GRWM

Man and Woman #1, 1987, Lyle Ashton Harris. Gelatin silver print, 29 1/4 × 19 1/4 in. Getty Museum, 2016.47.1. © Lyle Ashton Harris

So I say…

The creator has a master above who is in control of all that is to be. Infinite dimensions hold different beings, those that we can not even manifest to think. Just as we see clearly those in the second dimension, so can those of the fourth view us. That is where our god lies. There is a god within every woman and its seed in every man. And god was not alone when we created us, as above so below, a balance of energies to create a singular entity that splits itself into man and woman. It again splits itself into adult and child and so forth, creating an intricate web that we call the way and being of life. A pyramid of sorts, but its height is unknown to us. As you are, so am I. 

So I say…

Here is my philosophy– ala Badu. The aforementioned stabilizes itself in our current world under hetero-patriarchal boundaries, or so it has been recontexualized to do so. Instead, sexual energy, like any energy, flows from one person to the next, regardless of sex, gender, genitalia, or other worldly materiality– free my heart and mind. I defined this sexual energy above with intentional ambiguity– the receiver and the giver. Any person can fulfill either role and switch between them. There is no boundary to the way in which energy is transferred. To limit oneself to sexual energy is to limit oneself to necessary soul-searching and trauma healing. However, I don’t mean to sound so Freudian. 

So I say…

Why do I begin to create a disparity between heterosexual and homosexual relationships? I lend the great sexual unknown to the homosexual, for we are the pioneers of body and sexual exploration and experimentation, whereas the heterosexual does what is “normal.” But is it gay to be fingered by your girlfriend? Is it gay to get your ass eaten? Is it wrong for a guy to ask a girl to try a new position, like anal? Or is it all exploration of the self with the other? This is the very question I found myself thinking on the phone with my friend. 

The story goes…

She has been going out with this guy on and off for a couple of months. There is no established relationship – he is a baby daddy with a baby momma back in Mexico. It is just light, young, fun. He asked her the first time, as they were having sex, if he could slip it in her butt. She obviously (?) said no. Why? The reason was that she was scared it would hurt badly. True, ask any bottom about their first time. But what struck me was that she proceeded to reassure me that nothing was wrong with that. I know there is nothing wrong with doing anal. Why the reassurance? And to much surprise, she found solace with our other girl friends than with me, who too had to shut down men who wanted to do anal. What is it about anal that is terrifying? 

So I think…

Is the ass an exclusive male area only to be accessed by other men? Can we really boil down homosexuality to simply two men interested in anal sex? Socially and culturally and perhaps other identity factors (to which I do not agree, but for the sake of argument), femininity is tied to the vagina. Its reproductive powers tell of a woman. So does the ass tell of a man? What powers does it have? I would also analyze the current dating scene for many girls/women in today’s age. In considering the story of my dear friend, she has confided in me that she has long wanted to feel feminine with a man. She has been a victim of the “sassy man apocalypse.” Whenever she is with men, she feels masculine and dominant than they! So, when she does get to have sex with a man, it should be a reinforcement and reinstatement of her femininity. However, with doing anal, her sexual partner has intentionally removed her from her feminine role in bed and converted it to the passive, no different than a man. To which I postulate, feminine and masculine roles have no clear definition in sexual energy. It is intentionally ambiguous and nonbinary. Is the gay man feminine enough to be equated with a woman if he does anal? Is a woman who does anal just as masculine as a bottom? And why the need to set those gender markers in bed?  

So they say…

I don’t understand. Which I agree with. I don’t find myself needing to have my masculinity reinforced; however, I can not deny that I benefit from its privileges every day and probably for the rest of my life. It is those privileges that subtly and not so subtly reinforced my masculinity so that, in conjunction with the binary world, give me the privilege to move between these spaces…because it is safe for me to do so. 

So I continue…

After many passionate kisses and slight fingering over a dress at a party, she finally agreed to his proposal. Over the phone, I give her the basic tips and tricks to bottom. I, a gay man, am teaching a straight woman how to take dick. Is this the gay agenda? She must go through the rigors of douching. All the while, I, too, begin to feel unnatural. I think to myself: this is a man and a woman, what do they need to be doing this? It seems almost like cultural appropriation. Why did I heterosexualize this relationship when they were embarking on their own sexual journey? Am I at fault here? I can not even fathom.  

So I ask…

I consulted the tarot, and after a night of spiritual psychosis, it dawned on me as the dawn dawned on Berkeley that there is a special connection between the energies. I transitioned myself into the role of the woman, the receiver, taking in the powers of the divine feminine, and thought about what it meant to be entered by a penis. Unlike men, women do not reproduce their eggs. Meaning that every time a man or penis or finger or mouth enters the vagina, it makes contact with her life force. Especially if it is a man, who then cums in her, they have during their sexual encounter, in all the pains and joy and moaning and groaning of sex, travel through space and time, and become parents. The man humbly enters the woman and sees his future within her. His seed makes contact with her egg, and in the perpetual bloom and mist of sexual fervor, their souls unite and realize that they have created life. So is the same with any sexual partner. To receive the seed of a man, or the rain of a woman, or the breath of a human, the souls knot themselves with intention. True prosperity, human will, love finds a way, and the gods and goddesses that we are erect and harden themselves in our material world– free my heart and mind. 

But you ask…

I have had many bad sexual experiences. Or I don't want a child with this person. Or when we had sex, they gave me an STD. This is the flip-side, the chopped and screwed, reversed underbelly of life, that is death. You can give your sexual energy to any person. Sex is a service, and it is not the giver that is receiving pleasure but rather the receiver. It is the receiver who receives all the joy and happiness of their giver, but also their woes, anxieties, fears, doubts, ugliness, sweat, and human carnalness, and makes it beautiful. Digests it inside them and lets it grow to something truly magical– energy is cyclical. That said, there is intentionality with this power. If you have sex with bad intentions (for the sake of revenge, stress, confusion, pressure, or anything not good), then so will the result be born. That is not to say that sex can not take away all that is not good, but when the intention is not to make something not good, then you will have bad. You get what you give.

Come into me…

Don’t you realize how powerful and spiritual our bodies are! Our bodies are temples, but if we do not have those to worship them, then what purpose do they hold? I reached for this fruit knowing very well my new sexual endeavor: asexuality. It has been a long journey, one that began in its complete opposite. Because of my own upbringing and trauma, I was a reflection of hidden sexual desires, which was instilled in me to find out what it is that I truly loved and lusted after. I was a hypersexual person. I performed services for many others, giving and receiving, but I never got the true source of power. You see, sex is beautiful and magical and self-fulfilling, but when it does not expand and grow, neither will one. Sex is a gateway to the heart, mind, and soul of another person. Someone is entering you, no matter which body part, it contains the essence and visual perspective of that person, who looks at your insides and leaves a part of themselves in you. But if it does not cultivate some reaction, then it was of no use. Do you understand the other person better? Maybe it is the pillow talk, but the after-sex clarity is determinative of what both partners learned of themselves throughout the act. Is he an immature man who needs to mature further? Is she someone who does not know what she wants? Are they in need of something other than sex? I have been with beauty and ugliness, and whatever dreams I had and nightmares I survived, they are all stepping stones of the hope that I wish to take with me when I am long dead. Yesterday, I was a child, today I am an adult, tomorrow I am dead, and they all belong to me. What do I take with me when I have no tangible materiality but what others have left within me? 

I give birth. 

Covered in blood and mucous and cum and shit of others that I have touched and had sex with. The feelings that I carry are not mine but wholly theirs. I am superficial. So do not look into my eyes, for they are not mine own. And like Medusa, you will belong to me and become transfixed because under my light brown eyes, you will see someone who I have been with that you always wished to have been with. And you will take notice of my mouth, and when I open my mouth, you will wish to enter it and, like a tidal wave, be washed under its lunar current of the powerful source that is love. The great I Am I am, and so are you. 

But what is a mirror, if not part of a greater altar? I pixelate myself into pieces to be consumed. I realize I am doing what I have always done: performing worship. And perhaps that is the ritual itself: to turn performance into devotion, to make the fragmented self whole again.

I propose an experiment. 

I want to find out what is wrong with me. It rarely matters if I grow my hair out or cut it short. It does not matter whether I dress punk or preppy, performative or hippie. It makes no difference whether I listen to rap, pop, or alternative. No one gives a shit if I read or write or create. 

Here is what I propose. 

In the dead of night, I will post photos of different parts of my body. I will have: a wide shot of my ass, a close shot of my eyes, a portrait of my balls, a landscape of my pierced nipples, an aerial of each of my ten toes, an editorial of my pubes, a candid of my teeth, a headshot of my fingers, a self-portrait of my ears, a selfie of my tongue, a cityscape of my thighs, a still-life of my ankles, double exposure of my nose and nostrils, an abstract of my calfs, black and white of my elbows, a conceptual photo of my forearms, an underwater capture of my penis, a long exposure of my cheeks, a panorama of my back (upper, middle, and lower), a composite of my palms, a forced persepctive of my chin, a film of my neck, a HDR photo of my stomach, a drone picture of my shoulders, a black light photo of my gooch, a stock image of my forehead. And then I will type into ChatGPT: Create a hyperrealistic photo of shins at 10:55 PM as I sit cross-legged in my anti-suicide chair in my room at Unit 3. 

And then I would leave my phone number and ask people to help me figure out what is wrong with the photo. Maybe then I will find out what I need to change and wait for the right person. 

And how will I know?

Because they will say nothing. 

All in all…

Is sex not performing? If the rest is all drag, then who told us we were naked? Get ready with me to have sex with myself. I follow an ancient African sex ritual to heighten my orgasm that begins with first becoming aligned with oneself, sort of like a meditation. I wear my white Calvin's. White represents intelligence, purity, and a willingness to submit and cleanse oneself; it also signifies the life force that you will expel. I lay on the ground in a pitch black room with the window open. This dark room represents the womb, turning the inside out, and creating a space of infinite creativity, exploration, and experimentation. The open window invites nature to look upon you and guide you back to reality when the time is done. 

You must play music. Music is key. And there must not be another voice. It has to be instrumental, drums, frequencies, trumpets, horns; the theremin is excellent for this to work. There can not be any other voice but your own. You must be able to hear yourself as you feel yourself. And the rest is up to you. You will find what you have been searching for. And sometimes the answer is deeper than the question you initially ask. 

The cycle is complete, and you are once again naked. Reborn with a new identity and you will see that the love and lust and desire you craved for others were always held deep within you. Always. I began to wear glasses after starting this ritual, as I realized that others' perceptions of me became hazy, fuzzy, and reflections of themselves. You see, when you work on yourself, your skin becomes glasslike, your eyes like windows, and your teeth like glass, so that when you speak, blink, or sneeze, you will undoubtedly turn someone on. 

What do you wear to a hook-up? Does it depend on the person: if it is someone you know you should not be having sex with, someone you really like, or someone you need to take the edge off? Do you feel beautiful in your sexual attire? Is the walk of shame something you can wear to school? Does it matter if the activity at hand is to remove all those boundaries of clothes? I would like to document what people wear to their sneaky links, but what we really want to know is how they'll take it off. 

Osu kese bi ato aboro me