June bugs

"You'll disappear like a June bug in July, I'll be thankful for my time."

At night, I prop my feet against the banister on my porch and let the rain drip down my toes. The cool droplets collect on my feet before meandering down my calves, falling into the space behind my knee, and then down my thighs. Like fingers trailing the contours of my legs, the rain is a sensual presence within my own.

And the June bugs! Dark, full of rich ambers and browns that have an iridescent quality in my streamed porch lights' shine. They fill my ears with little nothings. In the clicks and chirps, I have full conversations with myself like my mom used to when she thought I was asleep and NPR played on the radio. Like a lively friend provoking a deep conversation, the June bugs are a filling presence within my own.

This summer, I have stepped into learning on my own. I moved to a new city where most don't live for half the year, and where people have their own lives and work and have their own friends; the occasional dinner party felt like an oasis in the desert of social abandonment; and real life took precedent over play, most days.

It's scary when I realize how temporary people are. As it is, I tend to build superficial relationships with folks to keep from getting too hurt when they leave (we all leave, sometimes). But when I let people in, and they leave, it feels like a severed chord; a missing finger; and something to be mourned as a loss. The Flaming Lips, though, have a lyric:

"And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know You realize that life goes fast It's hard to make the good things last You realize the sun doesn't go down It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round"

I find that comforting. If not completely upfront about that with every person I meet, I try to remind myself as best possible of that when I start letting someone in.

But the better question is how do you let yourself in? How do you be friends with yourself? Depend on yourself for support, comfort, security, and love? These are those age-old questions that get wrapped in with growing up; the questions we have to answer (or strive to answer) through life and experience; and the answers come more intuitively than given.

For me, I feel my presence as supportive when I lie in bed and grab my pillow to hold onto tight at night. I feel comfort when I laugh and scream at something that just passed through my head, or for tone deafness in the shower. I feel myself keeping me safe when I make decisions about what to buy, where to be at night, and what creeps to avoid. I feel my love everyday when I nourish my body; when I cook myself biscuits; when I smile at something I've said or seen and appreciate it as perceptively independent from my own existence.

I used to have so many best friends, but now I think all I want is one: me. And you know as well as I do that's not an abandonment of people I love and care for as so much a found connection that will never tear, and that I will never loose -- that's special.

Conrad's DO'S:
** HAVE SUSHI WITH PEOPLE YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IN 5-6 YEARS AND END UP SPENDING THE ENTIRE NIGHT TOGETHER.
** GO TO THE CLUB SOBER AND DANCE WITH YOUR SHIRT OFF.
** LAUGH UNTIL 6 AM AT THE SAME JOKE WITH NEW PEOPLE YOU'VE HARDLY HUNG OUT WITH.

Conrad's DON'TS:
** RESPOND TO 2:30AM TEXT MESSAGES WHEN YOU'RE STILL ASLEEP.
** LAUGH OUT OF NERVOUSNESS IN FRONT OF LESBIANS OUTSIDE OF A BAR.
** SASS THE WAL-GREENS EMPLOYEES OVER MANGO ICED TEA.

Is This What Jaded Feels Like?

"Hold up, hold up, wait a minute, wait a minute."

It's the one time the dog bites;

The first time the bus driver gets angry;

When you see your parents fights;

Your heart breaks and a piece of it stays there.

And I wonder, "Is this what jaded feels like? I hope it passes.

I hope I am always able to give away everything

With no expectations

Conditions, --

Ultimatums.

I hope to God my Heart always breaks like this.

That I am always surprised by how cruel we can be,

And how nonsensical we can be, --

And how beautiful we are. Amen.

LEGS

On the back of my quiz, I wrote this poem. My TA and I met regarding my grade, and at the end she asked me if everything was going ok. I said, "I mean, with my life? Yes." She handed me my quiz back, back side up, and said, "Well, I read this, and I just wanted to let you know if you need to talk, you can."

I paused, turned red, and asked if I could take back my poem I thought lost to the recycling bin. She made me a copy, and I thanked her for her concern and outreach. I shared a brief amount, although, always too much in this type of relationship, with what was going on in my life. She said, "We're all in this together, right?"

I think so. I think we can all, to some degree, relate to feeling as if a part of our body is being singled out. Whether that's your crooked teeth, your uneven breasts, your shortness, your tallness, you jaw line, your perfect ass... This is for our brief encounters with our own bodies where we realize a particular part of our bodies is means more.

For me, it's my

"LEGS"


My LEGS code sex -- long and slender stems leading to the cherry on top.

My LEGS code gender -- ambiguous at times. Smooth and attractive, defined and shaped by movement dynamics in a dynamic where they don't fit.

My LEGS code race -- white and pale and full of rose colored privilege that keeps me in a comfortable space where I am isolated, at times.

I never knew how well versed my LEGS were until I walked down the street and all I heard was, “Baby, so sweet!”

Or when I walked into a gas station and eyes became helper-T’s recognizing a molecular invasion of the normalized body.

I could have guessed, but when a man shows his legs and wears the short shorts that I wear, the reactions unleash a script of social rule,

And maybe they are just LEGS -- muscle, flesh sparsely covered in a coat given to me by my master code, by my biomasters whose lives and deaths wrote my legs.

My LEGS are code for the nights in that seedy dark club on White and Llamar pulsing to the music against your legs covered in piss and cheap liquor.

My LEGS are code for the bruises he left on my thighs and the cries I wanted to cry but stayed quiet in the black and blue light.,

And before that, the sweet touches of my mother caressing me to sleep,

And soon to be translated, my legs will code for a love in his eyes when he sees me walking towards him.

CONRAD'S DO'S
** VOTE LIKE YOU MEAN IT.
** DO WHAT YOU SAY YOU'RE GONNA' DO EVEN IF YOU DON'T GET THE WORD.
** HOLD THE DOOR OPEN FOR OLDER WOMEN AND TELL THEM YOU RELATE.

CONRAD'S DON'TS
** USE GIANT TRASH BAGS TO CARRY ALL YOUR CLOTHES ACROSS CAMPUS.
** LOOK AT COLLEGEACB AND EXPECT YOU'RE NOT ON IT.
** DOUBLE BOOK SEX ED WITH YOUR GRANDMA.

Feeling for Roots in Piedmont Park

"I like to get dirty. Do you like to get dirty? I like to cause trouble. I like to cause trouble, but only in the most sweet way."

I make the trek to Piedmont Park most weekends to run my hands through the grass and press my toes into the dirt. In this urban jungle that is Atlanta, my rural East Tennessee spirit finds solace in the slow moving beetles climbing and shifting through the leaves of grass.

When I first came to Atlanta, I searched endlessly, like the beetle, for a place to call home. What I realize now is that no matter how hard you look, you'll inevitably simply sink into comfort. It's the ease at which it happens that surprised me most. It's the folks working at the Mediterranean bodega recognizing me; it's the in depth conversations with strangers at Flying Biscuit; it's the ritualistic spot where I always sit and feel at the roots of trees in Piedmont Park.

It's this sense of belonging that, for me, spurs ownership and engagement. I'm no longer a tourist, but an Atlantian. We hop on rickshaws and careen through Virgina knowing exactly where our free ride is taking us and where it's not. And where it's not taking me, I put in the energy to walk.

I'm taking a graduate course on feminist engagements with synthetic biology and bioethics. Every week we have a speaker, and this week, we welcomed Cara Page, an Atlanta community organizer and feminist-anti-racists-achiever healer. After class, we spoke with enthusiasm about my efforts to settle into this place and my eagerness to do so. At Emory, you get the theory; you get a kind of knowledge that's very useful for writing papers and talking to people and coming up with ideas. With Cara Page, you fuse that knowledge with the knowledge of real people by working with them and experiencing community. With Cara Page, you get a hug.

That's not unlike my work with a fabulous KSU student, Edric Figueroa. Edric found me in Piedmont Park and invited me to join the anti-war protest marching down the sidewalk. He said, "Hand these out!" and immediately I threw myself into the midst of asking strangers if they knew what the federal budget looked like. It's as if I'd forgotten how to interact with people. Do people in Atlanta act like people in Knoxville? To some degree, but the same thing could be said about me.

CONRAD'S DO'S:
** BUY A FLAMING KATY AND NAME HER GWEN.
** SPEAK HONESTLY AND DEVELOP BLUE FLAMES.
** WRITE POEMS ON THE BACK OF QUIZZES.

CONRAD'S DON'TS:
** TOUCH PIECES OF LUNCH MEAT CAUGHT IN THE DRAIN.
** WALK ON WET HILLS.
** RIDE ON BUSES WITH DRUNK EMORY STUDENTS.

Serendipitously Craigslist

"I think we've figured something out if only for a little while."

I know we've all been there. I know that we've all had those moments, maybe weeks or months or years for some of us, where we just don't quite grasp how we could have ever done something so reckless or so unruly, where the reality of the situation, even undramatized, seems like a chapter in one of those memoirs you read and say, "Oh well that's just ridiculous." Now that I'm in college, it happened. We're owning it. We're acknowledging it. We're understanding and processing the absolute preposterousness of it all. BUT -- at least it makes for an interesting story, and it was all so serendipitous.

Let me lay the scene for you; B.L., my roommate, R.B. and K.B., my two new girl friends, and I were in B.L.'s and my dorm. B.L., a true romantic and a beautiful boy, was, in what some would find flirtatiously, talking to an upper class man. Said boy was telling us he wanted to go out, that he'd find a way for us all to go to Jungle, that we were golden. I believed him -- until 9:30 p.m. when we were still in our dorm and he was saying, "I don't want to go, but I'm still going to find a way for you all to have fun." Me, being an independent and competent young gay man, I responded, "You know what, uh uh... Imma' find my own way to go to 'da club!" In jest, I suggested to B.L., "Why don't we post a craigslist ad asking for someone to take us out!" B.L. responded, "Absolutely not!" Which I then took as a challenge and, with the squeal of gay laughter, replied, "Ok! Fine, I'll do it!"

My add went like this:

"Hello!

Cute skinny twink type here (and possibly one more) looking to go out and have a fun night! Not looking for anything scandalous, just good company. My friend is a little scketched out by me doing this. I'm just trying to be as outrageous as possible. Be beautiful, fun, and fierce! No closet cases, please! Sugar daddies welcome, but as long as you got a car, we're cool. Come pick us up, take us to Jungle, let's dance and party the night away.

xoxo "

For those of you unfamiliar with craigslist and it's litany of personals, this is mild to nothing, venturing on joking. Very facetious. Very fierce. Very bold and mad -- and reckless. At the time I was thinking of it more as a whimsical play thing. The responses were priceless: "I'm 42. Is that too old?" to, "Discreet guy lookin' for a regular thang." Needless to say, those garnered no responses other than a scoff or a quick laugh, but the first response caught my eye. It was from a senior here at Emory saying he wanted to go out, too, that his friends had ditched him, that he certainly wasn't a sugar daddy, but he had a car. I then went out on a limb, wrote back, "This isn't classy, but let's skype!"

Here I interject with a piece of knowledge that I have mad luck on craigslist. No, not for this sort of thing, but read back into my earlier blogs and you'll find I found an apartment for free in New York City -- not an easy feat. I also have a good sense of things, a solid head on my shoulders, and a very perceptive gut. I don't do things that don't feel right.

B.R. called me on skype. We instantly clicked. He talked about Emory Pride, the local LGBT group on campus, and gay rights, and mutual friends, and about being a student here at Emory. Very personable. I found his facebook. We established very quickly that we would have met on Wednesday anyway.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? YOU ARE UNDERMINING MY EFFORTS TO HANG OUT WITH THIS GUY?!"

I looked at B.R. and quietly said, "We might not be able to hang out tonight."

I looked at B.L. The first tension between roommates was between some craigslist bullshit and some guy flaking out on us. We decided to take a breath, find our space, and finally made the conclusion that there were three of us (K.B. had left because of the screaming) would stay together no matter what, and, because I was bent on my loyalty and trust in this stranger, that we would go out with B.R.

Needless to say we had a blast, danced the entire night away, found a new best friend, had a shared experience, and fell in love (if only for a minute). This is college -- go with it!

That "Roll with it!" sentiment didn't sit well with me the next day. I promptly apologized to my friends for instigating a potentially dangerous situation. I would never do anything to put my loved ones in harms way. Regardless of B.R. being a new staple in our daily routine, and the serendipitous luck on craigslist, there are so many things that could have gone differently. We could have been left at the club. We could have been taken advantage or abused in other ways. It's not the context of craigslist, but the total trust in a stranger to take care of us. Someone very close to me once told me that I should have a stronger dose of skepticism with people, that I should give people time before I invest too much in them. I know I need to learn this, but how do you go from being the most naive and innocent and trusting person to anything but that? It takes time; this is college -- go for it!

CONRAD'S DO'S:

** DO ASK PEOPLE WHAT MAKES THEM INTERESTING AND START A COLLECTION OF INSIDE JOKES.

** DO GO SEE THE B52'S AND BLONDIE WITH THE ONE PERSON YOU WOULD MOST WANT TO SEE THEM WITH.

** DO HOST BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S PARTIES.

** DO TALK ABOUT INAPPROPRIATE SUBJECT MATTERS TO GAUGE PEOPLE'S RESPONSES YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN BEING FRIENDS WITH LATER.

** DO SAY, "SALUTATIONS" TO KITCHEN STAFF.

CONRAD'S DON'TS:

** DON'T FAWN OVER BEAUTIFUL GREEK GODS THAT YOU WILL NEVER HAVE BECAUSE THEY DON'T SHARE YOUR SAME AFFINITY FOR MEN.

** DON'T HAVE THE AUDACITY TO QUESTION MY GLITTER.

** DON'T USE NEW TOWELS WITHOUT WASHING THEM.

** DON'T ACCEPT FREE ICE CREAM FROM BAPTISTS.

** DON'T RENAME PEOPLE WITHOUT THEIR CONSENT.

I am an Anti-Nazi Fairy

"Chasing the Devil, catching his tail, fishing him out, we've reached our quota. Here is your answer, now go to hell! The Devil's daughter -- St. Petersburg farewell!"

It's one thing to be anti-Nazi, but it's another thing to have a 'tude about it. I don't mean an edge. I don't mean a slight gleam in the eye. I mean a middle school attitude full of, "Hey fatty!" and "Na-na-na-na-na!" But, more importantly, having a sign of Hitler shooting his head and blood spewing everywhere with the text, "Follow your leader," was a little too much for me. My reaction? Get a bunch of UUs to sing "We Shall Overcome." That didn't work, and I tried my best. But, my question, to start this dialog, is, "How do we raise our children to practice non-violent action when you have people holding signs that provoke the idea that we're asking our 'opposites' to kill themselves?"

Regardless, the rally was a whole bash of fun. I mean, it really was the best send off to Atlanta I could ask for. All my old friends were there. People got to see me and hug me and tell me how beautiful I am. We danced and screamed and sang and we were outrageous. For me, this is what I love about my community in Knoxville. It's stepping into a crowd of people and knowing everyone. It's the disregard for what's "appropriate" in some instances for what feels right. It's our need to grow from our mistakes, but our comfort in making them. I hope I can find something this powerful in Atlanta. I hope I can be there to make something this powerful for someone else.

At the rally itself, I was an anti-Nazi fairy. While Bob Marly blasted through my hair and around my waist and in my ears, and the rain cooled me, I danced ethereally in the middle of the crowd of clowns and accordion players. I felt the energy of my body, and I felt the fun. I hope they saw that on the other side and were a little envious, or maybe curious. I think that's what fairies are supposed to inspire. Behind all the, "That faggot..." I hope there was a little voice, or thought, that broached, "That looks fun!"

CONRAD'S DO'S

** DO HANG OUT WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND OF ALL TIME.

** DO HAVE TEA AND FALAFEL AT THE BISTRO.

** DO WEAR FAIRY WINGS AND GLITTER.

** DO LOVE YOUR COMMUNITY.

CONRAD'S DON'TS

** DON'T HOLD YOUR SIGN UPSIDE DOWN IF YOU ALREADY LOOK STUPID FOR BEING A NAZI.

** DON'T SHOUT BACK, "HEY!" TO MEN IN RED TRUCKS THAT CALL YOU SEXY.

** DON'T PARK DUMB.

** DON'T BRING HOOLA-HOOPS INTO RALLIES WHERE PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO BE CLOWNS.

Summer Cont.

"Let this be our little secret, no one needs to know we're feeling higher and higher and higher."

Elliott and I were talking the other day before heading off to the pool. We were saying our thanks to the world for finally meeting each other and being able to be friends. "I think we'll be friends forever," he motioned, and I can't agree more. This is a summer to remember for the rest of our lives. It's not full of quips of New York City. It's not meeting the President. It is meeting new people and laughing and being outrageous and taking life for what it is. It's shaking our hips and letting down our hair. It's living for ourselves.

Let me catch you up.

It was the Fourth of July and I made dinner for my gays. Having dinner with friends is healthy, and part of becoming healthier in your diet. I explored this idea at Highlander with Yasameen and Sheena and Jardena, but let me elaborate:

At Highlander, our theme evolved around maintaining a healthier lifestyle for your mind, body, and heart. It is in this that I realized a healthy meal consists of three things. First, something that is filling, nutritious; something that provides your body with the new carbon backbones it needs for growing, the minerals and vitamins and proteins for function, and the fuel to run. But it also needs thought and consideration. Who are you cooking this meal for? What tastes and spices and combinations can you create? Most of all, at least on the Fourth of July, a healthy meal requires you to share that food with someone else, or a lot of someones. It requires you to exchange communion between friends and partners and strangers. It means laughing and saying, "thank you" and, "you're welcome" and some love. With that said, Paula Dean should have manifested with the amount of butter I used. Probably not the healthiest thing in the world, but sheer comfort and fun was there in abundance.

Aside the food, we had an outrageous time. Between the fireworks and the Passion Pit and the charades and the bubbles -- we were absolutely positively what fun is supposed to be about. I have never had such a outrageous summer.

On another note:

Do you have friends scattered through out the world? Maybe ones you connected with so fiercely at one point in your life, but lost contact because of space and time? Madeline, one of my favorite bisexuals in North Carolina, pinned me down last night for quite the phone date. We laughed and screamed and hollered and shared the deep secrets that have happened in our lives for the past year. I should have never hesitated to call her.

CONRAD'S DOs:

** LAY BY THE POOL LIBERATED BY THE SELF-CONSIOUS OF YOUR BODY AND WEAR SPEEDOS.

** BE AN URBAN EXPLORER. GO INTO THOSE HOTEL LOBBIES YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO AND LOOK AT THEIR LIBRARIES.

** HAVE PHONE DATES AT RIDICULOUS TIMES.

** GO CONTRA DANCING.

CONRAD'S DON'Ts:

** DON'T LIMIT YOURSELF.

** DON'T PUT TANNING OIL ON YOUR FACE.

** DON'T BE THE WOMAN IN THE DANCE AND FORGET THAT YOU'RE THE WOMAN AND THEN TRY TO BE THE MAN.

** DON'T NOT LISTEN TO YOUR GUT.