Trash Bag

For those of you who've been taking out the trash since you were a kid like I have been; you will probably recall the many struggles you had trying to get the oftentimes overstuffed plastic bag to break free from the trash can.  Ahhh the good ole days...torn handles, ripped bags, the things you spent all week shoving into the dark have now spilled out on the floor for all to see.  What's worse is that many times you were not only forced to SEE all your gross trash, but also forced to touch it after it has become decomposed and slimy!  I found myself nearly thrust back to those very moments this morning.  While half asleep, I thought to myself, "now would be a great time to take out the trash".  Who does that?  At any rate, there I was trying to pry out a bloated bag of trash from what seemed like a trash can that didn't want to say goodbye just yet.  Then as the sleepy fog shifted just a bit, I remembered that if you just lift up on the bag slowly and kind of just hold the bag and can up in the air just a bit...then pause; the can will usually just slide off on its own.  It's not a method for the impatient (which I can be), but highly effective for avoiding a trashy debacle. 

This, of course, got me thinking.  Because why wouldn't trash inspire me at the crack of dawn?  Isn't that like life?  Over the years we get stuffed with trash...bad choices, bad exes, bad habits, bad ideas, bad clothes, bad behavior, or bad hair days.  Life's trash bag gets swollen and bloated to the point that the walls of our being or soul become tightly pressed up against it.  Most of us will take out the trash from time to time, but how effective are we at managing our trash?  

Do we cram all our trash in until we can't anymore, then forcefully try to rip it out in a hurry?  Perhaps, we end up having to remove some of the trash and place it in another bag so we can somehow manage to get it out.  Or just maybe some of us turn the whole can over in an attempt to free ourselves of the trash in our lives.  Worse yet, perhaps we just leave the trash, hoping that someone else will take it out for us.  In my moment of sleepy diligence, I was reminded that a little patience and planning go a long way.  

The Bottom Line:
When it comes to life's trash, don't let your trash get too full in the first place.  Take your trash out regularly.  Don't try to rip it out too fast and risk spilling your trash all over the place. Don't expect other to take out your trash.  And for god's sake...don't take out your trash while you are half asleep!  

Power Nigger

David Ross Jackson

Now that I have the title of my article out of the way, I will make sure I set an iPhone appointment reminder for the year 2040 so that I can remember to expect a complete over-reaction from the world around me for having typed the word "nigger" today.  

(This is a Paula Deen reference for those who have been sequestered on a jury or living under a rock.)

I'd like to take a moment to point out a few critical facts:

• My heritage is African-American, Scottish, and Cherokee.
• I've been a victim of racism directed at me from both black and white people.
• I've been called a nigger by both white and black people.  
• Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

Are we clear?  Good.  Moving on...

Let me further clarify, words of any kind, which are said from a place of hatred should not be met with indifference.  I do, however, believe that American society will never be able to move past true racism because we simply choose to focus on words and censorship rather than love and education.  We choose to give certain words power rather than being the living example of true power.  We hold all the power to ending racism, but refuse to use it.  Think about it in the simplest of terms.  If children on a playground are calling another child names and that child exhibits ZERO reaction to the name-calling; 9 times out of 10, the name calling will end.  It's really no different with racist words.  

I truly believe that evolving beyond race and racism in this country will work in the same way.  If we all stop choosing to be offended by a word, then perhaps it will stop being offensive and by default stop being used.  It seems overly simple right?  Well...perhaps it is.  As much as we all like to think we can control what others say or feel; the simple truth is, we can only change the way we react.  

I wont continue to dwell on this subject because I believe "dwelling" is the root issue.  We want to dwell on the past.  We want to lie down and take a long nap in past racism.  Does racism still exist, of course it does.  I have no delusions.  Am I going to give another's words power over my very life?  No. 

The Bottom Line:

An offensive word doesn't exist without offense. Am I suggesting everyone run around screaming "nigger" at the top of their lungs while grocery shopping?  Hell no!  I am fairly sure we are not all evolved enough to endure that.  I am suggesting that we all take a gigantic fucking deep breath and stop over-reacting at every turn.  Only god, or the universe, or perhaps only one's self, can really judge one's heart.  Give weight to one's actions rather than one's words.  After all...

Anyone can say "nigger", but not just anyone can be one. 

Origin of NIGGER

Alteration of earlier neger, 

From Middle French negre, 

From Spanish or Portuguese negro, 

From Latin niger

Alternatives

As I enjoy the first day of true heat this year, I'm left to consider why some gay men and women turn to the shade of a closet for relief from life's "heat".  There are certain things I don't understand and some that I understand all too well.  I do understand feeling the need to be in a closet.  I do not understand the idea that it's somehow OK to run in and out of one.


It should be noted that I spent much of my life in the closet and consider myself an expert on the matter.  I normally shy away from labeling myself an expert on any subject because I know two things without question.  One, things always change.  Two, I don't know everything there is to know about everything.  The "closet" however, I know.  I didn't see it while I was in there.  I also had no contact with anyone on the outside with the balls (or vag) to tell me that how I was living was a sham.  When you are locked inside a dark closet, it starts to feel less like a closet and more like a safe place to be.  It's not until you come out of it, turn around and look at it from the outside, that you finally realize what a shitty little space it is.

There are, however, two types of closet people.

The person who enters the closet and barricades the door.  

This was my closet.  This person has some sense of what is it is they are dealing with internally; but because of various factors (e.g. family, religion, work, religion, society, religion, racial culture, or religion) choose to ignore or deny it as much as humanly possible.  Yes, I'm aware I typed religion several times.  It's for dramatic effect but VERY true in many cases.  That's a subject for a different day.  Anyway, this person, on some level, knows exactly what is going on but chooses to live life as they believe they should or can.  They make no efforts to identify as gay.

The person who treats the closet like a 

man-cave or lady lounge.

This person lives two lives.  By sunDAY, they are perhaps righteous, god-fearing individuals.  At the very least they are people who appear "normal" to those that know them.  Monday through Saturday they fuck anything of the same sex that moves and have an intricate network of gay acquaintances and friends.  They are gay when it's OK to be gay and then they hop back in the closet just in time to pick out clothes for Sunday service.

It's the latter group of people mentioned here that, quite honestly, irritate the shit out of me.  I don't mean to sound insensitive to the plight of those who find themselves in a true sense of desperation and isolation.  After all, I used to BE that person.  I take exception to those men and women who treat being gay like some really ugly man or woman whom they have great sex with but refuse to introduce to friends and family.  These are not your typical lost souls.  These are skilled architects who build a life full of trap doors and secret passageways in and out of the closet.  These are people, in my opinion, who are too cowardly to face life as they truly are.  They lack the bravery, honesty, and resilience that millions of gay, lesbian, bi, and transgendered people have shown before them.  WHO they are depends largely upon where you meet them.  Whatever you do, don't try to follow them into the closet.  You're almost certainly not invited.

The Bottom Line:
There is no noble alternative to being true.
History is littered with both the brave and the cowards.
Which will you be?

If you're not brave enough to come out of the closet, be brave enough to stop running in and out of it until you are ready to accept yourself no matter the cost.  Turning it into a game of lies where the only losers are those around you is a shameful waste of a life.  It's OK to be you.  Just have the guts to decide which YOU that will be.  There were a few people in my life who knew about my closet.  I wish any one of them would have cared enough to say to me what I've said here today.

Bar None

So, it’s a “late spring in January” kind of a day here in my hometown.  I’m wearing a tank-top and it feels amazing.  I started out with lunch.  As a sat on the patio relaxing and enjoying something called a chicken cheeseburger, I couldn’t help but notice all the people gathering at the bar across the street...a bar that I’ve been to more times than I care to admit.  

It’s interesting how the bars play such a huge role in my people’s culture.  By “my people”, I’m referring to the gays.  I’ve struggled over the years to understand why bars seem to be the only place we like to congregate.  I don’t really care for the bars.  So, of course I packed up my laptop and decided to plop down right in the middle of one!  I’ve made a habit of forcing myself into awkward scenarios in an effort to keep my mind outside the box.  Trust me when I say that typing away in the middle of a meat market is highly awkward!  So, I pulled out my laptop and began observing and writing.  I think I’ve been able to categorize the things I’ve seen today...

The Social Queens - 

These are the guys who show up just to be seen.  This is as much a production as anything you would ever see on broadway.  Hair is sprayed into submission.  Clothes are two sizes too small.  On a side note, that baby Gap look only works on 1 out of every 20 gay men.  The social queens are laughing at things that aren’t funny, throwing back drinks faster than the bartender can pour, and generally doing everything short of setting off fireworks in an effort to be noticed.  

The Sex Queens - 

I think we all know what these folks are doing.  Ummm yeah...looking for sex.  They are the least complicated individuals in all of gaydom.  

The Drag Queens - 

Albeit they are not typically “made up”, you can always spot them by their high-arched eyebrows and affinity for comfy sweatpants.  You can also spot that “I took off all my makeup at about 4am this morning” look.  Hey, I’m not making this up.  

The Sporty Queens - 

These are the ones who want to accentuate every muscle in their overly worked out, usually out-of-proportion bodies.  Think top-heavy...90 inch chest and legs you could clean small pipes with.  It’s amazing that they have time to even make it to a bar considering they are always propped up on a bench-press machine.  

The Old Queens - 

I have an agreement with my best friend to have him stab me in the face if I ever find myself in this group.  These are the men of considerable age who have never quite found a life outside a bar.  My cut off age is currently 45.  45 is the LAST age.  If I should feel the need to adjust the age, it would be younger...not older.  

The “In Love” Queens - 

These are the ones who are with the “man of the moment”; proudly displaying each other like Grammy awards on a shelf.  They will be broken up after about two months of hot sex and one-too-many date nights at the bar.  

The Bottom Line:

Queens come and go, but the bars...they are forever.  While I don’t pretend to completely understand the correlation between gay life and the clubs and bars; I know that in some fashion it’s our haven...our little slice of the world where we can completely be ourselves without fear of judgement (this excludes fashion judgement).  I suppose at some point I will just stop trying to figure out the bar crowd and resolve that much like Republican nominees for President, it’s a necessary evil.  ;-)  

The Dark Side of the Moon

It's a cool Saturday in a city just outside Atlanta.  I'm sitting in a hotel room trying to figure out how I'm going to write the words that will follow this sentence.  I'm all about giving my readers the moment and the truth; but this promises to be one of the more difficult things that I've written.

A few days prior to my 30th birthday, life was good.  I had a huge birthday bash planned.  My boyfriend at the time was handling all the arrangements.  I even had a decent and balanced perspective on turning 30.  I had managed to avoid wanting to hang myself from the ceiling fan or the shower rod because I was "getting old".  Other than being a little under the weather, I was doing well.  I decided to go see my family doctor for a check-up.  In general, I felt great so I didn't think much of it.  I'd always go in on a weekday, mid-morning, and always get my check-up results back the very next afternoon.  They were very efficient that way.

The following day, I called in for my results.  The blood work was still in a pending status.  The next day was the same.  On the third day, I spoke to my very favorite nurse over the phone.  She wasn't her usual outrageous and playful self.  Her voice was quiet and troubled.  She said, "Honey, when can you come in to see the doctor?".  Not being one to drag my feet, I made an appointment.  While she didn't tell me anything over the phone, I somehow knew what was unfolding before me.  About five days passed before I was able to make it in for my appointment.   I went alone.  My nurse and doctor came into the room and told me something that would change my life forever.  "David, we ran all your standard blood work.  You tested positive for HIV."  The words just hung there like a London fog.  My favorite nurse held my hand as tears rolled down my face.  The doctor began explaining the next steps but most of his words were just washed away with my tears.  

I've only ever cried so much one other time in my life.  I honestly don't remember the days in between the news and telling my boyfriend.  I was a mess on the inside.  Some who already know my story, have said that I am a remarkably strong person.  I don't really feel strong, but then again, this kind of strength is not the kind that advertises itself with fanfare.

I guess I decided to share this very personal part of my life for a few reasons.  As with any major life trial, one can feel desperate and alone.  I wouldn't wish the feelings I experienced during that time on anyone.  I've refrained from telling many people because of the stigma that goes along with having HIV.  I wish people were more educated but as with many things in life, until it affects you, you pay it no attention.  So, after making my way out of the "I'm gay" closet, I felt forced into yet another.

Here is what I'd like you all to take away from this moment that I've shared with you...

For those of you who have been diagnosed... You are not alone!  Find someone to talk to; perhaps a professional or a friend you can trust.  Don't go through this alone.  This hurts in a way that does not compare to many things.  Know that when the dust settles on your diagnosis, you will feel like living again.  You will thrive.  You will feel loved again.  Walk toward the light and know that while it may take some time to feel...normal...that time will come.

For those who don't know much about HIV or AIDS...  Google it.  Talk about it.  Understand it.  Life is entirely too short to think it couldn't happen to you or someone that you love.  You should also know that it's no longer a death sentence!  Provided I can reduce my road-rage, I will outlive most of those reading this...trust and believe!  You must understand how it's contracted, how to prevent it, and how to support those in your life who have it.  Stop being afraid of what you don't understand and  dispense with falling back on ignorance as an excuse for poor attitudes.

The Bottom Line:
At one time, having HIV felt like being on the dark side of the moon.  I was lonely and isolated.  I felt the cold of mortality creeping in.  Honestly, I felt like trash.  It felt like the end of dating.  It felt like the end of love and happiness.  It felt like the end of my life.  Once the fog lifted and I made the choice to educate myself and to keep on living; I was able to see that nothing could be further from the truth.  Have things changed?  Of course!  It has taken me a great deal of time, but I am finally finding the purpose in all this.  I hope that my story will inspire you to approach yourself and others with love and compassion.  HIV positive or not, we are all going through something and could benefit from the light of love.


Click here to learn about HIV.