social madness called "Paradise". Even as jaded as I am, i listen to the song and am reminded that whatever the political climate and chaos in the world... it's better to feel love when things fall apart than to be falling apart and not have love enough to hold you up. I've been held together by some very beautiful people over the years; and have been especially grateful in those streaks of depressive feelings, insomnia, and exhaustion when I forget my shine. So "Blue State" is my hopeful thank you to all of you-- a foreshadowing of the "Paradise" I want for us all. Also... this blog is your opportunity to comment on what you think about the work there (which will be availble for sale VERY shortly). Critique and applause are both welcome. Preview at: www.soultrotta.com. Listen and let in.

The Bruhs

The Bruhs 

Noir Reflections

I was in a post-Funk downspiral, my blues overshadowing the colorful existence I've created for myself in DC. Sometimes it's far to easy to lose sight of your blessings. a health scare or lonely night can make one overlook how much life has to offer those willing to let the lessons show up through the pain. so I reached out. it was some aol ramble to a friend about needing more substantive connection with brothas who were willing to dig deeper than usual chat about the state of the "scene" or struggles of securing someone as warm and lasting as fantasies about the knight. i knew that time in West Virginia would be great, if only just to get away from the city and be amidst nature-- something I sorely miss, being an arkansas, country-boy. but i ran into some people there; familiar faces I'd seen at the club or on personals pages that reduced our essence to a headline like "down to earth brotha... seeks blah thug blah". and we went so much further to discern what lies beneath or titles, our jobs, our struggles, our educations, our anxieties about loving and longings for it... and I left with some 15 new friends, all unexpected gifts for having held on long enough to have them show up. Noir Reflections-- a retreat for black men sponsored by Us Helping Us-- was about finding pieces of myself in brothas who each shared something similar and yet, were a whole lot different: a drummer, the blunt devil's advocate with multiple personalities, a courageous quiet spirit who "opened up", and in doing so, gave us permission to do so, a brilliant, strong, and wordly long-term dis/ease survivor, a wrist reader, an closet actor and poet, a pharmacist, a "don't ask, don't tell" active duty military officer, and three wise men to guide our journey. I seldom am at a loss of words for experiences, but one of the brothas who attended the retreat felt inspired.... and shared.... and took words out of my head and heart and let them guide his fingers. i honor bruh lawrence in sharing his poetic articulation of our collective blessing with you:

Just Bruhs

loving, holding, knowing my thoughts
owning our bond like a hot wheel car from childhood
old and weathered with many play miles
it sits on my shelf as manifested memories
no one else knows its worth
but i do

i re-collect the moment of first encounters
i smile
warmth engulfs me knowing that first encounters were judged correctly
cool immediately overtakes me
i am reminded of a break
i choose the warmth...it brings me back to who you are
who i am learning you to be

right now i see a depth i could drown in
is it love, lust, friendship...?
Definitions R constricting
suffocating terms that run away a moment in time
turns fleeting possibilities into something crushed
i acknowledge this
I am allowed to title it for now
as
Just Bruhs

Heteros Though, Can't Tell from Our Clothes/Scaring Girls in Sacramento!"

So they pick me up from the airport in Sac and we head to downtown for Food and "Faces"; and this str8 (white) girl, when we inquired about places to eat, told us: "it's kind of a gay over there, but the food is good". And we, much to her surprise, replied "Perfect!, We're Gay!" And she gaggath, and Butta said (under his breath): "Burst, Bietych!"

4 reasons why I miss Oakland, California

...and yeah, i know,.... one of them is why I miss NYC: l-r: ButtaFlySoul (NYC), SoulNubian (Oakland), Solis (Oakland), PointfiveFag (Oakland) of Deep Dickollective.

"People All Over the World"......RECOGNIZE!

Deep Dickollective in action at UC Davis (Feb 19, 2005).

DC Dis/ease

tossing and turning
like my stomach
that won't keep food down
(3 days straight)
I remember everything
except to take meds
that may be doing
more harm than good

tired of this dis/ease
stats going in the wrong direction
first-time high blood pressure
and I have not been
this afraid in a while
that my body
like mother earth
may be too exhausted
might be crashing on itself

body
has forgotten how to feed itself
broccoli
arkansas well-water
mother's cheerful dialect
somebody from Oakland missing me
like I miss Lake Merritt
or good sex

body
has forgotten how to hold itself
well enough
to push its recovery
ahead of any thoughts
that I am down-spiraling
running from something
faster than my feet
and lost
not knowing what I need today
beyond peace.

Insomnia

eyelids almost
but not quite
heavy enough
to take me
from the dream i live to dream
into the dream itself

i long
to smile
with such happiness
i drool
and am proud
of the traces
on my pillow.

my mouth
craving
somethin' sweeter
than honeycomb,
or butter pecan
somethin' sweeter
than memory of a lover's insistence
or his seduction
to come
be
remembered
in this here present

my touch
wanting to feel
something softer
than keyboard clicking
something
pre-linguistic
something simply
less calculated
than the calculus of poetry
or its failure
to hold my hand
write me the poem
no one has written
me

thoughts of this thinking
fumble
like some deferred cuddle call
some awe-inspired calling
a third chapter or 7th breath
waiting to ex hell
at 2:00 a.m.
and counting...

my body
caresses itself against the mattress
arms fold under arms
that have promised to hold me
better than others have
let me slip away

tonight
I am feeling
not so strong
un-sexy
like tomorrow is taking too long
to give birth to my next smile
(what I would give to smile
as effortlessly as I spell it)

my insomnia
is the body's insistence
that these arms will not trick,
tease, sex
this body
into thinking I am enough
tonight
I cannot save myself
hold myself up
measure the distance
between the drum beats of my
he-art

tonight
i reject others
who would love
to try
to love

tonight
i want to be
enough for me
tonight
but i am not...

don't
feel safe enough to cry
stong enough wait for night
to come
as surely as it passes

so eye stay up
like the yawn waiting to come
with mourning...
when eye done grown
so tired
of being open
that eye curl back
into the promise...
of a new salvation
and the darkness morphs
into a chance
to maybe
do it better
next night

Where Love Is?

i'm still looking... but I think I might be on to something in my search. the following was written almost two years ago. Interestingly, I was very much in love with someone and we were really struggling to come to some resolve about how we imagined love... our similarities and differences and our challenges in spite of and because of those things. It's been two years and who woulda thunk I'd still be single (mr. serial monogamy?)

anyhow... this poem makes me a little sad today. i've really loved anyone I've ever loved... and sometimes i remember what that felt like... even when things weren't at best, but you wanted to try and try again to make things work.

maybe next time, huh? maybe there'll be a next time... and if not... i still got lots of love in my life
__________________

Where Love Is…
Tim’m
02/02/03

Where is love?
if not between the falling in and out
nestled there firmly affixed to the heart
like a first joyous gaze upon a first love
or patience for a favorite meal...
if not somewhere
between the first and last line
of a cherished poem.

Where is love?
if not underneath a memory
of a first night hug or kiss or last glance back
before the eye met you
and merely anticipated
a gracious givingness of the heart
to even a perfect stranger
willing to surrender a smile...

Where love is...
is straddling the space
between be mine and be you
pulling you close and letting you go
me being happy and we being happy.
Love often chooses not to choose...
once released it can never be returned

Unconditional
love gets burdened by
expectation, anticipation, selfish longings
delusions of fairness, reciprocity,
or possession.
Love just wants to love
have it be accepted without explanation.
It is not so very different
than other loves.
Humble
it demands no speciality...
for it accepts
that it is no less special
than what it is:
the shine glistening rhythmically
with the water's shimmy on a lake
the pitch of a laugh
that rises and falls
with the release of a breath.

Love is there.

PlayBoys.... PlayGirls... In the Night!!!!

tim'm with michael christopher, damien, and chad at February "Front Porch"

Loving A Blakkboy, Learning Me

so I spent a few days in NYCity as a panelist for an NYU/NAACP Black Solidarity Conference, conjoined with a benefit performance for J-FLAG sponsored by NYU and Amnesty International. Much of my time in NY was spent in Jersey; exploring the beauties of being platonic with a blakkboy I have found it extremely difficult not to love as deeply as I know how to love. make sense? So this weekend was our breakthrough... an opportunity to see one another differently, and still recognize and relish all that the years between he and me has taught we about how to be.... in love... and not... and friends.

We're both single now... but I had shared this letter some time ago with a friend or two and was reminded about it today... just after my return from NYC.... allowing the joy of friendship and the courage to get beyond my own passion guide my next steps... to more clarity about myself.... or those I may choose to try loving. I realize, more than a year after this initial letter was written, that it says a great deal more about me than it does about him... So I'll protect him, in this case. I'll call him "blakkboy", cuz that's what he (still) represents to me: a reflection of the gift of love that I long to give especially to myself.... black boy or not.

11.02.03

Blakkboy,

This is the letter I have not been brave enough to write. Yet nothing here should surprise you if you know anything about my eyes and how they look at you. Especially when you are there and me, here, I remember you best: brown and luscious and ebony and oil scented like the king I peeped on Christopher back in ’97. I have been in love since. And I am well aware that these feelings don’t make much sense. If I didn’t believe in spells before, I do now. For I have not been able to shake your touch… the rare and erratic moments when you indulged the possibility of filling the void that has been here since I first saw you. You are magic, and it troubles me that other men who’ve hurt you do not see this. It sometimes hurts me to know that I do and cannot be with you.

There is this immense capacity within me to be greater than I know is even imaginable. And when I’m with you I’m closest to this—as radiant as the sun. I glow in the potentiality of a life with you and in the resolve that I have not settled. I’m reminded most of this absence when I’ve tried to fill it with others who can not love me conscientiously as well as you do without even trying.

I need someone in my life who can dance with me and explore strange soul sensibilities in record shops. I need someone in my life who will inspire me to save for trips to the Dominican Republic, Brazil, London, or Capetown. You inspire something in me that believes love can be borne out of, especially, the empty spaces. I close my eyes and remember our dance and it is a shelter for every pain I’ve endured. I close my eyes and think of you and give myself permission to cry while driving. I wipe the tears into a grin. How silly I must be to think you’d ever be with me?

I have wondered if prayers or fasts can really make things happen. I suppose I have tried them all. And I sometimes think that someone like you will appear; and I’ll call you up, and you’ll know, unlike the times before when I’ve claimed finding love, that I truly have found another spirit in the universe with eyes, spirit, rhythm, and softness like yourn. I’ll be ecstatic to tell you that such a person exists; for no creator in my imagination would create just one of you. I’m not suggesting that there’s another you in the universe. I am perhaps suggesting that my heart will not know the difference, should I find the right person. I’ll be able to feel that same glow and happiness. And indeed, if only for moments, I have experienced this potentiality in others; albeit fleeting.

I know that my poetic superlatives have often made you uncomfortable. You somehow feel that you don’t deserve them. That I tell you of your perfection does not mean that I don’t see imperfections. It’s just that the imperfections are necessary to your evolution into yourself, as whole and perfect as you were born. You are Cassandra Wilson’s lazy run down the Mississippi, Omar’s perfect stretch for a note out of his range, Nina Simone’s unintended wail cracking into a melodious run, Ron Trent’s unintended, extended remix of Oya’, Rux, or Primitive rhythms. You are Kahlo’s imperfect eyebrow connection that Diego’s finger traced to discover something greater about the thickness and texture of black. You are Basquiat’s patient indifference to post-modern praise of his “Famous Negro” masterpieces. You are the only man I have longed to love in spite of his imperfections; and this is painfully perfect. Almost as sweetly imperfect as it would be if you someday accepted an invitation to be, and stay, and grow alongside me: one who has always been willing to be your friend, even as my heart longed for more; one who monitors your night-breathing or gives you space when you so infrequently desire it.

Blakkboy, you are a song I danced to and cried with and never heard again. You are a second wind. And however you should respond to this plea written bravery (e.g., “Tim’m, you off the hook”)…I will never forget that whoever is trying to love you….or me, that there is something special and enduring between us. I know you love me, and I don’t take for granted opportunities to tell you that you’re loved. I won’t forget you, in spite of my imperfect desire to express longings for things I dare to dream-- things I want but may never have. You remain: mine, friend, lover, blakkboy. You are a reminder of the beauty life holds for dreamers who remember that life, despite the madness, offers many beautiful possibilities.


Your boy,



Tim’m

Arguing Afrocentrism and Affection for Ass: griot notes

someone on okayplayer posted a question about whether or not one could be both afrocentric and homosexual. I had a lot to say during that thread, but the following rebuttal to one of the more naive afrocentric participants is most amusing:

I was responding to these comments (which are intended for people generally), so did not reference "him" specifically, but rather a "he" to give context to my responses:
_________________________________

he said: yes. i was more identifying the source of the taboo and a culture that isn't greek or roman that had homosexuality. in new zealand, again, fa-afafine people tend to end up all out gay and pimping themselves. i see the current manifestation of mass media gay orgie irrsesponisble sex and drug consumption as a hard core escapist symptoms of very real depression. you don't have that in samoa pre colonialism.

I'm sayin: you don't have "mass media" and a drug "industry" in pre-colonial anything?!? I wont' point out which logical flaw this is, but the analogy doesn't hold piss.

he said: would you define homosexuality as the desire to engage in sexual acts with others of the same sex and that alone?

I'm sayin: I'll only speak for myself, since I think it's a range of things for different people. there is no singular source for same sex desire. as for me, it speaks to my emotional desire for romantic companionship with men (with or without sex, but generally leading to sex, as it is, even for most heteros, the consumate expression of romantic love between two adults). the sex act alone does not establish sexual identity. I know plenty of straight men who suck a dick now and then, but they are not "gay" because they don't identify with the sexual identity...they only indulge the act. and I think it's an important distinction. Also... i didn't have homesex until I was 19. i knew I was gay as early as 5. most straights know they are straight long before the first sexual act. it works the same way.

he said: for men, is homosexuality when you want to stick you penis into another mans bum and vice versa? on a very basic level i object.

i'm sayin: thanks for sharing. I'll consider your objection for a nanosecond when I'm out getting my mack on.

he said: if you want to argue that anything is unclean, anal sex is unclean. animal sex, child sex, bum sex. not clean.

i'm sayin': sex, you could argue, is unclean. bums can be cleaned, as the vagina must be cleaned. cleanliness is a very, very good thing... unless you've had a bad experience and are speaking first hand. i been diggin boys (pun intended) for some 15 years, and have (generally) not dealt with unclean bums. when there is an issue, it can be quickly and respectably resolved. all asses should be regularly washed: gay, straight, male, female... Also, anal sex is not exclusive to homosexuals. many, many, many straight people love it.

he said: i think it's great to love your friends, but i don't see the physical consumation of that love as anything more then severely damaging, and in the case of men, illogical. and that's what homosexuality is. bum sex with other dudes. no bum sex. i think that bum sex is demeaning.

i'm sayin': your phrasing here is very suspicious. illogical is your transition from one statement to the next, not the homosex between friends. what is heterosexual marriage if not sex between friends (I'd hope)? maybe that explains the divorce rate.

he said: i know that i can get more physical spiritual and mental enjoyment from a game of basket ball or a musical jam then sex with anything or anyone.

I'm sayin': I could agree with you here. homosex is not tantamount to my self-concept or identity, except for the ways that heteronormative culture and its enthusiasts impose their traditons and belief on my kind. i would prefer a romantic and sexual life that wasn't politicized. unfortunately, people like you make that difficult.

he said: and i think that's the problem. trying too hard to impose my life style on others to their detriment. i think the over politcizing of homosexuality would be to the detriment of black people and thus damaging to african spirituality... although if we can make it through crack, cointel pro, and 400 years of slavery, maybe this too is just another test to triumph over.

i'm sayin': so we shouldn't politicize blackness or africanness either, right? so politicizing of identity is just plain wrong? again, the politicization of identity is often the reaction to identity oppression, and that alone. when I'm with a group of folks who ain't trippin on my liking guys, I'm not thinking.. who am I gonna have to bust in the face... and i'm cool. it's not until someone gets testy that I start to have defensive thoughts.. LOL. but the point is that, my gayness, like my blackness are beautiful and perfect, as they are... until around people who question this... and I can choose to internalize the majority opinions about blackness or gayness... or love them both. I am proud of my gayness BECAUSE I am a proud black man... an honest man, a man of integrity, a man who believes in truth... i ain't goin go out like no punk/ LOL

he said: on the other hand, i know some people who are just gay.

i'm sayin': like me?

he said: but look at this. in a gay parent house hold, there is an increased chance that the child will 'choose' homosexuality as a lifestyle.

i'm sayin: actually studies suggest otherwise. there IS an increased chance that children won't feel like they will be ostracized, kicked out of the home, these children will likely be less prone to suicide, if gay. hey... I was born to heterosexuals (I think... I actually haven't asked them about their sexual orientation...and we tend to assume, perhaps wrongly, that our parents are, necessarily, straight).

he said: i think it drives another wedge into the rift between man and woman in the black family. i understand what gays are pushing for. if they were not discriminated against, perhaps they wouldn't have a wounded spirituality. or be physically wounded/threatened with impunity on the part of their attackers.

i'm sayin': i think you have no idea what gays are pushing for. see...there are a lot of us... and there is no single agenda... because a lot of us don't agree with each other... or have differing beliefs and values..... you should understand this, being of african descent. gays, in some ways, are like black people.... we use the (blanket) term as a convenient mechanism for political or cultural solidarity, but blackness, like gayness, signifies different things to the vast number of people who identify as such (respectively and/or simultaneously... as in my case).

he asked: do you honestly advocate homosexual marriage and the raising of children?

i'm sayin': I'm not sure how I feel about marriage... but if straight people get to get it wrong half of the time, why not gay folks? I don't know if it's for me. the idea of possessing anyone as property and the contractual shit seems to get in the way of my notions of unconditional loving... but I do feel that the healthy and functional rearing of children has less to do with the sexual orientation of parents and more about preparation for children, self-sacrifice, and other basic principles like love, understanding, and economic stability. funny how heteros can be str8 crackheads and have a better chance of raising kids that two functional professional culturally conscientious black guys who love each other and their children.

he said: how does it work, kind of like "she hate me" but the opposite?

i'm sayin': see, you really lose points for even referencing that (Spike Lee) piece of trash. "she hate me" was the highly romanticized dreamscape of a impotent man who wants to have a harem where he can play king and dicktate "quasi-lesbian" fantasies. nothing more. any real queer person of color would have found it as ridiculously laughable and unrealistic as I did. It was an entertaining movie... to see that this is how some straight men conceptualize their sensitivity to the "gay" issue...

he said: a womans eggs are valuable! it takes nine months to make a child... would you only choose from lesbian females?

I'm sayin': 9 months??!? didn't know that. man... get outta here! personally, i plan to adopt, so this isn't relevant for me. I do know of gay men and lesbians who are deciding together to have and/or raise children. some straight people are cool enough to help with the process as well... .providing sperm or carrying a child into term with (or without) contractual parameters. children deserve committed, loving, nuturing parents. 9 months in the womb, or 9 months of a legal battle and tons of paper work and quality assurance visits... and it's hopefully a beautiful black child in the home of some loving parents. that's what's up?!?

he said: isn't that just way too much? we have so many obvious problems in the black community at home and at large that why do we need this as well? would there be more or less instances of child molestation? is child sex next? and then animal sex?

I'm sayin': you are a bit late of this as a "new" problem. it's always been an issue. i suppose you'd prefer that we continue not talking about it like black people have for the hundreds of years we've already been here on earth... but it's not new. As for child molestation, child sex and animal sex? those are catagories that I, neither a pedophile nor proponent of beastiality, can speak to. you're heading into an illogical slippery slope here with no clear and necessary relationship between same sex desire between consenting adults to sexual acts that are non-consensual. maybe some of your hetero friends know more about child molestation or beastiality than I do?

he said: because there are people out there who think that's ok. there are people who want to fuck animals. and kids. and they do. are these people sick? where do you draw the line? what about golden showers and scatt and all that nasty business? is there a straightforward code of conduct in the homosexual arena? will the socialization of homosexuality create such a code? what about the rent boy thing? doesn't that suck (no pun intended) that youth have to submit sexually to their teachers and benefactors? it seems wrong to me and indicative of a social sickness.

i'm sayin': wow... seems you are much more informed than me about sex fetish... see these are catagorically unrelated, and not sexuality specific, so... again... there is no clear and necessary relationship to homosexuality: r kelly or woody allen might have an answer for you. I don't think that homosexuals have contributed any more to sexually deviant behavior than heterosexuals. two consenting adults who want to bum fuck is sex between consenting adults: gay or straight.

what I said last time: >lastly, I don't see how homosexuality is necessarily seen as a threat to the perpetuation of the black race. many or most black gay men and womyn I know are having and raising black children (or considering it).

he said: well, if they are raising their kids black and proud of their african heritage and with a militant mindset filled with knowledge and upholding african unity and not overtly imposing their beliefs on them (which is very hard not to do!

I'm sayin': why is it hard not to do? i was raised by hetero parents who (now) support my decision to live my life as a gay man. why is it hard to imagine gay parents who wouldn't support straight kids. our children are not clones of us... they will come to make their own decisions about how to live. we provide a foundation...which I'd hope was not grounded in what the children will come to desire sexually, but more fundamental things: culture, spirituality, heritage, education, etc... as for militancy... which is often the foundation of fundamentalism... I won't be raising any of my kids to be "militant"... rather, I want them to recognize and fight for justice, for all people.

he said: children do as you do not as you say!)

I'm sayin': well me and most of my gay friends have straight parents, so I guess that blows your argument.

he said: then i suppose it's more good then bad. would these people have two or three children and devote their time and energy to raising them adequately? many of the problems i'm citing don't have homosexuality as a sole cause. i think in general the lack of community culture and education amongst black people is leaving us out there in the wilderness for any wolf to come along and steal away with.

I'm sayin': and I'd agree with you here... thus, consider yourself a bit more educated on blacks (Afrocentric or not) who are same sex desiring. There's who afrocentric based movement where people identify as "same gender loving" as opposed to gay... as a way of marking the distinction between an afrocentric approach to same sex desire and the onslaught of media notions of gay as euro. I don't necessarily subscribe to it, but know a lot of people who are in it: rastas, yoruba clergy, black muslims, etc... people are clearly in the dark about how "gay" manifests in the African diaspora. go to any Afrocentric flea market in most urban US cities.... you'll see plenty of us, if you take the blinders off... we look just like ya'll .... for the most part. I think that's what scares ya'll so much.

he asked: let me ask you this, would you sacrifice your sexual lifestyle for africa?

I'm sayin': no. my sexual lifestyle IS african. embracing myself is embracing africa, is embracing my desire. these things are inextricable... and it's unfortunate that many of my brothas and sistahs on the continent have to struggle to do the same, in hiding and hunted down by gov't authorities. africa will never be whole until it starts to address the holes.

he said: it just doesn't add up...

I'm sayin': like most of your arguments are on some 1+1= hetero, type shit? ahhite man... i'm no calculus genius, but all i've said adds up quite well for those willing to accept the verity of variables that are the basis of my very essence.

I said before: >seems like folk trying to rationalize their hateration. >denial and disillusionment are the enemy of collective black >empowerment. heteros could gain a lot if they'd access the >minds, energies, and talents of some 10+ percent of their >population who've been reduced to half-men and half-womyn >because they choose not to pretend to be heterosexual. >

he asked: were you ever molested or improperly dealt with by an elder or a member of the white 'race'? were you just born gay? if such is the case, if you are not a product of a dangerous environment, and are just gay, then so be it.

I'm sayin': I had virtually no contact with white people until middle school. no improper dealings with elder whites. as I've suggested before... born gay, as I see it. born a perfect child of the creator. so be it. so it is. dig or not.

he said: a female ancestor born a man. it happens, i guess. if your ready to die for africa and her people, then so be it. we'll work the rest out on the other side.

i'm sayin': not a female ancestor born man.. just balanced... receiving guidance from both male and female ancestors as I tred this wilderness called North America. they've guided my steps beautifully thus far. I am a man. I am every expression of man you'd expect in a man except that I desire men like myself (masculine, resolved about their blackness and sexual identity, prepared to kick ass if it comes to that)... I do not view women as my sexual/romantic companions any longer. at one point I was succumbing to social pressures and the vast acceptabilty and comfort involved in hetero pretending. but, ultimately, i think that "pretending" causes more problems than it solves. some afrocentrists would prefer a DL African diaspora where we continue to endanger our women and blame them for our unwillingness to be truthful with ourselves. that needs to stop. Africa simply needs to come out of its constipated closet. Shit stinks in there.

he said: please hear me. i may sound over zealous, but i am honestly trying to find out the best way home. and i am willing to listen.

I'm sayin' though... finally: don't follow the yellow brick road, yo. or the any afrocentric bible. follow what you heart tells you is just and fair and right... and in the spirit of love... and you (probably) won't go wrong.

peace.
tim'm t. west
african in america, warrior, poet, emcee, revolutionary, activist, teacher, guide, griot.

he-art

i want to find the wholeness in the hole
mend my heart’s deferred agility
breathe muscle and mass into it
till it beats on beat with my sensibility

lately it has been sounding flat-lines
dimming my sunshine
shamelessly stuttering my moon’s lullaby
therefore rendering it b-9
before belittling bystanders constantly vexed
who wouldn’t know he-art if it stopped
dead cold in their chests
so i’m looking to attest the tests,
arrest their underdevelopment
circumspect the madness
breathing fire through my pen’s sadness

i’m reaching back beyond myself
to begin again
be my own best friend
own heart physician
witchdoctor and prayer-circle
own emotional technician

i got red dirt clay fingers
writing words to spool thread
through heads stupidly sucking on next blood
from the living dead

but enough of butter cuts
from punk ass fools
who talk loud but never lodge
in live inside the POZ
and they won’t win a war with God

still there is nothing more horrific
than to not feel feeling
not dance when house music
has always been your healing
starve yourself of metaphors
when poetry has been your salvation
walk among rebelutionaries
who think their anger builds a nation

there were no boxing gloves
soft enough for my hardened black fists
so i dismiss the faggot diss
to bring real realness with a twist
and dare revolutionaries to dream bullets
braver than my words
come harder than the cross i bear
crucifix for a thug turned nerd

the new gunshots i pop
not jellycaps for bloods that bugg
but words i hope will heal my heart
rewrite myself as love