Premature accolades! The Pitcher will be back!
What should we talk about this session? Racism? Sexism? Homophobia? Eurocentricism? Second-generational privilege? Polyamory?
I’m gonna re-read everything and compile a list of Really Good Posts for people to re-chew.
To you who are reading:
Well, this has been an interesting experience.
As you probably have noticed, this community blog has not received much updating since December 2008. This is partly due to the fact that I had decided, some time in December, to let the project run its natural course by ceasing promotion.
I think it’s had a good run. It certainly has satisfied some (of my own) curiosity regarding the finer thoughts of the people who are around me. Needless to say, many important LGBTQ-related issues were addressed here.
Thank you, those of you who contributed.
Everything that was ever written will remain for archival purposes.
Yours sincerely,
Jade
(Also, before I forget:
Blog life duraion: August-December, 2008 (5 months)
Total views: 13,219
Posts: 88
Comments: 362
Categories: 8
Tags: 231
Contributors (regular): 26)
love letters that didn’t make it.
Davis,
Blind trust in a blind world, and all I can wish for you after tomorrow is all that you have so generously bestowed upon me. Love, loyalty and friendship, all bound into one ever-giving circle. Your heart, your crown, and your hands. But even though you are gone, even though you are now back in your city so familiar and yet so foreign to me, even though you are out of sight, you are most certainly not out of mind. I sit at home, in my empty room and wonder if years later, when I come back to this city, to this country, after I have moved on and discovered another life to live, will the trees where we laid down every summer morning remember us? Will they remember our story and whisper back to me through the wind, that our love has kept them alive over all these years? Will any of the old baristas at the coffee bistros still be there when I walk in? Will they recognize my face? A face weathered by time and loss, and remember the hours that we would spend in our corner, reading to one another, me in your arms and your hands in mine? Or will our days together be forgotten, scaled down to a few pages in the novel’s that are our lives, perhaps even shortened down into one small paragraph in an untitled chapter? Whatever happens, I know that I will remember. The places where the lines on your face met each other and the sound of your laugh will fade from recollection, but I will always recall the feeling that filled me up inside when I was with you, and I will hold onto that warmth, that soft, golden glow of a distant happiness, and know that for the past two months, I have lived all the life that I would ever need.
lovesick and loving it.
Why am I still single?
I couldn’t answer that question if I tried. I could give possible suggestions, but that would just result in a long list of my own undesirable traits, which would then lead me into some drunken, depressing, stupor of self-pity. But really, who knows? Who has the time to try and know, unless you’re desperate?
Well, guess what?
I am.
Desperate.
Pathetic, right?
I spend my days occasionally dream up clandestine meetings between my future husband and me. We meet on some random street, both of our hands reaching out to grab the same vintage leather messenger bag or asparagus bunch, and the two of us look up and catch one another’s eyes, only to laugh and turn away in slight embarrassment when we notice the awkwardness of our fingers touching and our eyes gazing. And from that point on, our lives take a leap off of cliff into a waterfall of romance, crashing through wonderful sex and breakfast in beds, only to have it all torn apart two months later by an angry ex-lover.
Or an expired visa.
Or cancer.
What has Hollywood done to me?
Yet even though I know how fruitless and emotionally damaging it is to constantly fantasize about these, well, fantasies, I can’t help be re-live and re-write the rom-com movie in my mind because to be honest, that’s all I know! I’m addicted to my imagination, and sometimes I wonder, am I addicted because I’m a pathetic human being, or am I addicted because my imagination is just far too wonderful for real life?
I sit in a unique, fair-trade coffee shop and the Boy Behind the Counter (BBC) is taking orders. I watch him make drinks, take in cash, greet each customer with a smile and he does all of it with such grace. He steams that low-fat-soy with all of his soul, and he hands that change back to his customer with all of his heart, working that counter like a rehearsed dance, the dance of the cute-fair-trade-coffee-dealing-barista-extraordinaire that he is. And as I think about this, I smile because in a month, I’ll be waking up in his apartment to brew some organic fair trade coffee while he scrambles some eggs. I’ll pour him his cup while he butters my toast and he’ll kiss me goodbye when he leaves for work. We’ll spend rainy Sundays inside, cuddled up on our couch, legs intertwined, reading Shakespeare to each other and in two years, after he gets his Ph.D and I make partner at Corporate and Corporate, we’ll get married and buy a loft in downtown Toronto and live happily, ever after.
My friends tell me to stop dreaming, and that I shouldn’t worry because it will happen when it happens, and it will only happen when I least expect it. But how can you not expect it? How can you not wonder if tonight is the night where you meet your true love? I refuse to stop having these fantasies. Call me deluded, call me silly, but I would much rather walk around with the soundtrack from Knotting Hill playing in my head than to walk around with no soundtrack at all. Life is far to painful as it is to be realistic, 24/7.
Go ‘head Miss Wanda Sykes! Congrats …
Go ‘head Miss Wanda Sykes!
Congrats on your recent marriage, but more importantly thanks for coming out publically. I’m sure Queen Latifah, Jada Pinkett Smith, Missy Elliott and others are quaking in their boots, but props to you for being an out black dyke in Hollywood. You made the right choice, and perhaps folks in certain corners can stop blaming the passing of Prop 8 on black people.
gay marriage: the matters of the heart; it’s a question of love
i believe love is love. WATCH THE VIDEO– it’s a tear jerker!
While they ponder over their breakfast cereal…
…I can’t make up my mind whether I want to be a boy or a girl.
News Story
I thought this may be something that all of you might want to read.
It is not as common anymore but the hatred does still happen and come out in clear view.
i wrote this more than a month ago and have finally decided to show it here (although i don’t really know whether i should post it). anyways, pardon me if it is too explicit/not explicit enough.
So now we’re here, drinking whiskey.
To our friendship. And to love.
And you know what? I really missed you.
And you know what? I miss you now.
[I wanna hug you, tightly-tightly.
And kiss you gently on the cheek.
And then, with passion and desire
I wanna eat your sweetest lips.
I wanna feel you... In my mouth.
With pulsing sounds in your veins.
I wanna hear you moan in fire
and burn till only charred remains...]
“Ah yes, man, yes, I am still here.
I guess it’s alcohol, my friend.
No-no, I’m fine! I’m glad to see you!
I’m glad to talk to you again!”
And so we’re here, drinking whiskey.
To ladies, Marley, and the past.
And I can’t help it, but I’ll miss you…
There’s still a way for us to last.
