Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Free Will Versus God's Micromanagement of Man

The much abridged version originally published on the Male Media Mind


I haven’t written in awhile and so much shit has happened! If I were to back track I would have to go back to a couple of weeks in early March. I was having an exceptionally crappy day at work and despite the fact I was dog tired by the end of the day and despite the fact it was raining cats and dogs, I decided to fulfill my vow of going to the gym. However, when I got there I realized I was too tied to get out of the car nevertheless run laps. I decided to take a cat nap in the parking lot of the gym. I was asleep for about maybe 10-15 minutes before this almost inhumanely loud clap of thunder woke me up and scared the shit out of me. I tweeted that I was debating on whether that clap was a sign from God to go ahead and run some laps or to just go back home. I decided to go to the gym since I was already there. Supposedly Jóga (yes, Jóga of the, “I don’t fuck with Jóga anymore” fame) posted on his Facebook page that he heard the loudest thunder he had ever heard in his life. And while I was on the treadmill trying to wake myself up by running a couple of miles on the treadmill while imagining performing a live concert, singing songs by Beyonce and Lady Gaga, Jóga arrived for his shift at his job. Shortly after he arrived he collapsed. Frightened, everyone on the vicinity called the ambulance when they couldn’t revive him. They got him in the ambulance and rushed him to the emergency room. However, on the way to the hospital… he had a heart attack. And believe me, it is as hard to report as it is to believe. Jóga died. Like… died. Died dead. He was 33 years old. Jóga. It doesn’t make since. It’s just something… I would have never… ever... Dead. Not sick. Not a warning sign to maybe watch his diet and stop smoking, just snap your fingers and he’s just… gone. 

Thursday, February 27, 2014

The Naked Truth

Originally posted in The Monthly Breeze


Once upon a time ago in a galaxy called Hollywood, your favorite upwardly immobile African American homosexual in an unbridled show of affection and horniness for his boyfriend allowed himself to be photographed in the buff. And we're not talking Playboy "Art" shots with soft lighting or a furry kitten gently resting upon dramatically lit supple skin. We're talking full boogie post coital open orifice money shots with vodka bottles, audio cassette cases and that old "Isobel" poster of Björk kissing herself in the background. And as is the nature of everything regrettable done in life, at the time… it was great, it was nasty, it was FUN. Years later after sobering up/growing up I now consider it to be stupid, stupid, stupid. I recently came upon these pictures not too long ago while perusing some old backup files I have kept over the years. I have always considered these pictures to be the bane of my existence and the anchor to an otherwise aerial life. I imagined my eventual happiness to have the obligatory Halle Berry/Sandra Bullock Oscar suffix whereas the greatest thing in the world happens only to be followed by the worst thing in the world to happen. There I am, Toni Morrison giving me a hug after I accept my Nobel Peace Prize, then the next morning, there I am on the front cover the LA Times, all of the 400 pounds that I was at the time, with parts of my body showing that typically only my proctologist, my ex-boyfriends or a few lucky gentlemen down in Atlanta during 2009 pride have seen with the headline, "BREEZE IN THE BUFF" or "BIG BREEZE TINY DICK" or "NOBEL REVOKES PRIZE STATING, 'THAT AIN'T NOWHERE NEAR PEACEFUL!'"

Saturday, February 22, 2014

The Anatomy of Freedom: The United Mistakes of American Free Speech

Originally posted on the Male Media Mind


This is a love story. The object of affection is Freedom and the endless, tiresome, interminable and sometimes fruitless pursuit of it. It begins with the Male Media Mind (M3) blog, an online resource portal dedicated to unifying the Black Bear community through dialogue, insight, creativity and knowledge.  As a facilitator for some of M3's social media outlets, I have seen a countless number of suitors try to court Freedom in the most heavy-handed, juvenile and impotent manners possible. Much like a little boy approaching a grown woman with a handful of muddy dandelions in an effort to accumulate a quantifiable relationship, patron after patron have approached us with abominable posts ripe with vulgarity, derision and abhorrence in an effort to cohabitate with the forum of free speech that we provide, only to be summarily smacked down with the intonation of, “We have no need for your shitty weeds little boy, grow up, try harder then come back.”

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Love on Top... and Bottom (and sometimes Versatile)

Originally posted on Male Media Mind


While navigating through the emotional highways and byways of my current relationship, I have inevitably (and sometimes irritably) stumbled upon the vestiges of past relationships; both torturing and amusing myself by the lessons learned and the mistakes made. One relationship in particular that was questionably over-documented in conversations and journals (both public and private) is the one I shared for several years with a gentlemen I have always referred to as Dean.

While malady coursed through pretty much every aspect of that relationship, one of the main issues (that many of the other problems eventually funneled down into) was our shared passive aggressive navigation of sexual practices. We fell into the eternal quandary that has stifled, quelled and exasperated male homosexual couples since the beginning of time, “Who is going to be the top? Who is going to be the bottom?”

Monday, February 03, 2014

Silent All These Years

So I'm writing a piece for this Black Bear inclined blog that I have been ever so lucky to be acquainted with and the piece requires me to do a bit of self reflection and take a few nostalgic (and uncomfortable) trips down memory lane. Mainly when it comes to my dealings with the ever (in)famous Notaboyfriend... Dean. The whole excursion combined with the recent manscaping of my grey wool inclined face has definitely pushed the idea of my own mortality into the forefront of my thoughts lately with the main theme being; what EXACTLY have I been doing all this time? 

The Anatomy of Freedom: No Pants Subway Ride

Originally posted in The Male Media Mind

 

What type of person would voluntarily ride public transportation without pants? Well if you were to judge based on the jovial atmosphere created by the thousands of worldwide knickers wearing commuters on Sunday, January 12, 2014 your answer could possibly be, what type of person wouldn’t want to voluntarily ride public transportation without pants?

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Breeze's Malaise

I am so out of sorts today. I feel like I just tripped on the road of life. I’m self-conscious and paranoid and jittery. Somewhere I took a misstep and wound up at this weird place on the side of the road. I think I can get back on track but my mind keeps obsessing  about life in the worst case scenario; the beautiful combustible heap that it would be... to just give up, let it all go to shit, be some obese homeless dude on skid row over ridden with STDs and razor bumps… just fuck it all… throw out my condoms, throw out my Body Shop Honey and Oat exfoliator along with any futile hope of obtaining some semblance of a career or love life… damn it all to hell! I’ll be “that” guy… the urban legend people will tell to their friends who have hopes of making it big when they come to Los Angeles. I’ll be a stop on some hipster bus tour of downtown L.A. as they take pictures with their Androids and iPhones and iPads of me and the other inhabitants of the avenue of broken dreams and feces pillows. We all would know at least one Madonna song by heart. We all would have at least one screenplay under our belt. We all would have been to the House of Blues at least one time.

Saturday, February 09, 2013

Loving Smart Not Hard

I can also tell you that last night, for the first time in a really, REALLY long time, I thought about kissing Dean.  I can honestly tell you that I tried doing that on other occasions but could never bring myself to do it. I fast forwarded past some sort of sitcom worthy scenario that would bring us together and I kissed him. And then we fucked. I imagined him trying to hold onto me when I tried to leave, he wanted me to stay. I imagined that I just broke down crying uncontrollably and sobbing through the tears, “You have no idea exactly how much I love you! You don’t get it! You don’t believe me! After all this time! You have no idea exactly how much I care for you!” In my mind he said something to the effect of, “What do you want me to do Breeze?” and I started saying in singsong, “Love me back” over and over and over again until I woke up, still mouthing those words.