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A Queerly Erotic Coup
Visual Works by
T.J. Bryan aka Tenacious
Saturday June 24 2000 until it done...
@ 52Inc, 394 College St., Toronto, Canada
For more information...
email: tartintraining@hotmail.com
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One Diasporic Pervert Challenges Erotophobia
By T.J. Bryan aka Tenacious, © June 2000
Un/cut.
As in...undivided.
Clitorally erect parts of a historically torn whole reunited. Made one. No
longer deracinated, alienated or separated, one from the other.
Un/cut.
Uncircumscribed.
Fully conscientized.
Not controlled by predictable values and safe moralities. Existing oppositionally.
Dominant ways of seeing, being and sexing are not mine. I fuck to cum. Fuck
to ground myself sensually. NOT to procreate. Mindlessly offering the sacrifice
of future African generations. Capitalist mutations. Biologically-based, materialistically
accumulating, steppin' fetchits, providing fodder for the white man's city
scape ghost in tha machine.
Un/cut.
Uncensored.
Try to muzzle me? Attempt to keep my images from view? I smell your discomfort.
Your dis-ease with my sexuality goes deep. You can't talk dirty. Can't talk
sex. Can't spell out what you need in a voice raised above a whisper. Can't
fly. Can't let yourself feel yourself. Unchecked your fears will eventually
destroy you and bring the wolves who stalk me creeping,
bringing strange fruits back to your door.
Un/cut.
Undamaged.
I will protect myself from mind/body/soul assaults. Protect myself from your
denial. I protect my right to choose, my right to rut deviantly when surrounded
by those who would see me regress 'til I become erotically numb.
AN
INCANTATION AGAINST THE PERILS OF EROTOPHOBIA:
Put your tongue in my mouth and taste me. Clamp your teeth tight round my
clit but don't lay waste to me. Strap on a fat, black cock and juk me. Slide
your fist into my slit. C'mon and ride me.
Then repeat the following words loudly as many times as you can...or until
you collapse on the floor laughing:
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! Oh SHIT! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuckin' Hell!
Fuck me hard! Don't stop! Don't STOP! DON'T STOP! Stop and I'll SCREAM!
Stop and I will KILL you!
ONE EXHIBITIONISTIC HOO/CHEE ADDRESSES HER BRETHREN AND SISTREN:
Do I phreak you? Do my pictures make you want to look away or cover your eyes?
Do my words disturb and perturb you? Make you want to keep things on tha down
low? Maintain tha status quo by playing good girl or boy to my hopping mad,
bad Black gyal?
If so, I would suggest you ask yourself, and not me, why?
Why would your sista speaking, drawing and writing for her own delight make
you sweat like crazy? Make you take offense? Make you demand her silence?
Make you want to control what you are only being allowed to witness? Make
you think that you could even attempt to mold what you
have been blessed to behold?
I am a one-time heterosexual turned bi-sexual turned lesbian turned dyke turned
queer and I am still searching.
I am oversexed. I am woefully undersexed. I am fully sexed. I be needin' some
more sex. I am jonesin' for sex and unashamed. Arms, lips and thighs spread
wide. No worries. Nothing to hide.
Do you worry 'bout who may see this body splayed, displayed for the taking?
'Bout who will want to visually consume my hairless pussy? Objectify my chocolate-tipped
titties? Or sexualize my sweet, sweet boomsie?
Claim your worries. Claim your confusion. Then after you've done all that,
claim your need to dominate and control. Do NOT project it onto the tender
skins of children or smear it 'cross the callused backs of your parents. They
do NOT deserve to drown in your shit!
I will not validate your ignorance for even one second. I refuse to further
centralize your system of value by catering to your needs, your worries, your
inability to fully decolonize your not-yet-free Black spirit by coming in/to
the full power of your sexual self.
Why should I tolerate your heterocentrism, your patriarchal-ism, your middle-class
conservatism, your self-righteous, judeo-christianized and colonized asexual
moralism, your fear of this Black queer gyal confidently representing her
own reality?
This is about power. Always mine, never again yours. I draw much of my strength
from being unbowed. From being ME-a fearlessly intrepid HOO/chee on a mission
of exploration and realization.
A rebel with a cause. An ethnical slut rebelling for her cause. One mutha
of a cunt purposefully misbehaving. Messing with the acceptable on purpose.
Messing up the best laid plans of whites, hets and men simply because I can.
I am full-figured and ripe with juice, agency, desire and political expectation.
Unique. Approaching the heights of my poonani-centric sexual peak.
This should not scare you.
This should NOT intimidate you.
Though it could offer you an opportunity to think.
My presence here is a misunderstood gift. Decorated with rainbow wrapping,
a blue collar, one ital coloured ribbon, black condoms, latex gloves, cowrie
shells and a few easily opened packets of lube.
My existence is s'posed to rock you. Sock you. Turn you upside down and inside
out. Offering you some fresh diasporic vision and renewed possibility.
I worry that you will resist me or attempt to completely dis-miss me using
courteous, yet cutting words. So even toned, so riddled with evidence of your
learned power and unearned privilege. I worry that you will close your eyes
and your ears to a truth so radically different from your own, that opening
yourself up to it may mean your world will explode or
crumble down around you.
But be warned...if you seek to control or mediate my reflections I will fight
you. I will work circles of sex magic, obeah and defiance around you. I will
confront you in ways you will not be able to ignore. I will sing and write
and scream and gesture and point to your crime so that in time others will
get wise to the impending demise of all our hopes for change.
And even then, after all this, I will offer you my bread and wine. The sacrament
of revolutionary redemption.
Suck
on it.
Suck me.
Suck on mine...
And approach a broader understanding.
Suck on mine...
And break from the enslaving shackles of artificially imposed sexual norms.
Suck on mine...
And loose the phallo-centric-two-seconds-of-forplay-he-licked-you-now-could-he-PLEASE-stick-it-in-you-using-the-missionary-position-after-which-he-will-collapse
fixation.
Suck on mine...
And create your own salvation.
But if you can't then just step outta my way. Get that FUCK outta my way!
Don't disturb my groove. Do NOT attempt to taint my message or interrupt the
flow of my perverse agenda.
I've got some smutty tales to tell. There are some counter-hegemonic pictures
I need to draw. Rah pussy digga drawings. Damn dirty dawg drawings. Sweet,
tasty, lacey, Black femme feisty dykes feasting on latex cocks harnessed to
butchy girl/boy bodies lost in the grip of some
serious psycho sexual mind games.
Boyz (of tha bio and gender-fucking persuasion) say I sure can give head.
Well DUH! This tart's been led, willingly force-fed and trained by tha best
tools around.
And get this, latex really DOES connect swollen clit to cerebral cortex. She
can FEEL me lick her rod. If I suck her long enuff, well enuff, she has promised
to shoot a big, hot load of invisible, non-tasteable jism down the back of
my throat. Then she will thank me for a job well done. And I will laugh and
be happy and horny. Cuz eating transgressive girl cock makes
me wet. Turns my MIND on. Cuz if I am very good she will put a condom on her
hood, order me to spread my legs and fuck me senseless for hours on end.
And in this scene once my boy gets her rocks off my fun still ain't done.
This game will go on and on,
CAN go on and on
This shit is so damn queer.
So emotionally intense, analytically complex
And insatiable.
This shit is an exclamation,
A giant question mark
An anomaly
That will gleefully fuck us over and over again
'Til we can't take the heat no more.
'Til I forget to breathe and need to be reminded that I should be doin' it.
'Til she is slicked in sweat and wrecked.
'Til one or both of us says
stop...
And all that's left is the sound of heavy breathing....
We hold each other half crying, half dying. Spasming in the aftermath of our
climax we emerge consensually out of a fantasy made for two. The air is heavy,
laden with the smell of funk and courage. We rest until our nature once more
rises. Until it's time to do it all ovah again.
Emerging visibly/darkly/radically/sexually/consciously in/to full view.
UN/cut.
