Monday, Jan. 23: UCLA Architecture and Urban Design presented Cathy Opie to speak. See a slideshow of some of Opie’s work here. Cathy Opie’s lecture came to me as a surprise. As an admirer of Opie’s portraiture, in particular her…
Desperation is an Ugly Color.
Desperation is an ugly color on my bruised, aching skin. It’s a panel of screaming horrors driving away my fading illusion of comfort. “Take me! hold me! save me!” Me, me me, ignore all the others. Be my escape.
Gay Men Need Diapers: WTF?
A bible-thumping pastor from the South said something homophobic this week. Big surprise. But go ahead, watch the whole video and and feel gag at the outrgeousness (or, if you”re a cynic like me, chuckle a bit). Patrick Wood spewed a…
“It Was A Choice For Me…” Uh Oh.
People have had plenty to say about this, ranging from the confused to the horrified to the irate. And I get it. But I think it is actually Nixon who is confused, and may have used some words that didn’t accurately sum up her feelings.
One Moment, One Life: Alive
I’ve always said that New York winters were bone-chilling, but I never really knew what it meant to be left ravaged by the cold, with no place to seek asylum. I never knew what it meant to cower behind bushes in hopes of escaping even a fraction of the merciless winds.
Psych 137: A Lesson in Ignorance and Stereotypes
Walking into the most recent meeting, I was greeted by a surprising title slide projected in royal blue letters above my head: “Male or Female? Gay or Straight?” and the subtitle, “All of us are described by these two ‘binary’ factors.” When first reading this slide, I assumed there was some kind of mistake.
What MLK Means To Me, A White Queer Male
Photo by Wes Candela “He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.” As I celebrated Martin Luther…
“The Shit Girls Say To Gay Guys”: A Response
Glad to say “shit girls say to gay guys” does not apply to me.
Happily Ever After
It’s obvious, right away—though he wears a suit in the middle of a party of suits-wearing men, he cannot quite hide the length of the sleeves, which come up just a bit too far past his wrist, or that little stain almost tucked away on the inside of his collar. His posture is rigid, but unpracticed, and time and time again he has to force himself upright. It isn’t much, really—just a miniscule straightening of his shoulders, an upward jerk of his chin every few minutes. It might’ve been less noticeable if everyone else in the room hadn’t been doing that since midway through their terrible twos.
Rugburn
i can recall
the feeling of the carpet
under my boots
rooted to the ground
when you approached me
your eyes burning
and your gaze piercing