Originally posted in The Monthly Breeze
Once upon a time ago in a galaxy called Hollywood, your favorite upwardly immobile African American homosexual in an unbridled show of affection and horniness for his boyfriend allowed himself to be photographed in the buff. And we're not talking Playboy "Art" shots with soft lighting or a furry kitten gently resting upon dramatically lit supple skin. We're talking full boogie post coital open orifice money shots with vodka bottles, audio cassette cases and that old "Isobel" poster of Björk kissing herself in the background. And as is the nature of everything regrettable done in life, at the time… it was great, it was nasty, it was FUN. Years later after sobering up/growing up I now consider it to be stupid, stupid, stupid. I recently came upon these pictures not too long ago while perusing some old backup files I have kept over the years. I have always considered these pictures to be the bane of my existence and the anchor to an otherwise aerial life. I imagined my eventual happiness to have the obligatory Halle Berry/Sandra Bullock Oscar suffix whereas the greatest thing in the world happens only to be followed by the worst thing in the world to happen. There I am, Toni Morrison giving me a hug after I accept my Nobel Peace Prize, then the next morning, there I am on the front cover the LA Times, all of the 400 pounds that I was at the time, with parts of my body showing that typically only my proctologist, my ex-boyfriends or a few lucky gentlemen down in Atlanta during 2009 pride have seen with the headline, "BREEZE IN THE BUFF" or "BIG BREEZE TINY DICK" or "NOBEL REVOKES PRIZE STATING, 'THAT AIN'T NOWHERE NEAR PEACEFUL!'"
After having a conversation with a friend who said that writers tend to overexpose themselves on social networking sites, blogs, websites and such, I began to think about my own compulsion to… make my privates go public.
For the most part it's been a fairly productive endeavor. However as of late it has provided some amazingly uncomfortable moments, personally and professionally. Personally I have stifled some people just as quickly as I have befriended them as my overexposure has caused some sobering misconceptions and judgment calls. The same is also true professionally whereas chunks of my personal life have been slopped down into the laps of several members of the administration at my place of employment, these posts notwithstanding.
One thing I've been preaching to friends and family alike for quite some time now is the idea that you can't change people, you only change yourself. In this case, if I write something provocative or make out with a dozen guys in a drunken stupor in a bar or some rogue blogger somehow finds those pictures of me au natural and posts them in "Elephant Fancy" magazine, I can't control what people think about them or the subsequent judgments following. All I can do is control my actions and stand by what I've said and what I've done. In that, Plan C is basically to say and do things with just a little more integrity, a little more resonance but in essence still do what the fuck I want to do. Which in this economy is quite the bold statement to make when there is a chance that members of Administration of your place of employment will find out that there are post coital open orifice money shot pictures of yourself that show body parts that typically only your proctologist, your ex-boyfriends or a few lucky gentlemen down in Atlanta during 2009 pride have seen (Big ups to ATL by the way!)
Male Media Mind