This week, the news of Mr. Ivan Daniel III's passing left me, like a lot of us deeply stunned. Ivan dedicated over three decades to crafting safe havens for black gay men, not just for revelry but for genuine connection and community-building. He singlehandedly revolutionized the L.A. party scene with his unique, inclusive, and undeniably enjoyable brand that everyone in the community has experienced at some point or another.
I just wrapped the first season of my TV show. I fulfilled a lifelong dream and I pretty much did it on my own. I’m sitting with that. During the last three days of filming, there was this energy on set that I’m still trying to process. It wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact, it was positive, uplifting and affirming. All of the guests were essentially giving me the same message during or after their interviews at some point. I kept looking over at my camera guy giving him the, “Did you hear that?” look.
I’m usually annoyed as fuck first thing in the morning. But when I woke up this morning, I was in a better mood than usual and I didn’t even notice it until I started cleaning out my toilet, after my morning business. Who cleans out the toilet after they use it? (Somebody with time).
Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I walked past. The glimpse stopped me dead in my tracks. When I looked in the mirror, I smiled at myself. I took a good deep look into my own eyes and smiled. “I look good today.” I thought to myself.
The pain you experience from people is weird, especially when you consider them friends and your reverence for them is in the highest of regards. Even when you don’t think about it, moved on from it, the effects of it still linger. It shows up in your interactions with other people. It haunts your thoughts. The pain keeps you from living sometimes. It debilitates you in moments when you least expect it to. There is a resolve for it though.
When I watched Insecure last night, the episode was titled, “High-like” and what stood out the most to me is when Kelli was high off an edible at the Coachella party, while looking around she was pointing out all of the guys she was attracted to. Then she included a woman, her next line was something along the effect of, “What? Janelle Monae made it okay to be gay.” That perpetuation will eventually, maybe trickle down to some popular, DL, presumed heterosexual Black man and make it cool or okay to be gay…Bi. Which makes me think, here we are 14 years after I released my initial book and we’re still having the same conversation. Black and gay can’t even be in the same sentence, unless it’s fetishized between two women. Why are we still talking about any of this? I have grievances and questions.
