I was getting ready to go out last night when I read the news that George Zimmerman was found not guilty for the murder of Trayvon Martin. Not guilty. Typing that right now makes me so angry and so sad. There are so many layers of bullshit in this that it is difficult to even begin to parse out all the ways in which our country is fucked up. You have some fucking yahoo with a gun thinking he's John Wayne following a black teenager who is probably stoned and on a stoner run for snacks. This guy with the gun harasses this teenager, stalks him on his way home, and then, when things escalate, shoots him dead. These things are not in dispute and yet this murderer is a free man despite having admitted to killing an unarmed teenager. But because this teenager is black and because the world fears black men, this murder is somehow justified as self-defense thanks to Florida's absurd and disgusting Stand Your Ground laws.
You then have right-wing talk shows, talking heads, and various idiot bloggers taking up the cause of George Zimmerman, as if he is somehow being wronged here for people wanting him to be held accountable for murdering an unarmed teenager. In all this coverage and talk, you really begin to understand the depth of the fear and hatred of black people that is still is out there in most of America. It is beyond disgusting and makes me so, so angry.
Then a smaller thread in this shameful story is the fact that Trayvon Martin's body had traces of marijuana in it. This is mentioned by a lot of the people justifying this murder. This was mentioned during Zimmerman's trial to the jurors deciding his guilt - that Trayvon Martin had drugs in his system. We need to get over our fear of marijuana. It is not PCP - it not a drug that makes one violent. If we lived in a sane world, the prosecutors (not the defense) would have been the people bringing up this point, bringing it up to prove that someone stoned and on the hunt for Skittles and iced tea is not a violent person. It is so fucking sick how people think the use of weed by someone somehow makes their life less worthy, that their murder is somehow justified with this evidence, that everything about them somehow becomes more questionable. Absolute bullshit!
I want to love you, America. I want to so badly. I do most of the time. But then there are moments like this that really crystalize how fucked everything is and how difficult change seems.
And so after reading this news and wanting to destroy something, anything, to tear it all up, to burn it all down, going out seemed somehow frivolous and unworthy of the historical moment. But I had already told people I was going to meet them at Secret and so I got dressed and met them there. I almost didn't go in because the door guy was an asshole and there was a $15 cover (despite it being advertised as free before 12), but my co-workers begged me to stay since they were on their way and one had come in from New Jersey to go there. It had been several years since the last time I had been to Secret, a black gay club in west Chelsea, and it wasn't nearly as fun as I remembered. There was too much R&B being played and not enough sexy men. The go-go boys though. Right as I was about to leave, they got on top of the bar, and kept me there for longer than I had intended. These were some of the biggest dicks I have ever seen in my life. Every go-go guy had a massive, almost unbelievably huge dick - jaw dropping stuff. They each had their cock somehow wrapped in a piece of fabric so it was just these massive cocks, their shape explicit, barely covered by fabric. At one point one of the go-go guys, justifiably proud of his dick, asked my friends and I to come closer, to watch. He squatted down close to us and pulled back the fabric from his dick and easily licked the head of his dick because it was that goddamn large.
I eventually pulled myself away from these sights, said goodbye to my friends, and headed off toward the Lower East Side to go to the Rico Suave party that I had wanted to go to in the hopes of seeing Alex Anwandter sing. I got there around one and was immediately so happy to be there. It was hot and sweaty. Everyone was drinking various Mexican beers. It was pretty much all Spanish music. It was so beautiful. Lots of attractive Latin gay dudes with great style I had never seen before. It was everything I wanted.
I danced around with Deanna and Nicky. They had poppers and we kept on sniffing them on the dance floor. The poppers made everything more magical, fun, and blurred. This moment on that dance floor crossed time and space and I kept on believing that I was in various Mexico City bars I remembered. I danced with a couple of cute boys. I flirted with more. I fell in love about twelve times before the night was over. I saw Alex Anwandter and probably around three asked him if was still going to be singing. He told me that he already had sang earlier in the night. Sadly, while I was staring at guys with massive dicks with the ability to self-suck, I missed this person perform that I had been excited to see for weeks. Oh well - at least I saw some big dicks. I danced and danced until about four in the morning. It was such an incredibly fun night, all the more so for being a different crowd and different music than I normally encounter when going out. Toward the end of the night, Shakira's "Estoy Aqui" came on and I was so, so happy. On the street, I talked to this beautiful man named Javier. We exchanged numbers and with any luck I will at some point hang out with him, at some point make out with him.
I grabbed a slice of pizza on Delancey and caught a taxi home thinking about the America I do love.
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