Mercy, Mercy Me

 
The prolific do die young. The prophets are assassinated. The innocents serve as sacrificial lambs. And us fools live long, wonderful lives. Tis true.

I've been kind of thinking about the world and the energy moving around and within us. To say shit is crazy is a gross understatement.

Marvin Gaye's songs from his landmark 1971 album, "What's Going On" are spinning in my head. I do know what's going on, Change. And it ain't spare change. And it ain't Obama's change. It is etheral, spiritual change rising from Haitian platotonic shifting plates to Japanese radioactive clouds.

Though I know what's going, I am still attempting to understand it, as I change. As we all change.

Marvin, a man who was prolific, a prophet, and an innocent, died a death that resulted in a crashing end of a world filled with shame, secrets, deceipt, frustration, and identity crises. Marvin was caught between worlds of polar opposites. Heterosexual and Homosexual. Industry and Down-Home Roots. Fame and the Fallen. Masculine and Transvestism.

Killed by his father who didn't know how to process his homosexuality. But he had already died several deaths; especially with losing friends in Motown and being exploited by Motown executives, like all of the legends.

DJ Mister Cee

I use Marvin as reference as I am sorting out the current controversy surrounding New York DJ, Mister Cee, who's dick was caught in another man's mouth by the police this Wednesday.

I am saying this with sarcasm because Mister Cee, and is whole crew, that includes master DJ, Funkmaster Flex, represent an uber-masculine, elite hip hop identity and positionality.

No, let me restate this, these men define a chunk of masculinity in hip hop. The DJ is a powerful player in hip hop and music. And these respected icons put stamps of approval on records and behaviors. Through the pit bull growls and slurry NYC borrough, gully talk, it can be quite puzzling that Cee is down for that Thug Love that the Boondocks so accurately portrays.

Several months ago, Funk or should I say, Flunkmaster, choked out the mother of his child. Could it be that he needs to just come out of the DJ's booth with some Louboutin heels and hugging up on RuPaul?


Now I understand how some folk get put on. But I do love your mixes, I just hate your politics and misogynistic actions that you rotate in your spins.
 

Gay folk can fall in love

All of this continues to make me ponder about the complexity of the black sexuality. I always state that black folk have a serious dilemma in defining their own sexuality, because frankly, we never have in this capacity. We still are bucks, bubba, jezebels, and wenches.

And with this latest incident it confirms the obvious. If women are getting turned out in hip hop; then surely the men have as well. And if there are a host of lesbian and bisexual women, you better believe there is a significant presence of gay and bisexual men.

There is no way in hell, you can have an Amber Rose with a super-straight up heterosexual dude. Sorry Kanyeezy, I still do love your music, but dude, I'm just saying . . .

And I'm not hating or judging one's preference. I just really think that if a true space was provided, we could sort a lot of this out. You see the entertainment industry, and upper echelons of power turn people out. And it has many of black folk spinning who don't have the safety nets as a Charlie Sheen.
 

Art by South African photographer,
Zanele Muholi in Lagos exhibit
titled, "Like a Virgin"


But there is a bigger issue. We are not having orgasms in peace. We are piecing out our sexuality, with bits of what we think are true. Bits of what we think pleases our partners. Then Bits of what we like.

The biggest danger is that we expose our sons, but shush and shame our daughters into a consciousness of fake abstinence.

Ask people how did they discover and learn about exploring their sexuality. Most will give you these random experiences. When I was talking to Mr. EcoSoul the other day about this issue, he talked about guys and their early exposure to porn, a good talk with dad or an older man, Hustler Magazine, and some who were iniated into thinking about their sexuality from the warm folds of a much younger woman.

Then I thought about me and my girlfriends. All of us, were told the keep our legs shut, skirts down, and panties up. That was it, finnito. Trust me when I say it is not fun to find out when you are stumbling in the dark.

So I gotta end with an agreement with Charlagmane's response to Flunkmaster Flexes defense of Mister Cee. Why don't you just step to your friend and tell him to just get a goddamn boyfriend and stay away from the prostitutes. And though I can't stand a lot of the stupid shit Charlagmane says, I have to agree with this response.