I aspire to be one whose presence is desired to heal a broken place or grace an uplifting space—whose counsels and critiques are respected as insightfully beneficial even if provocative—whose cultivations are even vigorously opposed yet accepted as forwarding a needed dialogue—who understands that fulfilling a moral human role also gives stamina to cope with insecurities: those many inner character assassinators that hatch within the moods including loneliness.
But what Loneliness? Great ambitions and talent but the inability to discern cheerleaders. Erotic desires but no exploring partners. Thoughts so outrageous they must be filtered by the thinker only. Artistic productions that just sit in computer folders and binders, weeping (Oh Dadland who hopes!) waiting to be seen, waiting for opportunities.
But as I desire, certain principles remain dear. That is—I will not widen my smile deceitfully to manipulate and secure an opportunity. I will not occupy platforms that don’t capture the essence of my voice. I will not sacrifice authenticity to acquire recognizability. I will not operate as unconscious slave labor for networks and acquaintances that outrightly seek to oppress freedom-speaking agendas.
am too afraid
i’m too afraid to remain silent
fearing all the time
But getting to this point of comfort where I can confess my desires and insecurities without significant concern for the weight of your judgments didn’t happen over night. In a conversation with a friend on Facebook today (Thank You, D), I remember many people had stood with me all these years as I tired to build a dream using social media.
Those aren’t among the many more who abandoned me because they saw the untamed passions that drove my weaknesses, the flaws in my works, and some were turned off by the glow of my strengths. D’s presence reminded me that although we have done things to grow our dreams and we feel those deeds have failed, there are some people who remember us because they remember finding our “failed” works useful.
I used to host TheDadlandShow. Aside from a personal matter, I ended the show because someone respectful advised that it archived too many controversial things that would have wrecked my future. I also deleted the associated Facebook Fan Page and lost many fans. Because I don’t live to regret but to act, in mid-September 2013, I will begin a new show TheOutRagedDadland. I encourage you to click the link and subscribe.
It will begin as a weekly Sunday show that addresses issues of Atheism v Religion, Gender & Sexuality Wars, Race Battlefield, Corporate Political Chicanery & Media Miseducation! Offended by the widespread starvation of radical intellectual scrutiny of current affairs, the show will critique the issues of the week with the goal to offend cultural sensibilities. The commentary format of the show will not be for the fainthearted hunting around to find what mirror their views. It will be for people seeking to benefit from my views in the same way I have benefitted from the views and opposition but mostly affirmation of supporters like Winsome who tweets
@wincee5 and others who have stood with me in social media for a long time—
from the days when I had been a religious skeptic—questioning, Is there a god? Who made him? Is there just one God? Are they transgendered gods? What will friends, family, and colleagues think if they know my immoral thoughts? Will they delete me from their friend’s list? Should I announce my atheist conviction but say nothing else about it in order to not alienate my Christian friends?
—Into the days when I became an outspoken atheist on TheDadladShow when my mission attacked Christianity in the same way it had been attacking me from childhood when it convinced me I was nothing until a supernatural made me something and that my homosexual deeds are abominable—into the days when I acknowledge that Christians are the very people close to me and it’s my duty to love them by educating them about my ideology rather than to mirror the bully-pulpit insulting mannerisms of evangelicals.
from the days when I was an insecure homosexual dodging from Facebook friends, schoolmates, and family of my Jamaica homeland, worrying if my name would occupy verandahs conversations in the rural area I grew up, concerned about whether male classmates would wonder whether I was hoping to taste their penis if I sent them a Friend Request, and strategizing how to respond politely but self-affirming to accusations of backsliding from church brothers and sisters with whom my body used to tremble and “tongues-spoke” from church rostrums.
—Into the days when I became a loud closet-free homosexual who isn’t afraid to say I slept in panties and it felt insanely pleasurable, and for most of my life I slept in male briefs but I hadn’t been aware of their sensation—transitioning brought conscious—and now I oftentimes forget that I am homosexual even while I write queer themes.
from the days when there was a Facebook fight on my page everyday because some people found satisfaction in being the Facebook police on my page, suggesting I rhetorically rephrase sentences to make them politically correct, issuing moral guidelines that seek to put my fuck and motherfucking and bomboclaat lingua into quotation closets or interspace them with stars (****); because Facebook police believe expletives that are spoken everyday on streets and offices and played on movie screens and make song lyrics enticing must not be written by the unknown me—here the writer is told to write to please but not to write authentically.
—Into the days when the fights left Facebook because I’ve become more skilled at walking away from them and permitting them to argue out and resolve within me.
from the days when I use to hold back my confidence out of fear that some will say he is too forceful, too opinionated, too controversial, talks too much about black issues, too much about gay-this and gay-that, too full of himself!
—Into the days when I accept that these very subjects and characteristics are the things that draw people to me, and I won’t hold back my power to make dimwitted and faintly lit among us shine without labor effort.
from the days when I use to complain about my longing for family which had rejected me because of my sexuality.
—Into the days when I dare say that my family isn’t the bloodlines that feast at Thanksgiving tables—because when my veins were opened, the bloodlines didn’t appear with bandages to contain my blood spill—because when I had to spread my homeless legs like a prostitute under gray-head men’s roofs as compensation for a continued stay, family didn’t’ know because they didn’t want to know—because when my undocumented feet had walked inside American offices, timidly asking workers to give me the dust bin from beneath their desk so I might put away their garbage and they ignored me, and when the supervisor reduced my weekly hours because I forgot to leave some bleach in a toilet bowl to make the client smell it and know the restroom was indeed freshly cleaned, family was thinking that I was in America living financially superior, they were convinced I was a selfish bitch with my American currency, because family didn’t care to know that every under-the-table dollar I had been making financed my one room in a house of many tenants and my college degree dream.
—Into the days when family has become my Italian friend Josh who has stood with me through hell and rain helping me to dry my tears and my African American friend Christopher whose depth of patience with me I am yet to adopt; and my extended family too are those in the social media landscape who have been supporting my voice, opposing my voice, but always there saying
—i’m still here for you, hearing your desires,
—so don’t feel bad that you desire,
—desire, desire, desire big,
—keep speaking and acting your desires into being!
I never set out to write this article today but kind words from a supporter, D Ball-Odeh, stimulated my ability.