Doesn’t it feel good to be able to do the things you’ve dreamed of doing? As long as you’re ahead of your game, there is no shame in doing your thing. Go ahead if it’s what you want to do! Don’t worry, you still have your soul. I do not own it! This is yours… my eyes, can’t take you out of their sight but I love you enough to leave it all behind…
Exchanging hellos… Do you think that you’ll slash my throat? Do you think yourself capable of such an act? Wouldn’t it be monstrous… murderous? No one knows you, not even me. The music in your voice died, released the pressure. Bring me peace and please, say something. Anywhere, anytime I’ll follow you. I won’t give up, what happened? Oh mystic lover it must be love. Lock your flashing yellow stars into my gaze then mesmerize and capture me with the glow of love in your fiery eyes.
Dancing at home with drums, I wonder, are you free for me to wander freely in your privacy? I can make your world whatever you want it to be. Magnificent and light, as wild as the wind, or dwelling on disasters or whatever; counting my blessings under the weight of iron clouds. The cosmos is on fire in this energetic warfare. The sound of my lips is where your life begins, set by my kiss’s touch, your love starts. I blow the spell of love into your lungs and our higher selves stick with us, so suck my tongue into your dissatisfied envy. Unload your solitary burden onto me. Anguishing for an undeniable love, my bitter madness without rest is obsessed and no more I can deny; I want you, I want to be stuck on, in and with you.
Someone like you? You’re fading away can’t be replaced but nonetheless, wherever I’ve been, I’ve buried you. Will you miss me? My insane blues longed to retrieve somebody as wicked as you. Retrieving a thrill as wicked as the wicked mind games we played until my hands shook. To far places take me too with you. We’ll get new names. Take me to any city. I need to change the place I call home, so the friend you are looking for, let it be me. Let me give a little bit of my love for a little bite of you. Running barefoot in prairies, your shadow holds a wood stick and begs the sky to see my angel visage again but it fell in love with death and a dead body fell in love with your shadow.
A love guru, a mountain climbing goat, a midnight wood wolf, I’m a mad monster in caffeine who’s calling about coming… from behind… I like the front of your simple silly pullover yet it’s over so it’s not worth it and we know it; we know that everybody else wants you. And feeling heavy, your lusty greed keeps you down, alone and aching all day long in liquid red forests, in bushes saturated with piss and lakes crowded with chemically contaminated tree trunks while others stare for hours at fixed stars. And wearing enormous brown dusty wooden piano bows on backs, ants fall in love as a means to survive the ugly days but my crazy soul falls in laughter. Fighting, we are living, in pink firs, giant trees dressed in white satin dresses. And I’m still standing there in my purple haired knee long jacket but my ankles aren’t covered by my lover yet. And I get nothing back so give me, give my eyes something to hide my tears, in lies.
Many minds were lost in search of truth; some ended in exile, others in mental hospitals where psychiatry is practiced on the saints and the psychics by the mad and senile. Thus, keep it simple my dear love. Ours doesn’t have to be complex. Keep it simple, for my love is complex.
Dead like a blessed death, my breathing tears are drowning my feelings as I bitterly blink at the cruel stars above, asking to revive a dead love, to smash down the walls of the grave where my love suffocates in a sly sea of trimmed nails. Where breasts rest in cupped palms pouring sweat’s salt. Have you eaten your wit and are your bones grated inside a rucksack? The marbled words coming out of your mouth halve my world with doubt. Shrinking down from a drop of life, there is nowhere to hide in this white light. Once I died; after burial, when my flesh and blood are worn, I hope not to come back. I don’t want to resurrect as an animal biting hot dogs, nor as an insect stuffed in hamburgers. Like a cursed fool full of envies, my affection just wants to think of you; feeling my heart, my body in your hands and cooling off the heat off my thin skin. Loved up, hooked up, I’m into you like a love drug. Hate me, you got one up on me so please despise me enough to inject in me just another, a last, one more last shot of your higher love. Offer me a pure snap of your vicious smile. Give me another feel of your aura mixed up with mine. With treats, love treat me good, don’t be cold anymore. Don’t leave to freeze any longer and I’ll be your hateful slaving lover and your greatest dying admirer. Like prey, a sheeple praying at you. Who thinks of you while hoping that you love-hate them too. Like a powerless servant, I’m so innocently, blindly, weakly in love with you.
Like a pathetic sheep, a prey praying at you, who? Thinks of you while begging that you; the highest fraud, love. Like the weekly imperceptive life forces innocently waiting for you to hate-love them too, I follow you. I sing Hallelujah and I hang you onto me to hang onto you and you’re hung on me. Intertwined together, we’ve spent such a great time hanging out all day long and I’m glad that we’ve hung onto each other. So don’t rip my veins apart unless you know how to sew them back to life or you’ll get broken back three fold by the knives that you slowly twisted in my already bleeding arteries. Why is it that I want to sting your revelation with leaks? Why is it that I want to haunt your tavern head with comet knowledge? Why is it that when I saw you, the right words didn’t come out of my mouth at the right time? Are the heart’s pleasing words condemned at shapeshifting into an hazard lizard under your reptilian tongue?
“Much has been written of love turning to hatred, of the heart growing cold with the death of love. It is a remarkable process. It is far more terrible than anything I have ever read about it, more terrible than anything I will ever be able to say.” James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room.
“James Arthur Baldwin (1924- 1987) is one of the two major writers who have dared write about black gay men and from a black gay perspective. However, his fame as a racial spokesman and his insightful analyses of race relations in America tend to distract attention from the fact that he has been one of the most important homosexual writers of the twentieth century. Intolerance and homophobia among black and white Americans often led to a misinterpretation or misevaluation of James Baldwin’s novels. James Baldwin was very courageous to come out as a black homosexual writer during the period of the Cold War and the Civil Rights movement. However, his awareness of racism and homophobia in the American society, and his difficult position of being a public figure and a spokesman for the Afro-Americans left its traces in his novels and influenced his novel writing career. The purpose of the present study is to show that out of intolerance, ignorance, and homophobia the evaluators of James Baldwin’s novels often did him no justice. Baldwin through his novel writing developed a homosexual consciousness for himself. This struggle of coming-out was his personal struggle and it was marked by his burden of the doubly oppressed. I argue that Baldwin’s search for an identity as a black homosexual writer is reflected in his writing. He constructed his identity through his writing. This study attempts to show that Baldwin’s development of a homosexual identity took place in stages during his novel writing career. An analysis of the novels Go Tell It On the Mountain (1953), Giovanni’s Room (1956), Another Country (1962), and Just Above My Head ( 1979) will demonstrate his movement from dealing with homosexuality as an underlying theme to using it as a tool to protest against any kinds of labels in the American society. Baldwin believed that discrimination cannot cease as long as the categorization of people through artificial constructs such as the “Negro” or the “homosexual” exists.” (Source: PDXScholar).
“I was guilty and irritated and full of love and pain. I wanted to kick him and I wanted to take him in my arms.” James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room.
