Web series offer a diverse range of LGBTQ+ . Technically, Netflix, Prime and original programming on streaming services alike are classified as web series but I am referring to productions that are usually crowd funded or have a limited number of backers. The production teams are smaller and episodes can range from 5 minutes to 20 minutes depending on budget and story line. These tend to be hosted on YouTube or Vimeo. Don't let that put you off though, often the writing is superb, the characters are fully developed and the storylines are great.

LGBTQ+ apps like Dekkoo, HereTV, Out TV and Froot tend to carry many web series in both English and other languages. It is on these platforms that my real love for this format has really grown. I'll be touching on a few more of these in the future but for this post, I want to introduce you to one of my favourite finds of the last year.

“Where the Bears Are” is a comedy series that describes itself as The Golden Girls meets Murder She Wrote. This description could not be more apt and if those comparisons peak your interest, go and find the series ASAP, you will not be disappointed.

The series was created, directed by and stars Joe Dietl (Wood, a former porn actor), Ben Zook (Nelson, a current struggling actor)and Rick Copp (Reggie, an opportunist writer/ TV show host) as three friends who share a house together in Silverlake, Los Angeles. The first series is set around a murder that happens at Nelson's birthday in which we also meet the soon to be 4th addition to their household, Ian Parks (Todd, who becomes Nelsons' boyfriend). Their "mismatch" in attractiveness becomes a running gag throughout the series.

The series ran from 2012-2018 in episodes 7-10 minutes long. In 2012, Where the Bears Are was named best comedy web series by both Qweerty and AfterElton.com. Each season begins with a murder of some sort that always involves The Bears and sees them racing against series regulars, Detectives Winters (Chad Saunders) and Detective Martinez (George Unda),  a dysfunctional husband/ husband team who always seem to be a half step behind due to some personal marital problem usually involving sex. In addition to an eclectic cast which include a closeted homophobic police captain, a psychopathic killer and Nelson's parents, the series has also included guest appearances by Chaz Bono, Margaret Cho, and other notable LGBTQ+ performers. You can watch the uninterrupted series though in one running film online on Amazon and other streaming services and believe me they are worth it.

Right now, the world feels incredibly dark and it is far too easy to fall down the social media/ news rabbit hole. Our brains need a rest. Treat yourself to some time off with "Where The Bears Are," your mental health will thank you for it. 

​I have been toying with this idea of writing more about LGBTQ+ films and TV for years now. In the 30 years of being an out proud queer man, I have been to countless film festivals, watched Blockbuster’s entire LGBT film offerings in the 90’s, probably twice. I feel like I have been riding alongside the journey of LGBTQ+ evolution when it comes to celluloid representation. This has been a road of diversions, detours and wanderings that has still to reach its final destination. I think it is why although I appreciate the normalisation of our community on the screen, I also hold queer content made for queer audiences very close to my heart.

So where do I begin? Do I begin from the first gay film I ever watched? What I have been watching recently? An old favourite? We’ll get to those in time, I promise.

I thought the recent death of filmmaker/ artist James Bidgood of COVID complications might be a good starting point. A few days ago, hubby suggested watching Bidgood’s art house masterpiece, Pink Narcissus; which I had never seen. Now, given how many LGBTQ+ films I have watched in my lifetime, I should be ashamed of myself for not seeing it. Better late than never, right?  The other reason why I hadn’t watched it before was probably because the film was released anonymously in 1971 after a fall out with the distributors and it would not be attached to Bidgood until the mid-90’s when writer Bruce Benderson, was researching what happened to the actors in the film. His book Bidgood was published in 1999 by Taschen and a restored version of Pink Narcissus was also released that same year.
Pink Narcissus was shot entirely indoors on 8mm film during the years 1963-1970; mainly in Bidgood’s small apartment. Bidgood used a clever technique of bright colours over one another to obscure the nudity in the films negatives. This was also a way to protect himself from being prosecuted for breaking obscenity laws which were more severe for homosexuals at the time. The result is the kitsch almost Technicolor dream world which provides the setting for the films premise. We are taken on an erotic journey of a male prostitute’s sexual fantasies as he kills time between clients. For a modern audience, there is nothing risqué about what is being shown. Netflix probably has more hardcore content these days. In the context of its time though, Pink Narcissus was explosive.

It is one of the first times that male nudity and expression is put into an art context and not pornography but still retains the eroticism that celebrates the beauty of the men and their attraction to one another in multiple scenarios. You’ll be hypnotised by Bobby Kendall’s striking features and movement as the centre character. Although we live in a world right now where hardcore images are freely available, there is a playfulness in the suggestiveness of scenes that the older I get, I find more appealing.  So, even if you don’t “get” the film, you can still enjoy its voyeurism.

It is not a film for everyone but it is one that stays with you and directly challenges our own current standards of male beauty and art. If you’re a fan of the work of Pierre et Gilles’ or David LaChapelle, you may want to see where their inspiration came from.

James Bidgood started out taking photographs for male physique magazines in the 1950’s but found the work dull. In a New York Times interview he spoke about this.
“There was no art,” Bidgood laments. “They were badly lit and uninteresting. Playboy had girls in furs, feathers and lights. They had faces like beautiful angels. I didn’t understand why boy pictures weren’t like that.” 

He would take that dissatisfaction and go on to change the way male nudity was photographed. Pictures would come alive as dreams in colour. Pink Narcissus, is a testament to his new vision and the playful hint of camp in his work is an addition to art that we should all be grateful for.
​
You can watch Pink Narcissus on BFI player with a subscription in the UK and other streaming services. 

I’m 45 today. This means that I am officially 15 years older than my dad and my sister were when they died and 5 years away from the age my mother died. Fucked up way of looking at things huh? Stay with me though.

I have had some amazing birthdays in my life. I am grateful and lucky to have a husband who has gone out of his way to make my birthday special over the years. I have some of the best friends and family who have been there to cheer me on or just get me wasted.

I am also lucky and grateful to the Universe that in spite of my tremendous partying and wilful neglect of my health for many years in my youth, I don’t look my age or whatever that is supposed to mean. I often joke that the only reliable advice I can give in life is to always use a quality moisturiser. I stand by this joke. I also don’t necessarily act my age or whatever that is supposed to mean. I am aware of the societal definitions that produce these images of how and what we are supposed to look like at a certain age and I firmly reject them. Nor will I waste my time listing them, deep down we all know what these are and sometimes they feel more like nooses than goals.

I have come to the conclusion that my life resembles more a first attempt at Spiral Art. Do you remember that toy? Does it even still exist?  I used to love it as a kid. Circles over circles, over circles, over circles which look like a fucking mess up close. But as you stand back, well they start to look pretty, chaotic and a bit “I think I know what you were getting at.” The thing is though, with Spiral Art much like life, you can continue to build on the picture because it is all down to you how much you want to build.

That, my friends brings me to my thoughts on where I am today on this 45th Birthday. I can hear my dearly departed friend Andy in his Louisiana accent say as he often would to me, “Oh no, she’s on her soapbox again.”

Miss you Andy and yes, she is because it’s my birthday and I will soapbox if I damn want....

1. I don’t pat myself on the back enough and that shit needs to stop.
2. It took me a long time to be proud of where I am from and if the pandemic has taught me one thing, it is that those roots have been vital in my own survival.
3. I do have kids, they just happen to have fur and each day with them is a blessing.
4. Gratitude has to be practiced daily in order for happiness to thrive.
5. Happiness is a choice you have to make daily.
6. I no longer have the patience or energy to deal with snobbery of any form.
7. Not everyone has to be in your life.
8. Screaming at the top of your lungs is liberating.
9. Cry often, if you don’t those feelings will find a way out and you may not be prepared for that.
10. I may never find a physical place in this world where I fully fit in but home is a feeling and I can make a home anywhere as a result.
11. I have never and will never fit into a box, that is somebody else’s issue, not mine. I love that my reflection is a tapestry of experiences.
12. Sophie Ellis Bextor’s music makes me happy and I can’t explain it.
13. As much as I miss those who have left this plane, I am so much richer in life for having had the honour of them in my life and that is the most important lesson to take away from death.
14. A difference of opinion and a difference of values is an important distinction to make.
15. Your life is yours to make and narrate. Whist others can write their version, you are the only one that can give yourself a voice.

 
I’ll leave you with two songs that sum up how I feel about life right now. They are both in Spanish but you can Google the lyrics in English or just enjoy the musical sentiment.

Fangoria “Dramas y Comedias” and Dorian “Los Amigos Que Perdi”

Representation matters in life and one of the reasons behind Black History Month and months dedicated to specific groups is to ensure that contributions to history, art, culture, politics, etc are added to our greater understanding of human history. It is a fantastic opportunity to broaden your horizons and discover wonderful new facts, books, and films or in the case of this post: music.

Soul music is a genre where most people think of Aretha, Gladys Knight, Chaka Khan or Patti Labelle. Oh and you should because they are absolutely fierce along with so many others.

I am one of those people that love a musical exploration. Say what you will about streaming sites but they have led me to some of my favourite singers and bands of all time. I though go the step further and seek out the vinyl albums of those artists. Soul in particular has a depth on vinyl you won’t find digitally.

This Black History Month post is dedicated to two singers that I found along the way. They may not be as well known to you (or they might).

Marlena Shaw has been singing since the 1960’s and is one of those singers whose songs have been sampled by many hip hop artists, used in commercials and famously sampled in Blue Boy’s 1997 “Remember Me.” One of her biggest hits to date was “California Soul” written by Ashford & Simpson. It appeared on her 1969 The Spice of Life album. If you want an introduction to Marlena, look no further than this album. Shaw co-wrote the first track “Woman of the Ghetto” which is the first track and the sound of her voice mixed the power of the lyrics makes this song one that could be released today and its message is still relevant. Possibly even more so given the Black Lives Matter Movement. This album also contains songs written by Carole King, Barry Mann, Bobby Miller, Cynthia Weil and others which Shaw performs with power more than vulnerability. “I Wish I Knew (How It Would Feel to be Free)” will have you spinning and singing along to her call.   

I can’t recommend her enough. To start you off listen to “Woman of the Ghetto.”

Ann Sexton (not to be confused with the writer) has also been performing since the 1960’s. Whereas Marlena came from New York, Ann’s roots are in Southern gospel. Her 1977 album The Beginning is how I fell in love with her voice. It’s not just that her voice can fill a room and that she can convey her emotions so that you feel them. It’s that her style very much feels like that friend of yours at 1am who is helping you get through a rough time, or needs you to listen to her going through a rough time. She don’t want answers, no, she wants an ear. Too often we forget that most of us just need someone to listen  to us rather than solve our problems for us.  The opening track “I Had A Fight With Love” will have you moving and feeling her groove. Where her vocal mastery shines is on the tracks “I’m His Wife (You’re Just A Friend)” and the sultry longing in “I Want to Be Loved.” That last track was made for 3am, when the world is quiet and you can feel all the power of the Witching Hour.

Have a listen to “I Want to Be Loved” and tell me what you think.

Till next post...

Coming Out
John, Cornwall, UK
(formerly, New York, NY)

I knew I liked men before I knew what to call it or that it was an issue for some people. I don't think we ever stop coming out, that is the sad reality for us even with all the progress we have made. That said, I do like to mix it up at times when asked if I am gay. Sometimes I'll respond "only on days that end in y," or "only during months that end on the 30th or 31st." When asked about February, a sly wink and silence is a sure way to continue the humor. My "grand" coming out was a two part event separated by about 6 months. I came out to my friends in 1992, I was 15 and the day I decided to tell my best friends in high school was April Fool's Day.

That was not intentional.

I met my friends on the bus as I did every morning and I knew that it had to be then. I had been carrying around secrets the last month, things at home were not that great because my mother and stepfather were always fighting, our relationship was problematic to say the very least. As a result, my friends were like my family. We told each other everything and hung out all the time. The month before I came out though I distanced myself as I had discovered the West Village as well as cruising areas.

So that morning, instead of going to homeroom and first period, we went to the diner near school and over coffee I told them that I was bisexual because I thought that would be easier for them to digest. They of course reminded me it was April Fool's Day and it was only after seeing my face that they realised that I wasn't joking. The thing is, I was still lying. I wasn't bisexual, I knew I was gay and so within days I was truthful about being a gay man. I was very lucky at how supportive they were. Nothing changed with them and in fact, our bond became stronger because we were back to no secrets.

I had always had issues fitting in at school from being the class nerd, the teacher's pet, too skinny and picked on for looking weak. When I told two friends who didn't go to the same high school as me, they suggested that I meet another guy from their school who had also come out. I think it was an attempt at a set up but I agreed and it was hanging out with him and his gay friends that I was introduced to the Hetrick Martin Institute (a gay youth center in the West Village) and BiGLYNY (Bisexual, Gay and Lesbian Youth of New York). I also went to my first gay bar, Uncle Charlie's at the tender age of 15 with the world's worst fake ID bought for $20 in Times Square.

I started to live two very different lives, one in The Bronx which was closeted save for a few close friends who knew and one downtown, especially on Saturdays when BiGLYNY met at The Center on 13th Street. In Manhattan I was out and proud while at home I was isolating myself from my family by not being honest. My dad died when I was 9 and so my mom was the only parental figure in my life. She was both mom and dad to me. I was also mama's boy so it hurt both of us that I was distant. Truth is, I was afraid. I was afraid of what honesty would do to an already strained mother/son relationship.

During that time I became more involved with BiGLYNY and made friends who are still like family to me. Everyone was at various stages of coming out and their stories were just as diverse. I was fully immersed in the gay scene, going to clubs, sneaking back into our apartment through the fire escape at 5am. I stayed away from home for days, sometimes with my then boyfriend, or with friends, or with whoever I picked up. I lied to my mother and said I was staying with friends from school but that was never the case. In addition to my youth group, I had a circle of friends who were artists in the East Village, they were part of the more alternative scene within the gay scene and introduced me to different types of music, modern art, and leant me books that were subversive and thought provoking. They were responsible for "gayducation."

As I became stronger and prouder, it became harder and harder to go back into the closet at home. At one of our weekly BiGLYNY meeting's I began discussing with a then friend about coming out to my mother. The first thing he said was make sure I have a place lined up to stay that night and for a few days after, and make sure I have some money just in case. I hadn't thought about the reality of the situation till then even though I knew from the group that some were living in shelters, or with friends because they were thrown out. I hadn't thought that that was a possibility.

I had very little money saved but a friend of mine from high school offered to help me out if I needed it and a place to stay for a few days. I then arranged to stay with a few other friends as my then boyfriend had been at college on Long Island so living together was not an option. In retrospect, it was very organized.

One September evening I got home late after spending the afternoon going through my plan with a few friends. The only thing I knew as I opened that door into our apartment was that I had a place to go to, a bag packed under my bed and about $300.

I called out for my mother as soon as I walked in and she answered back from the bathroom. I didn't even ask her if I could go in, I just barged in while she was on the toilet and said "I need to tell you something."
She looked at me surprise. "Now is not the time."
"Yes it is."
She looked at me as if to say "fine."
"Mom, I'm gay."
She sat there in silence.
I said it again, just in case she hadn't heard it. "Mom, I'm gay." I began to tear up because as I heard the words I said, I felt like I had disappointed her. I had let her down for not being the son she had always thought I was.
She looked down at the floor and then up at me. "Huh, well I knew you were having sex with men but I didn't think you were gay."
Now it was my turn to be shocked. "What? How did you know?"
She gave me an all knowing look, you know the ones that mother's give you when they are onto your bullshit. "Johnny, not a single girl has called this house in months except for Gaby and I know you are not having sex with her." This was and remains true. Gaby and I have been best friends since we were 13.
She then asked me to turn around while she got up from the toilet and I stood there expecting the worse. Waiting for her to explode but she put her arms around me and said "I love you." I broke down into tears. Tears of joy this time.
I turned around and she gave me a kiss on the cheek, wiped tears from my eyes and then asked, "you're not going to start wearing women's clothes now, are you?"
I let out a laugh. "I'm gay, not a drag queen."
She smiled and said, "Ok." Years later she did see a photo of me in drag and thought I looked pretty but that is another story.

Our relationship became stronger after coming out and continued to strengthen until her death in 1998. She protected me from the homophobic rants of my stepfather and was always proud of me. She became a maternal figure to all of my friends and there was always a place at her table for any one of them.
​
I am eternally grateful for who she was and not a day goes by that I do not thank the stars that my coming out experience was positive. I know so many people who weren't as lucky and I never take that for granted. Not even now twenty five years later.

Below is the full text of St Mark's Ghost as read on E43: Inspiration Under Lockdown. Click here for full podcast. 

St. Mark’s Ghost

way he laughed, you could tell they had history. Did they know each other from the clubs? High school? Either way, it didn’t matter. He knew them well enough to join them. It was the magic of the city. You could belong if you really wanted to.

He gave Mikey a look and this time he looked directly at him. His eyes lowered as if he knew Mikey’s secret.

Without further thought, Mikey knew what would happen next. The young man would hang out with the girls before heading back to his friend’s house up the street. They would get high with weed bought in Alphabet City and watch from the rooftop as sundown lit the street below up.

His stomach growled and the young man disappeared, as did everything else. Like a screen wipe in those films that kept him up at night. Mikey looked around and he was stood in front of Chipotle. He could see the sign for Gem Spa and Andromeda but not much else was familiar.

The street was sanitised now,  you could almost eat off them. He felt the hunger pangs again but he didn’t want Chipotle. He thought of a slice but even St. Mark’s Pizza was gone. It too was consigned to history along with all the friends who once called that street home. Friends whose voices he could barely remember as the years passed.

Mikey heard the thunder above, within minutes the city streets would be drenched and umbrellas would cost $10. The temperature would remain and so would the stickiness. He headed towards Second Avenue. He knew that Veselka’s Borscht and their perogies would ground him again. Each taste of hearty Ukrainian food would let him wander through the rooms in his mind. He would see birthdays, first dates and smiles from a time he could never forget.

Why else had he headed to the East Village? 

Before I begin, I want to say a massive thank you to all the health professionals out there saving lives. A massive thank you to all front line and essential workers who are keeping the World going. There is not enough money in the world to put a value on your service right now. We know that what you get now is not enough. We have to remember this the next time we are at the ballot box.
 
So what has been up here?
 
Well prior to the lockdown, I broke two of my toes so I was pretty much housebound for a month before the actual lockdown order was issued. You would think that hubby and I would be used to this especially after working from home for 10 years now but we’re not.
 
None of this normal, it shouldn’t feel normal and I don’t ever want it to feel normal. I want to know that until a vaccine is made or we get this virus under control, that we are all doing our part to remain safe, not infect others and to have a good look at ourselves and our relationship with this planet.
 
Because of this, like many of you, I have had my good days and bad days. At first, I felt bad about feeling bad. I kept seeing things about how we should use this time to do this, do that. It was adding unnecessary stress and as a result, I made a video in response (insert link).
 
Truth is, none of this is normal and if you write a masterpiece, great, if not, look after yourself. It’s a pandemic not a sabbatical.
 
That said…
 
The revised edition of Lu’s Outing was published in February 2020. I can’t tell you how wonderful the feedback on the revised edition has been. In addition, I have posted a few readings from Lu’s Outing which are available on my Facebook Videos here. 
 
My next book The Deadbeat Club will be available next month. It is currently with the editors and although it was a struggle the last few months to polish it off, being able to go back into the world of Lu and Si, made it worthwhile. The Deadbeat Club is novel length for those who wanted more after reading Lu’s Outing. The story picks up a few months after the end of Lu’s Outing. Lu still adorably clueless but learning to love himself through friendship, support and humour. 
 
With The Deadbeat Club out soon, it is a great time to subscribe to my newsletter as I will be offering the first chapter for free to those on my list. Please subscribe here.
 
In addition to working on my books, one of my stories, “Sleeping Dogs” will appear in the May edition of Triangle Writers Magazine from Breaking Rules Publishing. I am very excited about this upcoming publication. “Sleeping Dogs” is a story that is very dear to me. It is written in a style that I love to write in. Please head over to their site. You can support them and me here. .
 
I have also released previously short stories with new original artwork. I understand that with the world in the state that it is in, it may be difficult to focus for long periods of time. So if you do need a 10 minute break, please have a look at my Authors Page here. 
 
This pandemic has pushed me out of my comfort zone and one of the things that I have been enjoying is posting videos online. Like many writers, I prefer to hide behind the page. That said, I look forward to posting them now. If I am wearing a baseball cap it’s because my hair is a mess. If you want to see them, be sure to like my page on Facebook or follow me on Instagram. 
 
Finally, if you have read any of my work and can spare the time to review it, please either use Goodreads, Amazon or just tag me on a social media post. In these uncertain times, visibility is so important for an independent artist and every little thing you do, can make a huge difference to us.
 
Stay safe, stay healthy and most importantly, if you don’t need to go out…stay the fuck at home (the pandemic has me in touch with my Bronx roots, so I have been dropping the F word like a M****ha fucker).

I was a sensitive child, very attuned to things around me and prone to spontaneous tears. The kids picked on me for being weak and called me mantequilla (butter).  I had this sense for as long as I could remember that there was destruction on the horizon. I developed a voracious appetite for history and current events. It's one of the reasons today I find myself so angry at what I see happening around me. The more I want to throw my hands in the air and say I don't care, the more I care. I am stuck in this vicious cycle.

My mother used to find me sitting deep in thought and say to me,  no piensas mucho nene, que te pones viejo (Don't think too much or you'll grow old).

I remember crying as I watched on TV the Fall of the Berlin Wall. The Scorpion's Wind of Change would become the sound bite for this historic event. It was one of the first times I remember crying out of happiness. My mother didn't quite understand. After all, what did it matter for a Puerto Rican boy in the Bronx that Germany was to be unified? I don't think I even understood fully why it mattered but I knew that it did. I remember whistling along to that famous intro of the Scorpions hit on my walkman for weeks. I remember thinking that we as in my generation were the children of tomorrow. I felt the anxiety I had growing up during those last days of the Cold War give way to hope. That the world that lay ahead would be better than the one I was born into.

That I would one day find myself living in a unified Germany and in former West Berlin was something I couldn't foresee. It wasn't a thought I had as I watched on TV, people climb over the wall in front of the Brandenburg Gate. Every time I cycled through Potsdamer Platz and through the Brandenburg Gate as an adult, I couldn't forget that this was not possible when I was born.

In 2011, I had to fly to London to meet with my PhD supervisor. I returned on the night flight to Tegel and got into a taxi. My German was just good enough to tell the driver where I was going and have a basic conversation. He had the radio tuned to Berliner Rundfunk, a favourite station of mine and one that shared a name with the former DDR propaganda programme. Tegel was firmly in what was once West Berlin and we were living in Kreuzberg, not too far from Templehof. Our area had once bordered the wall on three sides. It was a haven for the undesirables of the West, a perfect place for us to call home. On the way home, the radio played Wind of Change and as we drove through old West Berlin to my home, I thought of that little boy who cried at the fall of the Berlin Wall. That little boy who had no idea he would live in a unified Berlin one day. I thought about the man I had become who remained committed to the unity he was a part of in Europe. I didn't cry though, I smiled because I was happy to be home.

By 2014, we had made the decision to return to the UK from Berlin for a short period of time. We rented a house in Cornwall and within 6 months had decided that we wanted to swap life in the city for life in the country.

Last year, my niece had come to the UK to play with her football team in an international tournament. I had booked the morning flight from Newquay to London to spend the day and night with her and her teammates. It was dark as I set out in my Mazda MX-5 that September morning. I had been listening to some classic rock compilation as I drove up the A30 which was dark, lonely, and almost surreal. The Wind of Change was on that compilation and I burst into tears as I was driving. They just kept falling and I had to pull the car to one side. As the words played through my speakers, I couldn't hold back the sadness, the rage, the hope I had seen fleeing since the EU Referendum and the election of Trump. Events that continued to chip away at my view of the world, humanity and the growing anxiety I felt about the future.

Last week, we had the massive landslide election of the Conservatives and with it a definitive exit from the EU that none of us can stop. It was an election like none I had witnessed here or even in Europe in the near 20 years I have been here.  So many lies and so much hatred have infected our politics and we are more divided now than we ever were.  The wind of change had blown the opposite way here in the UK as it had done in the US.

Facebook memories this week brought up the Scorpion's Wind of Change a few times and I thought about how I have been living, how I have been thinking and the continual questioning of what next? My running joke and commentary on the times we are living in has been: These are hard times for Fiction writers.

They are indeed.

At the moment, it feels all hopeless. Things will get a bit worse before they get better which is why it is so important for our voices to be heard. We have witnessed extraordinary attacks on diversity and multiculturalism which is why it is so important to continue to write those stories, to share experiences and to put our words out there.

2020 vision is clarity. The year 2020 can be that as well. As we witness an inward turn, let us ensure that all art forms remain outward. Let us ensure that the diversity that is the human tapestry becomes the shining light in this dark sea.

Let us remember as writers, artists and as humans that the wind has changed directions but that she can and will change again.

I have been thinking a lot about identity this Pride month. I still have this automatic affinity to New York Pride even though I haven't lived in the city for 19 years and this year with Stonewall 50 and World Pride held in New York, it is hard not to think of the city, even if you have never been there.

I remember my first ever Pride. There was an atmosphere like I had never experienced before. Same sex couples holding hands and kissing in areas that any other day of the year would lead to harassment or worse. It was exciting. There was a fusion of politics, anger, humour and music in what seemed like an endless procession down Fifth Avenue towards the Christopher Street Piers, which even in the early 90's remained a symbol of urban decay, freedom and destitution. It was a crumbling sanctuary for many of us and although I am under no illusion of the safety and reality of what it was like on those piers, I also know that it remains a part of my story, my experience and my personal narrative.  

There's this bizarre belief in this world and an active push to put us all into neat categories and create one story for that category. To create one experience to create a neat and tidy story that makes sense to the outside world. For as long as I can remember, I was different. I felt different. I looked different. I was told I was different. When I came out at the age of 15, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere because I met others who were different and embraced being different. My friends did not try to emulate one another, they were their own productions and there existed a space where all the things we each brought to the table were able to coexist. I fitted in because there was room for me to fit in.

It may seem at times that I can romanticise or even pine for a simpler time but that is too simplistic of a brush to paint me with. I would never want to go back to the days when my rights did not exist. The days before I was able to legally marry my husband. I am lucky that we now live in a time where we shouldn’t have to worry about the life we have lived together being erased because there are no legal protections in place. These things were a reality when I came out. Scarier still, they could become a reality once again in the US with the GOP's face lift of the judiciary system whilst the world is distracted by tweets. They could become a reality in the UK with its impending exit from the European Union. I don't believe those times were simpler. I think getting older and remembering your youth can at times fool you into thinking life was simpler.

When I think about Pride and Identity, I reflect on that road I have travelled since I came out in 1992. Three years ago, when the Pulse shooting occurred, I struggled to comprehend anything. The fact that it was targeted at not just LGBTQ+ but also that the majority of the clientele were Puerto Ricans left me feeling isolated in a way I had not felt before. This was not helped by the lack of compassion from the highest office in the US. Not since Reagan refused to utter a word on the AIDS crisis had a President shown such a disdain for other Americans, and continues to do so.

I still struggle to comprehend and I watch with growing horror on social media how divided the LGBTQ community has become. Perhaps we were always that way. I don't know, as I mentioned earlier, sometimes your youth can fool you into remembering a "simpler time." Perhaps even because my LGBTQ+ circle is diverse that I don't often see the divisions as clearly, but when I do, it angers me. It reminds me of the hatred that is directed towards us, except that more and more the threats are coming from within the community. All you have to do is look at the treatment of our Trans & Bi members. Just this weekend in Penzance, we had a case of vandalism directed at our Trans community by self identified gay men who feel that Trans representation has no place in Pride. On a simpler level is the tension between masculine v. feminine all too common amongst gay men.

I am lucky that my circle is not just diverse LGBTQ+ wise but also in that I have many close friends who are heterosexual. It can sometimes fool you into thinking that the world as a whole has become accepting, that we are done fighting. We are told it is just a minority of people, right wing, whatever who have an issue with us. If it is a minority, it is an armed, mobilised minority and that they are that organised should frighten not just the LGBTQ+ community but all of us. All of us who want to live and love in peace.

Over the years my own identity has evolved to include multiple passports, languages, and experiences: extra layers on already layered identity. It is a reminder that I still don't always fit neatly into one category.  Sorry world, you’ll never put me into your nice little category that you can file away on a shelf. If I had to sum myself up in one word, how I identify, it would most likely be Queer. Even so, that label still causes debate in the community. It is one that some embrace, it is one that others reject. It does though create a dialogue which is what I feel we have lost sight of during Pride. Dialogue is a nice change from the shouting at one another that has become the norm.

I'm reminded often of a childhood memory.

When I was a kid, all the other boys at school had these black Adidas sneakers (or trainers if you must), and they were the coolest thing that year. I begged my mother for a pair and she said, "Why do you want something that all the other kids have? Why don't you choose something different? Something just for you."

I didn't want to be different and she reluctantly bought me the sneakers. When I finally got my pair, the kids had moved onto a new style and I was stuck with something that was now un-cool. I was made fun of, and this was on top of the usual bullying for being too skinny, a sissy, a cry baby or their favourite word, mantequilla (butter).

I wish I had listened to my mother but I didn't.

What I learned though as I grew up is that there is no point in fitting in. The system of fitting in is about conformity. Conformity is about control. Control is about subjugation. What used to be something outside of the LGBTQ+ community and Pride, has become a driving force within and that is what saddens me about Pride today. It can sometimes feel like Pride and the community as a whole has become a living parody of Mean Girls, “You can’t sit with us.”
My first Pride experiences were about standing out. I saw all walks of life present and accounted for. Most comically, one year were the "Gays Against Brunch." It was what made me feel Proud because that was what I felt when I came out. I had found a place I could stand out and be myself. I could be that awkward kid who was different and that was okay. In fact, that was more than okay, it was fantastic.

We don't have to fully understand one another but we have to remember what unites us. The one thing we all have in common is that to a homophobe, or anyone who wants to hurt us, is that we are all the same to them. Their goal is to hurt and destroy us because we live as we do or because we exist.

This is why we need to stand together and protect one another. When one of us is attacked, we are all under threat.

Pride should be a reminder of all that we have fought against and all we still have to fight for, together.