I remember as a kid in D.C. and North Carolina always wanting to live in California - either Los Angeles or San Francisco. Los Angeles for its decadent freedom. San Francisco for its gay culture.
I ended up in Los Angeles, anxious to experience; to live without boundaries. I was young, crazy, stupid, eager and cautious. I kept out of trouble and I survived by working what I could when I could.
I remember reading a movie review of 'American Gigolo' where the author stated that the movie lifted the diamond veneer of Los Angeles to expose its seedy underground.
That review - along with the movie - helped to shape my vision of Los Angeles: sparkling with allure but dark and dank in its reality.
I couldn't wait to move there.
After I got out of the military, I moved to L.A. (with the help and question of friends) and began my exploration into the diamond with a crawly base.
I had so much fun...excited and adventurous. The future did not matter, the present was all I lived for. Dive bars, gay counseling groups, one night stands, prissy West Hollywood clubs, beautiful men and the porn industry. I wanted it all: corporate jobs with a sleazy under current, a peek into the machinations of men with power, the sexual expressions of people whom nature was abundant with positive outlook and a grand entrance into being gay: out, open and proud.
I got all of that, and, truth be known, without guidance. I stuffed so much into the seventeen years I lived in L.A. to experience, write and critique about human emotions, encounters and desire.
But haven't we all at one point or another? Took a dive into a pool without knowing if it was filled with water or poison?
Well, some of us have.
Now, at this time, I want reflect on my beginnings as a human being.
I was born in the state of Georgia, my mother moved my siblings and I to Washington, D.C. when I was six and we moved to a small town in North Carolina when I was fourteen.
During my time as a child in Georgia, I experienced a Disney-like childhood of hanging with my friends, climbing trees, throwing rocks, sauntering though the projects where we all - as the black population - knew each other and were comfortable with acknowledgement and respect...and freedom. I roamed the projects of my childhood with abandon, and my parents had no concern because a best friend or acquaintance or neighbor would have an eye on us.
Even when it was just us boys trekking through the surrounding woods not knowing what to expect with general mischievousness one can only expect from pre-pubescent males.
As I look back on that time, I can only now explain it as an innocence that reflected the culture given to me. Though parents and teachers (who knew each other) threw some caution to the wind for the next generation to live and understand, there was a bit of lessons taught of the outer world beyond the projects. And in being told that, I would sit on the front porch of my family's house and look out into the horizon (several times with a rainbow) that made me think of the world beyond the invisible walls I sometimes ventured beyond that presented me a familiar but understood setup where I could see white people beyond television. They did not seem so different to me. Though I sensed that they had an advantage over me.
My family moved to Washington, D.C. when I was six years old and the familiar of small town project life led to big city ghetto life.
I didn't know what hit me. Simple.
I discovered that those rainbows I admired led to a world beyond a small Southern town where once I played games and had discussions with my friends to being - one day - cautioned after my 2nd grade class before my walk home, as a man had been murdered across the street (and his brains were still spilled on the concrete of the parking lot of the apartment building facing the school). That man's brains was never cleaned up. And every day for weeks I would pass the spot where that man's brains lay decaying thinking that life was not only precious but scary.
And that was the beginning my fascination with life and its mystery. Television and movies and music and books were not enough to satisfy my curiosity.
As I think of this now, I did it all with reckless abandonment.
I want to write more, but I want to keep you hanging...if you're interested...
I ended up in Los Angeles, anxious to experience; to live without boundaries. I was young, crazy, stupid, eager and cautious. I kept out of trouble and I survived by working what I could when I could.
I remember reading a movie review of 'American Gigolo' where the author stated that the movie lifted the diamond veneer of Los Angeles to expose its seedy underground.
That review - along with the movie - helped to shape my vision of Los Angeles: sparkling with allure but dark and dank in its reality.
I couldn't wait to move there.
After I got out of the military, I moved to L.A. (with the help and question of friends) and began my exploration into the diamond with a crawly base.
I had so much fun...excited and adventurous. The future did not matter, the present was all I lived for. Dive bars, gay counseling groups, one night stands, prissy West Hollywood clubs, beautiful men and the porn industry. I wanted it all: corporate jobs with a sleazy under current, a peek into the machinations of men with power, the sexual expressions of people whom nature was abundant with positive outlook and a grand entrance into being gay: out, open and proud.
I got all of that, and, truth be known, without guidance. I stuffed so much into the seventeen years I lived in L.A. to experience, write and critique about human emotions, encounters and desire.
But haven't we all at one point or another? Took a dive into a pool without knowing if it was filled with water or poison?
Well, some of us have.
Now, at this time, I want reflect on my beginnings as a human being.
I was born in the state of Georgia, my mother moved my siblings and I to Washington, D.C. when I was six and we moved to a small town in North Carolina when I was fourteen.
During my time as a child in Georgia, I experienced a Disney-like childhood of hanging with my friends, climbing trees, throwing rocks, sauntering though the projects where we all - as the black population - knew each other and were comfortable with acknowledgement and respect...and freedom. I roamed the projects of my childhood with abandon, and my parents had no concern because a best friend or acquaintance or neighbor would have an eye on us.
Even when it was just us boys trekking through the surrounding woods not knowing what to expect with general mischievousness one can only expect from pre-pubescent males.
As I look back on that time, I can only now explain it as an innocence that reflected the culture given to me. Though parents and teachers (who knew each other) threw some caution to the wind for the next generation to live and understand, there was a bit of lessons taught of the outer world beyond the projects. And in being told that, I would sit on the front porch of my family's house and look out into the horizon (several times with a rainbow) that made me think of the world beyond the invisible walls I sometimes ventured beyond that presented me a familiar but understood setup where I could see white people beyond television. They did not seem so different to me. Though I sensed that they had an advantage over me.
My family moved to Washington, D.C. when I was six years old and the familiar of small town project life led to big city ghetto life.
I didn't know what hit me. Simple.
I discovered that those rainbows I admired led to a world beyond a small Southern town where once I played games and had discussions with my friends to being - one day - cautioned after my 2nd grade class before my walk home, as a man had been murdered across the street (and his brains were still spilled on the concrete of the parking lot of the apartment building facing the school). That man's brains was never cleaned up. And every day for weeks I would pass the spot where that man's brains lay decaying thinking that life was not only precious but scary.
And that was the beginning my fascination with life and its mystery. Television and movies and music and books were not enough to satisfy my curiosity.
As I think of this now, I did it all with reckless abandonment.
I want to write more, but I want to keep you hanging...if you're interested...
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