Interview with a Song Bird: Jamila Anderson aka Calliope Muse

If all you beautiful readers out there haven't yet noticed, I have some of the most amazing friends in the world. Comedians, actors, drag artists, poets, writers of all genres, organizers, lovers (a couple of haters...but I love them too), and musicians. The interview that I am publishing today is with another Minnesota ex-pat living in New York City (we have our own social group in NYC called Minne-Apple in the Big Apple...kookers!). Jamila Andersono aka Calliope Muse is a fierce actor, musician, and friend. Check out her new single, Kryptonite on iTunes! And thank you Jamila for this awesome interview. WERQ!!!!!

1. I met your gorgeous self probably seven or eight years ago in Minneapolis. At the time, you had the Minneapolis Theater scene by the throat. Now adays, you seem to be focusing more on music than theater. Why the change?

YOU'RE GORGEOUS! Thanks for the props! I have to say I was pretty happy with my acting career and didn't really plan to change. I've always been a “singer” but I certainly had no aspirations to be in the music biz at the time. Then an opportunity was presented to me that seemed like a real shot so I switched gears. I ain't no dummy – even though I thought I had my plans the Universe gave me the chance to do something on another level so I knew I had to go for it. I happened to catch the eye of a producer while waiting for a Minneapolis city bus one day and eventually he and I had crossed paths again and he revealed that he was a producer with his own label and studio and had earned a Grammy as a musician, etc... I don't want to go to far into this because it turned out to be kind of sour for me in the end. But I managed to have a short career as a Rock singer with my own band and did some minor touring, local gigs, oddly to NASCAR races and The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. Eventually my single charted Billboard's Hot 100 chart for 21 consecutive weeks and peaked at #15. So despite the fact that the whole thing crashed and burned, I still have that. I fearfully went back to acting and was really touched by how well received I was upon my return. Rohan Preston even wrote a cool article about it in the Star Tribune. After the drama with the music, I was happy to try and forget about it and really wanted to move on and get back to my acting roots. But ha ha, once again, when we think we know the grand plan for our lives... Much to my surprise, music fell in my lap again about 2 years later when I got a wild hair up my ass and moved to New York. I hope I don't sound arrogant saying that it just fell into my lap – it's just that it was truly not on my radar in either situation. I came to New York with little planned just looking to live in a place I always wanted to be and possibly up my acting game but I met an amazing person who, after swapping stories days after we met, turned out to be a Grammy-nominated producer and former Hip Hop star. NICE. Yes, I sang rock music but that was the more unfamiliar lane... I grew up on Soul, R&B and Hip Hop so I was excited at the shot of sing over his tracks. Eventually, he let me hear some of his stuff and I was more than SOLD. I wanted in!! But I knew it wasn't going to be just that easy. So I made a bootleg demo on my laptop with one of his beats and emailed it to him. After waiting for an excruciating week and creating various ways to ask if he'd listened to it yet, he finally responded “I couldn't stop playing it. I played it over and over.” We knew we had made some dope shit together. I demoed another and another... but the first demo lit the fire. That was how my current single came about. He also named me 'Muse' because he felt inspired by what I was creating with his beats and wanted to create even more, which he would, when I was around. And I feel equally as inspired by him so it is a match made in heaven. Now, don't get me wrong, just because I didn't actively seek this career, I still love it. I'm hungry for it and equally as dedicated to it as I am my acting. I think it was something I ran from for a long time, being the daughter of a singer/musician. Sometimes the Universe has to show you who you are supposed to be; sometimes we get in our own way thinking we know what we are supposed to do but as an artist you must be open to using your gifts wherever and wherever they are called upon. That being said, I used my gift to write a song about my hoo-ha. Let's discuss a bit later.

2. You just dropped a new single, Kryptonite, under the name of Calliope Muse featuring Chedda Bang. Tell me about how you decide to use the stage name Calliope Muse.

About the name, I touched on it a little bit in that previous question/answer... I was named Muse because of the effect I have on my producer, artistically. I like to be creative, share ideas and collaborate and think outside of the box so I think that can get people's creative juices flowing too. I had heard something like that before and just laughed it off and took it as harmless flirtation but this time I saw I really did have a positive effect on other musicians/artists whenever I was in the studio (not to toot my own horn, this is what I was TOLD – and I'm not sure that is the case with acting, ha ha). But we all know there is a huge band named Muse so I had to find a twist to the name so I could keep the name that meant something to me and not get sued. I did some reading about the Greek Muses and learned about Calliope, who is the wisest and eldest of the Muses and carried a writing tablet and whatnot. I knew that was me. So hence, Calliope Muse. I also changed my name when I had the Rock band to “J”- no one called me by my name. The reason I change my name is because I feel that when I'm on stage as a singer I am another person in a way. Calliope Muse has a character of her own and taking on that personality is important to me and allows me to see the full vision for my music. Calliope is a side of me, not a made up character... In other words, Calliope says and does things the regular me wouldn't get away with.... Calliope is my more confident, street smart side. She has stories of her own to tell.

3. The song Kryptonite is the SHIT (and available via iTunes for $.99). In the song, you own the power of your sexuality (and let me tell you I know more than one woman back home that has been hoping and praying that you will take a dip into the coochie pool)....talk to me about working as a female hip-hop artist, that is a fierce feminist, in a musical genre where the commercial side of the genre (versus some of the independent and amazing political hip hop artists) that is not known for its feminist politics or its valuation of women.

First, THANK YOU. I have to side with the gay men on the topic of coochie, so my apologies ladies, it's not going to happen but I am very flattered nonetheless (and am rather curious about who is on this list!) I should probably leave some mystique for PR purposes but I'm not really about bullshitting. Much love and respect though, always. Moving on. Yes, Kryptonite is my retort to all of those ego-maniacal men who feel that their penis is so amazing it should be wearing a cape - I playfully call him “Captain Save-a-Hoe”. You know, the guy who thinks he's gonna whip you into submission with his awesome cock? Yeah. This is to that guy. “You think you're Superman? Not tonight. You heard 'em right, they call me Kryptonite.” The truth is, after some noteworthy feedback, it turns out I have some “skills” of my own and I got sick of hearing all that talk when I was the one coming out on top – pun intended. I know that isn't exactly “meaningful” in the literal sense but I believe that a lot of women are taught to be submissive, to “take it” in many areas of life. Sex is very related to power. For obviously sexual reasons, but also for self-esteem, self-empowerment reasons I believe it is important for a woman to feel sensually and sexually powerful. She may CHOOSE to play the submissive roll but she owns her body and her choices and her libido. Does that make me a feminist? I don't know. I am the kind of woman who enjoys chivalry but I ain't no punk, no what I mean? I love a gentleman but I am very capable. You'll learn a lot about how I feel as a woman when my full album is released. I go in on some subjects that will have you testifyin'... Which maybe is a good segue into the next part of your question. I don't know if I can define myself as a Hip-Hop artist by way of my part because I don't consider myself a rapper by any means. That shit is hard. But I do kind of blur the line a little (when you hear Kryptonite you'll get it) and I have authentic Hip-Hop tracks so my music will be played on Hip-Hop stations. But I really do care that people know I don't call myself a rapper. The whole point of who Calliope Muse is is to speak for a woman that I feel isn't really being represented in main stream Hip-Hop. I do not see myself in any of these women whose records get played 1000 times a day on every station. I buy my purse from the same place I buy my floor cleaner and I really do not care for wearing high heels, even though I can and will rock those bitches. But like, where is the regular but still super fly chick? She's down-to-earth but not “neo-soul”. She's strong and sexy but not raunchy. She is feminine but looks amazing in jeans, a t-shirt and some Chucks. Everyone is so over-the-top and caricatured right now - who can keep up with that? How is that real and how does anyone really relate? So my music and style is about that chick who is your trusted friend, the cool big sister – she is real, the girl in your hood but she still shines like a star and holds her own in the world whether she's got a dollar in her pocket or not.

4. You are beloved by queer men and you have spoken proudly, to me, of the acceptance you have seen from your producers towards queer folks...talk to me a bit about your work with the queer community...and a bit about why you are writing a song, as you told me, for your gays.

I work with men who are grown-ups, nawmean? They have gay associates/friends/family members. They are mature ethical men and respect that people are who they are and don't really give a shit who you're sleeping with. I won't say we have a rainbow flag hanging in the studio, per se, but if you are respectful of them, they are respectful of you, no matter who you are or what your background is. We do the music because we love it and if you come to us with a positive attitude and on good terms then that's all that matters - it's all about the music and nothing else. I, however, do love me some gays! I worked a lot with a theatre in Minneapolis (Pillsbury House Theatre) that addressed GLBT concerns and lifestyles in an awesome way and I began to not only become educated but formed some real friendships that allowed me to have some meaningful insight about the queer community. My love comes from recognizing the strength and courage it takes to be Out in this shitty world that does nothing but judge and persecute you if you are an “other”. I am an other - a Black woman, more specifically bi-racial so I can relate to that “we're not sure what you are but you're not like us” dynamic. I have Lupus so I have that stigma to work around as well. And you know, my mama just raised me right. Equal rights. So at any given time you may find me going off on someone in defense of the gay community. Sense of humor aside, I will check someone using hate speech in a hot minute. I take up for my friends. And let's face it, some of the most colorful, audacious humans in the world are the gays so how can you not love them! Hence my song. It's too sassy for hetero pants, if you know what I mean, so I must write it for my sassy gays – specifically the sassy gays since all gays are not the same, lesson number one. I don't wanna spill the beans but one of the lines is “Bitch, you're fierce. She ain't as cute as you.” It's going to be too fun.


5. First theater, now music, what's next in the life of Jamila Anderson aka Calliope Muse?

I am really just getting started with my career as Calliope Muse. The single is out on iTunes but we are getting a lot together as we speak so we can officially drop it. We will be shooting my music video in the next month or so, I am really excited about that. And I am collaborating in the studio with some major Hip Hop talents, like ChipFu of the Fu Schnikens who has been a blast to work with. (Some other names I can't leak yet but we will let you know if you stay plugged in to me...) So I have my work cut out for me for sure. We are releasing “Kryptonite” first on the FantoMusic Audiodrome album, which is a showcase of my producer Fantom's producing skills and the artists in our crew. This album is bananas, you'll love every track. Then we will later release my full album – total crack rock. But that is just the beginning... I am still an actor so that is always in my bag of tricks. You just never know where I'll pop up!

6. Thank you for spending some time with me! Where can folks find more information about you and your work/performances/releases?

I am on the usual social networking sites – facebook.com/calliopemusemusic and Twitter @TheRealCMuse. For a free listen to Kryptonite you can go to reverbnation.com/calliopemuse or buy it for $.99 on iTunes. Just stay tuned in with me and FantoMusic Audiodrome and we will announce important dates as they come. We really need that underground support right now because we believe this music is about the people and for the people and not the red-taped and industry bullshit. So check it out, let me know what you think.

Brandon, most patient friend of mine. THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME AND SPACE ON YOUR DOPE BLOG!!! Love.

Calliope Muse is a real woman’s storyteller – telling tales of her life’s passions in the form of love and sexuality, frustration and anger. She fills the gap between the polished, glam R&B crooner and the over-the-top, ultra-raunchy rapstress by way of her identifiable “every-woman” style of lyrics and honest, lusty, heart-felt vocals. With Grammy-nominated, Staten Island Hip-Hop legend, FANTOM producing and supplying the dopest authentic hip-hop tracks, her music goes beyond thinking; it is about feeling and is a much-needed remedy to the redundant over-played and over-used themes and sounds of Hip-Hop and R&B of the current market. Calliope Muse is a true artist and a triple threat: Singer, Writer and Actress. She is awarded, versatile and experienced in the business of music – all while being fresh, innovative and relevant. Her latest single, “Kryptonite” (featured on the “Takers” Official Motion Picture Mixtape) will be officially releasing in the Spring of 2011 on the FANTOMUSIC AUDIODROME Album, with a self-titled debut solo album releasing soon after.

Calliope Muse – “You want this. You need this.”

Family=Love

Anyone that knows me and/or reads my blog or has been to one of my poetry readings in the last two years or is a Facebook friend knows about my Honey Bun Aunt Sis. Anyone that has stopped by this blog in the last week knows that last Tuesday, Aunt Sis left this world for the next one. She had bone cancer, which is incurable, but she fought it tooth and nail for two years. When the end came, she went in peace in her sleep. My Dad, though technically her nephew, was one of her sons...considered such by Honey Bun as well as her four biological children. He was listed as her son in the funeral program and it was my Daddy that was by her side most often for the last two years and even before that. I knew that when she died, he was going to have a hard time. Daddy tried to keep his game face on, especially with me, but I knew he was hurting, and he let it out in his own time, surrounded by people that loved her as much as he did.

Now she's home with Jesus. She was a woman of faith, and I know that her faith and love was rewarded. I've written before that I believe God sends angels to walk amongst us...unpresupposing folks that come into this sometimes hurtful, harmful, painful, crazy world to remind us that there is always love. That was my Honey Bun.

Last week, I was in rough shape. There was a three day gap between when I received the news and when I would be able to get to my family. I am still unemployed and David was scheduled to work out of town on Wednesday and Thursday. We needed the money, so I had to wait until he came back so that we could pack and leave. The reality of the living is that we need to keep working cuz the dead have no needs. I was soul weary and heart sick on our drive from NYC to Ronceverte, WV. I was anxious to get to my family, and my Daddy, as he always does when we are travelling to get together, was texting me about every 15 minutes to check on our progress. When we finally pulled up to the Holiday Inn Express in Lewisburg, I basically bolted from the car. My Dad came around the corner, and up the road came walking my great-aunt and uncle Lilly and Sherman and my cousin Buddy. Right then I knew what I needed. I needed my family.

Like my Aunt Sis, my family is crazy as Hell. As we walked from the car, I looked in the window of the hotel lobby and saw a room full of black folks. I knew they belonged to me and that I belonged to them. My sisters had arrived from Atlanta about 15 minutes before we got there, and I walked into a room of familiar as well as unknown faces. But even the faces I didn't recognize were clearly people to whom I was related. Aunt Barb, Aunt Bud, Aunt Sister Mary Jerome, my sisters, my cousin Wendell and all the others had the stamp of those hills on their face. And damn if they weren't all beautiful.

Over the course of the weekend I became re-acquainted with family I hadn't seen in years, met family I had never met, and met at least 100 people who weren't biologically related but were people that loved my Aunt Sis. The church was packed, the service was rockin' and even though there were tears and sadness, hearts broken and fences to be mended, at all tims and every step of the way there was someone telling a story to make folks laugh. The Lacy's are a folk built for joy. We are an entire family of story tellers and flame keepers. Eloquence is a family trait as is a wicked sense of humor. And we are beautiful, so so so beautiful from the octogenerians down to the infants, the Lacy's, as my sister says, have good genes. Genes or not...it was the laughter and the love, the soul food and the singing, the praise and the memories, the open doors, open homes and open hearts....the family...that made us so damn beautiful.

I am sad that my Aunty Sis has left us. I am sure there will be tears in my future, but I left those beautiful emerald hills with so much joy, and a committment to knowing those kin more deeply, and that is a gift that I know my Aunty Sis wanted all of us to walk away with.

Family equals love.

Holding Our Own Accountable: Thank You NY State Sen. Diane Savino

This morning, I woke up freezing in my apartment. New York (and seemingly the rest of the northern United States) missed the memo that it is May. I want to fly up into the heliosphere and punch the Sun in the face.

After taking the Mimz for her morning constitutional and walking passed the sink full of dirty dishes that will, at some point, claim the better part of an hour or so this morning, I logged into my Facebook account.

The top entry on my news feed was a post by NY State Sen. Diane Savino. It was a post in response to a statement released by a member of the Oneida Nation regarding the use of the code word Geronimo by the U.S. government as a moniker for the operation against Osama Bin Laden (Dumb Obama. Dumb Sec. Gates. Dumb Leon Panetta. Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb). I learned very quickly that the gentleman that wrote the letter, despite the letter's spot on criticism of the use of the name and history of Gerinmo and the impact on First Nation's people, isn't the best character running around Indian country.

Unfortunately, Sen. Savino chose a poor moment to make a statement about this gentleman's shenanigans (and fiscal malfeasance).

Let me NOT be the person to throw stones whilst I live inside a big old glass house surrounded by glass covered in glass in glass pajamas eating glass for breakfast. I, myself, have more than once, in anger or annoyance, popped off at the mouth (and/or fingertips) and posted something to Facebook that I hadn't thought through. Thankfully, I am a part of a broader community that has no qualms about letting me know, almost always firmly yet lovingly, that what I have written or said does not serve justice nor is it reflective of the person they know me to be. Sometimes the things I've written flippantly have stung folks in ways that I never intended nor would ever do intentionally. Though, like most people, I do not, in the moment, love the feeling of being held accountable (usually my cheeks catch fire, my back starts to get up, shame starts to creep in and then anger at the person that summoned the shame---actually me...but better to blame the accountability vessel.) After those emotions run their course, usually just a minute or so, I try make amends around whatever it is that I did or said. I also acknowledge the love and committment to my personal growth that is evidenced by someone taking the moment to hold me accountable to my words and actions with love and respect.

Don't get me wrong...now and again....I let the other person have it or politely honor their feelings without removing the offending item or statement; there are times when I stand by whatever thing it is that may have caused offense (just because someone feels offended doesn't mean that what you've said or written isn't truth).

We all make mistakes. I make them all the damn time.

This morning was one of those moments where Sen. Savino's statement of annoyance was absolutely well founded...but tying it into the place where it appeared was not cool. If Sen. Savino were a Republican or one of those queer hating faux Democrats that seemed to be sprinkled throughout the state, I would have cut and pasted the Facebook conversation verbatim and then tore the good senator a new poop hole.

I actually highly and deeply respect Sen. Savino. She has been an amazing advocate for justice in Albany and for the queer community, and so, instead, I shared with her my feelings. The senator responded respectfully, made the choice to remove the posting and the thread, and sent me private message letting me know she had done so. Thank you, Sen. Savino for your integrity and for making the choice to get your message/point across in a different way. If the rest of your colleagues around the state and in the U.S. Congress were as responsive and open to dialogue as are you, perhaps we would not be facing so many of the partisan bullshit problems that have us stuck on ugly in New York and the U.S. as a whole.

When we take a moment to honestly share our feelings and offer to hold our own accountable, we demonstrate what community and growth is really about. If we are only ever willing to step up and stand up to the "bad guys," or those that are often times far far from us in our beliefs and views, then we aren't making sure our own house is clean. Let those others live in a dirty house (as long as they keep their yard clean and their trash out of streets, I don't care how filthy their living room is...as long as they don't have body parts in the freezer or tongueless ex-lovers in leather gear in a box under the stairs). I value when others hold me accountable (and let's be clear...passive aggressive "teaching" moments are not accountability...accountability is when you bring your questions and concerns DIRECTLY and RESPECTFULLY). My esteem for Sen. Savino has gone up exponentially after this morning's brief exchange. Thank you, senator.

PS On the topic of the use of Geronimo's name as code for Osama Bin Laden is a great, clear, and succint statement from the Ononadaga Nation Council of Chiefs

PPS And here is a great article by Steven Newcomb of the Indigenous Law Institute on the same subject.

Honey Bun, NYAC, and Osama Bin Laden...and it's only Tuesday

Yesterday morning when I woke up, Osama Bin Laden was dead. This morning when I woke up my Honey Bun was dead. In between those two deaths, the official word came out that National Youth Advocacy Coalition would be closing its doors forever on May 13, 2011.

PS It's only Tuesday.


On the death of Osama Bin Laden...

I have already written plenty on Osama Bin Laden. The implications of his death, the impact on us as individuals and a nation, and the reverberations around the world will play out as they are meant to play out and will become more clear in the days and weeks to come. Oils prices dropped. Stock markets rebounded. College students that were, at best, in middle school when 9/11 happened were dancing in front of the White House evoking scenes of anti-U.S. protests across the world (we really are no different or better than anyone else as a people). And stories abounded that for the first time, almost every person in the U.S. (and probably the developed world) received information about a major news event (global scale) from alternative media, specifically text messages, Facebook and Twitter.

My last thoughts on Osama Bin Laden for now, I will sum up with two quotations that I used as status updates yesterday:

‎

I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." --Martin Luther King, Jr. (according to an article in the Atlantic...the first line of this quotation may have been made up in response to Osama's death...the rest is verifiably MLK...either way...it's an awesome quotation).

‎Do not rejoice when your enemies fall,and do not let your heart be glad when they stumble. --The Holy Bible, Proverbs 24:1.

I also want to honor my little brother, Julius Lacy, who has served in Afghanistan and my sister Shannon Lacy, who has served in Iraq. May you both be kept from harms way and thank you for your service.

On the closing of NYAC...

My morning yesterday was taken up with the news of Osama Bin Laden. The furor over Bin Laden's death and my own internal conflicts around his execution and its meaning had full control over my brain functions yesterday, so much so that I forgot that the public announcement of NYAC's closing would be happening. Midweek last week, on a very hard board of directors conference call, after six months back on the board after 10 years away, and after an extreme effort by the board and staff to try and salvage NYAC and keep it solvent, the numbers spoke and the recommendation from our lawyers and accountants was that it was time for NYAC to close its doors for good. I stand 100% behind that decision, though by taking the vote that I took in favor of shutting NYAC down, I was clear that my vote, in addition to closing the only national organization committed to queer youth empowerment, I was also closing the door on an amazing part of my life as a young organizer.

It was sometime around 1996 that I first became aware of the work of NYAC. In fact, it was summer 1996. I was a student at Warren Wilson College, and I had been invited to trek to DC from Western North Carolina to give a three minute speech at the first ever Youth Pride, which was a joint project of SMYAL, NYAC, and the HRC. At the time, I had just managed to get then HRC Executive Director Elizabeth Birch to put WWC as the only college stop on her anti-Jesse Helms re-election tour in NC. This was before the HRC had gone full blown racist and before EliZabeth Birch showed her true colors as a gross power mongering assimilationist. As you can see...I no longer support her or the HRC.

There I go digressing again.

From that point forward NYAC was a part of my life and training as a young queer organizer. I first met founding executive director Rea Carey at a SE Regional NYAC conference, through organizing work in the South, I met and fell in love with Urooj Arshad, Koren Hoard, Andy Garcia, Asha Leong, and so many other NYAC staff and program participants. And, for a brief time, I joined NYAC's board though after a year, I was removed from the board largely because I was constantly in the face of the organizations new executive director over his very problematic race politics. From 2001-2010, I ket in touch with NYAC staff and the ebb and flow of NYAC's work. In late 2010, the fierce and fantastic Amita Swadhin stalked me and convinced me to return to NYAC. Her vision for the rebirth of the organization, after years of mismanagement, stagnation and ineffectiveness in many ways, was compelling. I signed up and poured my energy and efforts into her vision. Her vision was compelling and transformative, so much so that many folks from my NYAC generation came back to offer support and love to the organization. Unfortunately, it was too little, too late and there was too much overburdened and overstuffed baggage that Amita and the rest of us inherited from the previous board(s) and administration of the organization. The end result is that NYAC will shut its doors permanently on May 13, 2011. It is a huge loss to our community and it is a very personal loss for me. The official statement from NYAC released yesterday provides more information on the decision to shut down and the efforts made to revitalize the organization over the last few months.


On the death of Edith Daugherty aka Aunt Sis aka Honey Bun...

This morning, I woke up just as David was about to leave the house for his morning dog park trip with Mimzy. I had just grabbed my phone and saw that I had three text messages and three phone calls from my Dad since I had gone to bed the night before. I was pretty certain what that meant. I shouted for David not to leave yet, and instead of listening to my Dad's voice mail messages, I called him back. He told me that Honey Bun had died peacefully and without pain early this morning.

I've known for two years or so now that this day was going to come. Honey Bun had bone cancer which is incurable, slow, and ultimately fatal. This is the third loved one that I have lost to cancer since September 2008, though with the previous two, my cousin and Mrs. Harris, there was hope that chemo and other treatments would arrest the cancer. I think the difference between hope and knowing that the end is going to come is the difference between being able to say goodbye on your own terms and having hope turn into denial which makes the goodbye harder.

That's how it works theoretically. In reality, I realized this morning that I was (and still am) in denial. Honey Bun isn't gone. It isn't real. It won't be real until I see her for myself. I know academically that she has moved on (and though I love all of you dearly that come to my blog and read this...the first person that tells me that she is in a better place is going to get the shit beat out of them). I know she is in a better place. I will refer you all to a blog I wrote recently....I could give a damn. She is my Aunt Sis. She raised my Dad. She was the first person in my Dad's family to unequivocally love me when I came out. She didn't give a shit. She was like the Honey Badger that way. I was her crazy as Hell nephew and she loved me crazy...just like her. She was smart, sassy, hilarious, elegant, no bullshit, survivor, beautiful, black, woman, mother, grandmother, aunty, sister, healer, soul food provider, gravy maker, powerful, love. She was love. She was what love was meant to be. She was my Honey Bun. My Aunty Sis. My heart. She earned her long rest, and I know that when she decided to head on up to Heaven this morning she took a minute to love us all a little bit more fiercly. I know she knew that when she went on home that she was going to be leaving behind a whole lot of people that love her. I know she went on somewhere that she could keep a closer eye on us cuz even though we are grown, she was pretty sure that we were going to burn the house down or do something dumb...cuz as grown as we get, we would never been more grown than her.

I know when she got to the other side of the River this morning, Jesus was waiting for her with a mason jar of blackberry brandy. He told her it was like that cup of oil from Hannukah and it would just keep on refilling itself. I know that Grandma Drue, and Granny Juanita and Grandaddy Dover, Miss Eva Clay, and all her other old time friends and ancestors (and probably a few lovers...with her fast behind) were waiting for her with their own mason jars of brandy and shine. I hear my great-great-great grandmother made the best roasted ground hog in the county....and Aunt Sis was never one to turn down good meat. I bet she had a hug for our first ancestors that was snatched up from Africa, and I bet whoever that man or woman is couldn't wait to tell Aunty Sis how proud they are of her and how she lived and loved her way through life.

I know she is alright now. She isn't hurting anymore. No more neuropathy. No more tiredness. No more transfusions. No more platelelts. No more physical rehabilitation. No more intensive care unit. No more hospitals. Just love. Just glory. Just celebration and rejoicing.

I am in no rush to get up there with her, but I know she is waiting or me. I bet my Grandpa Carey, the best man who ever lived, is waiting patiently behind all of Honey Bun's friends and relatives to introduce himself to her. I wish I could be there to see my two favorite and most blessed elders meet one another. I wish I were there to hear them tell each other all the stories they both told me. I wish I could watch their eyes open up in wonder that a man from Northern Minnesota and a woman from southern West Virginia could have such similar stories. And I know they both love me, so how could they not get along?

So, I am going to let myself feel what I need to feel. Honey Bun won't tolerate me acting out or stuffing my feelings in and down. But I can't be happy for her just yet. I am selfish. I have to be sad for me first. I am glad that she isn't in pain anymore. I am glad that she has gotten that mansion she has earned. But right now, I want my Honey Bun here with me....teasing me...sassing me...remind me why family is so damn beautiful.

Honey Bun

Sweet like honey
She is
Those hills
Are powerful
Green shoulders
Hunched and laughing
Streams course along her
Telling stories
'bout blackberry brandy
Brewed up out back
'long side the white lightning
Home
Remedies
Fried chicken and chittlin's
Collards green like those hills
Just out the backdoor
The stone wombs
That sheltered Her
That child of 1709
According to the Bill of Sale
African embryo
Artificially inseminated
Across the Middle Passage
Implanted in those Hills
born from a coal mine
And mountain granite
Gave birth to a black bird
Singin'
Sweet like fresh honey
We shall overcome
As she built a bonfire
To celebrate Brown v Board of Education
Said, "Don't know who burnt down the Negro school."
Hehehe she laughed
"But I do know they wasn't sending my children back."
Black bird said, "I am old and crazy as hell."
She'll not be with us much longer
Daughter of those hills has bone cancer
It doesn't matter cuz she's been to the mountain top
And took us with her
Honey Bun coating our tongues and spirits
With sweet strength
This Black Bird gon' sing a little bit longer
Stronger than those granite hills
Spill stories like rivers of honey
Sometimes bittersweet memories
Of mill slaves marched off to glory
Hallelujah
Sweet like honey
She is all we could dream to be
Strong like those hills
Those Greenbrier hills that gave birth
to a blackbird
sweet like honey
sing us home.

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-New York, NY
-September 11, 2010

Osama Bin Laden Is Dead: Now What?

"In front of the death of man, a Christian never rejoices but rather reflects on the grave responsibility of each one in front of God and men, and hopes and commits himself so that every moment not be an occasion for hatred to grow but for peace." -Father Federico Lombardi, The Vatican spokesperson on Osama Bin Laden's death.

I woke up last night and saw a text from my Dad. I figured it was an update on the health of my Aunt Sis, who is fighting bone cancer and has been in and out of the hospital over the last couple of months. My Dad sends me daily updates on her progress. Since I thought it was another health update, I chose to not read the message until getting up to go to the bathroom at 6:30am this morning. When I opened it, it was a simple message, "They finally got Bin Laden's ass."

That's my dad, an ex-military man not prone to mincing words.

I quickly clicked open the Huffington Post on my iPhone to confirm my dad's text message. Indeed, I found, Osama Bin Laden was killed last night by the United States. The cryptic news alert I'd gotten from HuffPost just before going to bed announcing that President Obama would be holding a news conference was made clear. Osama Bin Laden is dead. I logged into Facebook next to see what brief reactions I could take in before starting to write the blog entry that I knew was inevitable.'

There was a note from my friend Alyssa saying, "Look at all those New Yorkers celebrating in the streets, are you out there?"

There was a statement in my Facebook from Muslims for Progressive Values:

Press Release
Statement on News of Death of Osama Bin Laden
May 1, 2011

Muslims for Progressive Values (MPV) expresses great relief at the news of the death of Osama Bin Laden as President Obama announced in a special report. Osama Bin Laden has singularly disgraced Islam and dragged our faith through the mud with his promotion of terrorism throughout the world from Indonesia, the Middle East, Africa and here in the United States

MPV applauds the resolve and dedication of President Obama in pursuing Osama Bin Laden. As Muslims, we hope this will forever quench the flame of terrorism and that with the rise of democracy throughout the Middle East we can all finally begin to heal. Our condolences continue to go out to the families of those who perished on September 11, 2001 as well as all the victims of terrorism committed in the name of Al Qaeda throughout the world.

My first response on the topic, which is echoed by the statement from the Vatican (lord knows I never thought I would be using a statement from the Vatican for anything but blog fodder) is that I do not celebrate the death of any man. Osama Bin Laden earned his death. I do not regret the actions of the U.S. military and covert operations. I do not believe his death was undeserved or unearned by his own terrible and horrific actions, but I do not celebrate his death. His death is too linked to failed U.S. military and political policies of the past. His death is too connected to our own quest for power. Osama Bin Laden made his own terrible, terrible choices, but just like a serial killer whose mind was bent and broken by an abusive father, Osama bin Laden is a part of the U.S.'s shame. The U.S is not responsible for Bin Laden's choice to turn to terrorism and the murder of innocents, but we are responsible for creating the global circumstances, particularly in the Muslim world, where the twisted and hateful ideology espoused by Bin Laden was able to take root and grow tall enough that men and women across the region have been willing to give their own lives, killing innocents, in a quest to lash out against an enemy that is so inimically tied to their own poverty, suffering, and privation: U.S. economic and foreign policy and the global financial and economic machine propping it up.

I am sad that the circumstances ever existed to create an Osama Bin Laden. I find some comfort in the fact that, like Hitler, a crazy man that was able to inspire individuals to commit acts of atrocity is no longer in the world. But, the circumstances which created Osama Bin Laden still exist. The poverty, privation, and degradation of the developing world have not been alleviated. The under education and religious extremists willing to exploit ignorance for personal gain (in the name of God) still exist (and, to be clear, that particular issue is not unique to Islam...Christian fundamentalist leaders in this country have and still do use reactionary religious views to marshall the undereducated to act against their own best self interest).

While I understand that many in the world are breathing a sigh of relief today, I find it telling that while Western and developed nations are "celebrating," a Yemeni official stated:

"We welcome the news ... millions of people will sleep in peace tonight," the official said. "Osama bin Laden was more of a symbolic figure, a spiritual leader for al Qaeda."
The official said it is too early to determine how his death will affect the war against terror.
"But this is definitely a strong blow to the organization," said the official, who did not want to be named because he is not authorized to talk to the media.

"

It is my fear that we have cut the head off of the hydra. It was a head that needed to be removed, but we have left the body intact, wounded, but when it heals it will have two heads instead of one. As Congress continues to balk at providing reconstruction aid to Afghanistan in any amount that is meaningful, as we continue to prosecute wars in Iraq, Libya, and Afghanistan, as we continue to provide the world, through our own internal political processes, with live examples of how to use divisive and ignorance politics to build fanatical power bases, we are lancing Al Qaeda's wound just after we've given it. Our justification for war in Afghanistan was the prosecution of Osama Bin Laden. Bin Laden is dead. Does this mean we will end the war?

No. We did not end the war in Iraq when we caught and executed (under the guise of the Iraqi judiciary) Saddam Hussein, we will not be pulling out of Afghanistan anytime soon. This means that our soldiers, my brother and sister, will continue to be put in harms way in order to shore up a dying U.S. empire.

If there is a true silver lining in this narrative, it is that this pretty much makes certain that Obama (not Osama) will be elected to a second term. To many of the Tea Bagger and more conservative set (and many Lefties as well), this will make him an instant hero. He took decisive military action which resulted in the death of global enemy number one. Tim Pawlenty, Michelle Bachmann, Mitt Romney, Newt Gingrich, and the rest of the Republican presidential hopefuls let out a collective, "OH FUCK," last night when this story broke. I am sure that they will give out begrudging kudos today (well maybe not Bachmann, she lives so far down the rabbit hole that she will find a way to say something completely inane and stupid instead).

This event doesn't change my opinion of Obama. He is a flawed man in a flawed institution doing his best within the parameters and constraints of the U.S. political and economic system to make sense out of the world, our diminishing role in it, while doing what he can to try and lift up the people of the United States (without stepping too hard on the toes of the corporate oligarchy that runs the country). The fact of the matter is that the limits of the president are defined in direct relationship to the sacrifices the progressive community are willing to make to help him push against the corporate alliance that runs the U.S. Frankly, he's done a bang up job, and I will put him back in office for another four years. He's done more good than harm and much more good in three and a half years than Bush did in eight.

But I digress. Back to the topic du jour.

Osama Bin Laden is dead. The boogeyman has been taken out. God help us all, because we've all seen horror movies, and we all know this plot. The boogeyman that is taken down is never as terrifying as the one that we don't even know exists yet. I am content that Osama Bin Laden is no longer a threat. I understand that it will take time for a new Al Qaeda mastermind to appear. Perhaps, in fact, Al Qaeda has received a death blow. The truth remains, though, that from El Shabaab to Hamas there is no lack of organizations willing to use terrorist strategies to achieve their personal ends. And as long as we in the developing world continue to support global economic policies that keep 90% of the world in the poverty and circumstances which make these organizations possible, any future attacks and innocent blood shed is as much on our hands as it is on the hands of the murderers that will make them happen.

I pray to God that Obama realizes this as well and implements healing strategies to change what feels like the course of inevitability. I am a person of faith, and I still have some of that hope that Obama talked about almost four years ago.

Behind the Easter Bonnet: Backstage with the Cast of the Lion King

There are upsides and downsides when one of your best friends is an A-List gay celebrity. Actually, the upsides far outweigh the downsides...let's be real. The only real downside when your bestie is Bebe Zahara Benet is that on occasion, I get lost in the shuffle when we are out together (which is to be expected) and that folks tend to believe that I can make Bebe magically appear when and where I want her to be.

The upsides are that I have an amazing and sweet friend who is supportive and loving. I also get to go to some fantastic shit.

Last week, the 25th Annual Easter Bonnet Competition took place at theater that is home to the Lion King. For those of you that aren't familiar (I sure as hell wasn't), the Easter Bonnet Competition was started in 1987 as a benefit to support Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS

, which is the foundation of the Equity Actors' Union. Since 1987, the foundation has raised and awarded $46 million to organizations that provide support to people living with HIV/AIDS. Each year, the Easter Bonnet competition raises $3 million to support the foundation.

Basically, a good portion of the shows on Broadway produce some fairly hilarious and amazing skits that they perform to a sold out audience over two days. A List celebrities often make surprise appearances in each of the skits, and the event, this year, was hosted by Robin Williams and Judith Light (she is TINY as Hell).

This year, the cast of the Lion King decided to do a skit of RuPaul's Drag Race, particularly since the season finale of the reality show took place during the Easter Bonnet Competition. As a surprise guest star, they brought Bebe Zahara Benet into the cast for the Tuesday afternoon performance. It was hilarious to be in the audience when Bebe took the stage with the other cast members cum drag queens....as folks were like..."Is that the real Bebe? It sure looks like Bebe. I think that is Bebe. Naw that's not the real Bebe." I almost pissed myself laughing. A little trickle may have escaped. I can neither confirm nor deny that urinary fact.

The skit lasted all of four minutes, but I had spent the previous four hours backstage in the dressing room with the marvelous cast members that were taking part in the skit. Organized by Alvin and Jean Michelle (both Lion King cast members), I had a hoot of a time getting to know some of the folks that make the magic of the Lion King. From the wig master who, on about an hours notice, merged two ratty ass wigs that looked like rejects from a Judd's concert into a high hair Southern girl spectacular to the "pit crew," members that stripped down to bedazzled square cut shorts, oiled up and started doing a work out in the dressing room (in a room full of mirrors, it was impossible not to oogle...and LORD HAVE MERCY was I trying to be respectful and not have a spontaneous orgasm when they started doing push ups)...the prep for the show was more fun than I've had in forever.

And the best part was when the straight pit crew hunk of chocolatey loveliness walked out into the hallway outside of the dressing room in his shorts and ran right into Robin Williams who looked at him and said, "What the fuck!"

Oh yes....there are most definitely benefits to having a gay celebrity as a best friend.

I want to thank the cast of the Lion King for their amazing love and support of Bebe, and I want to send my personal love and thanks to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. They provide support to Camp Heartland (largest camp for children and families impacted by HIV/AIDS...I am a former staff member of the parent organization of the camp: One Heartland). Thank you for an amazing afternoon and for welcoming us into the Lion King family!

Interview with an Icon: Mike Ruiz

Just over a week ago, I had the opportunity (thanks Bebe!) to attend Mike Ruiz's t-shirt release party at TAGG in Manhattan. Mike has designed a new line of amazing t-shirts with a truly spectacular purpose: to raise money for the Ali Forney Center--a portion of the proceeds from each t-shirt sale goes to support the center. Founded in 2002, the Ali Forney Center provides a safe, dignified and nurturing environment where LGBT homeless young people can begin putting their lives back together. This partnership between Mike Ruiz and Ali Forney is why I reached out, with the support of my pal Jose, and asked Mike if he would provide an interview to My Feet Only Walk Forward. Thank you Mike, Martin and the rest of your amazing team for taking the time to make this interview happen.

Interview with an Icon: Mike Ruiz

Thank you for agreeing to provide an interview to My Feet Only Walk Forward. As a long time advocate for homeless youth, particularly the overwhelming and out of proportion percentage of homeless and precariously housed youth that are LGBT, I am very appreciative of your work and support of the Ali Forney Center. On a personal note, I am a fan of your brilliant photography, and I am appreciative of the role you play in supporting our community.

On to the questions:

1) Talk to me about your new t-shirt project. How did it come about? Who designed the shirts? What's the backstory?

I've always taken an unconventional approach to my work as an artist, and the concept behind my t-shirt line is no different. As my public profile continues to expand, I realize the value of being able to tap into my celebrity to drive a return on investment. Tying my philanthropic interests with my professional world, allows me to monetize and raise capital for charity. That is my motivation behind creating the line in the first place--which I designed myself.

I'm happy to say that the tees have created quite a stir. They're becoming a part of pop culture, as many of the celebrities I photograph having been supporting my cause by buying and wearing the tees. A portion of the proceeds benefit The Ali Forney Center; an organization that helps homeless LGBTQ youth.

2) Why is it important for you to give back to the community? How does this work connect with your own personal history and interests?

My inate sense of social responsibility is what drives me to give back to the community. I find it very gratifying to know that I am able to make a difference and possibly give someone the opportunity to make their life a little bit better. Growing up on the fringes of society, as an overweight, ethnic and gay boy in a blue collar suburb of Montreal, opened my eyes to what it means to live without hope. Luckily, I was able to tap into something within myself that spoke to something bigger than my life and surroundings as a child. It is my overarching optimism that I hope will rub off on others.


3) Lady Gaga just announced a $1,000,000 gift to support at-risk teens in New York City, you are doing this amazing project to support the Ali Forney Center, Andy Bell recently re-recorded an Erasure hit with all the proceeds going to support the Hetrick-Martin Institute, has there been any discussion amongst your network of engaged celebrities about coordinating efforts for a broader impact?

I think of Gaga a heroine and renaissance woman. The fact that she made such a generous monetary gift is quite laudable but my admiration for her is that she lives her truth and shares it with the world. As a result, she is touching countless disenfranchised people, who otherwise, would not have a voice. It is her selflessness which really amazes me. Andy Bell and others like him are further proof that there's a lot of good people in this world. Hopefully, the trend will continue gaining momentum, where more and more individuals will continue coming forward--speaking to all forms of injustice and make a broader and positive impact on our world.

My circle of friends are of the same mindset as me. Those with the financial means are either currently contributing or have been giving for quite some time now--both publicly and anonymously. Still others give their time as volunteers. In any case, I believe that we all gravitate toward each other because of this particular commonality. Right now, I am in the process of working with a few friends on an important project that will give greater exposure and speak to our pride and our efforts to level the playing field in terms of equality. Unfortunately, I can't say much else right now, so as to not compromise this group effort. Suffice it to say I am honored to be a part of this particular project

4) You are an icon whose appeal crosses all sorts of demographics, but I have been to numerous of your parties and there are many young, fashionable, gay men that idolize you and your work and hope to follow in your footsteps. What is the impact of your charitable work you'd like to see on this young party crew?

I am flattered that I'm considered an "icon". I think that I am merely a conduit to impart a message of hope and serve as a means of inspiration for others to tap into their own resources.
That said, it would be awesome to inspire the next generation to pass along the value of giving back. It's the most efficient way I can think of to help humanity to continually improve upon its condition.

5) What other causes are near and dear to your heart and how do you support those issues?

Aside from the Ali Forney Center, I'm a great proponent of The Trevor Project, GMHC, GLAAD, Live Out Loud and a myriad of others. I donate my time and artwork to these organizations in the hope ofcraising money for their causes. I also speak frequently at schools and colleges and conduct workshops to share my experiences in a practical environment.

6) Finally, where can folks buy your t-shirts? And where can people find out more about the exciting projects you might be working on next?

For more details about me and my projects, visit: www.mikeruiz.com.

My t-shirts are available online through the e-tailer Peppermint Park. For purchases, go to: www.peppermintpark.com/charity/details

In New York, the tees are also available at "TAGG", 720 Ninth Avenue and soon will be carried at "Any Old Iron" at 149 Orchard Street!

Thank you Mike for all of your work and your commitment to our community.

Mike Ruiz is a world-renowned photographer, who also happens to be a TV personality, former model, actor and director. Mike's lens has done a whole lot of zooming in and zooming out, while the world keeps a keen focus on his high-impact, surreal brand of celebrity and fashion photography.

Throughout it all, Mike's hard work, dedication and passion behind the camera gives him the opportunity to bring his message of hope to the forefront of all his efforts. Mike has a true sense of social responsibility and is always intent on giving back to the community. Among the countless organizations he supports, are GMHC, The Trevor Project, Housing Works, It Gets Better Campaign, Living Out Loud, Project Angel Food, GLAAD, and is on he honorary board of “Let There Be Hope” research foundation. He has gone so far as to create a t-shirt line that helps raise funds and awareness for The Ali Forney Center. Mike is also the communications consultant on The Men’s Sexual Health Project  36:00:00 for NYU School of Medicine. Mike is also a recurring motivational speaker at New York University, the Art Center College of Design, Brooklyn International High School and the College of Design in Sacramento.

In addition to his advertising and celebrity clients, Mike Ruiz has branched out as a director. He has produced music videos for artists, such as Vanessa Williams, Kelly Rowland, Jody Watley, Kristine W., Shontelle among others. Mike has also appeared on several reality shows. Such shows include Kathy Griffin's: My Life on the D-List; America's Next top Model and RuPaul's Drag Race, where he appears as a celebrity photographer and guest judge. He also rounded out the panel of expert judges on the third season of Canada's Next Top Model. Most recently, Mike is on the hit reality series, The A-List: New York, giving viewers a peek at his picture perfect LIFE...what's next on Mike's list? That is anybody's guess--but you can be sure there will be plenty more to come!

Lady Gaga, The Robin Hood Foundation, and the Hetrick-Martin Institute

Hey my friends! Take a minute to read this and cast your vote many many many times. I am a member of the Young Professionals Council of the Hetrick-Martin Institute. Please support our young people!

Lady Gaga and Robin Hood Foundation: $1 Million for NYC Youth

VOTE for HMI to win $500,000!

Starting today and continuing through 6:00 am eastern standard time Friday, May 6th vote for HMI to win $500,000!

In a historic initiative, LGBTQ activist and ground-breaking artist Lady Gaga has partnered with the Robin Hood Foundation to launch an interactive contest through Facebook, of which Hetrick-Martin is a principal partner!

Lady Gaga and Robin Hood are partnering to donate $1 million between five New York City-based youth services charities. Awards will be split determined by an online vote present on Lady Gaga’s Facebook page. The group receiving the most votes will win $500,000. The winner will be revealed on May 9th at Robin Hood’s annual gala.

This contest affords Hetrick-Martin the ability to provide counseling to more LGBTQ youth and their families, clothe more homeless LGBTQ youth from our onsite Pantry, administer more free HIV tests, and serve more meals in the Café. With young people coming out earlier than ever before, the need for our unique services has increased at an unprecedented rate.

To vote you must have a Facebook account. Voting is easy:
Step 1 Go to Lady Gaga’s Facebook page by clicking here
Step 2 Click “I Like” to be able to vote
Step 3 Click on the Vote tab and choose The Hetrick-Martin Institute
Step 4 Click on the submit tab to cast your vote

You can vote as many times as you want!

A donation of this amount can have a tremendous impact on HMI and the work we do providing a safe and supportive environment for LGBTQ youth to achieve their full potential.

How you can help:
VOTE for HMI, and vote frequently! Remember you can vote as many times as you want.
Forward this Facebook link to your friends, family and colleagues.
Post on your Facebook page, forward to your friends and Tweet about it.

To learn more about The Hetrick-Martin Institute, or to make a donation, please visit www.hmi.org

Loving and Letting Go

So, last summer my best friend, who happened to be a former boyfriend that I loved with all my heart, committed suicide. He had been in a sad place for a while, though, like most of us living through our own trials, what he saw as the things standing in his way, those things weighing on his spirit, were not as great as they felt to him. When he failed to achieve a goal he set out to do, the failure tore at him. He became a failure rather than having simply not had the resources, at the time, to do what he had set out to do. In the end, he could no longer see what everyone else could see: he was a beautiful and brilliant man that loved others and lifted others up in a way that I am not sure I am even capable of approximating. When Chris loved you, you knew what it was to have someone believe in you, totally, without compromise. He laughed at the silly and stupid masks we put on and, despite how good we thought we were at applying masks and cover up, he saw right on through it and loved what was underneath selflessly and absolutely. How could you not feel beautiful when someone loved you that way? With Chris loving me, slowly, I began to see past the face in the mirror...that distorted image of childhood trauma and low self-esteem...to that face that Chris saw. I caught glimpses of another Brandon...and when I couldn't see him...or believe in him...Chris believed enough for the both of us.

I know, though, that when I am in a place where it is hard to keep moving forward because everything feels heavy and hard, until I am able to find a vantage point that will truly let me put what I'm going through into perspective, all the love in the world isn't going to do it for me. What love does is give me strength to draw on to maybe take one more step. There were times when Chris was the love that got me through. Chris gave me the gift of allowing me to love him through hard times in the past. But last Summer, one night in July, my love wasn't enough. The last time I talked to him, the night before he died, he called me, and when I answered, he started crying and said, before hanging up the phone, that it was too hard for him to hear my voice. I know now that it wasn't Chris that called me that night. He may have dialed the number, but when I answered the phone, it was his mask that answered. It was the voice of what he perceived as his failures that shut down my beautiful Chris and plugged up his ears.

I didn't know that would be our last conversation. If I'd had even the tiniest moment of precognition, I would have kept him on the phone. I would have called him back, and if he didn't answer, I would have filled up his voicemail box with messages of love. And when the mailbox filled up, I would have texted him. I would have sent him silly pictures and inappropriate comments. I would have reminded him of all the awesome, stupid, happy, sad memories I have of our friendship. I would have filled up his inbox with anything and everything to try and shout down and crowd out those voices whispering ugly and hateful words into his spirit. And, if necessary, I would have called anyone within a 100 mile radius and had them drive to his house and held him until I could get to him myself. I would have rode Mimzy to Virginia if that is the only way that I'd had to get down there.

But, I didn't know that it was our last conversation, and less than twelve hours later, he was gone. When his boyfriend, who was staying with us that weekend, called to tell me, I didn't believe him at first. I actually thought that his boyfriend, also named Chris, must have misunderstood whatever message he'd gotten, but since he was obviously upset, I went into business mode, told him I would be back to the apartment shortly, and then hung up the phone. When I got back to the apartment, I sat, quietly, without saying much. I am not going at crying in front of other people, and Chris was in crisis, and if anything I am fucking amazing in crisis (so much so that I don't understand how to live outside of crisis mode...a fucked up way of being that keeps me in a cycle of self-sabotage...you always run back to what feels comfortable no matter how stupid it may be to do so). Though I may have had a calm face on the outside, in the inside, the whole time that I was trying to be present for Chris the Boyfriend, I was screaming inside. In fact, it got so bad that when tears started to come, I clamped down on them with a tremendous mental force because I knew that if I let the tears start that the screaming wouldn't just be inside, it would have be real. If I'd started screaming out what I was feeling, I am not sure when I would have been able to stop it. I was so sad and so angry. I wanted to go to Virginia and kick Chris' body until I could lift my leg anymore. I wanted to punch him in the face for being so fucking dumb and selfish. I wanted to take off of my belt and beat him until my arm cramped up for thinking that it was easier to pick up a gun than the phone. And once I had exhausted myself and rested, I wanted to find his parents and beat the shit out of them as well for not seeing how badly he was hurting and put his ass in a mental ward if that's what it would have taken. I wanted to find anyone that had ever hurt Chris and made him believe that those voices inside of him were telling the goddamn truth. Then I wanted to find God and kick the shit out of him too.

So, instead of doing all of that drama...I did what I do best. I stuffed all of my emotions deep deep deep down, labeled the box I put them in, and then tucked them into the deep freezer. Nothing like unresolved emotional issues ;-).

Fast forward to recently. Chris and I met in rehab. We both (him past tense struggled, me present tense struggle) with addiction. So, when I started going back to the fellowship of which we were both members, I spent most of my first meeting not thinking about my own shit...but remembering Chris. I remembered all of the love and encouragement he gave me when we were both starting out on this path together. And then came the survivor's guilt....but mostly...I just remembered him and let the memories run one into the other, which, would have been awesome, except one of my visions of Hell is breaking down crying, seemingly spontaneously, in front of 200 some odd folks in one room. I have a hard enough time crying by myself, at home, in the middle of the night, with the shades pulled and the lights off. Though the feelings aren't as overwhelming now, every time I walk into one of those rooms and sit down, Chris is right there and all of the sadness and love for him is right there too.

Today, when I was having coffee with Mark, with whom I usually attend meetings, I told him about Chris and who Chris had been, how he'd died, and what he meant to me. I told him about Honey Bun and how amazing she is and that she is thinking about going to Heaven soon. He listened. He heard me. I kept from completely crying, but a few tears leaked out, but Mark gave me permission to cry, which is a gift that I appreciate though I sure as Hell wasn't about to break down in the middle of Chelsea on a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon with half the gays in the city rolling through to get a non-fat skim milk light mocha coconut banana dark roast espresso latte americano frappe-gay-cino.

But it did help me realize that I still had some things I needed to let myself work through where Chris is related. It helped me admit and own that I have grief that I need to let go so that it doesn't continue to be something I use any means necessary to escape from...and I realized that if I told him that Honey Bun maybe leaving soon, if I asked for support now, that maybe when it's her time...I can let myself feel what I need to feel and then let those feelings go so that they do not become another excuse to self-medicate and numb myself. Especially since once that old bird is dead and has the ability to pop in whenever the Hell she feels like it, I am afraid that she would show up, switch in hand, and whoop my ass if I self-medicated to deal with her passing. I can hear her now, "Dumb ass Negro...you know better...and since you want to act simple...I am going to simply whoop your little black butt until the dumb is all beaten off of it."

Aright, I have half a dozen or more friends coming over in three hours for Easter dinner, and I have a mess of greens sitting by the sink that aren't going to cook themselves, so I better have at it. It's Easter, and Easter is about family, so I thought I had to make sure that Chris, my family, was remembered today. Love you.

Make that Change

Today, I changed my phone number.

It may not sound like much but it is a big deal. It's a huge deal, actually.

Minnesotans are the masters of passive aggressive behavior in all of its myriad incarnations. Indeed, we raise passive aggressiveness to a fine art.

I've written before about my struggle to stay the hell away from crystal meth. Addiction is a sneaky son-of-a-bastard, and the mind of one battling addiction is about as simple as chaos theory or finding a Fibonacci sequence in a fractal. My recent battle has not been without its set backs but compared to where I was a few months ago, the momentary setbacks that occur now and again are aberrations instead of impending patterns of doom.

For a queer man dealing with meth addiction, there are two great electronic enemies that can lead one quickly back to using: the computer (specifically online cruising sex sites) and cell phones. Let me be clear that I am not judging cruising sites. In fact, I think sex cruising sites are pretty damn awesome tools for negotiating consensual sex of all types and varieties if the person accessing the sites is able to maintain his boundaries and, in the case of addicts, is secure enough in his recovery to maintain a healthy distance from those that combine recreational sex and drug use. At this particular point in my recovery process, I am a long long way away from being able to safely access cruising sites. And, frankly, that is not really a problem. My cell phone, however, has been.

The cell phone is the other big electronic enemy, and it can be for many reasons. For those that have SmartPhones, the sex cruising sites are readily accessible, in fact, several of them have apps for both Android and the iPhone. For me, that isn't the problem. My problem is and has been the fact that when I am in a good place, I do the sensible thing and go through my phone and erase the phone numbers of folks with whom I have used or that I know use. That's a no brainer.

Here is where the passive aggressive piece comes in.

I learned long ago that I can make myself feel all good and shiny by deleting the numbers in my phone, all the while knowing that deleting the numbers is actually fairly useless, because I know that as long as the phone number itself stays the same, eventually, SOMEONE will text. Dealers are savvy, and if they haven't heard from a former client for a time, they are sure to check in. And folks with whom you may have connected in the past are likely to text or call at the most vulnerable of times. In fact, I have gotten into more trouble with my sobriety from former dealers or tricks texting or emailing at a time when I am emotionally vulnerable or, my other danger time, feeling extremely happy and content (nothing like a little self sabotage!) than from anything else. In fact, I can remember only a couple of times where I actually made a decisions to go out and use, tracked down a dealer, etc. All the other dumb moments came courtesy of a little electronic ditty announcing the arrival of an email, text, or phone call.

I have a kazillion times made the statement to myself or to David that I am going to change my phone number. I even got as far once as calling AT&T, but when they told me that they were out of 646 numbers, but I could keep my 646 if I went into the store, I hung up and never made the trip the six blocks to make the change in person. Besides that one aborted half attempt, I generally have talked myself out of it using every possible excuse from laziness (who wants to go through their contact list and text or call everyone to announce the change) or I decide that I can't possibly change my number because I am waiting for a call back from a job, or it was just posted on a flyer, or it's listed in this or that place and I might miss something important in the lag time between when I get my new number and when I can get it out into the world. Never mind that I almost NEVER get phone calls (texts are my main form of communication), and never mind that almost everyone that has my cell number also has my email address and/or is connected to my Facebook account. So, really, it's not like we are living in 1992 with a landline, no caller ID, using TelNet and the Gopher, and still hearing recordings when calling to order a pizza about rotary dial versus pulse dial phones.

I totally just dated myself. Yes boys and girls...there was a time before the 3G network...called the Pre-iPad Age when typewriters roamed the Earth and men and women wrote letters using paper, pens, and the U.S. Postal Service, the electronic version of Battleship was state of the art gaming, and the only thing an Apple computer was good for was playing Oregon Trail.

Ahhh the good old days. There is a dissertation just waiting to be written about the impact of the Internet age on addiction, sexual negotiation, HIV/AIDS, and the death of the club scene. Ohhhhh Gender and Women's Studies at the U of MN................

Oops...I got distracted...back to the point.

Today, I struck my inner addict a mighty blow. A blessing of having lost/destroyed two iPhones in recent months as well as having my computer hacked and crashed is that I lost my iPhone back ups. Most of the naughty numbers were permanently removed during that process. I triple checked my phone today to make sure that no borderline or possibly icky numbers remained anywhere in it, and then I called Apple and made the number change. The sweet woman on the phone took 15 minutes to FIND me a 646 number (after first telling me that they were all gone, then saying I would have a 347 number, then telling me THOSE were all gone, and I would have a 201 number--who ever heard of a 201 number?---she disappeared and when she returned she had a shiny new 646 number for me. She had to manually look through a spread sheet of phone numbers that (wait for it) are not listed in numerical order. Ummm. Duh. But I was very happy that she took the time to ease my transition a little by keeping me in the same phone number clan.

So, while for most folks, the act of changing a phone number is no big thing...for me...it is letting go of another way that my tricky tricky brain has used to maintain connections to a part of my life that I am trying to let go. They say its progress not perfection, which is basically a sucker punch to the face for this overachieving perfectionist, but learning to forgive myself and give myself the space to make mistakes and then LEARN FROM THEM is all part of this process of leaving behind those things that once served a purpose but now serve only to keep me from being the human being that I was put on this Earth to be.

Thanks to all of those folks that have loved me enough that I had the strength of spirit to pick up the phone and make that change today. I know that I have a stupidly ridiculous long ass way to go...but I am starting to believe that I might actually get there.

Fuck Cancer or Why Death is Stupid

PLEASE NOTE....THIS BLOG IS A PURE VENT/RANT. Proceed at your own risk.

Let's do a quick recap.

My cousin Jim died from leukemia in September 2008
My friend/mother of choice Mrs. Mona Harris died of colon cancer in 2009
My best friend Chris killed himself last summer
My beloved friend Tiffany died from a sudden heart attack at the ripe old age of maybe 43 last fall.
My Honey Bun (Aunt Sis) is dying from bone cancer and has been in and out of intensive care for the last month.

I am so fucking sick and tired of death and I have a special hatred of cancer. I get that death is a part of life. I understand and believe that this life is only part of our spiritual journey. I understand that everything, including myself, will die one day.

Fuck philosophy and all that esoteric go into the light bullshit. I want my friends and family in THIS life. Thank you very much. God has enough folks to entertain him and can hold off on collecting any more folks that I love for the next 50 years or so. Is that selfish? HELL YES!

I mean come on. Really come on. My Honey Bun has lived a full and beautiful life. That woman survived the segregated South and raised three beautiful children AND, when my Dad's Mama died at the age of 31 from leukemia, she and my great-granny raised my Dad. Until this bone cancer really started to affect her, Honey Bun was still cleaning houses to pay her bills. That woman has earned an easy retirement full of joy and the love of her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and her great-nieces and nephews. She should be sitting on her front porch in Ronceverte, WV drinking little glasses of wine or mason jars of blackberry brandy and telling us all stories about her life, embarrassing stories about our parents, and reminding us of how much beauty there is in our history despite the legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.

That woman should get to die peacefully without pain at around the age of 115...and until then she should be physically fit and living her life on her own terms just the way she always has. Let her drop dead because her heart is so full of joy it can't handle it anymore and stops beating.

The same goes for Mrs. Harris, Chris, Tiffany, and Jim. Bring them back and let them have the love and joy that they deserved! BRING THEM BACK RIGHT NOW (but not as zombies...that wouldn't be right). Stupid fucking Lazarus got to come back to life, and he didn't do shit to earn that.

I am just tired of death and pissed off by it. None of these people have left this life or are leaving this life because it was their time. They are leaving it because some asshole corporation spent years dumping toxins into the atmosphere and water and their bodies couldn't resist it. Chris is the exception, but don't get me started on the stigma of mental health, HIV and addiction, his death was just as unnatural as all the others. And Tiffany was a black woman in America...enough said.

I am tired of folks sending me pat sayings and religious bullshit about folks having moved on to glory. Yes. I understand that. I know that they are all happy, and I know my Honey Bun is going to have the biggest damn mansion of all when she gets to Heaven, her traveling shoes are going to be Manolo Blahnik's and her robe is going to be made by Elie Tahari. Great. Lovely. She's earned it. But that doesn't do a damn thing for those of us left behind.

And, newsflash, DEATH IS PERSONAL!

ALL DEATH IS ABOUT EVERY PERSON WHOSE LIFE HAS BEEN TOUCHED BY THE ONE THAT HAS PASSED ON! EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO THEIR PAIN AND GRIEF! NO ONE OWNS THE DEATH OF A LOVED ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE! NO ONE!

No one gets to negate my pain or sadness because his or her pain or sadness is greater. My mourning does not take away from, detract from, or lessen anyone else's.

I blame Nurse Jackie for this blog. That damn show is amazing, and the actors should all win Emmy's...and then they should hand them to me, so I can beat them all to death for making me cry. Those deaths would be justified. Just saying.

Anyway...there was no point to this blog entry besides venting some shit out. I feel much better now. Thank you.

The 2011 Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry

Dear Friends:

I am happy to announce the call for submissions for the second year of the Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry.

The Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry will be awarded to a poet that demonstrates the power of spoken word to address issues of class, sexuality and race in a way that transcends rhetoric and creates movement.

The winner will receive $300, and the winning poem will be published at My Feet Only Walk Forward (www.myfeetonlywalkforward.blogspot.com). Two honorable mentions will also be named.

The winner of the 2010 Carey Prize was Saymoukda Vongsay, who has also generously volunteered to make a donation in support of this year's prize.

I welcome other donations in support of the prize. If donations come in that exceed the prize total, I will increase the prize amount. There are very very very few prizes that support the work of spoken word artists, and I hope you will consider making a contribution. Donations can be made at the address provided below. Please make checks payable to David Berube (this is so that ya'll don't think I am trying to keep the moola for myself!).

About the Prize:

Alfred C. Carey was a hard working man from Northern Minnesota. He worked in construction, specifically roofing, while raising a family of 8, including three children not biologically his own. He represented a series of beautiful and sometimes hard contradictions in race, class, and history. He also, without a vocabulary around race and sexuality, accepted all of his children and grandchildren for who they were without judgment. This award is named in the honor of my grandfather who died in 1997.

Rules:

You may submit up to three poems no longer than a combined total of six pages double spaced.

You may also submit audio recordings in CD format. The recordings should not exceed 9 minutes in length.

Along with your submission please include a cover page that states your: Name, Address, Telephone Number, Email Address, Website Address, and a brief biography of no more than 6 sentences.

ALL SUBMISSIONS MUST BE POSTMARKED BY JUNE 30, 2011. WINNERS WILL BE ANNOUNCED JULY 15, 2011.

Authors retain all copyright to their works, and if you would like samples returned, please include a self-addressed stamped envelope.

Make submissions to:

Alfred C. Carey Prize in Spoken Word Poetry
c/o Brandon Lacy Campos
462 W. 52nd Street #3N
New York, NY 10019

Addiction, HIV, and the Healing that We Need: A Community Call to Action

Let me go on ahead and give a testimonial up in this piece for a minute. I am a recovering meth addict. And while there was an element early on, back in the late 90s, when I was bedazzled by the glam party boys at the club, my meth addiction had nothing to do with that. Meth came later, post HIV, and my meth addiction had everything to do with the mind blowing numbing power of the drug, the power of the drug to let me feel beautiful, wanted, loved, in control, powerful...for as long as the high lasted, I was Superman and all the bull shit of the world just bounced off of my chest.

Let me preach on this for a minute. I know you all are the choir but sometimes the choir needs to hear the sermon too. When you grow up a man of color in a country that is designed to shut you up and, if it can't, lock you away...when you come out in a queer community where, at least where I was from, you are told to your face, “Sorry...you're cute...but I don't do black/brown/not-white,”....when you are targeted and tokenized...when you are outside peeking in....any thing that resembles a key or a pathway to acceptance becomes very attractive and BECAUSE we did not then and still do not love each other deeply, fearlessly, strongly, toughly, wholly enough...we do not give ourselves nor those that are coming after us the spiritual or communal strength to love themselves despite what the world or anyone in it has to say about the matter.

If we want to see an end to the spread of HIV, if we want to see the end of addiction, if we want to see beautiful brown, black, red, and yellow men loving each other wholly, beautifully, powerfully, then we need find a way to build each other up spiritually and communally...all the prevention messages in the world don't mean SHIT without the work to heal the wounds that most of us are born with....I knew all about condoms and how to protect myself from HIV. But when faced with a moment (even illusory) of feeling whole, wanted, loved, and accepted....I was wiling to give up just about anything to have that moment.

This isn't about some "gay party and sex" ethos. That idea is dismissive and simplistic. It is also a shiny, pretty masquerade masking what's really going on beneath the surface. What's really going on underneath is a world, despite the GLAAD Media Awards, despite Ricky Martin coming out, despite Ugly Betty and Will & Grace, despite gay cruises and gay carnivals, despite the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, despite the right to mimic failed heterosexual relationship structures as evinced through state sponsored marriage, despite a welcoming church here and there, despite “It Gets Better,” and despite all the superficial bullshit where queer people, queer people of color and especially genderqueer and trans people of color are targeted, wounded, hurting, marginalized, isolated and struggling--at least for a good chunk of their first two decades of life. And, my friends, don't get it twisted, each and every one of us knows that what happens to us in the first 20 years of life is most likely what we are going to spend the last 60 years of our lives trying to heal...if we have the privilege to do so and if we live long enough.

So, when I read half-assed assertions about what is REALLY needed to curb meth addiction, when I read folks that have never struggled with addiction coming up with the same old tired solutions to dynamic issues of mental health and spiritual wounding, I really want to start screaming. The fact is that the solution to meth addiction is not MORE FEAR. It is not MORE JUDGMENT. It is not MORE SHAME. It is not simplistic answers to a complicated problem. And there is no single solution for an addiction and a wounding that is absolutely personal. When one goes into the emergency room with chest pains, the doctor doesn't apply the same diagnostic and healing plan that she gave to the patient just before you with chest pain. Your healing path is personal and specific to the nuances that are you. Some of the techniques applied may be universal, but the situations of each surgery are unique and require specialized care. The same is true of addiction, and don't let anyone tell you differently.

With all my heart, I wish that the moment any queer and/or trans person of color turned 18---before we send them out into the adult world--, they were whisked off to a magical queer camp where for a year they are given the tools and the love, and lots and lots and lots of therapy, to start undoing the hurt that they have already, inevitably, received.

So let me ask you to join me in figuring out a real solution. I am going to talk to my friend Maurice Jamal, the folks at the Audre Lorde Project and a couple of other folks and see if we can pull together a series of long term discussions in queer/trans communities of color, with queer/trans people of color, facilitated by queer/trans people of color, to try and find long term solutions not to addiction but to the root causes that lead to addiction. HIV and Addiction are symptoms. The symptoms need to be addressed but until the underlying wound is healed, no matter how much love and support is thrown at the symptoms, they are going to keep returning. I, for one, am tired of the symptoms. I am ready for healing---and I can't do it by myself.

Aries Birthdays!

Good lord almighty. Nine months ago this weekend, about 2/3rds of my friend's parents were knocking boots and making babies. Last night I had five birthday party invitations and I knew of seven birthday parties taking place in various spots in New York City. The ungodly reality of the subway in New York on the weekend is that at any given time about half of the trains aren't running due to "track and service upgrades," so for any party not taking place in Manhattan, I was able to decline and blame it on the MTA. In fact, one party that I am really sad to have missed, my friend and co-NYAC board member Tanya Paperny's, sounded like it was going to be an amazing artistic and debaucherous romp of an evening. Unfortunately, it was going to be an hour both ways to and from the party, and with a number of parties taking place last night, I just couldn't do it. Or, to be more realistic, if I took my ass on an hour train ride to the outskirts of Brooklyn there was no way in Hell that I was coming back in time for anything except to take my ass to bed.

By luck and great fortune, three groups of my friends, all independent of one another, converged for post-birthday party cocktails at G Lounge in Chelsea. Though there are nearly 9 million people living in New York (exactly 4,783,1232 of them are queer), it is a small city sometimes. After hitting up my gal pal Briana's super fab 30th shin dig at Bourbon Street near my apartment, I joined the group convergence down at G Lounge.

It was pretty much my most fun evening out since moving to New York. I got to see some amazing good people (Kirk, La Marr, Barbie, and Tim to name a few!) and I met a number of other great folks between the two spots. Not going to lie, I made out with a couple of folks last night....and I was glad to have done it. The energy was amazing, and it was one of those moments in life when good people intersect with you, and the chemistry was such that a little lip action was a celebration of the spirit of the moment (as well as being pure carnal deliciousness). In fact, I am super excited to get to know better a couple of the folks I met last night.

I was supposed to meet up with my friend Kenyon and his people in town from New Orleans, but time got away from me, and I knew that if I hit another club, I would be in rough shape today. I stuck to wine last night, and I also made sure to eat and pace myself. Even with all of that, I woke up this morning saying, "John Dillinger tote bags!" After which I projectile vomited the combination of two pizza slices and a bowl of Basic Four with soy milk that I ate right before going to bed. It was the food and not a hangover that caused the vomitaring, but it wasn't cute. And now I really have to do laundry ;-)

Anywho...all's quiet on the Westside this afternoon. David and Mimzy are in Connecticut so that Mimzy can have her follow up cooter examination at the vet, and I am indulging my new addiction: Pocket Frogs. Thanks for an awesome evening last night New York City.