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Speechless

All burdens are heavy, all burdens exhaust you
from the lifting, all burdens come with one mercy, which is that at least they
leave you with nothing to do but sleep.

"You think I come here to
judge you but the truth is, sometimes I wish it was me giving one or two
bomboclaat man what they deserve. Why you think I left the Gay
Liberation Front? All those boys wanted was equality. I wanted revenge.
But this, my boy. This is not right.”

“When people do cruel
shit” (his words) to you it never stops being a current event. Get hit by a car or shot in the
belly or struck by your husband—it’s the same thing, because nothing freezes you in time
like violence.

“Funny thing this fuckery that we call trauma,” he
says to me, trying to sound older than he is. “What nobody tell you is how it flattens
time.” His friend who was raped still talks about it, not in the present so much as
struggling to make it past, meaning it is always happening to her

I think about the living and the dead and the blinded, not all the time but enough. Too
much. You are still looking for some sign that events have marked me, not a scar, that’s too
easy, but a permanent infirmity. Something like me saying all of this was my fault. God
help me but I’m starting to forget their names. Who is Orrin and who is Rainford and what
are their surnames.

"Ay, there’s
the rub. The cock as the instrument of subjugation and conquest, a theory that knows no
orientation as it comes from men who are ten times out to ten sexist. Turns they don’t care
about sexual attraction at all, much less homosexuality. What they care about is
domination and they do so from the waist down."

There’s an assumption about the black homosexual that even some black homos
make: that to be in the thrall of queerness is to be at the command of whiteness.
Sometimes I wonder if they are right. I have certainly slept with more white men than any
other race, which I attributed to their simply being more white men. But the theory goes
further, assuming that we are in white thrall not for pleasure but submission.

"Yet you still think I have feelings for him despite me once telling you that I’ve had no
great love before, during, or after. This all ties into your grand theory about me, that I pre-
reject with the same indiscriminate consideration that some people prejudge or pre-
surrender. I always knew where I would have stood with him and would never have put
my heart in the hands of a man making a fist."

"I might have wished that people didn’t hate me just because of it, but I
never wanted to be anything else. I pray for the world to change, not me,
because fuck that. Then one day I stopped praying.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this."

"They not telling lies, they building fictions
and no, it’s not the same thing. “Telling lies” imply that they have some
kinda reality to distort, when the truth is they have nothing. "

" That is what AIDS is after all, isn’t it?
One long set of disappearing acts. First is watching the friends and family
disappear. Second act is when people try to disappear you. Third act is
watching your body vanish from itself and wondering where the fuck you
going, piece by piece, until all of you gone. If there is a fourth act it’s
when everybody erase your name as if you were never born in the first
place. ."

“Easy part, that. I don’t have no words, no words of my own. Daddy
didn’t give me any, school didn’t give me any. Literature didn’t give me
any, since all the books was white people with snow and bonnets and
carriages trying to arrange marriages and bored out of their fucking minds.
Rock music was the first time I ever felt something love me back. And
only a certain music. Music that people who hate me don’t like.”

“I don’t have anything else. Singers say stuff I don’t have the words for
and even when I have the words I don’t have what it takes to say them.
They know me better than I know myself. Like right now the only words I
can think of is from a Patti Smith album.”

"I’m not sure what
that is, but I know it’s about him wanting those things, too. And nobody told
him that wanting to be held and kissed and thought of was a human thing,
not just a woman thing. Nobody has told a single man or woman in this
country. Nobody told me."

"Everything smelled dead, dying, or rotting, except the shit that smelled
fresh. He was at the stage that everything left without telling him,
everything running free. Or he was at the point where he didn’t know or
couldn’t care. I wondered if he was handsome once. His head was skull and
streaks of straight hair now. "

What I want to know is if man and woman can come together, and married
maybe, and have children, and get old, and have grandchildren, and die
surrounded with two generations and with love and talking and all them
family things, what do you have?”
Eddy looked at me like he’s been asking the same question and never
heard an answer before.
“Survival,” I said. “We have survival.”

" Can you imagine? Battyman and lesbian cleaning their house, cooking their food, teaching their kids, curing their sickness, and literally saving their lives every fucking day. You think they would see us then? What a fucked-up situation, eeh? The only way for them to see us is for us to disappear. What would it take to do it? Bravery? Guts, as the Americans say? But is not we who need the guts."

"I’m still not even sure I like him, but say this
about Eddy Courteous: He will never lie to you, but he will look at purple
and say it’s red and blue."

“Because all the time I waste wondering why they hate me I could have
spent hating them back."

"Hate your enemies. Save your friends. Find your place. Speak the truth."

" And it’s now and it’s here and I am going to lose an
eye or a hand, or I am going to die. Yes, I’m gonna die and I’m going to
suffer first, and I’m thinking that it would be better if they just kill me
quick, but that’s bullshit because there is no quick and there is no better
when it comes to killing."

The one who act most like woman scream again until we shove a rag down
his throat. And slap him up the way a woman supposed to get slapped
when she is out of order, which is an embarrassment because there can
be nothing more shameful for a man than to be treated like a woman

I believe what Trevor says about me so how am I different? I never lose a fight. But when a boy is on top of me or inside me sometimes he act like he winning a war,or worse that he is still straight.The only thing Mona is about is surrender.
Nobody has called me a she since I leave high school.I forget that Mona’s
real name is Jan because like the other characters I don’t think she is fit
enough to have her own name.

"All
now me could believe people was going deal with people so. Me tired of
beggin God to not make me die so me start to beg my own body."

Me going die for real.
They going bury me alive till dirt stuff my nose and mouth and I can’t
breathe no more. I did think when something like this happen, sooner or
later you stop fight and just go with the will of God. But me never done
screaming and bawling, this death supposed to be an “if,” not a “when.”

" You know what I really hope? That at the end your life, God
judge you a human so mediocre you can’t even count as a real son of a
bitch.”