BLUE LIP BLACK WITCH-CUNT: MY SISTER, MY SISTER
MY SISTER, MY SISTER
ONE I CALL SISTER IS JADED, UNABLE TO AFFECT THE HEAVY BURDEN OF HER BLACKNESS AND HER SPECIFICITY IN A WORLD IN WHICH SHE IS CONSTANTLY DEALT UNREQUITED INFATUATION AS A SUPPOSEDLY LEGITIMATE FORM OF ROMANTIC ENGAGEMENT, BOUND TO THE MEANING OF HER COLORED BODY. SHE FEARS THAT MY OPTIMISM IS AGAINST MY BEST INTENTIONS, THAT I AM TOO EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL FOR THE QUEENS IN MY LIFE WHO ULTIMATELY SUBJECT ME TO THE CAPRICIOUS WHIMS OF THEIR UNCHECKED BOYISH IMPULSES AND DICKS. I THINK HER HOPE HAS BEEN ALL BUT COMPLETELY SUFFOCATED BY WHITE GAY MEN. WHICH IS NOT TO SAY THAT MINE HASN’T TO A CERTAIN DEGREE. AT TIMES IT SEEMS TOO MUCH TO HANDLE. THE REALITY-CHECK MOMENTS WHERE I AM HALTED BY THE REALITY THAT MY AGENCY IS CREATIVE, PERFORMATIVE, SOCIAL CULTURAL, ARTISTIC AND DEFINITIVELY NOT SEXUAL. THERES MUCH IN COMMON BETWEEN BLACK QUEENS (OF A CERTAIN TYPE) AND T-GURLS IN THE GAY WORLD: BOTH EXCEL IN SPITE OF THEIR LABOR-SATURATED BODIES. BOTH EXIST AS ORNAMENTS TO THE IDEALIZED QUEER-AS-FOLK BABYLON ANONYMOUS WHITE MEN AND THEIR ETHNIC-TOP COUNTERPARTS FREELY ENGAGING IN A REWORKING OF THE GARDEN OF EDEN. THE COLLECTIVE REPRESSION SUBLIMATED IN A SLOPPY GROUP TÊTE-À-TÊTE THAT FINDS IS MOST ELABORATED EXPRESSION IN A PRIVATE ALL-MALE AA BRONSON ‘SEANCE’ AND ITS MOST DEBASE FORM IN THE CLOCK-STRIKES-DICK SHITTY FAGGOTRY OF EASTERN BLOC, METROPOLITAN, AND THE LIKE THAT ENSUES AFTER 3:00AM. ON OUR LESS-THAN-IDEAL NIGHTS, MY SISTER(S) AND I STEP BACK, OBSERVE AND VOLUNTARILY BECOME PART OF THE UPHOLSTERY OF THE SWEAT SOAKED BAR FURNITURE. MY SISTER, MY SISTER I BEG OF YOU TO HOPE IN SPITE OF IT ALL.
