Minneapolis to NYC: Thank You, Love You, Peace

Minnesota has my heart, but my heart has another lover, New York. To my heart I give home, to my lover I come. Home is forever, while my love waits ephemeral, though home be distant and lover close, it is home that has what the lover has but on loan. -BLC, NYC, 11.7.11

The beginning of last week was a shit show extraordinaire. I was in full flight from dealing with some heavy emotional stuff that had gone down over the previous two weeks. To sum it up, I officially ended a relationship with someone for whom I still care but it is not possible for us to be together. In the meantime there are other highly emotional (mostly good yet still complicated) situations going on (I am being WAY cryptic here...which is all for the best)...and all of that combined to make me flee and hide out in some rather unhealthy ways last weekend.

Luckily thanks to the support of an acquaintance, I was provided with the time, space, and solitude to pull myself, my thoughts, and my courage together. It was the best gift that I have gotten in a very long time.

Last Monday and Tuesday were rough. My emotions were on an internal Great America theme park adventure, the people around me were super loving, and I finally, with the love of community, pulled myself together. In fact, despite the ending of my relationship and the accompanying heartache that entailed, my life is good. I am employed. I have a home. I have a Mimzy. I have a powerful family of choice and of blood, and frankly I have a book that is doing really well. Since October 1, I have been in Atlanta to celebrate the wedding of Paulina and Ashe, in Albany to co-keynote the national queer people of color health conference, at Davidson College in North Carolina to do a reading and give a series of lectures in partnership with the amazing photographer Sophia Wallace, and I just returned home from Minneapolis where I not only got to spend time with my Betty and Sarah and family, but I got to hold my godson as he was baptized, share in the wedding vow renewal of Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria and Nubia Esparza, and I had a jam packed Minneapolis book launch party at the fantastic Cafe SouthSide!

To stand in front of an audience, with my godson present, my amazing step-mom Melanie, my nephew Jason Jr., the Scooby Gang, my high school art teacher Mrs. Mary Simon-Casati, high school friends, Facebook folks that I had yet to meet but am so glad I did, and with the powerful presence of other writers and performers particularly Harry Waters, Jr., Kevin Kaoz Moore, Kyle "Guante" Myhre, Teresa Ortiz and the aforementioned Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria, was to stand in front of a room full of blessings. And anytime I can look up and see the loving, gentle, and powerful face of Susan Raffo, co-director of Minnesota's LGBTQ foundation PFUND, it is a good and blessed day.

I am so thankful for the gift of community. I am grateful for those that show up again and again to share their love and to let me reflect back to them the light and love that they give to me. To be mirrors for each and to reflect back the light that each of us was given brighten the way for those around us, is what I believe we were all put on this planet to do.

Today, I landed back in New York, and as sad as I was to leave behind my friends and family back in Minneapolis, I was jumping up and down to get home to my people here. First it was a reunion with Mimzy...and I spent a good 15 minutes wrapping her up and holding her and burying my face in her fur while she tried desperately to lick all of the sweat she could from my head. It's her job. Don't judge. And then it was a quick shower and to the QEJ office where I was greeted with a shout and love by my co-conspirator and beloved Amber Hollibaugh, the elfin soft show of Naomi, the giggles of Gykyira and of course the sun-shaming smile of JT Mikulka.

There was sadness today. I don't want to downplay or undervalue the sadness that existed today as well. That isn't a story I want to share here, now. But I learned a long time ago that it is not an oxymoron or a conflict to hold great joy and great sadness in your belly at the same time. In fact, on a day to day basis, those two seemingly conflicting emotions often show up, together, to remind us that the sweet tastes sweet because we know bitter as well.

To all my friends and family, I wish you nothing but the greatest blessings. Thank you for being in the world and being a light that helps me see where I am going when I am most likely to bang around in the dark, bruising myself, and crashing into the folks that showed up to help me. Love to you all.

POETRY: Resuscitation by Any Means Necessary

This poem was inspired by the following people: Keith Stiles, David Berube, Kenyon Farrow, Ashe Helm-Hernandez, Paulina Helm-Hernandez, and all my nieces and nephews especially the children of Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria and Nubia Esparza.

Resuscitation by Any Means Necessary

I. The Wedding

They gave me life
with their “I do,”
filled the room with satyagraha
Soul Power
and soul food
filled the spirits of the congregation of the community
unity behind this most holy union
Africa and Mexico joined in beloved matrimony
a bond we will help them hold
as they have held us
loved us
gave us life
in that old deep Southern style
sweet like cornbread ought to be
sustenance that we can feel
joy that we have seen
like the prophet said, “If we can't love and resist at the same time, we probably won't survive”
they gave us survival

II. The Murder

He gave life
to Troy Davis
brought him back from the dead
just a few days after Georgia killed him
He said, “Black bodies and innocence are an oxymoron.”
We done passed the point of righteous indignation
this nation has a place for us: prison, the streets, a box in the ground
He holds us down, keeps us real, gives words to the rage we feel
when we lose another black brother
to white supremacy
watch another lynching
on cable tv
this one done with a needle instead of a rope
but don't get it twisted
September 2l, 2011 was a good old Jim Crow picnic
while we ate, they set another nigger to swingin'
so this minister of the people spoke out
He gave us back Troy's spirit
raised his voice to almighty God
and gave us the key to our own redemption


III. The First Responder

He gave me life
that night in Central Park
Bethesda watched over me
kept me close
in the darkness
wrapped her wings around me
held me
until He could arrive
His voice got to me first
from above, like an angel
He came for me
a single phone call
a ten digit 9-1-1
and He was there
must have ran
the 10 blocks and two avenues
to get to me
before the paranoia could take me
it wouldn't be the last time
He saved my life

IV. The Family

They give me life
remind me with giggles, Skype messages
video recorded Glee covers
why I fight the fights I fight
it's not just for me but to see
a day when babies don't have to be taught swordplay
in the cradle
and the hurdles we've leaped over
will be dismantled
shackles hacked off
so that the ones that call me Uncle
and Tia (Aunty)
can dance (and giggle)
until this life is over
never knowing police brutality
or the need to Occupy Wall Street
those precious little feet will walk in Heaven
on Earth
give birth to little revolutionaries
with no need for a revolution
but who will stand love watch
over us all

V. The Puma

He gives me life
in the Thunder Cat mornings
Panthero and Liono
greeting the dawn in each others arms
He sees me as I am
and as I may one day be
believes in me
like I could part the sea
if I put my mind to it
sees beyond the modern day leprosy
understands my reality
but wouldn't let HIV
keep his love from me
it's humbling
the way he holds me against the sky
I fly when I am with him
I live when I am with him
I live
He gives me life
they give me life
I live
I LIVE.

For the Homeland (A Poem for Bagua)

This is a fierce ass poem by my friend, brother, and co-Palabristas Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria. For those of you that don't know...some deep shit went down in Peru a couple of weeks ago. Indigenous people murdered for oil and natural gas. The shit is real, and it isn't right, and as much as I love Michael Jackson and think the coup in Honduras is fucked up...neither should have overshadowed the Bagua tragedy. You can hear this poem read by clicking on the Ninja in the side bar and scrolling to For the Homeland.

For The Homeland (A Poem for Bagua)

by Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria

With my hands I write these words for the homeland

Today my heart stopped
My blood spilled
On land that will be given
To oil companies that will rape it
Brand it, and sell it with my name on it

Today my body is motionless on the road
With no one to claim it
Until the bullets stop flying
Until they stop crying
Because no one asked them
if they wanted to perforate their people
asked them if they wanted to witness babies dying

The ground sobbed red tears as bodies fell
Painting a brief picture of living hell

With my hands I write these words for the homeland

Today Peru lost 2-1 and
people said they played with no heart,
I know where it lays.

In Bagua
where blood mixes with brown soil
In rivers
where brothers and sisters float boca abajo.
And mothers try to identify body parts
While I am trying to identify self worth

Remembering that the blood spilled is pumping through my veins,
that the land where I was born to the land where I stand
will always be indigenous land.
Remembering.
That when we left in 88 Alan Garcia was fucking up the economy
Then ran to hide in Paris
Only to come back for a reconquista
to kill people he sees as second class

Today the bullets cried
My brothers and sister died
Media blinded to the lies
That the cowards use to hide

With my hands I write these words for the homeland

Today I died in bagua
But when my funeral comes
Don’t put me in a casket
Or bury me 6 feet under

Instead baptize me in the Marañon River
So my soul flows south with the blood spilled

Bury me next to the mass graves
With my eyes wide open
So i can see
What others say is not there

Then broadcast these words over radio waves
Banned for speaking the truth

Indigenas nunca son cuidadanos de segunda clase
Indigenous people are never 2nd class citizens

This is for my people
In the homeland
Fighting in the trenches
Blocking streets, police
While we overseas fight the oasis painted by white picket fences
This is for Alfredo,Pelusa, Mariana, rodrigo, camilo y Apu
Who remind me of home and fuel the purpose of what I do
for our babies, who asked why we cry at this injustice

For jose Antonio Encinas who taught me about power
And how politicians’ abuse it, we call them cowards

This for Santiago Manuin
Because 8 bullets could not stop his heart beating
His strength
His fight for his people
Their land

This is for Pizango finding refuge in Nicaragua
While his heart and spirit stays in bagua

And for the rest of us
Who are away from home
In strange lands that we can’t call our own
Some of us facing death for the first time and
Raising fists, pens, and words in defiance
To form a global alliance with you, our people.
Because borders, time zones, years, guns and oppression
Cannot stop our love for you.
Today I died in Bagua
And was reborn to use my hands to write these words for the homeland

Poem: Mixed Emotions

I wrote this poem six years ago. The first time I read it, at the Late Night Series Hosted by Laurie Carlos at the Pillsbury House Theater, I was knocked over by the audience reaction. It was the third spoken word piece I had ever written, and it was the second time I had ever read in public. It gave me the confidence to move forward with my writing, it helped define my niche in the spoken word community, and it is still a crowd pleaser. I think my poetry has become more sophisticated since I wrote this...but it is still my all time favorite. You can hear it recorded if you check out my brother Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria's CD Desconocidos.

Mixed Emotions

Are you mixed? What are you? Where are you really from? Your Mama’s white huh? You speak Spanish like a Mexican, Nuyorican. White boy with a tan. What ARE you?

It’s too bad you can’t identify
What I clearly can’t deny
I’m a fine, sweet lovin’, smart ass, smart mouthed, smart boy
With more history in my veins than you can ever hope to comprehend

I am a Swede-a-Rican, Negro, Native, German, Dutch, English, Scottish, Norwegian, Spic.
Praire Nigga, Island Nigga, Nigga Nigga,Faggot
And the next person that asks me if Puerto Ricans got big dicks
I am going to take mine out and choke him with it

What am I? Martian Motherfucker! I reply.
Or sometimes I quantify: 2/8 black + 4/8 white + 1/8 Native + 1/8 Puerto Rican
You do the math
I am tired of calculating the motivations and objectification of my ancestral relationships

It doesn’t matter what I say
You’ll make up your mind anyway
I am the Nigga that makes you grab your purse
I am the Spic that you love to curse
I am the low down, caramel brown, miscegenation revelation of this world’s future
I am Nefertiti & Piri Thomas
I am Harriet Tubman & Sitting Bull
I am John Brown & Jesus Christ
If you don’t like it that’s just too damn bad
I have had it with playing Cirque du Soleil
Contorting my face and my race in order to placate your fears

I know the story that you’d like to hear about leaving the jungle and my very first spear
How my Mom rode a Zebra with a bone in her lip
Titties sagging to the ground with a kid on each hip
How I salsa-ed to school
That I can use an abacus
How I feed the chickens in the morning
Worked the fields late at night
How I attained my manhood from a wildebeest fight
You’d like to know how many languages I speak
That I feel homesick when I go to the zoo
Well this is the point that I tell you to back the fuck off
Get away from me or my first in your face is the last thing you’ll see

I am from right here born queer in the Great State of Minnesota
Me, Charles Schulz, and Charles Lindbergh
Schultz illustrated, Lindbergh aviated, and I’ve navigated
The convoluted mimicry of this multi-racial democracy
I’ve checked the boxes
Tried to conform
Finally said fuck it and blew up the norm
I rejected the questions
I refused to be placed in a box
Marked other ethnicity/race
I am an Afro-Euro-Boricua-Fag
I’m so multi-national I should have my own flag
My roots are three continents wide
And no one can make decide to choose one or the other
The history of my father or that of my mother

My brothers and sisters
We are here to stay
Your time for a say in it has long passed away
You should have thought about that before you screwed my Mom
Raped third world women from Santiago to Saigon
I am a product of your perfidy, colonization, and slavery
Now I’m pissed off and roaming free denying your attempts to colonize me
It’s fairly obvious and plain to see
That I am the person that you’d like to be
Tiger Woods?
He ain’t got nothing on me

I am not your boy-geisha tropical blend
Dark skinned Latin melanin friend
I am proud to be Puerto Rican, Black, Swedish, Anishinabe too
What face you see is up to you
I am a chameleon I get to be everything inside of me
No limitations
No expiration date
I get to be in the club
I don’t need a pass
I am enough
If you don’t like it, fuck it that’s tough

I’m a mixed race diva from my feet to my hair
You better get used to it
I ain’t going no where.