Lavender Moments/8 more minutes

Keith Sprewer: i think a kiss on the neck feels... purple. a warm purple. You know that moment when you close your eyes and it feels... to me purple.

KLB: Ahhhhhh. I think green is my color. But I don't think sensuality with green—I think balance

Keith Sprewer: green? I can see that

Keith Sprewer: so you know what i'm taking about?

KLB: o yes

Keith Sprewer: good

KLB: purple. good color. esp in a rainbow of lavender

Keith Sprewer: yes, you do get it!

KLB: yeah. i like it

KLB: bravo!

Keith Sprewer: but lavender is cool, it's more like holding hands which is nice in it's own way

KLB: it is!

Idealistically I wanted to be making lavender love moves on Jerome all night. But he hasn’t replied to any of my messages since Sunday. I coulda gone out and had an orgy—with whom I’m clueless but I feel the need to be wild until sunrise, put back on my glasses and become my normal Clark Kent. I don’t know why I think love-making is essential for events such as New Years and Birthdays and Obama becoming President. Why am I so insistent to mark these occasions by boy-on-boy kissing?

I can hear my grandchildren now,

“Papa Kenny…”

“Yesss”

“Where were you when Barack Obama became President?”

“Well…you see…I was kissing Papa WomiE,” and I’m sure I’d be blushing to the brim. I’mma sucker for telling such stories.

But alas I kissed no one for President elect Barack Obama and I will be kissing no one for the invasion of the new year. whomp whomp.

What I did do (and AM doing) in my last few hours of the last day in 2008 is come home early from work, called Damon to remind him he was beautiful at work, checked email, gripped at how Vinny left the heat turned up, the exhaust fan blasting in the bathroom and on microwave above the stove, how he turned on a ceiling fan because the heat was so high (when he could’ve easily adjusted the heat to not have been so hot), ate a very cold and quite soggy Subway rendition of a tuna sandwich, listened to Peter the Pitter-Pattering squirrel scurry in the walls overhead and blogged. Hmmm…8 more minutes.

Happy New Year!

Did I mention...???

2 o’clock in the morning Pilsen smells like tortillas chips. At least on Cullerton street it does. I live across the street from Milagro, a popular Pilsen neighborhood restaurant, and I think at night, by the way the neighborhood smells, they make their tortillas.

The bus tonight drove like it had a gimp leg—it lagged in between stop signs and rested at every stop light even after the light had changed green. Green means go, Mister Bus driver. My normal 15 minute commute home took 15 extra minutes tonight. Vomit! I nearly died waiting to snuggle up next to my laptop. Thank you Jehovah I’m home.

December has been a really busy month. I haven’t had a lot of “think” time this month. All of my creativity was put on hold when they announced at work that Deborah Thornton died, my manager who’s been on sick leave since the summer, when she was diagnosed with cancer. They were saying that Deborah had been fighting to get back to work. They were saying that her treatment was going well and she was going to return soon after the thanksgiving holiday. But she died instead.

At her funeral I sat next to Damon, the cute boy at work, until he left early. The only thing I wanted to bypass was having to see Deborah in her coffin. Vocalist One stepped up to the podium and sang, Vocalist Two did the same. Someone stood up and read a poem—something hard-rhymed and forgettable. There wasn’t much crying. I saw John Rummell (Deborah’s Boss) and his wife a few rows ahead of me when the pastor then approached the microphone. He attempted a few words of encouragement for the family though there were several moments in his speech did I believe had Deborah been alive to hear she would’ve laughed he, he.

I entered the chapel and her coffin was closed. I felt relieved until the end of the ceremony when it was opened and we were ushered row by row to the front to view the body. No one ever looks like themselves sitting in a coffin. Deborah looked smaller than her normal broad-shouldered-woman-self. She was never petite but she wasn’t husky and she was never soft. Deborah had stiff elbows and knees and knobs and if she ever decided to wear flannel for Halloween she’d be a soldier of a lesbian or lumberjack. She had a healthy baritone of a laugh and she laughed he, he instead of ha, ha always showing the off-white of her teeth. I enjoyed Deborah… but in the coffin she looked to be sinking, smile melting down her face, just sinking.

I saw Jerome yesterday. I persuaded him into watching the latest Batman Flick The Dark Knight, though I didn’t have the movie, he agreed to see me. Instead of The Dark Knight I brought over a few of my favorite films, a few of which I know he’s seen, a couple of the movies we’ve watched together and then there was one of my favorite movies William Wyler’s The Heiress which Jerome has never seen. (I quote from this movie all the time) So we watched it.

Jerome stays on the 16^th floor now in that tall luxurious building he and Therronjella became roommates in. The extra spacious 2 bedroom villa on the 31^st floor with southeast views of the lake and city that Jerome shared with Therronjella has now been downgraded to a squat studio dwelling on a remedial floor with remedial views of rooftops and beach edges minus the no-rent-paying-roommate Therronjella. We sat on a sofa which smelled like smoke. Jerome hasn’t quit it seems. But I realized while holding his hand, pretending to watch Olivia play Katharine, and crying, that I could love him forever…because I could hold his hand forever…because I could watch him forever.

I have this recurring image of walking along the sunrise, pushing Jerome in a wheelchair and we’re both old as shit. The sky is fire and orange and popsicle pink and yellow and there’s water under the sky and its silver but murky and we’re toddling along this wooden trail over what maybe sand or gravel and we seem infinite. I’ve resulted, while watching him, that Jerome will smile the same in his old age. No one will love that smile like me—half whiz kid, half bewildered. I’ve resulted that Jerome will probably have those same sorry yet complete eyes.

In the future I’ve seen for myself without Jerome there’s stardust and fame and glamour and glitz and unpredictability. I would make art and be art and live a career without brackets to my potential. The life I would have with Jerome would be subtle, everyday a blue sky however very white picket fenced. We would buy a house in the suburbs or at best own a snazzy condo in downtown Chicago. We’ll get a dog, adopt some children. I’ll be a teacher, Jerome will thrive in corporate America. I won’t necessarily make art and I won’t be art but I’ll be consistently happy. And though a life of unpredictable glamour is enticing…I would rather hold WomiE’s hand.

Did I mention he was crying too?

KLB: Update

I have been out of the loop for a while. I spent one week writing and assisting Karen and my Lesbian with their term papers, spent another involved with the new Gay Black Channel on Youtube (working with them now), and then I've been hungry on the job hunt. Did I mention we had a meeting at work and Upper management came in and told us to get our resumes ready--the bank isn't doing so well. Damn, right?

Tonight I'm coming home to write myself a cover letter for this REALLY cute position I found at this University! I feel SO optimistic...but right now I have to get ready for work...BLAH!! Will do some updating later this week but no later than this weekend! I MISS you all!

Oh yeah, I think I discovered a way to bring audio posting to the blog for about 10 bucks a month. Hmmmmm...that might be a tad too heavy for my budget. Anything over a dollar is pricey nowadays. But, we'll see. I'll work something out. I'mma survivor!

iCiao!

A Conversation with Tim'm West

Back in 1988, the world Health Organization and U.N. General Assembly first declared December 1 World AIDS Day. This year marks the 20th anniversary of the annual event dedicated to remembering those we've lost to the virus and to recommitting with vigor to the fight against AIDS. In the past two decades, the virus has claimed the lives of 20 million people. The deaths of people HIV/AIDS have grown to more than 2 million each year. It's only recently, thanks to the lifesaving antiretroviral drugs currently available to HIV-positive people, that the number of annual deaths caused by HIV has begun to decline - poz.com....get tested, World AIDS Day December 1st.

-BGC

These are the facts: Tim’m West was born on July 6, 1972 in Cincinnati, Ohio and not in Taylor, Arkansas which is a common misconception. He completed his BA at Duke University, earned his first MA in Liberal Studies/Philosophy from the Graduate Faculty of the New School for Social Research in 1998 and another MA in Modern Thought & Literature from Stanford in 2002. The intro to his website, reddirt.biz, introduces Tim’m first as a “Poet”, in glowing words on a dark, fading marquee. In succession the marquee reads: Poet, Motivational Speaker, Emcee, Hip Hop Scholar, Author and Educational Consultant, click here to enter. His résumé is also pretty extensive:

“Tim’m has taught on the post-secondary level as an instructor of Writing Pedagogy classes at Eugene Lang College of The New School (nyc) and as an instructor in Stanford University’s first-year Writing and Critical Thinking Program. On the secondary level, he served as the Department Chair of English and Creative Writing at the Oakland School of the Arts before relocating to Washington, DC where he taught in the English Department of the Cesar Chavez Public Charter High School for Public Policy, as well as being a High School Coordinator for College Summit, Inc.”

His artistic efforts include Flirting, Tim’s latest book that follows his chapbook, BARE: notes from a porchdweller, which chronicles his move from California to DC, his new hopes, and his new loves. And in 2004, Tim’m released Songs from Red Dirt on Cellular Records, a musical complement to his first book, 2002’s Red Dirt Revival: a poetic memoir in 6 Breaths.

Ken: When did you first pick up a pen or spit your first rhyme or mentor your first mentee? When did you realize that you were going to become Tim'm West?

TW: There was this point in kindergarten when we went on a field trip to Nelson's Potato Chip Factory (Little Rock, AR). My family had just been evicted and moved to a new neighborhood, new school, new dilapidated house on a hill. Financially, we were struggling and I remember going on the field trip: new kid on the block, a bit withdrawn and shy for not having the clothes and house that some kids did. When asked at the factory where we were, I raised my hand and answered the host's (rather simple) question correctly. I received a huge bag of potato chips that fed my mom and sibs for that night. I was followed home that afternoon by a dozen or so kids and all of a sudden became "popular". More than the recognition of popularity, I think it was when I first recognized that I had some smarts and that using them in the right way could help me achieve great things. Beyond overcoming poverty and race, I later came to use the same survival strategies to combat sexism, homophobia, and AIDSphobia. So in some ways, I think I knew that I was born for this, this changemaking, this pathfinding, this journeymanning, this next revolution. I'm still answering questions bravely and with whatever truth I have in me. So far it's continuing to yield great things. If today was my last, I'd feel like I'd done some really remarkable things. Still, I think I'm early in the journey.

Ken: When did you recognize that you had the power to influence? What responsibilities if any came along with gaining that power?

TW: Hmmm. I haven't given much thought to my influence, because it's never intentional. There are those who see themselves as influencers, whose objective it is to influence. I arrived at the revelation through hindsight. People have always gravitated to me, so the power of influence is something that I had to accept, and with it comes a great deal of responsibility. I've thought most about influence as a teacher. An OUT gay-identified black male in the urban schools where I've taught, I was forced to be a lot more cognizant about "influence" given the negative cultural messaging about the "gay agenda" and its influence on youth. Fortunately, I had the support of Administrators to be just "do me". My best teaching happens when I'm not in hiding; and regardless of what people say, teens are especially curious about the personal lives of their teachers. Being closeted isn't an option when you're a well-known artist, and some of the students were already familiar with me. If nothing else, I wanted my students to feel loved, that someone genuinely cared about them, that my standards were going to be high, because I wanted to send them into the world capable and driven to beat the obstacles that would face them, and I wanted to challenge their thoughts about manhood and masculinity and envision it as something different than, perhaps, they'd seen or experienced. Among my greatest "fans" are the hundreds of students I've taught and mentored over the years. I'm as proud of that influence as I am of anything else I've done. Many of them are now activists (though most, not BGLT/SGL) who will continue to advance Social Change influenced by my teachings about justice, and what it means to treat others with dignity and respect.

Ken: What was the first thing you had ever written?

TW: I wrote some poem inspired by Walt Whitman about a pond I lived near when I was 12 or 13, but there's no evidence of it. I tried to capture some of that energy in "Coming to Writing", which is a prose piece in Red Dirt Revival. I don't even think I kept it. My first writing that I still have record of was a poem, Negation, which was published in "Red Dirt Revival". It remains one of my favorite pieces. I'm sure I wrote lots of stuff as a teen, but struggling so with my sexuality meant tearing a lot of that work up. I fought hard not to accept myself for much of my early life; and I'm fighting as hard to maintain self-acceptance. I'm a happier person for it. Poetry, growing up, was largely an escape from a world that seemed all too oppressive on so many fronts. This may sound really twisted, but I sometimes wonder if I'd even want to write once everything is completely "right" in my life. Unrest drives much of my writing, even when it's joyful or optimistic. I do hope to retire writing, cuddle up with a cute guy or girl, watch my kids grow up. I just think my writing will have to find new inspiration, but look forward to that.

Ken: You stated in an interview that your mother is one of your greater influences. Having grown up in, as you described, a pretty religious family, your mother being a devoted preachers wife, what was it like describing to your family, particularly your mother, your sexual orientation?

TW: I'm both a mama's boy who is my father's son. There's a portrait of my family. I was about ten and standing between them both. It's significant because I have 8 sibs. I look like both of my parents, and I've uncomfortably embraced many of their attributes: my mother's hopefulness and intelligence, my father's emotionality and masculinity. I found it easier to come out to my parents about my childhood molestation than about being gay. My father's first comment was "at least you didn't become no faggot behind it", so I knew coming out would happen later. Once I got to college I knew I'd come out, though it wasn't an easy task then. I officially came out to my mother when she visited me during a parent's weekend (Freshman Year). She was a bit shocked and yet seemingly relieved, for I think it explained a lot of the depression I experienced as a teen. She was clear that she wanted me to be happy, even though she also made clear her religious understanding (that homosexuality was a sin). She said that while she didn't understand it that she loved me. It was more than so many get and I was relieved. She let it be about me and suspended her issues and has slowly worked to a point of acceptance. My dad and I weren't communicating while I was in college. He showed up at my graduation at Duke. I had a boyfriend at the time, so that's how I came out to him. His biggest concern was that my partner Anthony, was older, and masculine, so he was concerned that I still be "the man". Because I'm my father's son-- masculine in the ways he raised me-- he seems okay. My dad doesn't' even so much have issues with effeminate men; he just doesn't' want his sons to be... Which I've had to process. I'm clear that his issues are rooted in gender. Our relationship has improved and, to my knowledge, his ministry is open and affirming of people for are BGLT/SGL. It's still a journey. It took me nearly 20 years to come to full acceptance, so I imagine that my family members will have their "process". My siblings are EXTREMELY supportive, so that helps.

Ken: How did your mother respond to your HIV status? Your father? Your family.

TW: Funny that you mention that. There's a famous letter published in "Red Dirt Revival" to my mother, where I decided that becoming HIV positive necessitated a second "coming out", not about HIV, but about how my first coming out was more less a one-sided "telling" and that it was expected that knowing was enough: no questions about my life, my partner(s), my friends, or any of the "gay stuff". In the letter, I talk about how the relative secrecy and shame around my sexuality led to some bad decision-making with regard to sex. When you can't share who you aspire to love with those you love, it can lead to a great deal of carelessness and lack of accountability. In many gay relationships, the lack of accountability leads to shiftless promiscuity, because there are little to any consequences for just walking out. I suppose that's one reason why coming out about HIV/AIDS was also couched in a relationship that I was in at the time that had given me a great deal of hope for living. How could I hide that love from the people I loved most? Everyone has been very supportive since, moving further beyond the "don't ask, don't tell" ethic we'd had even after my coming out to a "tell what you wish for us to know". I'm still gauging what's important for me to share and probably still hold a lot back. When I was last partnered, they knew his name and I'd talk about out trips places, our home, etc... When the relationship ended though, I dealt with it in silence. That was harsh, and I would have liked to have more support, but I felt like I failed them when the relationship failed. I wanted to be a positive representation of a functional gay relationship, but realize that even my siblings straight relationships have experienced challenges, divorce, etc...

Ken: Can you walk me though that moment?

TW: It wasn't so much a moment, because I wrote a letter and sent it home. I suppose that I didn't have to deal with consequences of the letter directly, though I have always wondered about the conversations my family has had about it. I later published "Letter to Mom and the fam", and asked for my mother's permission to make it public. It has helped a lot of people (mothers and sons in particular). I suppose some additional context is that I discovered that I had full-blown AIDS after testing positive, and was warned about the threat of a supervirus. That said, I was disclosing to my family out of urgency, not unlike those heroic black gay writers like Assotto Saint, Essex Hemphill, Joe Beam, Melvin Dixon, Donald Woods, Marlon Riggs, who didn't have the luxury of time to further mask their experiences. I wanted for my family to REALLY and TRULY know me. While the medication today has bought me more time, I still write with that sense of urgency. That moment made me braver, so I often don't feel the fear and anxiety until after I've already said what I believe needs to be said. Related, I'm most nervous after performances. LOL

Ken: What made you strong enough to confront all those associated emotions of grappling with this disease, dealing with your family, dealing with yourself and still having to project this cool, collected, banjeeboy image. Who's shoulder did you cry on? Who's advice did you rely on?

TW: I have a strong faith. I have good friends, though I often alienate them when I'm most low. I deal with a lot of things myself, because I don't want to seem a burden to anyone. I'm learning that it's not healthy and how to ask for help, support, a shoulder to lean on. I fear that if I depend on someone and they fail me, that I'll be crushed. I'm a fragile guy who has become hardened for my own protection... Still, the core is warm, loving, compassionate... Just not so trusting anymore.

Ken: How has your status affected the way you perform your art, create your art? Think your art?

TW: My HIV status is a health condition, so while it's not something that is at the forefront of my mind each moment of each day, there's seldom a day when I don't think about it at all. To that extent, it fuels my writing and performance without completely defining or overwhelming it. I'm also black and gay/queer-identified, and an athlete, and teacher, and lots of other things. Those things are a part of my creative work as much as HIV/AIDS. I hope that we can start looking at HIV the way we look at other diseases and without the added stigma and shame that is largely responsible for its continued spread.

As a black gay hip hop artist -slash- emcee –slash- author –slash- the rest of the laundry list of adverbs used to describe Tim’m West I would like to add influential. And those are just the facts.