The Omega Squad: The Kidara Chronicles (An Excerpt)

 A few weeks back in the "Share My World" post, I mentioned that I was working on two novels/books/short stories, hell whatever they are right now lol, one of which is a fantasy-based tale about a band of rebels (a.k.a The Omega Squad), fighting against an evil supernatural dictator named Magus Daivat, who took advantage of the people's fragile mental state following the merciless reign and death of Emmanuel, a ruthless, megalomaniac king. Daivat has stolen the essence of humanity--creativity, sensuality, intelligence, diversity etc.,-- away from the world by sucking the life force out of humans in exchange for eternal life. The Squad believes the key to defeating Daivat is finding his counterpart Kidara, a ferociously sensual and powerful counterpart unknowingly created in the wake of his rise to power. 

In this excerpt, the heroine Nioma Maxwell has just waken up after a near fatal night of battling Lumina, former humans turned demonic immortals, and encounters some other nightmare creatures on her way to a strategy meeting with the Omega Squad.

Now I may or may not be an artist, but as Ms. Badu once said, I'm sensitive about my shit! So enjoy and be kind:).

***

The blaring alarm clock woke Nioma up. She groaned and sat up, wiping fresh tears from her eyes as she stumbled her way into the bathroom. Pushing her long black hair away from her face, she studied herself in the mirror. The scar that had almost been her death sentence less than 8 hours before seemed to be healing quite nicely. Her mood lightened, she tied her hair back in a bun and placed a warm towel on her face for a few minutes, then made her way to the kitchen to complete the rest of her morning ritual.

For some, a morning facial is simply a beauty ritual. But for Nioma it was a form of meditation. Holding her face over the now boiling pot, she took in a deep, engulfing breath as if it were her first gasp of air. Filled with the usual ingredients of honey, shea butter, a hint of mint and chamomile--the steam also contained her ecstasies--blessed herbs, charms and ointments that would boost her physical and mental abilities.

As the steam glided over her face, she could feel the ecstasies working their magic, the intoxicating fragrances working into the smallest pores of her skin. Intense feelings of calm and hyper awareness overtook her, while the havoc last night's attack wreaked on her body melted away. Closing her eyes, her body seemed to lift from the small table at which she sat, floating through the upper floors of the complex and out towards the sky. If she concentrated just hard enough, the seemingly endless miles of cracked, desolate earth and run down, grimy buildings almost seemed restored to their former glory. Adding those extra splashes of sensua and coporeal seeds was a wise decision. Besides, even with the strenuous day that lay ahead, it was always good to treat yourself, she figured. "Just because I'm living in this shitshack doesn't mean I have to look like a bag lady," she said to herself while spreading face cream across her cheeks.

The belt of her hot pink silk robe trailing behind her, Nioma settled into bed, flicking on the TV. The usual morning political debates, or rather shouting matches, were on. "There is no way this country is ever gonna move forward unless we stop this abuse of power. Destroying life staves from is unnatural. I don't care what the benefits are. Killing is killing," a bloated, balding representative from the Divina party said, his face practically seething with anger. Liberators want to run this nation into the ground!"

"So you would rather stop advances that have the potential save our children, and your children's children from deadly for the sake of small organs that may never be used," the Liberator said, a smug smirk on his handsome face. "Am I the only who wants to see this guy's high school diploma?"

"Typical elitist, pro-drug, anti-family, pro-choice attitude. If we follow your party's plan, there'll be chaos and hedonism in the streets. You've completely forgotten this country's roots. Gaudia was founded on the Daivat's principles. His words, His way. Real Gaudians know that. May He have mercy on this country, cause we're going to hell in a handbasket."

"Why do you watch this shit," a groggy voice laying onside of Nioma said. She turned to see the face of Layla, her wild mane of light brown dreadlocks slightly covering her small, soft light brown face, lightly sprinkled with freckles on her cheeks. "You know it's one of his tools."

"I know," Nioma said tensely, her gaze totally focus on the TV. "But it's good to know what everyone else is talking about. It gives clues to what tricks he's got up his sleeve," Nioma said. "Excuse me," Layla said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Don't you wanna she what I've got up my sleeve," she asked snuggling closer. Nioma didn't respond, but simply stared at the flickering television screen. Undaunted, Layla planted a small kiss on her full lips, parting them gently with her tongue as she giggled, kissing her hard and passionately.

Two years they had been together. It was Layla, one of those who decided to runaway with the rebels that fateful day, who'd helped Nioma climb out of the deep depression she found herself in when they first arrived in Razion. For the first few months, she had nightmares about her mother's death, trying in vain to turn away at the moment she saw her life end and always waking up in a cold sweat. Layla too knew about loss, with her father Jared, general of Memora's army, being killed by Emmanuel. The two young women bonded over grieving fathers they'd barely begun to know.

Layla's hands were now making their way up Nioma's slinky nightgown, the tips of her fingers grazing her inner thigh. Nioma moaned  as she felt her lover's warm mouth kiss her neck and her breasts, opening her eyes slightly to catch a glimpse of her tongue cascading over her now erect nipples. "Baby we gotta get ready for the strategy meeting," Nioma said in a breathy tone, just as Layla was about take her exploration further south, "C'mon Ni-Ni," she replied. "We got time for a quickie." Suddenly she felt two slender fingers enter her. Slowly they worked their way in and out, each stroke deeper than the last. Nioma felt like her body was on fire, rolling her head back in absolute pleasure. She couldn't believe what came out of her mouth next. "Layla, we can't be late for this one....this is Operation Alpha."

Suddenly the exploration stopped. She opened her eyes to see Layla with a slight scowl, arching her eyebrow as she shook her head. "It's always the same deal. Omega Squad comes first. How ironic," she said sarcastically.

"But you know we've been planning this for months. It's gonna to take all of us being on our A-game if we're gonna pull this off. Including you. Remember that." 

"And need I remind you that your ass almost got snuffed out last night," Layla said, her anger rising. "I heard all of that moaning and writhing in the bathroom. If it wasn't for Clarkeil's antidote I'd be looking down at the dirt instead of up at your face. Does that ever cross your mind?"

"We all put our lives in danger everytime we step out the door," Nioma shot back. "It could just as easily be me at your funeral." "But you're the only one who goes on these fucking midnight suicide missions, looking for lumina." Layla was standing up now at the edge of the bed, her hands positioned at her small, curvy hips, tugging slightly at her dark sweat pants. "For all I know you've could've been captured, or worse, turned! You ever think about that shit warrior princess?

"I think about it all the time! Every fuckin' time I step out the door," Nioma shouted. A crystal clear silence engulfed the room. "But I don't care. Because every one of those things I kill, everytime I see the life drain out of their ugly faces, I just I just....." Her voice faltered and her anger gave way to sadness.

Layla's stern expression softened as she walked slowly over to her lover. She gently pushed her hair away from her cheek, cupping her face in her hands. "How long are you going to keep blaming yourself for what he did?" she asked, looking directly into Nioma's watery steel-gray eyes. "You were a child. You didn't know what was going on." It wasn't your fault Ni-Ni. None of this is."

"I know that. In my head I can accept that part," she said, her voice now barely above a whisper. "But I always think back to that day. Thinking if I'd done something differently, or moved just a little bit faster...

"You had another dream didn't you?" Nioma simply nodded. "Baby, did you do everything you could to try to save her? Would you have done anything"

"Yes. Of course. Emmanuel took so much from me. My father. My family. And even though he was already dead, it felt like he stole something else from me. Like that bastard got the last laugh."

"But you saw that smile she gave you right before, well, you know?

"Yeah."

"It sounds to me like she accepted what happened to her. She knew the risk and was willing to take it. She understood that.You gotta let that mess go before it eats you alive. Promise me that. Okay?"

Nioma gave a small smile. "I know. I'm sorry baby. You're right."

"Aren't I always," Layla teased. "Whatever," Nioma said, her mood lightened. "Let's get dressed. We don't want to be late."

"Bitch, do you always have to be so responsible," Layla laughed. Nioma planted a small kiss on her. "You know I'm worth the wait La La," she whispered lustfully as she made her way to bathroom, looking back and winking flirtatiously. "Fine," she said.  "But you owe me."

***

An hour later they found themselves walking the streets of Razion, searching for today's meeting place. Ivana's old palace was out of the question from the start:too obvious. Instead the empty mansions and houses had been ideal, especially when their numbers were small. But as everyday citizens, now refugees, came to city and filled vacant spaces, the spot changed often, as the daystalkers--Daivat spies that were second in command, under the lumina--would sometimes breach the city gates and disguise themselves as vagrants, stalking them to their destination by blending in with the crowds. While not as powerful as their immortal bretheren, daystalkers did possess extraordinary skill and cunning, as the Omega Squad knew all too well.

The close calls had been costly. Now the gatherings took place in decrepit areas like rundown apartment complexes, abandoned hotels or office buildings.

They turned a corner, passing a battered restaurant with windows blown out, the glass scattered across the empty parking lot.Suddenly Layla felt an ice cold chill slide down her spine, slithering over each vertebrae before making a U-turn straight into her gut. She had special gift for recognizing that smell-a rancid odor that was sickly sweet. Nioma soon caught a whiff as well, twisting her nose so much that it looked like it could pop off. Her senses on overdrive due to the ecstasies. They were being followed.

Both women moved swiftly on the cracked sidewalk, slipping by citizens at a brisk pace. Nioma looked back to catch the eye of a brawny man clad in a heavy coat, flannel shirt and ripped jeans, his face covered with thick hair. A black skull cap conceal the rest of his visage, but not enough that she couldn't miss his pupils betray the knowledge he'd been spotted. His partner in crime was more conspicuous: black combat boots covered her feet, while fishnet stockings criss-crossed her legs, traveling up to a tight, patent leather skirt and tattered wifebeater ripped at the waist. Rings and other assorted trinkets covered her hands and neck, while her porcelain face was slathered  with dark, garish makeup that almost drew attention away from her long, dark hair, accentuated by shocking bursts of purple streaks.

Nioma's novala glowed with a bright orange light, telling to them make a sharp right. They were close. They looked back once again. I guess we lost them they both thought as they made a sharp right into a grimy back alley. Around them were a few dumpsters teeming with trash and cockroaches, while the building looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to its side. The rusty stairway seemed covered in some congealed slime that was probably a combination of rust, oil and bird droppings. Suddenly the novala flashed, projected a stream of light towards the door at the top of the steps, revealing the secret OS symbol.

"Damn girl, we need a serious upgrade on these meeting places. Screw the greater good," Nioma chuckled. She didn't hear a response. "Layla?" she said as she turned around. All she saw was pedestrians strolling the sidewalk. "Layla...c'mon now this isn't funny."

'That depends on your definition of funny," a deep, raspy voice said. Nioma spun around to meet the brawny daystalker face to face. "Well ain't this my lucky day," he said, his grin revealing yellow teeth and gold caps.

"Princess Nioma I presume," he exclaimed, the smell of his sickly breath become more pronounced with each step he took towards her. "Magus will be pleased once he hears of your, how should I say.... unseemly demise."

"I have to give it to you. You're smarter than most daystalkers," Nioma said while slowly sliding her hand down her back pocket to reach for her Decadon. "Most of the others don't even know my name. But then again," she said feeling the top of the dagger, "They never live long enough to learn it."

But before she could strike, she heard Layla scream in a panicked voice "Nioma!" She turned a saw the female stalker holding her by the neck, her jagged, razor sharp nails at the ready to slash her neck. Unfortunately the split second diversion was all her male accomplice needed. She felt the violent force of his fist slam against her cheek like a block of cement, sending her flying into the brick wall. "Let's see if you live up to your legend," he roared as he charged toward her like a rabid animal.

Nioma rebounded quickly, side-stepping a punch and giving him roundhouse kick square in the jaw, knocking him off his balance. Seizing the opportunity, she ran and lept into the air, punching him in the face. He gave her a quick backhand, knocking her back a few steps. "You'll have to come better than that wench!"

With that he zipped toward her, swinging his massive arms in flurry of punches and jabs. Nioma blocked most of them and dodged others, but the blows were beginning to take their toll. Meanwhile the female stalker gripped Layla by her neck. "Are you ready to watch your lover die?" she cackled. "Damion can go on like that for hours. He'll pummel her!"

"Then we better get started," Layla said, giving her a sharp headbutt and an elbow to the chest. "Show me what you got bitch!" Layla's opponent's three-inch nails grew to three times their length, the edges gleaming like a ginsu knife. She moved fast, clawing at Layla with a feline quickness, faking her out with false strikes before laying into her with quick stabs, striking her a few times and leaving small trails of blood in her wake as she slowly backed her into a corner. Layla surprised her with a quicky uppercut to the stomach. She did a backflip onto the wall, and with a powerful push of her legs lunged at the stalker, slamming her own the ground. She tried to claw her again, but Layla caught on to her game, grabbing her hands and bending them backward until she heard the snap, crackle and pop of bones. She let loose a flurry of screams that sounded like the last gasps of a dying bird getting its throat slashed. Her defenses down, Layla proceeded to make good on her promise, blackening her eyes, nose and lips.

"Marlana," Damion screamed,pushing Nioma aside as he ran towards Layla. Nioma was in hot pursuit, sprinting before she lept into the air, Decadon in hand. Just as he ripped Layla off of Marlana, Nioma landed on his back, giving him a stab straight through the neck, . She gave a double fisted blow to the back as he fell his knees. Nioma leaned into Damion's ear, holding the handle of the Decadon. "Did I live up to the hype?" she taunted before pulling it out, sending blood gushing from the gaping wound. Damion's large frame collapsed to the ground as his skin bubbled and curdled, slowly disentegrating into the gravel.  

Nioma and Layla made their way toward her. "Deluded fools, you think you've won, " she said. Several blue orbs began to spin around her, picking up speed until they obscured her completely. Nioma and Layla turned to each other and said "Awww hell." The orbs dispersed, revealing her pale skin sans any wounds. She slowly made her way toward them,  "Unlike Damion, I can't be stopped by little knives. In a flash she sped to them and back to where she stood, unloading all of their weapons and tossing them to the ground. Or guns," she said with a sinister laugh. You'll have to vanquish me."

"Shit what's that spell," Nioma said.

"You better remember, and fast!" Layla said.

"Tame the evil that disturbs our peace," she began. "Destroy her essence, cause her existence to cease. Annihilate her, mind, body and soul."

"Womp womp, wrong answer!," Marlana said as she made her way towards them.

"Tame the evil that disturbs our peace," a rich, commanding female voice boomed. All three of them looked up to see Ivana, descending the stair way like she was walking down the palace steps. Her dark brunette hair, parted in the center and styled in ringlet curls, fell to her shoulders, blending into her dark ensemble of a chocolate brown coat with fur trim buttoned at the waist, a matching blouse and a pair of dark blue jeans leading to a pair of spiked boots. An inner light seemed to emit from her dark olive skin as her hazel eyes gazed at the object of her rage.

"Destroy her essence, her existence shall cease. Relinquish her power, the spirit blackened by infernal control. Annihilate her mind, body and soul!"

Marlana's limbs suddenly grew stiff. She began gasping for air as her lungs shriveled to the size of mustard seeds, while her eyes began to cry tears of blood, replaced by a steady flow of purplish-green puss. Nioma and Layla took a few steps back as she started to convulse violently, foam erupting from her mouth like a geyser ready to explode. Her eyes popped and flashed like two burnt out bulbs as she regurgitated the full contents of her insides, a hole in her neck becoming visible due to the acid rapidly flowing past her throat. Finally when she had no more to give, the shell of skin that once encased her body crumbled to the ground in a gooey pile.

"I think that was the incantation you were trying to cast," Ivana said sternly as the two women turned to face her. "You two need to brush up on your spells, especially the vanquishing curses."

"I almost had it" Nioma protested. "I just missed a line."

"Precisely my point Nioma," she said in a clipped, impatient manner. "A line that could've cost you and Layla your lives. What would've happened if I didn't overhear the ruckus going on out here?" Never underestimate your enemies' capacity for surprise. Ever!"

"Alright, Ivana we get it," Layla sighed, exasperated by being on the receiving end of yet another one of Ivana's lectures. "Almost doesn't count and all that jazz."

"We're going to need all the curses, incantations and potions we can muster if we're going to pull this off. And you are two of strongest in the bunch. Get it together!"

"Don't worry, by we'll be in tip top sorcery shape soon enough," Nioma said. "And for the record, we've never encountered self-healing daystalkers before. You need to update the Inferna list. I'm just sayin.'"

"I did. If you'd check your copy more often, you'd have known all about daystalkers and their latest tricks. I'm just sayin'," she said mockingly, narrowing her eyes and practically stomping towards them, kicking up bits of rock until she stood chest to chest with the two women.  "You little girls best start bleeding soon. Now let's get inside. Clarkeil loathes tardiness."

Shit Outta Luck!

*Warning-for those who are unnerved by discussions dealing with bodily functions, do not read the following post. For those willing to read with repulsed fascination, CONTINUE!

While I haven't been in the working world for a long time (6-7 years at the most) I thought at this point I'd worked at enough fast food/warehouses/supermarkets/convenience stores to witness the worst customer etiquette has to offer. People pouring up Hennesy in the parking lot, customers holding crack pipes in the drive-thru window (while purchasing a Happy Meal), detailed dissertations on how wet lips are needed for good blowjobs in the checkout line--I've seen it, heard it and clutched the pearls at it all. But what happened today could stun even the most hardened of customer service associates.

The incident occured this morning during the weekend shift at my part-time gig. Basically my job is to sweep, mop, collect shopping carts and make sure the store is clean. Anyway, I'd just finished tidying up the break room when I heard two female employees complaining about an awful smell. Since they were nearby the women's restoom and I had already cleaned both bathrooms, I figured a customer was in there tearing the toilet a new one (no judgment!) and the odor would disappear after a few courtesy flushes. But to no avail.

I grabbed the dust mop and began my periodic sweep through the store when another associate on the phone stopped me. At first I thought he was asking where another Kevin, who worked in that section of the store was. I went out into the aisle to look for him, thinking he was putting up merchandise or something. But he was actually trying to page me.

"NO," he said, with a slight I-can't-believe-it-either grin on his face. "Somebody took a shit in the aisle!" I must've blacked out or spontaneously went deaf, because he had to say again before I took a look. There was no way that I heard correctly. I took a careful step out into the aisle and there it was: right near the washing machines sitting like an extra light brown Hershey Kiss was a pile of crap. And not just one pile: there was an entire happy trail of mini-Kisses leading down the aisle!

Other associates gathered around in a mutual WTF moment. As the manager mumbled phrases like "nasty ass people," with the vitriol of a pissed Sunday school teacher, they seemed to take a delusional detour, trying to convince themselves it was really dirt, mud or a product that spilled out. But one whiff knocked everyone back into horrible reality. As I turned to walk to get cleaning materials the manager yelled out "Are you going to get a broom?"

My first thought was "FUCK that SHIT! (literally and figuratively). Have the bastard that pooped it scoop it!" (Unbeknownest to me the offender was still in the bathroom at the time. Yes a grown-ass man was responsible for busting out brown betties in the middle of an aisle!). But I simply nodded and went to the supply closet. It is my job after all. With mop in hand and bearings firmly in check, I ignored the "Damn homie/It sucks to be you right now (more like shitty:)" looks from co-workers and handled business. As far as I know no other customers saw that shit. Otherwise it would've really hit the fan.

God, The Mountain Climber and Faith

Last Sunday I heard a sermon about having faith in faith/belief vs. faith in God. That may sound a little confusing, but the basic idea was that many people have faith in their beliefs, but do not have the faith to trust and/or obey God when he 'speaks' to them.

What stuck out in my mind was a story he told to close the sermon. A mountain climber climbs to the top of a mountain (It could've been Mount Everest, but I'm not sure. Either way, the mountain was very tall). As he begins his descent however, night comes and darkness begins to fall. Unfortunately the mountain climber neglected to bring any supplies or equipment with him to survive the night. He has no choice but to continue his descent. At some point he slips up, loses his grip and begins hurtling down the mountain and most likely to his death. Luckily for him, the rope tied around his waist snaps tightly, leaving him suspended in midair.

Of course, this still doesn't change the fact that he's hanging in midair in below freezing temperatures. So he and God begin to have a little conversation:

The man: "Save me, Save me!"  God replies: "Do you really believe I can save you?" The man: "Yes!" God: "Then cut the rope."

It sounds like an easy solution, but the man is in pitch black darkness. He doesn't know how far the drop is once he cuts the rope and becomes afraid. He never cuts the rope and freezes to death. When rescuers come the next morning, his body is discovered hanging only two feet from the ground.

This elicited much "mmmmhmmms" and "My Lords" from the church mothers and congregation. Someone even came forward during invitation (a man to be exact--you know what means--extra salvation points!), and it's easy to see why, if you take the story at face value: God knows what's best for us. All we have to is obey him and have faith, and everything will turn out right. Otherwise, we can face potentially deadly consequences. The story had that perfect mix of drama, action and fear that religion does so well.

But when I really thought about it, I gleaned something very different from the story. First of all, God is supposed to be omniscient. If he is, then he would've known this man's past, present and future. Which means he would've known that the mountain climber would eventually be hanging by a rope in the bitter cold in the dead of night. Most importantly, he would've known the outcome of his request that the man simply cut the rope. And if God already knew, then why would he even ask him in the first place?

Someone reading this post might respond  to my query with this explanation: "Because God wanted to see if he had faith. He was testing him!" To which I say: Why test someone when you already know the outcome? Especially if said outcome could mean life or death?

Secondly, this doesn't really jive with the whole "God is our father and we're his children," concept. I don't know about you, but if I was an all-powerful deity and saw one of my kids in process of becoming a human Popsicle, I wouldn't simply say cut the rope. Why only give him half the information and leave room for doubt? Why not scream out: "Cut the rope! There's a pile of snow two feet beneath you!" And if he still didn't believe, I'd shine my holy light and show his ass so he could see! Cause that's what a parent does. At least an all-powerful, omnipotent one anyway.

Which is leads to my main issue: Why is faith good? Why is believing in something illogical and irrational considered a virtue? In every other area of our lives, we're taught to be skeptical and rational, except when it comes to religion. Think about it: if I were at a car dealership and asked the salesmen if I could take a test drive, and he replied "You'll just have to take it on faith," I would think he was a damn fool or a con artist. But if the same man was in a pulpit, everyone would think he's a wise man. WTF?

Getting that job promotion sort of pales in comparison.

If God is so concerned about our lives and eternal destinations, why is he making himself so hard to find? If he truly wanted everyone to avoid a permanent vacation with the Devil, why only speak through "signs and wonders?" That is if you call finding a parking spot or having someone 'healed' of cancer when they had 'round the clock chemotherapy and constant medical supervision a wonder. A good thing? Yes. But parting the Red Sea it is not. But I digress. I swear, it irritates me every time I hear someone say "God told me to tell you," or some other nonsense. Screw the secretaries, I wanna speak to the boss!

God could simply resolve the issue by doing an act so improbable that the world would be forced to acknowledge his existence. Healing an amputee's leg by growing back the original limb for example. Or appearing before the entire planet in all your glory and replenishing the world so no one goes hungry would be a good show of Holy Ghost power. But then there would be no need for faith, and his plans would be ruined, even though he created the plot and knows how the story will end.

But then again, were God to prove his existence, the question of whether you'd worship him comes into play. Let's just say Old Testament God was pretty moody, at least from what I've read.

So is faith a good thing? Tell me what you think.

Madonna: My Grand Diva!

I remember the first time I heard her voice. It was in the middle of a karate class when I was seven years old. Out of the radio speakers sprang a vibrant, exuberant voice full of life singing over a gentle piano melody. I was transfixed. Sure at the time I was knee-deep into my Whitney phase (I was living for The Bodyguard soundtrack my mama played constantly at the time) but this was different. I didn't know the song's name was "Borderline" or that its singer was a white chick from Michigan named Madonna, but I knew I liked it.

I heard her again late at night, but this time it was a ballad. I can still remember the first time I heard the chorus. It was like being wrapped in silk. "I've always been in love with you/I guess you've always known it's true," she sang, her voice surrounded by romantic strings. As a little black boy growing up in a small southern town, Madonna wasn't on my radar. My musical world consisted mostly of the aforementioned Nippy or Anita Baker, and the old Al Green, Earth, Wind and Fire and Stevie Wonder records my dad would play in the evening.

Occasionally the classical music I learned in music lessons made its way onto my sonic palette. Gospel music was another dominating sound, along with the occasional dose of homophobia served up in church. The closet was calling. It would be a few years before I heard her again.

"You're frozen/When you're hearts not open," her voice rang out over the school bus speakers. This was supposed to be the new Madonna, the serene New Age thinker who preached spiritual enlightenment and reflective introspection instead of sexual exhibitionism and eroticism. And I didn't like her. At 12 years old I loved Aaliyah, The Spice Girls, Mariah Carey, Usher and TLC. I wanted to dance along to "Are You That Somebody," not think about the state of my soul. I wasn't ready to go there yet.

Junior high came and with it the beginnings of adolescent alienation. My older brother and all my friends were all about No Limit, UGK, Jay-Z, Cash Money and screwed/chopped up rap that was pouring out of Texas. I bought a few rap albums like the Chronic 2001, 400 Degreez and Ghetto D, but for the most part I was feigning interest, nodding my head to keep from arising even more suspicion that had been peaked with my previous musical choices (did I mention I danced to Janet's "I Get Lonely" too?). The music was cool to dance to, but I didn't feel it. Something was missing.  

"Haven't we met/You're some kind of beautiful stranger," she sang to me as she gyrated across the screen. Now this was the voice I heard on "Borderline." Full of cool energy with just a hint of smart-ass wit. Something about "Beautiful Stranger," captured me in a way "Back That Ass Up" Or "Forgot About Dre" never did. I had to know more about her. 

Luckily older fans had created websites full of old interviews, photoshoots and videos for me to discover (even though this was still during the dark ages of dial-up). I devoured everything Madonna. Looking back I think was unconsciously drawn to her take-it-or-leave attitude, her brashness, her support of sexual liberation and the way she challenged gender stereotypes. 

Even though at 13 years old I was nowhere near ready to say the words "I'm gay" something about Madonna's world--full of theatrics, catchy pop hooks and fun--felt safe. Listening to The Immaculate Collection and Like A Prayer provided a daily antidote to the awkwardness and isolation I felt at school and home as my difference became more pronounced. Dancing to "Music," "Vogue," or "Into The Groove" and watching the "Express Yourself" video went beyond simple fandom. It felt I was learning something important, character traits I would need to survive.

As I entered high school and enveloped myself in a cocoon of self-loathing and depression, she continued to be my guide. My musical tastes expanded to thrash, goth and heavy metal. Harsh, dark music that acted as a shield against the hell of high school. But Madonna was still there, the Erotica and Bedtime Stories albums reflecting a deeper maturity that spoke to my vulnerable emotional state. Of course you know the rest. I woke up from the haze, came out and left my delusions of becoming straight behind. Other artists may have tried to take her place--Marilyn Manson, Metallica Green Day, Kanye, Alicia Keys, Mary J--but have never succeeded.

Sorry Whitney. I'll holla Mariah and Beyonce. Love ya' Janet and Aaliyah. But Madonna is my Grand Diva. I admit it. I'm a complete Madge stan. I believe in 100 years her work will be studied by cultural scholars and historians. I feel a sense of total liberation and joy when I listen to her music. It's almost spiritual. "Vogue," "Holiday," "Rescue Me," "Ray Of Light" "Deeper and Deeper," "Hung Up"--the songs not only make me want to get up and dance and always put me in a good mood. Meanwhile the ballads--"Oh Father, "Live To Tell," "I'll Remember," "Bad Girl," Inside Of Me" "Love Tried To Welcome Me," "Drowned World"--make me think deeply about my relationships, my family and life in general.

Her live shows, often full of multiple meanings, extravagant staging, glamorous costumes and irreverent antics, leave me breathless. Her photo shoots can be fun and flirty or dark and provocative, depending or whatever mood this clever chameleon is in.

Madonna inspires me with her work ethic and her inner strength to overcome tragedy and adversity in her life. I love her constant artistic growth, how she can pull inspiration from virtually anywhere and present it to her audience in an alluring, engaging way.  She is my favorite female artist, if not my favorite artist period. In short, I love that bitch!

So who's your Grand Diva? Tell me in the comments:).

Stories From The Battefield: Looking For A Job Is A Job!

Anyone who's been looking for job in the past (let's just say 1-2 years) knows what I'm talking about. I've only been applying and searching in earnest since August, and if trying to find a part-time gig is this frustrating, I can only imagine how difficult my post-grad future might be.

Applying at Wal-Mart has been one source of aggravation. Everytime I call(which is usually several times a week) to check on the status of my application or to see if it's even been glanced at, I'm always dismissed with we'll call if there's a need. Really, a need? If there isn't a need then why is it that everytime I walk into Wally World after 11 p.m. are there boxes and boxes of items that need to be stocked and only 5 or 6 employees present to stock them? Or there are runaway carts all over the damn parking lot? But you don't have a need? Sure. Why not just be honest and say you're not hiring right now.

Ooh, and chile don't get me started on some of the applications. Why is it important where I went to grammar school? If I have my high school diploma I obviously made it out of someone's middle school. Then there are the questionnaires. Do you really think I'm going to say it's alright to steal company property (for the record I don't) and yell at customers and expect to be hired by any manager with an ounce of sanity? They can be so tricky because you have to balance between being honest enough so don't think you're a phony, but you also can't be too real otherwise they'll think you're not a team player or a constant bundle of cheer.

Another issue seems to be writing your available hours. It's always catch 22, and you can never be completely honest. On the one hand you have to put down that you can work weekends, holidays, funerals(lol), and pretty much imply that you have no life, or you can't even hope for a call back. But at the same time, when you say during an interview that you have other committments and would need to adjust your hours, it's a problem.

Being strung along by potential employers can also be irritating. I've been going to this particular place (I won't say which one in the off, off chance it will be read by the manager---I'm paranoid like that sometimes:) and at least three times I've been told to come back the next because this person's boss hasn't shown up. I always think damn, who is he Big Papa from Real Housewives of Atlanta! I've already filled out an application, gotten a call back and am still trying to get on for a seasonal position. Once I went there and waited for the guy to just send my information to the store manager (or the main office or something). Hell I could've saved my gas and done that over the phone!

*Sigh* but even with all that, pounding the pavement is a necessity. Luckily I don't have any children or many bills ( I couldn't imagine being a parent and having that extra pressure) and being a musician brings in some spare cash. Eventually I'll get a job--and then write a post airing my complaints lol!

Anyone else have any job hunting tales to tell?

That's Not Cool....

"You gay!" were the words he shouted when me and friend passed by a house in our neighborhood. Nineteen at the time and "out" for less than a year, the word still cut like a knife when I heard it. I looked up and gave him a hard, icy stare as we rounded the corner and continued our walk. But little did we know, their harassment wasn't over. Two other boys caught up with us on their bikes and started trailing us. The loudmouth of the duo started spouting stupidity such as "It's not cool to be gay," "Who the man in the relationship?" (making the assumption my friend and I were lovers) and "Why ya'll wanna be gay?"

Since these were 15-17 year-olds we were dealing with, we quickly responded with a barrage of sarcastic, witty retorts and continued on our way. A few days later, and taking another walk through our neighborhood, we saw the same group of guys walking towards us. Looking at us with a mix of bemusement, disgust and contempt, remarks such as "Uggh faggots," "That's not cool...it's not cool to be gay," and curiously enough "Ya'll could suck my dick." Again I merely shook my head and dismissed them as young ignorant fools.

One night walking back to my friend's house we passed by one of our hecklers' house, where the group was playing basketball. As we made our way down the street, I looked back to find that the main instigator was following us. He came up behind and once spat his mantra "Man it's not cool to be gay," I responded by asking him what the fuck his problem was and why he care so much, while my friend said similar sentiments. We were reaching the end of our patience with this dude. He then grabbed my jacket and a tug of war ensued. Seeing how stupid this was (and how the jacket was cheap old anyway) I released it and we continued walking. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head. This guy had punched me.

I whipped around to find him jumping back and forth his hands up in a boxing positions, looking like the mascot for Notre Dame. Like all good cowards his friends quickly joined him and stood behind him, waiting for me to make a move. I thought to myself I can't believe this. I will knock you the fuck out! I was so in my own thoughts that I could barely hear his commands that we "get our faggot-ass on out of here" or something to that effect. I debated whether I should fight or not, and decided I didn't want to go to jail for pummeling a minor.

So we rounded the corner and continue back to my friend's house. But it wasn't over. The ringleader and his lackies ran up the street to us, walking side by side with us. The leader said "I don't like gay people," in a voice that rang with pure hatred. "Don't come on our street no mo'" he said. "Alright" I replied, still trying to diffuse the situation. Little did I know that they were done talking, and we were soon in a 2 on 5 fight in the middle of the street.

I saw my friend duck and dodge and swing at one of the attackers before he slipped and went down, and was stomped several times. I soon found myself surrounded by group of three, dodging and evading swings before being hit in the nose. The voice on the other of that fist exclaimed "Ooh I stuck that nigga," as I slipped on someone's wet grass and was subsequently stomped. A bystander, known to everyone in the neighborhood as "Blue Eyes" merely stood there and said "That's fucked up" with a smug smirk on his face. After they finished and quickly went back down the street. (On a side note, most if not all of the attackers attended church. I believe this probably supported their attitude towards us and emboldened them to 'put the punks in their place.')

As I walked back to my friend's place minus one shoe and a bloody nose, my body trembled with rage. The fact that two of the attackers had been to my house years earlier to play video games and hang out further contributed to my fury. As we reached my car, my friend and I traded revenge plots. My first thought was to run them all over, stuff their corpses in my trunk, and dump them in a ditch. His plan consisted of us ridin' up on them with baseball bats and swinging to the fence on their asses. Another thought was slashing the tires on of the guy's tires.

It was the first time in my life I'd seriously considered murder. I finally understood what could make someone feel so angry that they'd want to take another human life. It is the feeling that you've been so humiliated, so violated and so betrayed by what someone has done to you that simply beating them up or insulting them back isn't enough. The only way the situation can be resolved is for that person to not exist anymore. There is no room for compromise or discussion. They have to go.

We did discuss calling the police, but decided against it because of the cause of the attack. I know it doesn't make sense, but at the time both he and I were still deeply in the closet to our families, and reporting the incident would have led to questions I just wasn't ready to answer at that time. I think many victims of gay bashing don't report for this very reason, or they feel the police and their family won't be supportive. The closet makes you do strange shit. But I digress.

For days after we were jumped, I sank into a funk that varied between blind rage and deep depression. I knew homophobia existed and felt some of its sting before, but never had I been so closely aquainted with it. It truly hurt me to know that a stranger could hate you so much for something that had nothing to do with them. That event forever changed who I am.

Needless to say, none of those things happened that night or I wouldn't be writing this post.

However we still had something in store for them. And once some of our friends came back in town we sprung into action. We convinced a friend of ours to pour some sugar down the tank of one of our attackers' car. Unfortunately his gas cap had a lock, so his mother's car had to take one for the team. As we drove off I couldn't help but hum "A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down!" I know it was an awful thing to do, but at the time I wasn't thinking straight. My mind was completely clouded by revenge. I also used a label maker from work and had the same friend (he was very good at stalking about in the night) stick below the license plate on the same guy's car. I wish I could've seen the look on his face when he was babbling about b.s. with his friends and saw the words "platinum dicksucker" in all caps on his car. Things really started to heat up when we all rode by one of guy's house, blasting music and mean mugging the whole group as we rounded the curb at two miles an hour.

Of course, as the saying goes, if you fight fire with fire everyone gets burned. One night I let one of my friends drive and we ended up behind the guy's car. Since this was shortly after we placed the sticker on his vehicle, we rode his tail all the way down the street, trying to examine our handiwork. After he cut us off at a corner, opened his door and gave us glare. To speed things up a bit this led to a showdown at my friends house with at 12-15 people fighting in the front yard, and only ended after one of my friends called the police and the guys scattered like roaches. In the melee however, my car suffered a huge dent, which cost around $600 to fix. In the weeks that followed, two of the guys (not the main instigator) personally apologized to me and my friend and one of them ended up becoming a passing aquaintance. As far as I know, we've all moved on.

In hindsight, I would have never taken things as far as they went, or allowed my friends to. All that drama wasn't worth it. Through all that chaos, nothing got resolved. It wasn't until we actually talked that things got worked out. If I had to do it all again, I would've just called the police, filed a report, and done whatever I needed to do to make sure they were punished for they did.

Later on, I can't remember exactly when, it might've been a few months or weeks later, my friend's sister informed me the main instigator had been jumped outside the local movie theater. I didn't feel overjoyed or particularly sad for his predicament. After all, jumping folks and picking fights, that's not cool.

Lovers and Friends...

Anyone who has ever been a relationship knows the moment things become serious, tension with close friends can start. As you and your significant other grow closer and spend more time together, creating your own intricate language of code words and inside jokes, your friends might start to see you as becoming distant, having less time to hangout, and or, as some in my circle succinctly put it "You don't fuck with us anymore."

Since my first serious relationship was a long distance affair, I really didn't have to deal this fact. But since me and my current boyfriend have gotten closer, this fact has become increasingly clear. Two friends in particular feel I have less time for them and don't hangout as much as I used to. I'll admit this is true. It's difficult to balance close friends and maintain a romantic relationship. I'll also admit that a flaw of mine is that I tend to focus my attention, emotions etc., on those I come in constant contact with. In other words, if someone is not part of my daily job/sex life/side interests then I tend to communicate with them less. It isn't out of malice or anger. If anyone of these people were in danger or fell ill I'd be at their bedside in a heartbeat. But this is a flaw nonetheless.

With all that being said, a friend of mine recently spent a weekend in the hospital with swollen arms. He's also part of the community choir I'm in. Since he was absent for both events we had to sing at, everyone in the group called his cell phones and tried to text him. I ran into his brother at church and he had no idea of his whereabouts either. Finally he texted a choir member yesterday about his two-day ordeal. Being concerned, I called his phone, which he actually answered for a change. His response to my questions about how he was doing were cold and confusing. He said I called "too late", despite the fact that only his mother, who lives in California, was the only one who knew what happened. After he said that I "needed to hang out with my new family," (i.e. my boyfriend and other choir members) in a dismissive tone. Needless to say, I was highly pissed off and responded with a simple "Alright," and hung up before I said what was really on my mind.

Now like I've said before, I'm not always the best at keeping in touch. But communication is a two-way street. And over the past few months, his side of the road has gotten some deep-ass potholes and speed bumps. Everytime I've called this person, they don't pick up and never call back. I text them to find out what's going on with them, they never responded. I attempt to chat online, with no response. This person also has their own significant other, yet whenever I ask how their relationship is going and ask about things I've heard through his brother (who's also a friend of mine), I get shallow, indirect answers. It's like he doesn't trust me anymore. I'm not asking he divulge every detail of his day, but it seems a wall has been built up.

However, whatever's going on in his life is no excuse for what I was met with on the phone yesterday. Granted we may not hang out all day every day like we used to, but I still have love him and really don't know why he's pulled away from not only me, but the rest of our mutual friends and his family. As I said before, he's also in a relationship and said he understands that our friendship would change somewhat since we have other stuff going on.

I guess my question is how does anyone else handle the tension that occurs when you try to maintain friendships and a relationship?

Leave comments please and don't hold back.

Let's Get Unconscious Honey

The following entry is about different dreams I've had at different points of my life. Some are a little violent and sexual, while others have actually mirrored my real life and resulted in deja vu experiences. Anyways, feel free to interpret what they mean if you wish:)

* * *

I am in a house full of melting clocks. I walk through the different rooms of the house, some filled with light and others steeped in darkness. There are all types of clocks: grandfather clocks, digital clocks and so on. After making my way through the maze of clocks and rooms, I stand at the foot of a long staircase. A giant clock embedded in the wall is located at the top. As I start to make my way someone catches my attention and says "Time to wake up!"

But I don't. Instead I'm in a house, either my own or my great aunt's, who'd recently passed at the time. Her death was little rough for me, because she was the first person I was close to who passed away. Not to mention I'd prayed fervently that she be healed of the cancer ravaging her body, so her death symbolized a crisis of faith of sorts for me. Anyway, as I walk through the house I see her lying on the couch. She looks peaceful and healthy. She tells me that everything's alright, that she's proud of me or something to that effect. Then I wake up.

* * *

I find myself in an abandoned old house in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night. It is a scene straight out of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Getting up out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom. As I look in the mirror, a creature that looks like it fought its way out of the pits of hell stares back at me. He looks like a cross between Leatherface and Drahmin from Mortal Kombat(for my video game heads:). He skins looks like it's been eaten alive by maggots and roaches, while one of his arms is made of metal. I barely manage to move out the way before he screeches and smashes the sink to bits. I run for dear life ou the house out into a grassy field, with the hellbeast in hot pursuit.

Somehow I elude him and for some foolish reason, walk back to the house. My housemates' rooms are covered in blood, but there are no bodies ( maybe the bastard ate them or something). True to horror movie form, the beast clubs me from behind, leading to a massive beatdown. But suprisingly, I don't gush blood and die. No matter how many blows he lands, none hurt me. I survive the terror until I wake up.

* * *

Who knows how this dream cropped up, but by some twist of fate I found myself in a foursome with Nas, Dr. Dre and some random girl. As Dre and the girl look on, me and Nas make out first, as he tongues me ferociously and grabs my booty with a vengeance. Shirts come off next, followed by pants and boxer as we continue to make out on the bed. As he playfully pins me down I think damn, Nas must've been working out! He licks his lips and gives me a look like he wants to tear me apart. Game time being over, he turns aggressive, climbs on top of me and proceeds to plow me like a damn cornfield. Of course I loving every minute, but this being a dream, it ends way too soon.

The next thing I know, me and Dre are going at it. However this time I'm the aggressor, and quickly bend him over and handle my business. Unfortunately, the good doctor's beside manner is less than stellar. He expects me to do all the work and is overall selfish in the sack. For that he is quickly dissed and dismissed by all. Lawd why couldn't it have been LL! I barely remember what happened with the girl, which I guess isn't shocking given my current orientation lol;).

* * *

At various times, when I meet someone or hear someone say something or find myself in certain places or events, I have the feeling I've already been there before, or knew that I would be. One concrete example of this was when I was in 7th grade. I dreamed of what algebra class I'd be in in the 9th grade, complete with the exact chair, classroom and teacher. And it all came true, even though the only part of the school I'd seen was the pool and the cafeteria. Another time, I dreamt I was in a choir stand with a bunch of people I'd never met before. Maybe six months to a year later, I was in that church singing with that same group of people, one of which is now my boyfriend. In one dream I was at what appeared to be sound check playing a white guitar onstage (I'm really hoping that one comes true lol:). These incidents may seem small or inconsequential , but I often have these deja vu-type moments.

* * *

The last dream I'll mention is one that happened when I was nine. In the dream I became sick with either the flu or pneumonia and was promptly rushed to the hospital. I suppose everyone is there, but I specifically remember my mother telling me to hold on and that things will be ok. Sadly they aren't and I die. I remember taking that last breath felt like plunging into the deepest swimming pool ever, and having no need to come up for air. Like falling off a cliff, but with no fear of hitting the ground.

I found myself in a peaceful, serene place. Whether it was heaven or not I'm not sure, but I soon find myself back on earth, surrounded by an aura of white light. I pass by kids I used to play with at P.E. and recess, watching them laugh. Of course they can't see me. I act as a detached observer watching folks on the bus, in my neighborhood and at school. The only person who can see me is my mother. Suprisingly, I don't remember this as a sad dream. Maybe cause it sounded like the plot of a T.V. movie lol. What I do remember is the next day walking to the bus stop with a new appreciation for life. I guess dreaming you dropped dead and came back can do that for you.

Last Night I Had A Dream....

Okay, this is completely random, but last night I had one of those extended dreams that come along rarely. Anyways, somehow me, a group of friends, and random folks got into some insane, apocalyptic battle with a group of vampires. Of course their leader was one of those ultra sinister types who wanted kill and/or enslave all humans. I guess we defeated them but the leader vowed he would be back to annihilate our asses or something like that.

Anyways after the battle we went back to our house, where I was staying with two fabulous girls who must've been my hags. We gabbed about how we'd just survived a vicious vampire attack. We also spent some of the night convincing a cutie not to go to the club lest the vampires had a surprise attack planned for him.

The next day we were all in some Times Square style part of town hanging out when I noticed the sky was getting progressively darker. I told everyone I was about to home when a woman who I assumed was one of my friends' grandma asked if I could walk with her to one the boutiques to get something. (We were at one of those outside malls). She reminded me of the old woman from Drag Me To Hell. But I digress.

As we were making our way back The sky turned pitched black as a blood red fog covered everything. I heard a loud, cataclysmic crash that sounded like a crater had just been blown in the Earth. The next thing I knew a tank the size of Texas burst out the ground. My first thought was Ooooooooh Shit! I turned the corner to run but saw five or six smaller things that looked like tanks barreling towards me.

As I rounded the curb I saw a vampire pointing what looked like an AK-47 at me as he snarled with a wicked laugh, revealing gnarled rotten teeth and inch long fangs. As I made it around the other side of the boutique, I saw people who looked frozen in place. Vampires stood calmly beside them, as if they'd exerted some sort of mind control over them. Maybe they'd struck a deal with some warlocks or something lol. Others were being shuffled along by other vampires to some unknown destination. For some inexplicable reason I also saw my real-life aunt and uncle pass by. My aunt was walking on crutches. I found my friends, who'd somehow managed to avoid whatever mind control magic the vampires had worked. I quickly sat down by them as we talked about what I assume was a battle plan.

Then I woke up.

Breaking My Spiritual Silence: My Relationship With Religion

The idea of God scared me as a child. At least the idea of an all-knowing, omnipresent one did. Being told that God was watching my every action, listening to every word I spoke and knowing every idea that entered my head was simultaneously comforting and disturbing, as I was also informed the Almighty was keeping a record of both my good and bad deeds, a list of pros and cons about my existence that would ultimately be judged to determine whether I spent eternity in peaceful paradise or a burning hell. Like most Southern black families, church was a weekly, required ritual at my house. By the time I was 8 or 9 I could recite all books of the Bible in order from memory, knew the biblical stories by heart, and was baptized (on Mother's Day no less). I always tried to stay awake during the sermons, no matter how long, and listen to the testimonies, no matter how long, because I knew God was watching I didn't want the crime of being bored in church added to my sin list.

Even as a kid, I always had questions about Christianity, from asking why the dinosaurs I'd been taught about in school weren't mentioned in the Bible, or since the devil was a fallen angel who sinned against God, could other heavenly creatures or believers, once they reach heaven, sin again? Or if God really wanted everyone to believe in him and not doubt, why wouldn't he just reveal himself and say "Hey everyone, it's God! I'm real! I exist!" and be done with it. Or what about the all the people who lived their whole lives and never heard about God? Did they just Pass, Go and collect $200 straight to heaven for their ignorance? It didn't seem right.

To these questions my parents, often my mother, would attempt to cite scripture or engage me, but these discussions would usually end with the classic and endlessly frustrating lines "We don't know for sure," "It'll all make sense when we get to heaven," or some variation. With that I would usually nod my head affirmatively, knowing somehow all my skepticism and questions would be answered by God in a X-files style revelation once I got to heaven.

As I entered my teens however, and the sexual feelings I had tried to suppress and deny became stronger and more pronounced, my world, as I knew it, was thrown into crisis. While I hadn't sat through too many Adam and Eve-not-Adam-and-Steve-style sermons, I'd seen and heard enough at school, home and church to know that if I was going to survive, I need to conceal my true self. Like all other questions I had in life, the Bible seemed like that obvious source for an answer. I looked up and read the scriptures condemning homosexuality and gay sex(Lawd knows I heard them enough to have them on speed dial in my mind) and followed my Sunday school teacher's advice to pray and ask God to take away whatever was sinful out of me.

All the while through junior high and high school I heard the whispers and rumors about my sexuality; one month I was banging one of the girls in the school band, the next my best friend and I were "gay together." I wasn't about to give them any truth to gossip about, so I stayed far and away from any of the obviously gay boys at school and never attempted fooling around with another guy.

I constructed a perfect, almost asexual facade, the sweet, polite Kevin who never rebelled, never talked back to his parents, and played piano for his mother's Sunday school. Friends, family, and even my music teacher pressed me about my lack of interest in girls, to which I quickly responded by going out on dates with girls I felt nothing for, or at least not enough to to claim a real attraction. All the while my faith was floundering. My prayers seemed to fall on deaf ears, and feelings of depression, guilt, and self-loathing that I'd managed to hold back for years seemed to flood my psyche. Everywhere I turned, from my church to the music that I listened to my friends to my family and school, I was confronted with constant negativity and hostility about gay people. I took all those stereotypes and swallowed them whole, believing everything I was taught about myself. The harder I tried to fit in, the more I seemed to stand out. I withdrew further, writing angry journal entries about my spiritual turmoil and shutting off my emotions so I wouldn't have to deal with what was going on in my life. God seemed to be on vacation, so I checked out as well.

By senior year it all became too much, so I took refuge in numbing myself with a daily dosage of marijuana. My friends had already been smoking, so, not wanting to appear as more an outsider than I already felt I was, I joined in with a vengeance. I'd smoke a few blunts everyday after school, and blew through at least 10-15 blunts during the weekend. Of course this increased the personal problems, as it became another skeleton in my closet, creating a guilt-ridden cycle. I'd feel like a failure because my sexuality wasn't changing, so I'd smoke to escape the pain. Then I'd felt like shit for smoking and lying to my parents about where I was all hours of the night, every night. Run-ins with the law, including being caught up in a police raid, didn't stop me. I'd tried at least five or six times to quit, but a few days or weeks later I'd be in somone's backseat sparking up. Which of course also made me feel like a failure. My plan was to go through life emotionless, and simply do what everyone else wanted me to do-- go to college, get a degree, marry a woman, pop out a few kids, and drop dead. And to toke until I choke so I wouldn't feel a damn thing through all of it.

Ironically, the beginnings of my spiritual rebirth happened courtesy of the Anti-Christ Superstar himself, Marilyn Manson, as I've blogged about previously. While I didn't realize it at the time, Manson's music and his attitude towards organized religion reawakened those seeds of doubt, skepticism, and questioning that had lain dormant since my obsessions with "fixing" my gayness became the defining focus of my life. I looked at the Bible, God and the concepts of religion and faith with fresh, critical eyes, and began reading gay blogs, books and essays by Michael Eric Dyson, Cornel West, and Horace L. Griffin, which took a more nuanced, less literal view of religious belief and homosexuality. I allowed myself to think of my homosexuality as a positive thing, allowed myself to see there is more than one way to look at the world, to become friends with and not fear others who identify as Wiccan, Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Agnostic, Atheist or any other religious belief and saw that being non-religious and being a moral human being are not mutually exclusive concepts.

I also realized that God wasn't on vacation or deaf. He was inside me the entire time. I just had to have the courage to stop living for others' approval and be my authentic self, which includes being gay. It's a life lesson I'm still learning to put into practice daily. As for my religious beliefs now, I definitely don't take everything in the Bible literally. I have a hard time believing Jonah lived in the belly of a whale, or that a 900-year old man (i.e. Noah) collected every single species of every single animal on the planet.

In addition the stories of the Israelites slaughtering women, men and children seem contradictory with the image of a peaceful, loving God, as well the idea of a virgin giving birth to a baby that's also supposed to be the same person as his father, whose in heaven, don't sit that well with me. Lastly, I see living, breath examples of people accomplishing things in their life, like losing weight or getting married, having successful careers or making it through hard times without calling on Jesus. And as far as morality, I would still not lie, steal or kill even if the Bible didn't say so. Sometimes I think the god in many religions is there as a symbol to help us focus less on material things and greedy self-interest and more on serving others.

However, I still go to church and pray, play piano for local churches and sing in a community choir. At times this contradictory stance gives me pause: I wonder what my life would be like if I never heard the words Jesus, bible, God, and sin. What kind of person would I be? How sooner would I have accepted my sexuality? To be honest I'm really sure what my religious beliefs are at this point. I'm definitely not a fundamentalist Christian, but I'm not a militant atheist either. I guess the difference now is that I'm allowing myself to entertain these thoughts, to see that spirituality/personal belief is a continuous evolution, not an open-and-shut case. And it's not that scary after all.

Naturally Feminine or Annoyingly Flamboyant?

Let me start this post by saying I have no problems with fems. While in my younger days I was uncomfortable around guys who had a little more sugar in their tank, I since realized that was a reflection of my hang-ups about my own sexuality. In addition I feel that I fall somewhere in-between the scale of super-masculine and super-feminine. I'm not a man's man--I'm not into sports, watch Sex and the City, Girlfriends and The Golden Girls and prefer wine and daquiris to beer--but I don't rock lip gloss either.

With that said, in hanging around some gay guys I feel that some are acting out some role that they feel they must play as fems. Just as some of the more masculine gays feel they have to be thuggish and finish every sentence with "kno what I'm sayin," and "ya heard me" in order to be a "real man," I sometimes feel like fem guys, especially the younger ones in their teens, feel that they have to be ultra flamboyant and over-the-top.

Now it's my personal opinion that all men, whether they be gay, bi, or straight, have some feminine traits in them, just as all women have some masculine qualities. The only difference is that when men, especially black men express any sense of femininity we are looked at as weak and inferior, while women are simply labeled as tomboys. That is, as long as women don't exhibit too much aggression or ambition, or a commanding presence, which are often considered masculine characteristics. Then they're labeled as shrewish, domineering and emasculating (You saw what happened to Hilary last election.) Hence the basis of sexism. But I digress.

I also believe that some guys are just naturally more effeminate than others. But at what point does this become annoying flamboyance, an outrageous, shallow act designed to make oneself the constant center of attention?

A while ago me and friend of mine hung out with two fems who I'll call James and Jacob. One time we went to Wal-Mart to get some food, and both them decided to wear high heels for the occasion. However, the problem wasn't the high heels, but the fact that they were so loud the entire time we were in the store, especially James.

Every other sentence was "HEEEEEY GWARL, YOU NOT GON SPEAK TO ME?" "YOU ACT YOU DON"T KNOW ME?" or "OOOH GWARL LOOK AT THEM TRADES OVA THERE!" as they openly taunted straight boys in the store. They also expected me and my friend, as the trade, to foot the food bill when we went to Taco Bell, since they were queens and thus considered themselves ladies who should be taken care of. (Sidebar: If you want to think of yourself as a queen bee or chick, fine. But if you're dating me you betta be an independent chick. I'm just sayin'.)

Not to mention that their conversations usually consisted of three topics: food, sex and men. And it often went a little somethin' like this: James: "Ooh girl I need to get some good dick tonight. Find me a man so he can get me a Lexus or something. Then fix up some ribs afterwards." Jacob: "Yeah bitch. And I wanna thank ya."

I got flashbacks of Jacob and James when I was over at my man's house for his birthday and we were talking to this younger guy, who I'll call "David". David and the group he hangs out with do nothing but strut up and down the street all day, argue loudly about petty crap and start catty drama with anyone who even looks at them sideways. Now some of the guys are still in high school, so some of this can simply be blamed on youth. Hell at least they're out, which is more than I could say when I was 16 or 17. But they seem to have such a stereotypical and shallow understanding of what it means to be gay. Everything revolves around men, sex, clothes, hair and going out. There's more to life than good food, sex and fine men (although all three certainly have their place:).

My point is that if you're naturally feminine and a little flamboyant, then do you. But there's a big difference between being yourself and being obnoxious just so everyone can pay attention to you or feeling like you have to be a queen just because you're gay. Because ultimately that's just as confining as the closet you came out of.

Sexuality 101

Got a story to tell ya'. Like to hear it? Here it go. I was at the mall one day with two of my fag stags(for the uninitiated, that's straight guys:), when they spotted some girls they wanted to run game on. While they're babbling about the usual stuff (i.e. where you from, how old are you, what you school you go to, etc.) two of the girls reveal that they're lesbians.

Undeterred and perhaps emboldened by their revelation, visions of lesbian sex dancing in their hands, my friends soldiered on, while still honing in their other friend, who was straight. Anyways, one the girls examined my braids and asks me who does them.

When I say the words 'my boyfriend' you could've driven two 18 wheelers through their mouths. A flurry of responses and questions followed. "For real?" "You gay" "You lyin'." and my all-time favorite "You too pretty to gay."

Why do women, particularly black women, ALWAYS say that? I wanna know what kind of trolls they're hanging around because most of the gay guys I know are a lot of things, but ugly ain't one of 'em. But I digress. What tripped me out the most wasn't the questions, because I've heard them a thousand times, but that most of them were coming from one of the lesbians! She told me I should at least try a woman, and I'd changed my mind.

I wanted to say 'Girl, how are you gonna be deep sea diving in another girls' hotbox and turn around and imply that being gay is a choice?'. Not that being gay is all about sex, but you know what I mean.

Truth be told I really don't think that girl was truly a lesbian. She explained her reason for having a girlfriend was because she didn't trust boys(or something to that effect) and the fact she was asking questions to which she should already know the answer. At the very least she's probably bisexual.

Her girlfriend, pure butch through and through, only asked what was my boyfriend's name. *Sigh* I guess sometimes even "family" needs to be educated and illuminated.