Thoughts on Pride™

introduction, music, reflection, relationships, sex toys, sexuality, storytelling, trans*, Uncategorized

CN: Brief mention of trauma in the italicized paragraph below.

This has been a PRIDE MONTH. Like, imagine me screaming “PRIDE MONTH” with emphatic hand gestures representing part exhaustion, part awe, and a generous helping of frustration. My patience has been at an historic low these weeks…I wouldn’t say “short fuse,” but something along the lines of “my depression has no room for the inconceivable amount of bullshit the world has to offer lately.” Nevertheless, with joy comes sorrow and all of the emotional spectrums in between.

Take a seat, things are about to get real.

I had started this post at the beginning of June, feeling deeply inspired by the Sense8 finale and finding all of this resonance with the world around me, beyond me, inside of me. When the show concluded with The Magnetic Field’s “Nothing Matters When We’re Dancing,” I felt this uncanny connection to the conclusion of José Esteban Muñoz’s Cruising Utopia. The book ends with lyrics from The Magnetic Fields’s “Take Ecstasy with Me,” discussing the importance of vacillation within our given queer time and space. Knowing the importance of emotion beyond feeling, of living beyond existing, but simultaneously conscious of how everything is born from something else and it’s all fucking inseparable.

I’m confusing myself a lot lately and while it’s completely overwhelming, it’s also a profound experience of what it’s like to process my thoughts through a raw and affective glow. Random bursts of tears, laughing harder than I should, desperately trying to smile but not understanding how all of this emotion is supposed to manifest in my body. My sex drive has taken an almost political strength, where I masturbate with militant intention, slipping into orgasm with a sharp awareness of the ongoing and worsening struggles around me and inside me. I don’t understand myself, but I’m not sure I have to right now.

I know that pride is really complex and sometimes universally simple, but I know I’ve also grown really tired of this assimilationist conglomeration of “Love is love” when it’s worth so much more than that. The simplification of critically uncomfortable discussions and the capitalization of queer visibility scares the shit out of me. It’s nothing new; I’ve been preaching “self-preservation versus self-advocacy” for years. I had a conversation with one of my beloved exes and explained to him how I started this beautiful blog post in early June and it got deleted…how that just sucked all the momentum out of me because I felt like I finally contextualized something unnameable that has threaded through my life since my first experiences of trauma and love. I told him that I’d never be able to rewrite it and how I felt it offered such a value of insight to this blog, how I know I needed to just “let go” (another mantra for 2018 so far) and push forward. How I feared disclosing all of the above for the sake of a blog post because I’m not looking to capitalize off of my work but also, I kind of am? He told me to stop thinking and just do. I say, why not both?

At age sixteen I was skanking with my ex-girlfriend during prom to Reel Big Fish’s “Sell-Out,” laughing at the irony, yet not realizing how much more disgusting the irony would get throughout my life. I haven’t been to a Pride Parade in over a decade and yet still garnish my lifestyle with rainbows like my “baby gay” self did at age sixteen. Justin Vivian Bond posted an Instagram clip of a New York Times article entitled “5 Ways to Celebrate Pride Away from the Mainstream,” and I have to say, I’ve felt like such a bad gay for not marching with my queer families today. But I also know I’m celebrating and making myself visible in ways that still matter.

The since discontinued Tantus Rocket. The Asteroid is still available in this color scheme on their website.

I typically spend most of Pride month with my biological family, one full of queer positivity and queer-identified members. These past few Junes have been increasingly soul-searching and I don’t think I could have done a lot of that introspection without the support of my family. How instead of being at New York’s parade today, I was helping my sister unwrap her baby shower gifts and sipping mimosas. And while I was mired in baby obligations, I know I more than likely would have avoided NYC Pride even if I could go.

NYC pride 2007 I believe? @laura_scarano #tbt

A post shared by Avery (@thepalimpsex) on

A lot of this avoidance comes from the trauma I associate with cities. I have a tremendous fear of cities in general. New York was a place for me to explore my queerness as a springy teenager where I’d romp around St. Mark’s getting piercings or buying overpriced vintage Doc Martens and sneaking into bars. New York was also my first kink scene, introduced to me by a dear friend from college. But with “The City” came a lot of phobias and fears: fears of being trapped, not being able to find a bathroom, not being able to rest, not being able to breathe. I used to enjoy the astounding empathy of eye contact when walking past New Yorkers, wondering what each and every one of them were thinking, what their stories were. I tried to be a city kid when I moved to the Bay, but even then, I rarely crossed into San Francisco. My car window was smashed on my birthday while living in Oakland. I narrowly escaped a mugging during SF Pride by using the pepper spray I never thought I’d have to use. Even Philadelphia was a great nugget of gayness for a while until I no longer felt safe going back to the clubs where my abuser is still currently performing. Cities mean people, people mean unpredictability and inevitable conflict.

I’ve tried to honor these conflicts by picking my battles, and I know I can’t live in the woods forever. I know things balance out and time provides a great avenue to reflect on change, but for now I celebrate my pride by spending private time with other queers playing Overwatch, eating sushi with the enby loves of my life, sobbing over the new season of Queer Eye, and fucking myself with Pride-colored toys. And even THEN! Even then, I worry about which companies to support and which ones are just feeding into some messy agenda.

I see companies making “Pride-Themed” toys out the ass lately and part of me is elated that these things are now so widely available. The last minute of Sense8 featured a cum-covered Fun Factory Amor Pride laying on the sheets after a celebration of unity…I squealed. But then there are companies with really problematic behaviors auctioning off one-of-a-kind Pride items at ridiculous prices just because it’s for a “good cause.” Shouldn’t accessibility be a part of this picture? Is that really how to run a fundraiser, through exclusivity, rather than making your work available to all à la Kenton’s Red NoFrillDo campaign?

I’m running out of steam. A blog post that was meant to be a mental check-in before a full-fledged review will have to organically take its course. I have a veritable fuckton of Pride toys now and I’m extremely proud of them. And while I absolutely adore my new Avant Beyond butt plug for how it feels and works, I’d much rather praise it for the role it has in reimagining my sexual ferocity. How right here, right now, in this very moment, I am conflicted and conflicting, overprojected and verbose, shamelessly navel-gazing in a swirl of color, filled with love and gratitude for the things I have learned during this particular Pride Month. The sheer volume of work that needs to be done, the distinctions we need to make between visibility and safety, the specificity and power of words which complement actions, and the courage to face the unknown are all somehow connected to or fueled by some form of love.

I’d meant to write this post in the beginning of June. I’m finishing it now. And crying. Also crying. One of my clients at work keeps reminding me to “trust the process.” So here goes.