Queer Kid of Color

Today I’ll be interviewing Kevin Aviance for the December issue of Clik Magazine. I can’t wait. I know I’m going to be nervous. I love Kevin. I listen to his music all the time. And he’s a role model. This is an EXCLUSIVE interview. Which means he’s dishing everything TO ME. His life, loves, coming out, everything! It’s a no hold bars interview…I hope. I have to give his fans what they want. And they want to know about Kevin. The Man, The Legend.

Something’s the matter with me. Not only have I never held a boys hand down the mile long gay mecca we call The Village, but I haven’t felt a bit of intimacy in 18 years. I never cried on a boyfriend’s shoulder-well because I never had one. I never felt as though I NEED a man to validate me. I never gave the queens on Christopher Street my number when they serenade me with their talk, and most of all I never felt like I need anyone. With all that said why am I 18 and not feel depressed or wanting anyone? Its so weird. I don’t feel like I ever need a kiss!

I’m a finalist for the Clik Honors. Hopefully I’ll be one of the 25 honorees.

http://www.clikhonors.com/html/clik_honors.html

Okay, so, um, this blog has nothing to do with the title but hey its cute!

I been busy lately. And when I say busy, I mean MAD busy. I’m tired, distraught, and just can’t figure when I’m going to slow down. I had to turn down a new position at my job because of the scheduling, and I really wanted to be a part of it-its a job producing a documentary. I love producing, so you can feel my unhappiness on overturning this position.

But anyways let me rant:

First off, one of my actors for this short I’m directing, decided not to show up for his fucking taping and I WAS PISSED, HEATED, AND VERY ANGRY. Can you feel it? Aside from that I couldn’t get the story edited corrected on the darn editing system. NOTE TO ALL FILMMAKERS: STORYBOARDS ARE NEEDED.

I’ll be posting the promotional video of the short film this week. Hopefully by Sunday.

But beside that I FIRED HIM and left him a very angry message on his myspace wall.

NEXT!

I’m working on putting together a project entitled The Boys Next Door. And its coming along well. I have chosen three other people to already be apart of it. And am looking for two more now. When I get the other two gentlemen, I will post what the project is about and who it is that I am working with.

NEXT!

I’m not trying to be nasty, but penis is brusied. I dont know why its purple.

NEXT!

I’m trying to come up with free gifts for a contest for Clik Magazine, but I can’t come up with any ideas.

NEXT!

I love you Valerie!

A few nights ago I went to a club with my producing partner Dwight to promote Christopher Street the series. Amidst the mingling I begin to wonder about the 300 black gay men or so that were at this party and begin to question the lives they lived. From the very masculine gentlemen who I saw beside the bar rolling his blunt, to the cunt who had on a nice red tailored jacket while showing his very hairy chest, to the black gay couple I saw arrive together holding hands, dancing together, making out, and showing affection, I even wondered about the security guards. I gave a worried giggle at the guy in the back who still had on his hoody so know one would recognize him even though he’s in a gay club or the guy who was reluctant and hesitant to give one of the vendors his name for fear of being outed. In this club I saw married men, the trade boys, the out ones, the 30-somethings who aren’t out to anyone but their fag hags, the ones who go home to their mothers and tell them they’re having a hard time finding love; when in reality the person he loves is the person who he calls his “roommate” and above all has the same features he does; a muscular chest and a penis. At this club I saw that we were still isolated not only from the Black community but from the Gay community. Both communities in which we should all be able to grow in. So, with all that said I thank the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Same Gender Loving, and Queer brothers and sisters who are trying to make it easier for us to live. So we wont have to lie to mom, the wives, the children, friends, co workers, and even from our gay counterparts. I’m Black and Gay. And I feel isolated.

Okay, so lets not call it stardom, but I’m definitely going to call it recognition. My name is beginning to appear in one or two ways “queer kid of color” or “Steven Emmanuel” and lately its been popping everywhere-gay wise I mean. Last night, I went to a club to promote a new series I’m producing and have co-wrote along with Dwight O’Neal entitled Christopher Street, and while setting up our table with the promotional materials a freelance writer named Kellee [I love you girl, and you owe me a dance] asked “were you the boy in The Advocate?” It felt weird to be recognize. Now, Kellee, is the first person who’s recognized me from the magazine outside of the people whom already know me. But it was just refreshing to know that people read the article as well as refreshing to know people enjoy the article in The Advocate along with my picture! This is my year. I work as a monthly writer for Clik Magazine, a contributing writer for The Advocate, and aside from that I been invited to participate in The Equality Forum in April 2007 as a panelist. People offer to send me their books, review their stuff. I feel honored and am happy to know people are paying attention to my voice. Does it sound like I’m bragging? Good. Because that’s my intention. I need to brag. I’m not arrogant, selfish, ego-centric, but I need to beginning seeing my blessings and speaking up about them. In a way that I don’t sound stuck up!

I grew up in the ghetto streets of Brooklyn, where every inch of asphalt is cramped with hood boys and 9-year-old kids puff cigarettes inside the project stairways. My home was made in a place where mothers forget to give their daughters curfews and the gravel on the pavement is always dirty with filth and old needles and the occasional bullet casing. These streets of my childhood were home to memories of being robbed, beaten, cursed at by roves of gangsta kids whose best insult was a hurled ‘faggot’ and a snickering response. I could have retorted with a litany of insults, ones designed to injure, but it was pointless, these kids hadn’t read enough to even begin to comprehend the three-syllable words slipping from my lips.

It was this place, of kids who support their parents by selling drugs from the tenement stairwells, in which I found myself drift apart from my world. Intelligence other than street smarts was not valued, and I had it in spades: reading, writing, any art I could delve into I managed to excel in. But being a nerd gave no bonuses in my childhood, and the fact that I was a dreamer amongst so many whose dreams had long ago been choked off and died out, those who saw nothing further than the dollar bill and the new fad things, that was the first strike against me.

Not only was I a live spirit walking amongst the dead, as I hit my teenage years, I realized that I had drifted even further apart from those I had once played with in the streets of Brooklyn. Sexuality didn’t hit me like a train, the way it hit the other boys who busied themselves making girls into baby’s momma’s. No, mine came about through people who slipped in and out of my life like well-placed characters in a detective novel, each one planting a small clue. The girl who asked me, ‘Are you gay?’, the teachers who tried to awkwardly converse with me about sexual identity, the boys who asked me to blow them in the school’s bathroom. I was not the typical gay man with his swinging steps and effeminate personality. I did not have a lisp or a limp wrist or a stereotype by which I lived, but I was assumed to be gay because I was not only street smart but book smart, I was not only book smart but college bound.

An excerpt from an article I wrote in Clik Magazine

I’m a virgin. I know, you’re probably saying, “Yes, we know”. As much as I brag about my virginity, I should write a book about it. But I’m curious to know about how people lost their virginity. What moment brought them to that, and how special or non-special it was. So, send a paragraph/essay/story/whatever to queerkidofcolor@yahoo.com as well as the name you want to be credited such as “Anonymous” or your first name. Your first time story will be posted on the Coming Out/First Time section of my website [www.queerkidofcolor.com] coming soon.

Do not post it here please!

Please note: www.queerkidofcolor.com and this blogspot are two different entities.

www.christopherstreettv.com

I don’t know how many people do it; work at McDonalds, at a clothing store, or some other place that includes costumer service. I could only imagine having to fake a smile all the time, show courtesy to people who we all know aren’t at all friendly, service others, and asking people to return again. I have the biggest amount of respect for people who work in the costumer service field. I never done it. I’ve always had jobs that included me behind the scenes, that doesn’t consist of me answering phones, taking food orders, or showing people the location of the jeans that are on sale. I Heart every person who works in the customer service field…EVERYONE OF YOU, THANK YOU.

Marz, this blog is dedicated to you.