Sunrises & Dark Alleys

     I love/hate black people!  Simply because you never have to wonder what we are thinking; we will shout our opinions from the rooftops and then call our friend on speakerphone to elaborate.  Due to this key cultural feature, my day at work got very interesting.  It all started with the golden child of cyber-voyeurs and exhibitionists: Facebook.

     After a week of working with a new firm, I added a co-worker as a friend.  I took to her quickly because our discussions would range from The Book of Hebrews to Fantasia to coke lines; we could talk about everything under the Sun.  Online we'd exchange witty comments, LOLs and smiley faces; she was a great add.
     One day while filing some documents, I suddenly heard a loud scream come from the central office.  Rushing out to help, I walked in to my co-working clicking through pictures of me at the "Death Guild".  I'm dressed in a tight, black T-shirt; on the front was a drawing of a naked woman ball-gagged and bound.  I am also donning a big spiked collar.  She tried to click off, but it kept going to the next picture...and the next...and the next.

     I wasn't really embarrassed, but I was a little annoyed that she wouldn't stop screaming.  Looking up at me, professionally dressed in a suit and tie and glaring back at the computer screen, she couldn't grasp that I could be genuinely both people, "Oh my Lord!"  Her reaction was incredibly humorous to me; but the funniest part was that those pictures were just the tip of the iceberg. 

She hadn't the slightest clue about what I was really into.

     Getting a grip of herself, the first thing she does is go through her purse, "You're off on Wednesdays, right?  My church has a service starting at 7:00 pm!"  She takes a laminate invitation from her bag and scoots it across the table towards me, "Please go and get some prayer, Jesus still loves you!  It's not too late!"

     At this point, I'm laughing hysterically.  If she only caught of glimpse of the shit on this blog, she would drag me to the altar herself.  After catching her breath, she collects herself, "I'm so sorry; that was just a lot to take in on a Sunday morning.  I'm not judging you, I'm just caught off guard! You're nothing like that in real life, You're a big square!"

What's the definition of "Real Life"?

     Little does she know, I am a big square.  I laugh too loud.  I love cartoons.  Gummy worms make me incredibly happy.  Just because I have a proclivity towards leather, whips and chains doesn't mean I'm incapable of being goofy or naive. 

     I hate the assumption that one of my incarnations must be a facade.  I am authentically myself whether I'm in the office, writing this blog or at the club wearing a muzzle.  As if I'm at the San Francisco Citadel because it makes me feel cool.  Or while watching "The Princess and the Frog", I'm secretly wishing I was watching "Bound Gods".  This is why pseudonyms exist in the first place. 

People still can't get over the fact that the world is round:

Beautiful sunrises and dark alleys can exist in the same instance.

Can't my life be entirely non-fictional?

Can't I be all these things at once?

Is it really a paradox?

Or just reality?

80 year-olds are having hot, fulfilling sex as you read this

Some beautiful Mandingo warriors are born with micro-penises

Why are we so shocked?

     While pondering my new thoughts of duality and public vs. private personas, I hear, "Girl, you gotta see this! Look on my Facebook page!"  This woman called her friend to talk about her discovery, "I know, girl, night & day! Night AND DAY!"  One moment she's introducing me to her Lord and Savior and the next she's posting my pictures on her wall!  This made me laugh harder because, in my mind, I instantly labeled her a hypocrite....which , in turn, makes me one  The law of transitivity says: If I can be this grand multi-dimensional being; in the same fashion, she can be equal parts saint and sloppy gossiper.  She looks up at me and seriously asks, "Are you into dominatrixes and stuff?"

     I went ahead and nodded, "Yes." (Why not?)

     Taking her hand off the receiver, she laughs, "He is! Oh my God, who did they hire to work with me?  They left me alone with this cat!"  The fact that she's doing this in front of me, in a weird way, demonstrates her respect.  We're still cool.  After she got off the phone with her friend, she started to take an interest in me.  Asking safe questions, like, "So do you dance at these clubs or just get tied up?  Are there other black people at these clubs?"

It was fun answering "Yes" to all of her questions.