Emmett Till was a fourteen year old Black boy living in Chicago in 1955. He was on his way to visit relatives in Money, Mississippi. He came home without himself, just his dead body, mutilated beyond belief. Emmett Till was a baby, just a boy, fucking FOURTEEN!!! He wasn’t a civil rights activist. He wasn’t a criminal. He didn’t come to file complaints against the Jim Crow law. He was visiting his great uncle. At first he was having fun. His cousins and he became friends quickly and they were playfully teasing each other outside of a market in the middle of town. Emmett was showing off a photo he had of himself and a pretty white girl, his girlfriend. His cousins were shocked and didn’t believe him, as things were different there in Money. This was the kind of town where a few weeks earlier a young Black girl had been beaten almost to death for “crowding” a white woman.

A pretty white girl walked by and went into a store. Emmett’s cousins, knowing he would never do it, dared him to flirt with her. Little Emmett Till had been raised in the North, and had no way of knowing that taking this little dare, harmless and sweet, would cost him his life. His cousins were shocked when Emmett followed the girl into the store. They tried to stop him but they didn’t get to. There was not much interaction between Emmett and the girl. Speculation range here from a possible catcall, a whistle, maybe a “Bye, Bye baby….” Less than two days later, Emmett Till was no longer Emmett Till, but a broken symbol of how hatred lives and kills and rots us from the inside out.

Racism is a cancer that is unstoppable if unchecked. Emmett Till is a messianic figure, because his murderers were actually tried for murder, not that it had been the first time white on black violence had reached the courthouses in Mississippi, even though there had been a long standing immunity against white lynchers in the courts of Money (just fucking ponder that for a second - immunity - LONG STANDING) but the brutality of the killing, the age of the victim, juxtaposed with the unbearably tiny offense of flirting - fucking FLIRTING??!!! - brought so much publicity to the case, it caused a wave of outrage from the entire nation. Jet Magazine printed photographs of poor baby Emmett Till. Thousands attended his funeral. His mother had insisted on an open casket so that all could see what they had done to her baby.

The men charged with the murder, Roy Bryant and J. W. Milam, were declared innocent, but in my world, memory is a jail from which you can never escape and they suffered, their cages not made of iron, but the indelible blood and guilt are bar and shackles that will never set you free.

So thus began the Civil Rights Movement. Some months later Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on the bus, claiming her right to be, to exist, to be equal and free, just like any other American.

We have come some fair distance in the continuing struggle for racial balance. It is only fair, average, a little better than okay. But there is lynching still. And we don’t need ropes anymore, there are more efficient ways of doing it. I am not just talking about Rodney King, but we can start there. There is worse.

Amadou Diallo, just a few years ago, shot 44 times by police in NYC for holding his hands up in surrender. Wouldn’t you say that is a lynching? Jermaine Jackson called what is happening to Michael Jackson a ‘modern day lynching.’ Where is the evidence against Michael? When asked, almost all white celebrities call Michael a ‘freak’ and ‘it’s about time,’ and black celebrities talk about the music he made, what he did for them, his contribution to the world of song, for the sorrow and pain they feel for him, and they echo what Jermaine Jackson calls it. Lynching. I believe him, as I believe it is what is happening to Kobe Bryant. It seems that William Kennedy Smith can be acquitted, exonerated, welcomed back into the family fold. Arnold Schwarzenegger, accused of sexually molesting sixteen plus women, who was never brought to trial, is now governor of California.

Vincent Chin, a twenty three year old Chinese American, out on the town with his friends at his own bachelor party, was beaten to death by two white men. They were auto workers, frustrated at being laid off, blaming the Japanese automobile industry boom. This was their chance of getting revenge. Who cares if Vincent Chin was an American? Who cares if Vincent Chin was not in the auto industry? Who cares if Vincent Chin is not Japanese? These men were acquitted too after being fined a mere $3000. But they will pay, as they will never forget the inhumanity that gripped the baseball bat that would crush Vincent’s skull. They will never sleep easy again, hearing the sound of a man dying by their own hand. They will suffer for eternity, as God is just.

Matthew Shepard was the same as Emmett Till and Vincent Chin, the only difference being that Matthew was killed because he was gay, not black or Asian. Little Matthew Shepard, hung up like a scarecrow, but also like Christ, left in a Wyoming cornfield, dying as he looked up at the stars, wondering when God would come to get him.

Are you angry? I am. I am angry and I am sad. I can only say that we have not the luxury of our own privatized civil rights movements because the crimes, the hatred, the ignorance, the rage against the who/what/why some of us are, is a much much larger foe. We cannot fight alone, as this battle will be lost without alliance. But together, we are more than the sum of our parts. In union, in communion, in joining hands, we conquer all, for we have love on our side. We have God on our side. Most importantly, we have ourselves on our side.

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Note: The author of Letter #1 in the entry from 11/20/2003 responded and the discussion continues.

> Margaret, (Got it right this time)

Thank you. I was just pulling your leg!

> I’m glad to see we have some common
> ground in all this. You asked why, if
> Biblical mandates are so important,
> people don’t follow them. That’s a
> loaded question!

I know. It makes me want to load a gun sometimes!

> I think many so called Christians
> should ask themselves that question.
> (Yes I have asked myself. If you want
> to know my answer, let me know and
> I’ll tell you about it.)

You go girl!

> First of all, God is the one who created
> us and knows what is best for us. I think
> you would agree to this at least in part
> since you indicated you have a belief in God.

Yes, and we are His children. I was raised in the church, but I also have spent time in the ghetto, and then was adopted by a wonderful frolicking group of gay men, so being poor had its advantages, as we relied on God a lot, and we relied on each other maybe more, and we all acknowledged ourselves as part of God’s family. I even learned all the words to “We are family” by Sister Sledge!

> Secondly, if God knows what is best for us,
> He would somehow let us know what that is.
> I believe that “somehow” is the Bible.

That is great. Many use the Bible as their guide to living. I don’t find anything wrong with that. But being a ‘fisher of men’ does not include creating laws that would ban others from loving each other. Some people just fish for men in a different way.

> You said you define what is sacred from
> the truth. Where do you find your truth?

From my love of God, from the radio, from books, from people like you, from the lessons found in every rock and tree on earth.

> In mankind who has proven himself through
> many centuries/millenniums to be extremely
> unreliable?

You are so right about that. Guys can be really like so unreliable.

> I would rather find truth in a more
> reliable source.

My sources are pretty good, as I have a satellite dish, which they didn’t have in Babylon, or Sodom and Gomorrah - actually, Sodom, I heard, had basic cable, but that was it.

> Now, why don’t people follow the manual
> for living God gave us? One simple reason,
> they choose to do what they want to do
> and disregard the rest. The first sin recorded
> is one of selfishness.

I don’t know why they don’t follow God’s manual for living, but there are lots and lots of manuals to help us along. I don’t judge those who might use the manual that came with the Saturn they just purchased, or the manual that shows us how to program the VCR. Haven’t they heard of Tivo? The ignorance is staggering. It breaks my heart that some are deprived of Tivo. I pray for them.

Selfishness can also be manifesting itself in getting up in other people’s business.

Live and let live. If you start to try to control others in how they live, because you want them to live a certain way, then that is selfish. I am selfish in that I would like all people to understand that Tivo is sacred, but I will not judge them if they do not want it. Tivo is a choice.

> I found other common ground in your reply.
> You said that, “gays and lesbians [are] treated
> as second class citizens . . .” I believe that
> more often than not you are correct.

That is very kind of you.

> I do not look down on the person who is gay
> or lesbian. They were created by God as I
> was.

You are a true believer, and you are loving your neighbor, even if he might be gay, and perhaps you covet his landscaping, but you love him all the same. How can we finally get along if we just all saw as you and I do, that we are all created by God? Thanks a bunch for not looking down on us!

> I merely feel that their behavior is not
> in harmony with God’s manual for life, the
> Bible. They still deserve all the love and
> human compassion due any other person.

I also feel that the manuals can sometimes misguide us. The manual to my car suggests that I get my oil changed every 3,000 miles, which I feel is not in harmony with my lifestyle, but I understand that the manual is correct, and my choice not to accept that oil change, or to change all the fluids in my car, is selfish.

That is beautiful that you think we all deserve love and human compassion. Here is our common ground.

> I have a question however about the rest of the
> quotation in the previous paragraph. The
> remainder of the statement refers to this nation
> being built on religious freedom.

Yes. The Pilgrims came because they were persecuted
for worshipping God. They searched for a land that would give them the freedom to do so, and they found it. Then they gave the people here smallpox blankets, scalped them, killed them by the millions, were compensated by the government if they brought body parts in as proof. The government would pay fifty cents for a native American scalp and five dollars for a whole head! However, they did initially come here to create a nation that would have freedom of religion.

> Are you saying that homosexuality is
> a religion and that its followers should
> be allowed to practice it? (I’ll be waiting
> for your reply.)

Some people worship cock. I am guilty of that. But cock is really Godlike, as is the vagina, depending on my mood. I am bi-spiritual.

Yes, it is a religion for some. For others, it is a way of loving, a way to make a family, a way to live in a world that is so lonely we cannot bear to face it alone. That some bigots/Pharisees/homophobes cast them out of the temple, claim that they are not worthy of the right to live as they do, love as they do, to me goes against the word of the Lord, far more than homosexuality. Hatred is a great sin. Love is not a sin at all. Love conquers hate in all battles. Love is stronger. Love is mighty. Love is God. And we have God on our side.

> If you will read some of the writings
> of the founding fathers of our nation,
> you will see that they came to this land
> so they could be free to worship “God”,
> not “Gods”, as they felt convicted in
> their hearts. Is homosexuality worship
> of God?

They also all kept slaves.

But also, God has many names, and He is worshipped in many ways. Homosexuality is worship of God, because it is the acknowledgement of love. God is love, homosexuality is love, and so then by proxy, God is gay.

> I don’t think that homosexuality is either
> worship or religion.

Oh sir, then you are really missing out!

> I sincerly hope, however, that the
> people of those religions will accept
> homosexuals into their churches.

I do too. More common ground.

> The sin of homosexuality is no
> worse than say, the sin of adultery,
> or any other sin for that matter.

But homosexuality is not a sin. It isn’t one of the Ten Commandments. There is not “Thou shalt not be a fag.” It isn’t one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Homosexuality is love. God is love. God made homosexuality so that we would have variety in our lovely world, where we all love each other, or at least are meant to.

> By the way, I didn’t think it would
> be challenging for you to read. But
> I was glad to see you read
> part of Genesis.

It is really kind of boring, but I was just kidding. I know you know that I know how to read!

> As for the pie, we have been eating,
> gorging on, apple pie (figuratively)
> for too long. And yes I’ve had my slices.

I see that you are a thoughtful Christian, and you believe that certain things are meant to be according to the Bible. You and I only differ in that you would wish to control how other people live and love. I do not wish to control. I do not wish to rule the realm of love. That is God’s job. You believe that you must work to establish that homosexuality is against God. I believe that God accepts and loves homosexuality. We are really very similar, just coming from a different angle.

> I was glad to see that you put much
> thought into what you say. That speaks
> well of you.

Thinking is FUN! Yayy. Thought! Let’s hear it for brains!!!

> I was most encouraged to hear you
> say we should love each other. You
> are correct also that everyone is
> welcome in the true house of God.

I am glad for that, and you and I are going to kick back in God’s crib one day.

> If you are ever in Mobile, Alabama
> I would love to have you visit my
> church. I do think that God asks more
> of us than just to love Him. He said
> that if we love him we will do as he
> has instructed us.

I will - and thank you for this invitation. We can resume this friendly discussion over donuts. I love French crullers. What is your favorite donut?

> In summary, I was glad to see that
> we have more in common than I
> originally thought. Hope I didn’t wear
> you out with all this reading! (Just joking!)
> God Bless.
> VV
> Mobile, Alabama

Best,
Margaret Cho

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> Margaret, I just watched you on MSNBC and
> heard your argument on homosexuality. To
> be honest, I have heard of you and I know
> you are a celebrity, but I am not familiar
> with your career or the person you are.
> After hearing your argument tonight, I
> wanted to write you, because even though
> I don’t know you, I care about you.

Why thank you. I can say that I don’t know you and I care about you too!

> I will be honest,

You do love to be honest don’t you!

> I didn’t agree with the things you had to say,
> but that is not the point. This isn’t a hate letter,
> I promise.

I know. It is a love letter.

> You said you were a christian, and that you
> read the Bible.. but after hearing you, I
> really question the validity of that statement.

Why? I read the Bible. It is a great big book full of information about events that occurred a long time ago, and some of it is super boring, and some of it is nice, and some of it is bizarre.

I read it. Did you need me to take a quiz?

> I just want you to know that YES, God
> does Love you…

I am already aware of that, and you know, right back atcha!

> and YES he wants you to one day be in heaven,

I will see you there too. Maybe we can be roommates. We could possibly share a meal in eternity, I am pretty sure they have a cafeteria.

> Margaret, homosexuality is a sin no matter |
> how you put it.

Even if you put it in your ass? What about if you put it in your cunt? What if before you put it in, you say “In Jesus’ name…”?

> God loves you, and he loves everyone
> who is homosexual, but he hates the sin.

Is it that he doesn’t like the way that homosexuality is considered a sin? Is it that God would rather we love than hate? Is it that God would ask that we are tolerant and loving towards others, rather than calling them sinners? How do you know he hates the sin? Did he tell you? Because he told me something completely different. I think you need to get your story straight. Pun totally intended.

> The Lord created us in His image, and he
> placed inside each of us, a natural desire
> for the opposite sex.

Really? Why? Then why does homosexuality exist? I think that God gave us the capacity to love. Who we decide to love is up to us, and God is accepting of all that. God loves it when we love. It makes things easier for Him.

> I know deep down, you are probably getting
> angry reading that.

No, I am angry right on the surface. I am seething on the top of my head, right on the very top. Not deep down at all.

> Keep in mind, I haven’t offended you in any
> way, I care for you, and I know God loves
> you, but he doesn’t love the sin that is in your
> life.

But I don’t have any sin in my life. I am not offended by the things you have said to me. I care for you too! I am just offended by your blindness and stupidity. I am offended that God had to make you so darn dumb. God loves you, but He just doesn’t think you have the smarts. Sorry, I shouldn’t tell tales out of school. But you are really idiotic, which isn’t your fault. It’s God’s. I am going to be mad at Him for that. You don’t deserve to be such a dummy. You are nice.

> Somewhere in your past, Satan has placed a “lie”
> that has consumed you..

Really? Do tell…

> Now wait, be patient with me, and let me explain..

Please, hurry. I cannot wait. You are keeping me on tenterhooks!

> There is a difference between people who say
> they are christian, and those who actually live
> their lives to serve God.

What is that? Do Christians go to church on Sunday, give a dollar in the collection basket, have a donut in the social hall, and leave, not coming back until the next Sunday. Do those who serve God learn acoustic guitar and sing songs while sitting on the grass, all the while judging other people’s behavior as right or wrong because since they know how to strum a B flat?

> There is going to come a time soon, when
> only those who serve God with ALL their heart,
> will [not] be persecuted,

When? Do you know when? Is there a timetable? Will there be an ad in the paper? I am really curious about it. I want to make sure to pack a lunch.

> because as you know, as it says in the bible, we
> are living in the “last days”..

We are? I had no idea that these were the last days. Then is it true that I really don’t need to worry about paying my mortgage? Should I just forgo buying Christmas presents? Are the last days going to fall on the end of the month, or are they going to be randomly during the week? I would like to plan my work schedule accordingly.

> Did you know that every prophetic word that
> was given in the Bible has been fulfilled?

Wow. That is super cool. Every bit of it? Even the part about immaculate conception and there being no way that Mary could have fucked some dude and lied about it and just told all these people he was the son of God because she just was so embarrassed? Wow. So God like totally got it on with Mary? Does God have a big one? I bet it was hot.

> It baffles scholars,

It must. It baffles me.

> and what many do not even realize is that
> the time we are living in now, it is being
> fulfilled. (Read Matthew 24.)

So like Matthew 24 is really what should replace the media, news outlets, CNN, MSNBC, Vanity Fair, The New York Times? Wow. I could really save on my cable and subscription bills.

> But what I want you to know, is that God
> is a HOLY God.

I know that. I am sure that He is so holy. I love that he is holy like that. It is rad.

> He cannot stand the presence of sin. If
> there was even a drop of “sin” in heaven,
> it wouldn’t even be heaven.

Well, that is kind of anal isn’t it? I mean really. There is always going to be some sin. It is like dust. You just cannot get away from it, and the more you clean, the more you make. It just makes me crazy!

> He sees all things and he is everywhere,
> but when we allow for sin to creep into our
> hearts, because God is a HOLY God, he
> cannot stay in our hearts. To be Holy, is to
> be pure.

God is really a neat freak. I think that He must be obsessive compulsive. But who could blame Him? If you had to be everywhere and see everything and then be holy and be unable to stay anywhere because there is so much sin around, that would drive anyone to distraction. Purity is the answer. You know, Ivory soap is 99 and 44/100ths pure. That is close, but I guess, it has to be 100%.

> You said that being gay was about love.
> I also disagree with you here. Love does
> not mean anything, until you truly
> experience God’s love.

SO He does have a big one. God has the biggest cock. I mean it makes sense. On the seventh day - he didn’t rest. He got off. Why not? He created the world in a week. He deserves a blow job. He’s God!

> It does not compare to any love you feel.
> God’s love isnt’ even about “feelings”..
> feelings only mean that your flesh is
> loving it..

Right on. I want God’s big huge cock. That would be rad. Fuck feelings. We want God’s jiz. He is hot and holy. I love God. God rules.

> When 2 God is Spirit and His love changes
> your spirit. It lets you have peace in your
> heart, it gives you life. And when his Holy
> Spirit dwells inside you, believe it or not,
> you begin to see how Satan has decieved
> the world. Your heart goes out to people
> you don’t even know..just like I am doing
> now.

I know. You are so nice. God bless you. I hope you get to have God’s big holy cock, just like everyone should. It rocks. God’s cock rocks the cocks off everybody. Hooray for God’s big dick. Hip hip hooray. Satan went and told everyone God had a small dick, what a deceiver of the world. Everyone needs to know about God’s fat cock.

> Have you ever wept your heart out to the
> Lord?

Of course. God and I are really close, and He is always there for me. I just didn’t know that I could fuck Him. He never brought it up, and I just thought maybe He didn’t like me that way, but I guess it is just that He’s gay.

> Have you ever told him to show you
> if there was any sin in your heart?

No, but I am going to ask Him to show me His big cock.

> Have you ever looked at your life, and
> questioned God, “God, what have I done
> for you?”…

Yes, and He said I did lots of good things for Him, He always laughs at my jokes, and He says that I am here on earth to make people happy and to let all people understand that God’s love is for everyone, and that gay, straight, bisexual, transsexual - all of everyone who loves, who is loving, who is a lover and not a fighter is going to go to heaven. Because God is love. He is love with a big fat cock to show for it.

> Let me tell you, when this life is over, and
> when you face God, he is going to ask you
> the exact same thing.

I know, and He will say the same thing back to me. God totally loves me, like ADORES me. He tells me I am one of His favorites. He really is into me.

> He won’t care about who you are to other
> people, your title, or your profession. When
> God knows your name, he is going to show
> you everything you have ever done, and he
> is going to show you how seperated you were
> from Him.

And then we are going to fuck.

Finally.

> That is why a true believer, is sold out
> for Jesus, because we know that nothing
> else is more important in this world.
> You will live and die, but to live forever
> with a glorious King means more than to
> live in a world full of hurt, pain, deception
> and most of all, SIN.

Yes, and to live in heaven with Him and His cock, that is beautiful. We all get some of God’s love. For lesbians, then God will have the most rocking vagina. God is going to be there for all of our desires, loves, hopes, dreams and holes.

God rules. He is the King. The Queen. The Trannie. The Dyke. The Fag. He made us in His image, and he made all of us in His image, so we are all loved by Him, will all get love from Him, and it doesn’t matter what you think, because He loves you, even though you are a fucking dipshit. You are a nice dipshit, but you are a dipshit all the same. But I love you. And so does God.

> Margaret, I write this to you and honestly
> ask you to question your own heart. If Jesus
> were here at this moment and he was looking
> into your thoughts and into your heart’s
> secret desires, do you think he would be
> pleased?

Yes. And He would be asking me to wash His feet with my hair, and I will, because I am kinky like that. Jesus is a player, and He would be pleased with me. Trust me. I aim to please.

> Remember he is holy. He loves you, and
> he wants you to come to Him and he wants
> to change the condition of your soul.

I love the fact that Jesus wants me to come, because a lot of people don’t care if you get off or not. Jesus is a hot lay and a considerate fuckbuddy.

> Don’t waste time.

No I won’t. Thank you.

> Ask him to show you how. God is not
> a dead God.. He lives and he speaks
> to whoever comes to Him with a humble
> heart.

I know. We talk a lot. He is so cool. God is the best. He is not dead. He is very much alive, rockin’ the holy cock into eternity.

> In Jesus name, I pray that God break
> the chains over your soul.

Oh, but the chains make it really fun. Can’t we keep the chains, just for now…. please Father? Pretty please? MMMmmmmm…

> You have caused many thousand upon
> thousands to laugh. I pray that God one
> day touch you in such a way, that he
> cause you to laugh uncontrollably and
> cry out tears of joy.

not to mention orgasm….

God wants us to love, fuck, cuddle after, no matter who we do it with. If it is mutual, if it is consensual, if it is between adults, it is right and holy. Nothing is holier than love.

I love you. Thank you for your words.

Best,
Margaret Cho

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Note: In the past two days, Margaret debated Jerry Falwell on MSNBC and read a piece on NPR’s Morning Edition both on the issue of Gay marriage. She received and responded to many letters. We’ve chosen the following two for today’s entry.

Letter #1
Subject: Morning Edition Commentary

>Dear Morning Edition,

Please, call me Margaret.

> I would like to respond to your commentary on
> Morning Edition, aired November 19th. You spoke of
> the sanctity of marriage and gave examples of
> marriages performed by Elvis impersonators,
> receptions in graveyards, herses used for
> transporting the wedding party, and others. These
> examples were used to “prove” there is no sanctity
> in marriage.

Yes, it is true. There is no sanctity in marriage, in that ’sanctity’ is relative and self defined. You define what sacred is fron the Bible. I define what is sacred from the truth. We both are right really, we just see things from a different point of view. You choose to live your life according to writings that are thousands of years old, which was told to the authors mostly second hand, in that the experiences therein were recorded by witnesses, rather than the participants, so who knows what kind of game of ‘telephone’ that may have caused, and if you really want to go there, they were written by men wearing sandals and long muslin dresses. I choose to live my life with an eye on the media, the right to question all authority, and the independence to make decisions based on what I believe is fair.

> The sanctity of marriage is not derived from the
> common (or not so common) practices of society but
> from Biblical mandates.

If the Biblical mandates you say are so important to society, why are they not practiced to the fullest extent of the evangelical law? Why do we not pass an amendment to cease masturbation? The Onan Initiative, to wipe out any chance that man’s seed might be spilled on the ground. Why is shellfish eaten willy nilly, as if the Bible didn’t clearly outline the dangers of it? What has happened to the world when we are unable to uphold these Biblical values. How right you are. These mandates must be upheld if we are to ban same sex relations. Let no seed be spilled and death to all who eat shrimp.

> To assume that man’s actions can remove the
> sanctity from marriage is faulty logic. It would
> be similar to saying that since I don’t turn on
> the same light everyone else does, that light
> does not exist. This is a ridiculous conclusion!

I am apologetic here, as I do not understand your faulty logic in the aforementioned statement. What does light have to do with it? How many bigots does it take to screw in a light bulb? Do you know? I have no idea.

> You might say that your comments are merely
> comedy.

No. They are truth, and absolutely correct. The statements made were good natured but they speak to the deeper issue of gays and lesbians being treated as second class citizens in a nation built on the foundation of religious freedom. The land we forged exists only because we sought our own God and the right to have our own God, and basically, for everyone to have their own God, as God has many names. Your God is not the only God out there. What you are saying denies the entire reason America exists in the first place, religious freedom. You say same sex union is against the Bible, not thinking for a moment that there are other religions that have no connection with your particular beliefs, because you are not allowing freedom of religion to those who do not follow your way of worship. Dude. You are being like so, un-American.

> It is apparent that your beliefs about marriage are
> presented in your comedy. Your opinions as stated
> in your commentary, whether intended as comedy or
> not, have an influence on the listeners.

Thank God for that. I prayed for that to happen and He listened. Prayer works! I am one of God’s favorites, incidentally.

> This influence should be carefully used and
> accompanied by thoughtful consideration of
> the truth of the content that is presented.

It was. It is. I am responsible and careful and thoughtful and truthful and thank you for recognizing that. So sweet of you.

> I encourage you to rethink your position on the
> sanctity of marriage and same sex marriage, which
> are inseparable issues.

I encourage you to let others live and love as they would wish. I encourage you to understand that all are welcome in the true house of God. I encourage you to love, above all, love. Remember that is all God asks us to do.

> I challenge you to read the first two chapters
> of Genesis as it relates to marriage of a man
> and a woman. - VCV

Ohhh, a challenge. When did it become challenging to read? Did you think that it might have been difficult for me? Well, I got through it, challenging as it was, all those words and everything, but I did, and if we are all sinners because Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, frankly, she should have eaten more. Possibly baked a pie. You would have been offered a big slice.

Best,
Margaret Cho

Letter #2
Subject: Tonight’s “Abram’s Report” on MSNBC

> Homosexuality is perversion.

That is the opinion of a few people, which makes me sad that they feel they must control love, own love. Love is love. Love is not perversion.

> All of us are probably born with different
> susceptibilities to different sins.

Like you, to intolerance, ignorance and bigotry, but I don’t blame you at all for that. You were born that way. I choose to love you all the same, really. I mean it.

> But we still have a choice.

Yes. To choose to be ourselves or to live a lie.

> If I became an alcoholic and it was shown that I had
> genetic predisposition toward it, it does not absolve
> me from responsiblity for my actions.

True, but alcoholism is not a reasonable comparison to homosexuality. Alcoholism is a disease. The way that people use it to destroy themselves is sad and unfortunate. It can be overcome, by choice. Homosexuality is not a disease. People do not drive while gay and kill pedestrians. You cannot swallow enough cum in the world to poison your system. To equate homosexuality with alcoholism is to equate heterosexuality with cancer.

> Homosexuality is a choice.

Do you know very very many gays and lesbians? Are you friends with transexual, transgender and bisexual people? Do you ever have them over to watch the Emmys or football games and assign different dishes to people - like this drag queen brings soda, this Male to Female post operative transexual to bring KC Masterpiece Barbecue Potato Chips? If you did, then you would see, through friendship and compassion that homosexuality is really NOT A FUCKING CHOICE. Excuse my language. But even if they do decide to choose, they choose living a miserable, false identity which helps no one, for no one will truly know them and they will be ashamed to exist because they are not allowed to be naturally who they are. They deny themselves THEMSELVES, as opposed to making the choice to be gay, and therefore, true to themselves and true to how God made them.

> In many people it seems to develop so slowly
> that they weren’t aware that they were making
> a choice over years of growing up that led to it.

So it develops slowly like a degenerative disease, reaching chronic stages when feather boas and leather chaps become involved? How ridiculous. You are such a silly thing, aren’t you? I think you are so quaint in your prejudice and stupidity. Really, it’s adorable.

> And just as they made a choice gradually to
> embrace it, they can also make the choice to
> leave it behind, go cold turkey or whatever
> you want to call it.

Cold turkey. Hm. Is there a patch that would slowly release gayness into your system until you are no longer reliant on it? Like quitting smoking. Cock gum?

> There is zero scientific research to prove that
> homosexuality is beyond our control. Any
> pseudoscience that originally received praise
> in the press was later showed to be completely
> unscientific when it was reviewed by peers
> in the scientific community.

> I suggest the above article; it’s well written
> while sensitive to everyone’s feelings.
> (link deleted)
> Regards,
> RB

Thanks for the link. I really don’t give a shit about science in this matter. And I know lots of scientists who are gay! And they enjoy it! Labcoats are fun to wear!

I am sensitive to your feelings of hatred and self righteous idiocy, and I applaud you for making your stupid stand. God bless you, and all the people that you love, and all the people that love you, and all the people that think the way they do, and all the judgmental and angry homophobes (whom I honestly believe are gay themselves, for I do believe the lady doth protest too much). I love you, for God welcomes all in the true house of the Lord. May Jesus make you willing to be tolerant of others, and may we all find it within ourselves to be tolerant of you, although frankly, you do not deserve it.

Best,
Margaret Cho

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That is just so fucking typical. Reverend Stephen White, infamous for preaching against homosexuality and sexual promiscuity at Yale and other universities is facing charges of attempting to solicit sex from a teenage boy. White had been well known for his impromptu speeches denouncing minorities, gays, other religious groups that didn’t follow his particular brand of Christianity - and pretty much despised by the liberal communities of every school he visited on his reign of error.

Now, White is being investigated for allegedly giving $20 to a 14-year old boy in Pennsylvania in exchange for oral sex in his van. Reactions from Yale students range from indifference to unrestrained joyful celebration. In a way, it is much better than winning the World Series or any other important sporting event. It is proof once again, that if you give them enough rope, they will hang themselves. Why is it always the ones who protest too much, who project the sanctity of themselves onto those who don’t want to hear it, the people who really need to control the populace, that need to condemn the things they see around them and point fingers, wind up being the worse perps? What is that stupid saying? When you are pointing one finger at someone, there are four pointing right back at you. Judge not, lest ye be judged. Ha ha. Fuck you Stephen White! Child molesters are the worst too. They get killed in jail, they have to register with the communities that they move into - if they survive, they can’t give out candy at Halloween, at least in New York.

This is some Old Testament kind of judgment coming down on people, as in the case of Rush Limbaugh. I keep wondering if Rush is having some type of awakening in rehab, as he probably has at least a week clean now. What if he becomes a total liberal huggy bear, invests a large sum of his earnings as a conservative icon in Ben and Jerry’s, so much they name a flavor after him “Recalcitrant Rush” - Vanilla with hydrocondone chips and an oxycontin swirl running through and through. Then Rush will slip into Greenpeace and become the patron saint of saved water mammals in a XXL tie-dye shirt and a little, tiny, itty, bitty ponytail.

I am trying to contain my own joy at the revelation that White is now forced to face the music, and sing in Sing Sing, but then I wonder what am I all superior about? Biblical lessons abound. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Okay. I am winding up, about to pitch. then I am stopped in my tracks. When does my number come up? Who is going to find out the truth about me? Where is the scandal? I am just kind of jealous that I have no big thing to hide, because that does give a person some depth of character. It makes up for the relative tedium of the minutes that go by, measuring the breaths between birth and death. Not that I am going to solicit sex from children or take gargantuan doses of drugs, but there has to be something. I find children incredibly unsexy, having always preferred the company of those much older than myself. I would much rather play the child. I love drugs, but I hate hangovers, and the hatred of the hangover wins by a landslide every time. Plus, I don’t even know what the new drugs are these days, and I don’t want to appear like I am doing anything for the first time.

I suppose it is that revelation that I am kind of boring that is the greatest secret of my life. I leave social functions early, always, intimating that I am going somewhere better, where there are multiple sexual opportunities as well as other sublime debauchery like hot canapés and soft, flattering light, sleepy eyed and sated, decadently low to the ground sprawled out on Morrocan furniture draped in rich velvets and overly pillowed. A faraway opium den populated by rock stars and the nameless beautiful that surround rock’s elite await me, so I must leave your boring dinner party after the main course is served, no offense - I am just too fabulous for your world. The truth of the matter is that I am going home, to walk my dogs, who whine and glower at me for daring to go out in the first place. I slump down in my uncomfortable, smelly couch, pillowless and covered in inch long blond dog hairs and use a Backnobber on the point where my shoulder blade meets the anterior latissimus dorsi on the right side of my body. Then I will take off my expensive dress and ball it up on the floor where the dogs will poke at it with their wet noses, wash my face, letting my water-resistant mascara make big gray splotches underneath my eyes, then I slather my beautifully tended feet with an AHA cream and go to bed without letting my slippery toes touch the floor, allowing my big dog, Ralph, to lick the moisturizer off my face as I fall asleep. People drain me, even the closest of friends, and I find loneliness to be the best state in the union to live in, and yet to remind myself that I am alive, I like to make an appearance, a grandiose one, then leave them wanting - or at least I hope - more. So there you go. I don’t think that I could go to jail or rehab for that, but there is always the possibility.

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Moving your shoulder blades, hard and immobilized like tectonic plates, until the warmth of my hands gently coaxes the muscles to release you, and then they move with the slow assuredness of the continental drift. You wake me with your arms around me tight and we say the secretive, early morning improvised devotional lover’s song.

“I exist so that when you touch me, I will feel it.”

“You are what love looks like.”

Falling asleep again, I feel myself chasing your body until we unwittingly reach the precipice of the bed, about to fall off the cliff onto the floor, until the vertigo wakes me in the nick of time. I crawl over onto the other side of you, and chase you once more, as the moon follows the earth across the sky, locked in a gravitational embrace. Sometimes I am the moon, cold, small, dark, with craters and assorted footprints, yet luminous and mysterious. Sometimes I am the earth, all the oceans and the continents and the air and all that is living there in and around it, all the things we know to be true and false. You are the earth and the moon and then sometimes the sun, hot and too painfully bright and beautiful to look at, I must look at you through a pinhole in a shoebox. Your rays sustain me, grow my fields and flowers, illuminate and reward me with heat and glorious golden light, and then you burn me, with this ecstatic fire that destroys everything inside me, only to have built me back up again by morning. The eclipses where we do not meet, and we are far away from each other, feel like the oddity that they are in nature, and therefore as natural as nature itself, because nature is all about oddity, nonconformity, change, growth, destruction, death, life, love, hate.

This lover’s musings could be those of any or all who love or have loved. They could be a man and a woman, a man and a man, a woman and a woman, two people who are somewhere transcendent of both.

Love has not a gender signifying its validity, nor does love have any discretion on whom it might choose to bestow its gifts. Love is and that is all. To love and to be loved in return is what I consider to be life’s greatest joy, and this can take place a million times a day or not once in many lifetimes. Love only asks that you choose it.

In my youth, I was taught by those who were persecuted because of the way that they love: young homosexual men who had traveled long and far to the promised land of gays, our queer Shambala, mystical and mythical San Francisco, to appreciate love in all of its forms, that to love in the ways that others would condemn you, there must be a reverence for the stolen kisses, the furtive looks that meant everything and then nothing. The attention paid to the moments of touch that would leave an impression of the body, would repay the lover a hefty return and live on in the memory, because if they say that it is wrong to love who you love, it is wrong to love how you love, sometimes the dreams of lovers past are all you have to live on, which will not be enough to sustain you, until you learn to live in all time, that walking past, present and future is your path, at least until the world catches up to us, and learns to honor love as it should be.

I had/have/will have many lovers, and therefore I have a life that throbs with drama and chaos, but then again, I cannot have it any other way. The way that life is mapped out for me, and the fact that love has chosen me to represent it in its countless aspects, allow me the freedom to maneuver my heart along treacherous, unpaved roads and emerge loved and loving still, and all the more. To truly love, one must be in a state of constant awe and reverie, armed with the knowledge there is nothing in the world that can substitute for it. If you cannot understand what I am talking about, I hope that one day you will, that love is like the air, moon, sky, sun, earth, water - it is elemental, and once you experience it, thereafter you are baptized and a dance partner for another in the never ending pas de deux of life, and I pray that your card will forever be filled with names beloved.

After having said this, fuck that guy in Wyoming, Fred Phelps, who is planning a monument commemorating the death of Matthew Sheperd. The monstrosity, visualized by the full time religious fanatic and unbelievable asshole Phelps, in granite or marble (inconsistently tasteful and pricey for a sculpture dedicated to hatred - sending a mixed message to artisans and masons everywhere, as good taste and the added expenses attached to luxury materials are usually attributed to the commemoration of love, and so the fact that he has the medium already picked out makes him ironically ‘faggy’ - ha ha - fuck you Fred Phelps - have you considered what font you will use? Not Helvetica. Too butch for you, you piece of shit. And if it wasn’t clear before, fuck you - I mean it - seriously fuck you), is theoretically going to be placed near the monument of the ten commandments already placed in a park in Casper, Wyoming, Sheperd’s hometown, and the possibility that this may not be something that the community can stop is such an affront to love and the sensibilities of humanity, compassion, understanding and equality, as well as the basic American stance of separation of church and state that we might as just make the entire park dedicated to the celebration of ignorance and blind hatred.

Prejudice Park needs to be erected. Why stop at a monument? Why must you limit your vision for a hate filled, prejudiced, homophobic, stupid and mad America Fred? Why not take it all the way? There could be an entire theme park, a SIX FAGS if you will, that will be dedicated to the abolishment and destruction of all those who don’t live their lives by the idiotic ideology of Fred Fuck Phelps. We can enter the park by taking a ride through the HOMO HAUNTED MANSION, where you see gay men holding hands, playing footsie under the table at expensive restaurants, trying to decide on garlic press options at Williams and Sonoma, and then abomination of abominations - raising children in a loving home without fear or judgement, but instead understanding and compassion and being good parents. From there, it is a hop skip and a hate crime away from the infamous roller coaster, the AIDS-ERATOR, a thrill kill ride where you are taken from 0-60 mph in less than a second, as the rails replicate the basic structure of the HIV virus and trace its journey in ups and downs that no one can predict, twist you up down around and in so many circles that you won’t know how compromised your immune system is as the ride takes you from finding the presence of the virus to full blown AIDS in less than a minute flat. Definitely an E-ticket for the T-cell conscious.

Fuck you Fred Phelps.

Don’t forget to visit HOMOHATERZ HUT, where you can buy mugs with the images of famous and influential homophobes like Hitler, Pat Robertson and the entire Moral Majority Posse - collect ‘em all! - as well as numerous collectables of bigots throughout history. you can find quilted pot holders with needlepoint swastikas, so convenient when using the oven! KKK salt and pepper shakers - the pepper shaker has no holes - hooray - no black pepper! - just white salt! - makes a fabulous gift for the Grand Wizard who has everything! Rope! Trees that will grow and magically bear strange fruit! Mousepads of the countless images of mass graves filled with the innocent dead Jewish people from WWII! Yay!!! Finally, knick knacks for the discriminating discriminator! All under one roof!

Fuck you Fred. Phelps. Fuck. You. Die. Die horribly, painfully, incomprehensibly, unbearably. Die and die soon. Die the death you deserve, and let God sort you out. Fuck you. I hate you. I fucking fucking fucking hate you.

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If you are faint of heart, don’t read this. Don’t. Close this window. Now. Do it. You cannot handle it.

After you close the window, get off the internet. It is too much for the faint of heart. There could be a pop up, a virus, a worm, some sixty-three year old man pretending to be a horny, pre-teen girl, at any time - so get off. Turn off your computer. Go over to the couch and sit down and turn on the TV. Try as hard as you can to get through the cable channels until you get to the comforting PAX logo on the lower right hand side of the screen. Take a deep breath and enjoy Roma Downey’s unintimidating, hyperfeminine, verdant-but-not-too-bright-like-say-a-kelly-green-scoop-neck-long-stretch-velvet-dress beauty. Feel touched by all the angels. But only in appropriate places like on your forearm or the back of your hand. Possibly on the shoulder, but that is pushing it.

If you do not have PAX, try some inspirational reading, perhaps a selection from the “Chicken Soup” series, whichever one applies to you, as they are now made gender/age/race/level of stupidity specific, and you don’t want to make a mistake and read one from the wrong group because you might experience a feeling that you are unfamiliar with and don’t want to understand or learn something outside the realm of your being, for you do not wish to as you are faint of heart.

Be sure you go to a bookstore that is not independently owned, so you will not risk being offended by the staff’s recommendations, which are always implicitly not for the faint of heart, and therefore never for you. Not you. Best to stick to a large book/music superstore, with a café inside, where you can order a soul-bolstering decaffeinated Chai tea or an herbal tea/juice infusion or some equivalent thereof, and sit yourself down with a “Victorian Style” and read a stimulating story -”Doilies By Any Means Necessary” or “Doll Collector’s Quarterly” and consider the possibility of having your likeness painted on a porcelain doll. What will they think of next! Better still, an outlet of some type requiring a pesky membership but that carries everything in bulk at significantly reduced prices, like restaurant size bags of confectioner’s sugar, 5000 plastic spoons in a bag, white wicker lawn furniture and books too, as you are safest there, since the selections are limited to mediocre bestsellers (perhaps you should write the name down now - “Grisham:” you’ll want his entire oeuvre.) and easy to read, largish print hardcover, displayable-on-your-coffee-table-therefore-can-be-used-in-place-of-objet d’art-books that insist you not to sweat small stuff and make four agreements and of course the numerous and inclusive paperback phone book size publications for ‘Dummies.’ I am not judging you at all, as I have all these books in my library at home. I just cannot bring myself to read them because it is too boring. They were given to me as gifts by people who just assume everyone is faint of heart, and therefore are keeping stacks of new copies at home to wrap at the last minute, because who doesn’t appreciate a really unchallenging book?

Then go lie down on your bed, already made from this morning, with freshly laundered 200 thread count pima cotton sheets, with the little cotton symbol, that never fails to remind you of Aaron Neville’s staggeringly beautiful voice, as you think that cotton really is the fabric of your life. Do all that you can to turn down your senses, like a hotel maid preparing a suite in the early evening, with barely audible Wyndam Hill tracks on repeat in the cd player (I suggest ‘SPRING’) or go wild with a John Tesh bootleg (no one will know but you, you naughty little minidisc recorder smuggler you), the toilet paper folded into a point, and the bed opened like a love letter, possibly giving yourself the full hotel effect by garnishing with square chocolates that taste of wax and look like postage stamps, smooth sheets unfolding towards you and looking white and available and willing to keep and hold all your secrets.

Get into that comfortable envelope and send yourself away. Cuddle up into your hypoallergenic fiber filled comforter, and cling like a koala bear onto a body sized pillow and fall into a sweet sleep, a deep slumber, a small morsel of death. Keep sleeping. Never wake up. Because if you are of the faint of heart, why are you still alive? Hasn’t life fucked you up and made you hard yet? If it hasn’t, you are a fucking liar. You are lying to yourself and living a lie and will die a lie and be buried in a liar’s grave that will remain unvisited because the truth is people really hate the faint of heart. Nobody in the world has the ability to be faint of heart unless you are totally avoiding reality, but if you are avoiding it - you still prove the fact that it exists and so you are already fucked and lying. Fuck you. Seriously. Middle finger pointing upwards, all the rest of my fingers resting on my palm. Fuck yourself and your faint heart.

Why? Because I am jealous. I wish I was faint of heart. But I am not, and I never had a chance to be. I have been abandoned on airplanes alone since I was three months old, molested by pretty much every heterosexual adult man I came in contact with, washed the blood off the sidewalk from the brutal murder of a young homosexual man who was kicked to death outside my parent’s bookstore by gay bashers, the grown-ups around me unable to move from shock - it happened too fast, and the sound his head made when it hit the pavement was too unbearably wet, the blows from the men around him not stopping, not seeing, they had smashed his head, out of rage. Not just hit, not just a concussion - smashed. Teeth left behind, and some taken for souvenirs. A man they never met before, never had seen before, but decided had to die, on the corner of Polk and California. Because they decided that the way he loved was unacceptable, and punishable by death. I walk by the corner now and again, and the blood has not washed away, although it has been more than twenty years.

If I could have been faint of heart, then I might have never known beautiful K, the irresistible and gentle boy, with the darkest, smoothest black skin, like a Benin sculpture, a boy-man who was proof that sometimes God took time out to make some of us with extra care. He stared at me long and so hard in drama class, I became aware for the first time in my life, I was not invisible. K’s looks made me have a hunger, that wasn’t in my stomach, but churned beneath, and left me breathless. K chose football over drama the next year, and he was hazed by the entire football team. They used a broomstick, and it tore a hole in him that required fifty-four stitches, but they never were able to mend the tear in his heart, for he was faint of heart then, I believe, and young enough to really be. The school covered up the incident, and K didn’t come to classes much after that. Then, it was all over the papers that K had stabbed his next door neighbor, the same number, 54 times, because he said that the man, who had been his friend, had surprised him from the back, and after K stabbed him once, he just couldn’t stop, he tried, but he couldn’t, he wanted to, but the hand didn’t listen to the arm which ignored the brain behind the immeasurable beauty of his face. A week later, K was dead, hanging in his cell.

I wish you could have seen him. I don’t even have a picture. K was so fine. And he thought I was too, which made him the first ever. I miss him. The football players stayed in school, said nothing, never even seemed guilty, never saw any justice, but then again, memory is a kind of jail from which you cannot escape, and I know they are all grown up men now, and they cannot forget, and for them, there is not enough Prozac in the world to ease that guilt, and they suffer and will continue to do so for all time.

The football team was how I found out about our English teacher, who had us keep journals for class, and in one of the pages of mine he wrote in red ink - “Please, whatever you do, never stop writing..” Then one day we had a substitute teacher who came in particularly late, almost half an hour after the class was supposed to start. Nobody said why, and the substitute, who had come in wet hair, just told us to leave. Several days went by, with a different sub for each one, who told us each in their own way, to have a study hall, whatever that was. The next week, after lunch, in Political Science 1, the boys were joking about the fag teacher that got it good, and I kept trying to interpret their jock language, and finally cracked open their clucks and male posturing, the morse code of testosterone poisoning, by the end of class.

Our teacher had invited a hustler to stay with him for the night, and possibly longer. Our teacher was found dead in his apartment many days later, his head, full of praise and genteel wisdom, was crushed pulpy red and white with a baseball bat. It was believed that the hustler had run out of crystal meth and patience, and got mad at our teacher. They never did catch him, but who knows if anyone tried. Our teacher’s mother had come to San Francisco from a far away State to identify the body of her son, but she couldn’t tell if it was him or not. Our teacher had not a face anymore. It was also reported that she never knew he was gay, but she had her suspicions, and that if it were true, then good riddance to him, and she went straight back to the Greyhound station, presumably to avoid any hotel expenses. We didn’t see her at our teacher’s funeral, which was very nice, but not for the faint of heart.

These are just a few snapshots from the earlier days, when I became contemptuous of the faint of heart. I hate people who are faint of heart. And I told you not to read it.

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The Roman Catholic Church is talking about how condoms don’t block AIDS. I don’t know what to say about that. And taking the vow of celibacy doesn’t prevent pedophilia. What is wrong with them? If they oppose all forms of birth control, then when do we get to actually fuck? Or how do we get to fuck? Do they promote pulling out? Douching with a Coke right after? Only taking it up the ass? So now since the Vatican has issued the health warning about condoms, which they justify is just the same as they have about the hazards of smoking, there has been a major spike in HIV infection, with more than 42 million wrestling with the virus. Okay, condoms are not 100% protection, but 90% is better than nothing, or ‘abstinence,’ which nobody practices, never did, never will.

The Pope is one press release away from selling indulgences to buy space in heaven, like in the days of Martin Luther - not the King, the father of Lutheranism, Catholicism Lite. I am so angry, I don’t want to just rip up a picture of the pope. I want to rip him a new asshole, wearing a condom, and I don’t even have a dick, but this is the one time I wish I did. Fuck you John Paul whatever the fuck your fucking name is you fucking gold vestment tall ass hat wearing shit head. Why don’t you just fucking die already? Doesn’t God need a personal assistant? Fuck Fuck Fuck you. No seriously. Fuck you. You are not God’s representative. God would not do that to people. God loves unconditionally. All are welcome in the true House of God. We need Angry Jesus to storm the Vatican right now, kicking out the money changers and the temple prostitutes and the child molesters. I love me some Angry Ass Jesus. Make your own loaves and fishes muthafucka! Get out of my Father’s house!!! I want Jesus to evict your ass, throw all the millions of dollars worth of sacred art and gold and relics and Liberace style robes bought with the blood of the countless believers who give you everything and more so that they will be saved, and you do nothing but let them die, condemn them, judge them, molest them, kill them. I want the Vatican front lawn littered with the garage sale of the Judas Iscariot of the world, which would amount to much more than thirty pieces of silver, and to give the money to the people who are dying of AIDS because of you, the children who have had their innocence stolen by you, the innumerable crimes you have committed against the people in the name of God. We are made in the image of God, we are fucking GOD!!!! You don’t know Him. You just front like you are God are down and shit, but you don’t have His pager number. You don’t two-way message Him. If you did, you would care about the people that believe in you, you would treat them like you worship them, because we are all GOD!!!!! GOD is nice. God wants you to wear condoms. God wants you to have fun. God loves everyone. He doesn’t care what you do. He is going to love you no matter what. God also has many names, like Buddha, Vishnu, Allah, Mohammed, Jehovah, Beyonce, you. Don’t listen to the Vatican. They don’t know shit and should just have a fucking bake sale and shut the fuck up.

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I love hip hop. It is a language that speaks to me, with the complexity of the beats, the dexterity of the rhymes, the posture and pride of rappers that makes me swoon. It is like opera to me, with all the sturm und drang of Wagnerian proportions, but with modern values and transformative knowledge. My newest obsession is The Neptunes song “Pop Shit”. I have never heard anything so beautiful in my life. The layering of the samples, the vocal harmony perfectly dovetail with the mc’s swagger, there is small heaven in that song. I believe that we get complimentary snack size portions of the afterlife, and we all receive them in a different way. For me it is the arrogant smirk in Pharrell’s voice, the skittish percussion and the dizzying freak I get on whenever I hear that song.

The overture that captured me for life was Public Enemy’s “Don’t Believe the Hype.” In the late-eighties, I worked at Stormy Leather on Howard Street in San Francisco, a leather dyke emporia. On Sundays, it was quiet, and we would listen to a radio station that would put Malcolm X and Martin Luther King speeches under phat beats, which felt like the birth of something great. Word was born and the DJ would spin you right into Chuck D’s booming voice. There was such truth to rap right then, and there was no apologies made to anyone about anything. It was the first time that it struck me that music could be political, even though I grew up in San Francisco at the tail end of the Summer of Love - those musicians were rebelling against their own establishment, and even though there were amazing poets during that era, their rhymes didn’t affect me like the epics of Afrika Bambattaa or Grandmaster Flash. Who gives a fuck about “Howl?” What was that supposed to mean anyway? Wasn’t that dude in NAMBLA?

Chuck D I took to as my new leader. His righteous anger and eloquence was infectious, the beats hypnotic, the passionate struggle of not only people of color, but really all minorities were expressed in his lyrics. I got it. We all did at the workshop, toiling over the sheets of black leather, the scent getting into our skin as we bobbed our heads. We understood oppression, as below poverty level women, as queer, as Asian, Latino and Black. Not only that, as sex workers, we were vilified by feminists as traitors to our own movement, as sadomasochism was seen as an accommodation and supplication to the patriarchy. We were also blasted by the established queer community for wearing chaps and making the entire GLBT constituency look like perverts. Like we were the ones in NAMBLA.

For the first time, we got to make our shame into rage, and rap gave us the formula, the “pi” for our feelings of misery and displacement, which had before remained an unanswerable equation burning into our just-born political brains. Yes, Public Enemy were talking about the ghetto, but we all lived there, no matter what our street address. In the projects of the mind, 911 is and always will be a joke. It would take a nation of millions to hold us back. The revolution will not be televised. I am a black man, and I will never be a veteran.

Things turned around when Ice Cube released “Black Korea,” a wrathful, venomous anthem against the Korean merchants of the inner city. I felt like I was cast out of a tribe I so desperately needed to belong to. Gangsta rap, still powerful, had sexist themes that I blocked out because I still wanted to have that hardness, something that would exist as a melodic talisman inside me when the ‘rainbow was enuf.’ I was partly in agreement, as the song was about people that I knew, relatives who had banished me years before, so there was an odd satisfaction to it, but then again, my face was the uniform I could not camouflage, even though my mind belonged behind enemy lines. I also felt that weirdness like when someone makes fun of your mom - a sense of propriety like “I can say that but you can’t” stance. Also, the undeniable racism and violence of the song was this indelible mark on my precious amulet, and it just felt like bad luck. Ice Cube eventually apologized for the song, and made the genius film “Friday”, yet that same antagonism between Koreans and Blacks exists, in a mythological realm, in that neighborhood between “Do the Right Thing” and South Central during the LA riots. I don’t care.

I still love hip hop. There isn’t the kind of unifying political message as there once was, but there is yet unending beauty there, that grows despite all the misogyny, materialism, mayhem, maleness, malevolence toward homosexuals, murder and yachts. The rhymes are still rebellious, and the styles have become sophisticated beyond what anyone could have ever imagined. Nothing is perfect, but the first heady years, when Sundays were all about Chuck D and the world that we, the freaks of all freaks, were bound to inherit and hopefully come to rule, but unlike our predecessors, we would do so with truth, compassion, justice and generosity, gave us an enduring hope that keeps Public Enemy on my iPod to this day. Fight the power.

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Gay culture seems to be ever present these days. There are a myriad of television shows: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Boy Meets Boy, Will and Grace, Queer as Folk. Madonna and Britney practice a little lesbian action on the VMAs. Interior designers are the new rock stars, and gay is the new straight. But there is a co-opting of the culture here, as the mainstream society robs the jewels of queer community, like better window treatments and the importance of a multi-step skincare regimen, but there is still an egregious lack of equality. It seems like gays and lesbians can do all the things that straight people can do, society is saying “You are ok just as you are, just don’t try to get married or anything!” It’s like when whites stole rock and roll from blacks in the 50’s and the kids were all dancing to Little Richard. We love your music, but please don’t use that drinking fountain.

You can go to Las Vegas, get married by an Elvis impersonator, in a drive thru, and be driven in a hearse to have a reception in a graveyard. But you have to be straight in order to do so. That is why I don’t buy the argument that marriage is a sacred act between a man and a woman. Sacred? Carmen Electra and Dennis Rodman got married. Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley. Liza Minelli and David Gest. Liza Minelli and Peter Allen. Actually, Liza seems to be marrying all the gays.

The disparity of rights between heterosexual married couples and domestic ‘partners’ is no small number. 1049 federal rights are denied gay and lesbian couples because of their second class status in the area of holy matrimony. These range from the outrageous, like limitations in adopting children, even the tragedy of orphaned children being taken from foster care because the parents were gay, to the idiotic, like no family discounts for gays in national parks. They don’t care how many times you play “We are Family” by Sister Sledge. You are still paying full price.

Yet at the same time, gays and lesbians are required to pay the same taxes as every other citizen. There is not any type of compensation given, for the lack of freedoms that keep the queer community at a loss. If the amendment banning gay marriage is actually passed, then it would be the first time that the constitution would be amended specifically to deny the rights of a specific minority, which frankly is downright unconstitutional. The argument is ludicrous. Same sex couples should have the ability to get married by Elvis, just like everyone else.

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In Italy, there is this wine company that sells bottles with labels depicting Hitler, Goehring and Himmler. It’s Nazi wine, and they use that as a selling point, using phrases like “Seig Heil!” and “Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer” emblazoned on the bottles. German officials are outraged, and want an investigation into whether or not this is a violation of the European Union’s anti-racism laws. I think this is all stupid and crazy and just another example of white people not acting right. Why you gots to go and make a wine that celebrates the death of more than six million people? I am not gonna drink that. What is that going to taste like? Can I serve that with fish? Fuck that shit. Is this going to open the door to more dictators selling beverages?

Straight from the killing fields, Pol Pot Pop, kinda like root beer, more like death.

Mengele Merlot, when you feel a little experimental.

Goebbles got bubbles! Try new carbonated Goebbles! It’s the final solution - to thirst!

Got Caligula?

It’s killer time.

Ok, that last one was kind of lame, but do you see how weird this is? I know that we glamorize and deify the best and the worst humanity has to offer. This is part of the agreement that we make, as being part of society. The problem is, there is not the compassion there, for the victims of incomprehensible tragedy. When we talk about death, in these casual, cynical, refreshing terms, we erase the humanity beneath it. This makes it possible to forget, deny, ignore the Holocaust, which was not that long ago. It distances us, absolves responsibility, alleviates the collective guilt that we all share when confronted with the undeniable truth that sometimes, people are really fucked up to one another. When I look at history, when I read the news, when I hear about Trev Brody, a young man beaten nearly to death with baseball bats, for being gay - in West Hollywood of all places, I cannot deal. Because I feel it, it happened to me, not literally, but because I am a human being, I must follow the thread that connects all of us, through all time, all over the world. Not only that, I blame myself, because by the same reasoning, if we are all connected, I did it. I am perpetrator, I am dictator, I am abuser, I am victim, I am guilty, I am innocent, I am dead, I am thirsty. I wish that we could all think about this philosophy for a moment. If we took the time, just moments really, and listened to what was happening in the world, and let ourselves be what we are, truly and deeply connected to everything everywhere, imagine how much sweeter life might be.

I saw this purse in New Orleans, at the French Market. It was a shoulder bag, with Martin Luther King, and a thought bubble that said “I have a dream.”. I didn’t buy it, but I should have because I had a dream. about that purse.

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