Category Archives: Queer

Bisbee Pride, Pt 2

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Bisbee Pride, Day Two

Thursday, June 18, 2015

After I woke up, I timed each of my poems so I could have a realistic idea of how many poems I had time for. The rest of the day blurred together, and then it was time to set up for my first performance.

Set-up was quick, and left me with plenty of time to get to know the other performers. I talked with Venus DeMars and her students Alex, Molly, and Ruby, among others, and they were all fascinating people. Alex was flamboyantly awesome, Molly had the most amazing pink hair and radiated intelligence, and Ruby, though quiet, stunned with her depth. Then there was Venus. Tough as nails, courageous, and remarkably compassionate, I felt lucky to speak with her.

Suddenly, though, it was time to start.

Pete Goldlust, the Director of Central School Project, the organization that brought us to Bisbee and put together these amazing events, stepped on stage to introduce me as I looked around at the almost completely full theater. A minute later, I firmed my knees and walked onto the stage.

Deep breaths.

I performed 14 poems, the slight shaking fading more and more with each. The audience was rapt, a room of about 80 sitting in complete silence, and more than one had tears on their faces by the end. I could feel the emotions running high, and when I stepped off the stage, the applause surprised me with its fervor. When Pete mentioned my workshop the next day, multiple audience members called out to ask the time.

The night would only get better from there.

Venus took center stage first, with a riveting, emotional performance on coming out, and the changes that have (and haven’t) happened since then. I could feel tears clinging to the corners of my eyes as she stepped down and Molly walked forward.

Molly’s first piece was a powerful monologue, touching philosophy and identity in thoughtful ways as she spoke about the struggle to be yourself in a world that wants to put you in boxes so you fit with everyone else. Ruby followed with a heart-wrenching performance on who we’re told to be, covering a mirror with sticky notes and magazine cut-outs as she spoke, filling the mirror until her reflection disappeared. By the end, tears were streaming down my face. Molly then did another monologue exploring more themes of identity, and then it was Alex’s turn.

Alex’s performance began bemusing, grew to involve the audience, and ultimately culminated in a moving letter to a childhood crush that both broke my heart and gave me faith in the ability of people to grow. Then Venus stepped on stage again, and after smashing some memories, invited everyone on stage with a flashlight for a brilliant, powerful song. As the last chords faded into air, a bunch of my fellow audience members told me how much my poems had moved them. One in particular spoke to me about losing their wife, and how my poem Chasing Horizons had helped them heal. I was overwhelmed.

I spoke to a bunch more people at the after-party, where a friend who had seen me perform before told me she had cried throughout my entire set from pure overwhelming emotion, and I sold some books that evening as well. When I left, I felt like I was glowing. The trip had dawned brightly, and I couldn’t wait for the morning to come.

Bisbee Pride, Pt 1

Bisbee Pride, Pt 2

Bisbee Pride, Pt 3

Bisbee Pride, Pt 4

Poem Interlude: Stage Fright

Central School Project: Interview with Pete Goldlust

Sidepony Express Music Festival: Interview with Anamieke Quinn

Bisbee Pride, Pt 1

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This year I was chosen to be a featured performer for Bisbee Pride. The experience was amazing, and I feel like I made a difference in the lives of a number of audience members while learning a lot myself. Not only that, the organizations that played a part in giving me this opportunity were ones I already respected and admired. I feel really honored by the opportunity I was given, and I want to dedicate a number of upcoming posts to the experiences I had there.

The first group of posts will be about the trip itself, then I’ll post a new poem I wrote while there, and last, I want to write a bit about the organizations involved in making me a part of this year’s Bisbee Pride. They have not asked me to do so, but I value their missions and want to make sure those missions are heard. Links to all other completed sections of these series of posts will be at the bottom of each.

Without further ado, Day One!

Bisbee Pride, Day One

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

I left for Bisbee on very little sleep Wednesday afternoon, picking up food, fuel, and some of a friend’s instruments on the way. I had to make a few stops to walk off the tired, and being my book-obsessed self, I made sure that one of those stops was at a Bookmans in Tucson.

Bookmans is a local used book store chain that also carries music, comics, magazines, games, and video game systems, including vintage ones. It is also quite possibly my favorite place to shop in the state. They even allow dogs and provide wifi, along with holding various music, game, and cultural events. Even though I couldn’t afford to buy anything just yet, I wandered for over an hour, letting books inspire memories and feeling surrounded by love.

Eventually, though, I had to return to the drive, and I arrived in Bisbee a few hours later and checked into the Gym Club Suites, where I was to stay the first two nights.

The room had a vaulted ceiling, full kitchen, and more floor space than my entire condo and its three porches combined. The staff guided me by phone through the maze of Bisbee streets, provided me a number I could reach them at even when the office was closed, and replaced a light bulb I noticed was out right away even though the office was already closed when I saw. I unpacked, showered, then went next door to the Central School Project (CSP)’s theater, where my first performance would be.

I met Venus DeMars, the other performer for the next night, and one of the students who would be performing with her. Venus had been in Bisbee for two weeks, preparing a performance art set with local students on identity, and my performance the next night would be their opening act. Then I sat down to discuss preparations with Pete Goldlust, CSP’s director.

When I finally went to bed, I was thrumming with excitement.

Bisbee Pride, Pt 1

Bisbee Pride, Pt 2

Bisbee Pride, Pt 3

Bisbee Pride, Pt 4

Poem Interlude: Stage Fright

Central School Project: Interview with Pete Goldlust

Sidepony Express Music Festival: Interview with Anamieke Quinn

The Lessons I Learned From Rainbow Suspenders

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For the first time in my life, I have discovered it is possible to wear too many rainbow things.

It started innocently enough. I found a rainbow handkerchief and decided to turn it into a pocket handkerchief. I had fun folding it creatively, and stuck it in my front pocket. It meshed nicely with the understated rainbow pendant I’ve been wearing lately.

I should have stopped there, but then came the thought that would doom my outfit to hilarity. It was such an innocent thought.

There’s no such thing as too many rainbows, right?

I added the rainbow belt next, followed by the rainbow suspenders I had received as a gift a while back. As I pondered whether to add a rainbow tie to the mix, I looked in the mirror.

I didn’t stop laughing for five minutes.

That glance in the mirror was an abrupt reminder of one of the most important lessons I’d apparently failed to learn. Everything is better in moderation.

Why I Bought You Flowers

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We’ve been dating for a while but I’m not in love. I won’t be, beyond friendship or admiration, but still, when I show up at your house today, there’s a bouquet of flowers held in my hands.

A confused look on fills your face when you see the flowers, and I know why. You’ve known from the beginning I won’t fall in love, can’t feel the romance you do, but still, my hands smell of the tulips I bought for you. What is this if it isn’t romance? What is this if it isn’t love?

But it is love. Not the crash-landing into your arms kind, not the speeding heartbeat or butterflies dancing their way through my stomach, more a closeness and comfort and true, deep friendship. It is love, a solid closeness that’s only made stronger by the force of attraction and the nights we’ve shared together. It’s love, but it isn’t romance.

It’s me searching for your smile.

I know classes have been eating your time, and work tearing at your soul, and I care about you in the kind of way that seeing your smile brings my own, especially when I’ve found the way to help it roll its joyous way across your face. I don’t bring these flowers because the candlelit dinners soothe my soul, and the gestures don’t bring me nearly as much comfort. I do this for you.

And at last, that beautiful smile rolls across your face, and I know you understand.

How I Chose My Name (And Why You Should Use It)

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Every name has a story.

I was born with a different name than the one I carry now, in an Ohio suburb that I only vaguely remember. Growing up wild and mischievous, the intensely feminine name that I had been given made me uncomfortable. It never felt right.

That wrongness was something I thought about more and more over the years. I don’t think my parents ever noticed the discomfort, but then again, I don’t think I ever talked about it. It was just one of those things that there weren’t set words for, or at least words I knew how to express. I’m only finding them now, at 25, sitting at the computer in a body that often feels like it belongs to someone else.

As I got into high school, I started thinking very seriously about what name I’d pick, if I only got the choice. It was a hard battle, hampered by unacknowledged discomforts with my body and orientation, and I didn’t manage to settle on anything concrete during those four tumultuous years.

Time continued to pass, and what the right name for me (the one I just hadn’t found yet) was remained a mystery. Then, in this past year, I began intensive research on what two names would label my soul in a concrete, accurate way. I couldn’t keep walking in a name that made me cringe. It was bad enough being trapped in this body when the dysphoria hit. A false start or two later, I finally settled on James Avery.

James, to me, has always been confident, extroverted, and a little mischievous. James can stride into a room and join a conversation without fear. James radiates calm and humor. James is the best parts of me and the things I want most to be. James is me at my fullest potential. Every time I am called James, I am reminded of my best self and pushed to continue striving for it.

Is it any wonder I chose the name?

How about Avery, then? I like Avery because it reminds me where I came from, and to never forget the inequality women face. As a gender-neutral name, it reinforces the message that though I am leaving behind my birth sex, I shouldn’t forget what I have been through, and what women go through every day. It also keeps me from forgetting that I don’t have to always be masculine to be male.

When I pick a name with that much meaning, is it strange that I want to be called by it? And yet every day I get comments like, “You’ll always be [deadname] to me,” or “I’m sorry, but you don’t look like a James.” Yet if I had gotten married and changed my last name, there would be very little problem.

Why do some people refuse to call someone by a name that has meaning to them and instead insist on one arbitrarily assigned at birth? It takes people time to get used to a new name, but why do some completely reject a person’s right to define their own identity?

I think it’s because, unconsciously or consciously, the people who insist upon misnaming others realize that calling someone by a name that they chose, a name that means something to them and describes them, requires you to acknowledge their humanity. Misnaming is a way of denying someone’s personhood, and that is the worst kind of crime.

Man

From Gasoline and Winter

I became a man the day I stopped being a boy,
not the day I first bound my breasts to ease the ache inside.
It wasn’t when testosterone hit like hope,
or the first time I kissed a girl.

I became a man the day I stopped being a boy.

I’m not a freak or fairy or a lesser man
because my body differs from yours.
My name is James, not “Miss” or girl.
I became a man the day I stopped being a boy.

How to Respond When Someone Tells You Their Body is Not Their Gender

  1. Thank them for trusting you. It isn’t an easy thing to talk about. It takes people a long time to come to terms with gender, and it’s often dangerous to bring up. Even when it isn’t, people are scared of the reactions of others.
  2. Respect their gender identity. Call them by the gender and gender pronoun they prefer, and ask them what they are.
  3. Do not tell anyone they have not given you permission to about their gender. Not only is it a betrayal of trust, but it can, again, be dangerous. Along with this you should ask if there are people who don’t know, and how you should refer to the person confiding in you when those who don’t know are around.
  4. Realize that everyone’s experience with their gender identity is different, and remember it is not the same thing as sexuality. Not everyone wants to transition, and not everyone views male and female the same way. Some people may act in “typically masculine” ways and still be female, and the reverse is true as well. And then there’s the difference between gender and sexuality. Gender is the gender of the person. Sexuality relates to the gender of the person they are attracted to. Don’t assume they are interrelated in any way.
  5. Treat them the same. They didn’t become a three-armed monster bent on destroying the world when they told you about their gender. They didn’t change who they were, either. They just let you get to know them better. Same person = same treatment, outside of respecting pronouns.
It’s as simple as that.

If you wonder why this is so important, read this survey’s results. (Since replaced with this 2015 version)

If you wonder how I came up with this specific method, it is an aggregate of the best reactions I’ve had, the best reactions a number of people I’ve surveyed have had, and this post.

Call Me Gentleman

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My little brother was the first to call me a gentleman, and my eyes lit up like electricity. I’d just discovered that I liked male pronouns, but I hadn’t yet realized what a powerful word gentleman could be. It’s more than just a word for a man. It’s praise.

My gender is still up in the air, but there’s something undoubtedly delightful about the combination of “gentle” and “man”. It implies that the typically underrated quality of gentleness in males is in fact something to aspire to, not mock. And the way it feels in the mouth as my tongue rolls out the word… It’s beautiful.

It has such exquisite meaning, too. It brings to mind holding open doors and pulling out chairs and taking the time to listen. I can’t say I’m a perfect listener, but these are things I desire to be.

Perhaps, after all, gentleman is simply an ideal that leaves us striving to better ourselves, and isn’t that why we are here? I want to be a gentleman in the fullest sense of the word: not just on Tuesdays, or with someone I love, but always.

Call me a gentleman only when I’ve earned it, but call me a gentleman.