Free-2-Love! SHOW SUPPORT!
Hey! Two girls from my College just graduated and are trying to start up this blog. Please, help support them and spread the word to your friends.
Blog : http://free-2-love.blogspot.com/
Twitter : @free2love1
Email : free2love.email@gmail.com
Please share your stories and listen to others!
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Pride 2012 Birmingham
Birmingham Pride is a weekend long LGBT festival held annually in the Gay Village on Hurst Street, Birmingham, England: this year is held over the Queen’s Jubilee Bank Holiday Weekend - Saturday 2nd and Sunday 3rd June 2012.
It is uniquely the largest LGBT two day festival in the UK - and features a Carnival Parade through the city centre plus entertainment zones - including dance arena, main stage, cabaret marquee, funfair, community village green, central market street, and the friendliest street party.
The 2012 theme is ‘It Gets Better’ which highlights the worldwide youth LGBT campaign to help inspire them and show them what their lives could be like as openly LGBT adults.
The festival is a welcoming place to come and celebrate the LGBT community - whether you’re gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or straight.
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Submission
To all my gay friends, you are beautiful; pages bound together cannot and will not ever define you.
Stand up and never back down, continue fighting for those who flew.
The Castro lit up when the biggest hero fell.
For his humor, kindness, forgiveness, and passion, my eyes still swell.
You have one thing on your side and that’s one thing that cannot be debated.
Love, love, you have love, I’m not sure how else that can be stated.
People hate others because of insecurities and fear.
They don’t stop to think, we’re all just people, it’s all quite clear.
And to all my gay friends who feel death is the only way out,
There are ten more who love you, look around and count.
And if you’ll notice love is far greater and stronger than hate.
Love, acceptance, and kindness will always conquer and that is hates fate.
If you feel sad and alone please, don’t give up, wait around.
I’ll be there very soon and before you know it, you’ll be found.
love, sky
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I want to know what its like…
(This is from a video.)
I WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE
I want to know what it’s like…
To be normal. To be accepted. To be human. To be equal. To be free.
I want to know what it’s like…
To be open. To be heard. To be loved. To be happy. To be me.
I want to know what it’s like…
To feel like I belong.
To feel like I am strong.
That who I am isn’t wrong.
I want to know what it’s like…
To know that I am here.
That Iʼll make it through the year.
To know I wonʼt disappear.
I want to know what it’s like…
To not have to fight.
To see an end in sight.
To make what is wrong right.
I want to know what it’s like…
To be able to believe.
In a higher power that doesn’t see.
Me as sin or sodomy.
I want to know what it’s like…
To have liberty & justice for all
To break down this dividing wall
To remove homophobia from the law
I want to know what itʼs like…
To have a feeling that isn’t sad.
To have something that I’ve never had.
To have a child call me dad.
I want to know what it’s like…
To not feel like Iʼm a freak
To not feel like I am weak
To not be silenced when I speak
I want to know what it’s like…
To live beyond a closet door.
To see my father once more.
To show him I’m not who I was before.
I want to know what itʼs like…
To donate the blood from my vein
But because Iʼm gay I must refrain.
Why does my sexuality pertain?!
I want to know what itʼs like…
To not BE expelled from school
To not be made to look like a fool.
How is homosexuality breaking a rule?!
I want to know what it’s like…
To undo what’s been done to me.
To give sight to those who cannot see.
That I am no lesser of a human being.
I want to know what itʼs like…
To not be considered a disease.
To not have a majority I have to please.
To freely express my individualiTY.
I want to know what itʼs like…
To live in a land truly of the free.
Not a land that excludes me.
This is not how itʼs supposed to be!
I want to know what itʼs like…
To not be the target of bigotry
To not have you question my sanity
To not succumb to your superiority!
I want to know what it’s like…
To overcome all of my fears.
To uncry these countless tears.
That have been shed over the years.
I want to know what it’s like…
To learn about gay leaders of the past.
In my high school history class.
Can somebody please tell me what is so wrong with that?!
I want to know what it’s like…
To have pride.
To not have to hide.
To not have to lie my whole life.
To not have my sexuality be denied.
I want to know what it’s like…
To not have to feel this hurt inside.
To not think these thoughts in my mind.
To not contemplate suicide.
I want to know what it’s like…
To have this pain in me subside.
To heal this wound that bleeds inside.
To get back the tears that I’ve cried.
To take back the years that Iʼve tried.
To bring back the life that has died.
To unite this world’s divide.
To make change with stride.
To not stand below, but beside.
I want to know what it’s like…
To have this choice you say is mine.
To have science & religion intertwine.
To have love be redefined.
I want to know what it’s like…
To have a government that won’t instate
Unfair laws that provoke hate
For fear society will disintegrate
I want to know what itʼs like….
To live in a world without hate.
A world that does not discriminate.
A world in which I can feel safe.
Whether I am gay bi or straight.
This is the world we must create!!!
These are the decisions we must make.
These are the actions we must take.
The time is now we cannot, we must not, we will not wait.
I want to know what itʼs like…
To have equal opportunity.
To know full equality.
To be one humanity.
I want to know what it’s like…
To be treated equally by my peers.
To stand alongside every queer…
On the edge of a new frontier.
A frontier that no one will dictate.
A frontier where there will be no debate.
A frontier in which everyone can relate.
A frontier made up of love and not hate.
I want to know what it’s like…
To open your eyes so you can see.
The way this world is supposed to be.
We arenʼt so different, you & me.
My report of LGBTQ defamation on StumbleUpon to GLAAD
I’m very angry, having just discovered the way that StumbleUpon lets users differentiate between what is Safe For Work and Not Safe For Work and anything LGBTQ-related seems to fall under NSFW. I’ve written to GLAAD (Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation), and I wanted to post my letter to them explaining the situation and I’d love this to get spread around and eventually - hopefully - rectified on StumbleUpon.
I’m not sure if this is something that is already of attention, old news that I’ve just heard of, or something that doesn’t fall under the umbrella of GLAADs concerns (that is not meant to read as rude or critical, I honestly am not sure if this counts) But it as literally JUST come to my attention that the popular social media site StumbleUpon.com is categorizing anything LGBTQ-related as “Not safe for work (NSFW)”.
There are not many options for the “not safe for work” label, but most of them are not the expected actually NSFW categories. The list of options, in full & in order is:
-Adult Humor
-BDSM
-Bisexual Culture***
-Bisexual Sex*
-Erotic Literature
-Fetish Sexuality
-Gay Culture***
-Gay Sex*
-Hentai Anime
-Lesbian Culture***
-Lesbian Sex*
-Lingerie
-Nude Art
-Pornography
-Sex Industry
-Sex Toys
-Sexuality***
-Swingers
-Transexual Sex*
*-anything I’ve marked with one asterisk, is something I find potentially understandable, but still find GLARING problems with. Clearly StumbleUpon are stating that specifically only non-heterosexual sex is unsafe. I think we all know that as far as NSFW websites are concerned, anything with sex is probably what you want to avoid, so really it should just have a generic “Sex”. In addition, in the Safe For Work category, they have “Sexual Health” as an option.
***-anything with three asterisks are the obviously offensive items that I’m mainly here to bring to your attention. I’m not going to go into details, because it’s FAR too obvious what is wrong with considering these topics as NSFW. But I will say that, by far, the most offensive aspect of this list is the presence of “_________ Culture”. The implication that ANYTHING to do with Gay, Lesbian or Bisexual Culture is sexually explicit and equal to pornography is so infuriating, I’m surprised I’m managing to type anything coherent at all. And let’s not leave unmentioned the fact that, according to StumbleUpon, there is no Transexual Culture, whatsoever.
This implies that any StumbleUpon user could mark anything LGBTQ-related as NSFW, and therefore limiting un-knowing parties from seeing something potentially important. Obama talking about the Repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell = Gay/Lesbian Culture. Stephen Fry’s twitter page = Gay Culture. So, how is it that anything involving, for example, Race isn’t in the “not safe for work” category, yet Gay, Lesbian & Transgender CULTURE is? Would it be okay to add “Negro culture” to the NSFW category? What about “Female culture”? This is outrageous, and I have written to their feedback address, and I know I can’t be the first to write to them or GLAAD about this, but I don’t know what else to do, and I can’t just let this happen!
Please let me know what you think, or if I’ve come to the wrong place and if so, where else I should go instead. Thank you so much for your time.
Sincerely,
[my name]
Please reblog.
Bisexual Culture! Bi Lines V: A Multi-Arts Celebration of Bisexual Writing!
Don’t miss New York City’s popular annual celebration of Bisexual Culture! Bi Lines V: A Multi-Arts Celebration of Bisexual Writing
Celebrated bisexual book authors, most nominated for the 24th Annual Lammy Awards, read from their works. Plus live music, performance and art by noted bisexual musicians.
Date: Sunday June 3rd
Time: 6:00 PM
Location: Nuyorican Poets Cafe Manhattan’s Lower East Side at 236 East 3rd Street (between Avenue B and Avenue C)
Admission: $8.00
Info: 917-583-1797
Readings:
Barbara Browning: author “The Correspondence Artist” (Finalist! Bisexual Fiction)
Qwo-Li Driskill: editor “Sovereign Erotics: A Collection of Two-Spirit Literature” (Finalist! Bisexual Nonfiction)
Jan Steckel: author “The Horizontal Poet” (Finalist! Bisexual Nonfiction)
J.M. Frey: author “Triptych” (Finalist! Bisexual Nonfiction & LGBT SF/F/H)
Ven Rey: author “Surviving Steven: A True Story” (Finalist! Bisexual Nonfiction)
Ilike Merey author/ illustrator “a + e 4ever: A Graphic Novel” (Stonewall Award Honoree)
Serena Anderlini-D’Onofrio: co-editor “Bisexuality and Queer Theory: Intersections, Connections and Challenges” (Finalist! Bisexual Nonfiction)
Ellis Avery: author “The Last Nude” (a 2012 Publication)
Musicians: Viva & Rorie Kelly
Theater Performance: Scene from “Confessions of a Homo Thug Porn Star” by James Earl Hardy (author “B-Boy Blues”) with Jonathan Cedano as Tiger Tyson
Art Exhibit: Art panels from a + e 4ever: A Graphic Novel by Ilike MereyBooks For Sale!
Hosted by the Bi Writers Association (www.biwriters.org). Co-sponsored by the Nuyorican Poets Cafe
Bisexual Books! Bisexual Musicians! Bisexual Theatre! Bisexual Artists! (and click here for the entire list of all 2012 Bisexual Fiction and Non-fiction finalists.)
Corpus Christi: Theatre and Film of Christ or What?
The article at from a gay theologian at
is neither typically gay or Christian but goes from the Corpus Christi film into largely uncharted territories for the gay and Christianity debate
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What am I? I am human.
You know what it is.
That feeling.
You’re walking to class, talking to your friends, everything is normal. Someone’s grounded for the next two weeks because a used condom was found in the trash. Someone just knows they failed today’s math test. Did you hear that the marching band is going to comp without the color guard? No! What happened? It’s the typical gossip. Everyone’s talking. Same shit, different day. It’s normal.
But it’s not. Because you’re scared they know, or that they’ll find out.
It’s the same at home.
Nosy family members call and in the course of conversation ask if you’ve found that special someone to settle down with and marry. You tell them, “No, I haven’t found anyone yet,” and pray they don’t needle you for more details. Conniving grandmothers try to set you up with that boy who mows her lawn – “What a nice boy.” – or the neighbor’s daughter – “She’s a sweet girl.” – and you go on one date, but no more after that. “We didn’t click,” you say, and leave it at that. But your family finds other things to pick at. “When are you going to start dressing and behaving like a young lady?” “When are you doing to stop being a pussy and play some football?” It never ends.
You delete the search history in your internet browser if you have to use the family computer for any reason. You can’t have your parents seeing that you’re looking for advice, or some way to be straight. If you have your own computer, you hide in your room and lock the door. Your computer and all your file folders are password-locked. You don’t keep an analogue journal. Someone might come in and look through your stuff, or read your journal. If they did, then it’s all over. They’ll know. You’ll be kicked out. Everyone at school will know. Everyone will hate you.
You like someone of the same sex.
No one can know.
That’s how I felt when I was sixteen. All my life, I was different. I was a tomboy before I even knew what the word meant. Despite some girlier interests, like cats and horses, I probably would’ve been happier if I’d been born a boy. I did “boy” things, like play in the mud, learn to do stunts on my bike, play Power Rangers, and wrestle in the dirt. I ruined one pair of shoes after the other playing sandlot, and I tore holes in the knees of pretty much every pair of jeans I had. Were it not for my long hair and the shirts my parents managed to get me into, you would’ve sworn I was a boy. Preschool and elementary school went by in a flash, though it felt like those days crawled by at a snail’s pace. Days filled with trying to pay attention in class, playing kickball at recess, and watching Power Rangers on TV after school. There was no pressure to dress a certain way (all that mattered was looking presentable), or to like the opposite sex, or to just be something I wasn’t. That didn’t stop the entire family from buying girly things for me, but as long as I put lots of extra emphasis on them, I got my Power Rangers action figures, Hot Wheels, and Super Soakers. I got my Creepy Crawlers set when most girls went for the Easy Bake Oven.
It all ended toward the end of my fifth grade year. The school gathered up all the fifth graders, put the boys in one classroom, and the girls in another, and made us watch videos. It was my first sex ed class. There was no warning, no letter sent home. I was terrified. Everything was changing. My body was going to change. I would be bleeding once a month. I was going to develop breasts. My body was deciding for me that, one day, I would have children.
All my friends until that point had been boys. I had always been “one of the guys.” I wasn’t girly enough to hang out with the girls. I didn’t like dressing up, playing with makeup, or playing with dolls. I didn’t do “girl” things. After this first sex ed class, all my friends started treating me differently. I was one of the roughest kids on the playground, and suddenly I was being excluded from playing football. Even after I hit puberty, this became the theme of my teenage years. I was too flat-chested and too masculine to be one of the girls, but I was no longer one of the guys. One of my friends, a guy, made that perfectly clear by forcing himself on me. We were eleven years old and he was trying to get me to do sexual things with him, and this persisted until we got to high school, when, after I told a teacher, they called both of our parents.
I was bullied in middle school for numerous things. I loved to draw. I loved horses. I loved anime. I had breasts, but they were small. I didn’t act like a girl. Traversing the hallways was a nightmare. If it wasn’t a pick on my interests, it was a pick on my body. “He-she,” “it,” and “fag” were tossed around . My grades, which had always been amazing in elementary school, plummeted. Because of the teasing I endured in the locker room, I stopped dressing for gym class, which was an automatic F every day. I was even failing band. I tried telling the teachers. They told me to stop being a tattle tale, that the other kids were just jealous, or that the boys were picking at me because they liked me. I tried telling my parents. Because of my grades, my dad said I was lying. My mom was preoccupied with work and school, and took my dad’s side, which she had never done before. I couldn’t complain to my grandparents, aunts or uncles. I’ve never had my dad’s love or support, and he took this as an opportunity to say hurtful things about me both behind my back and whenever I was in earshot. It didn’t matter where I was – at home or at school – I was alone. All I had was my Siamese cat, Parker. I actually wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for Parker.
My dysphoria was intense. I had four really good friends throughout middle school, but I couldn’t talk to them about my issues with myself. My issues with my body. I was already different. I didn’t want “freak” added to the list of things the others called me. I felt trapped. My body felt alien to me. When I got my first period, I panicked. To this day, it is still the most embarrassing thing in the world to have to tell my mom that I need pads and tampons, or that I need new bras. I still dread getting my period. I’ve always thought it would be amazing to have a mastectomy and a hysterectomy. I didn’t necessarily want a penis, but I didn’t want breasts, and it was no secret that my period made me miserable. I knew why my body was doing what it was doing. I understood the biological reasoning for it. At the same time, it was beyond my understanding. Why? Why was this happening? If this was how it was supposed to be, why did this feel so…wrong?
I don’t know how I got through those three hellacious years, but I got through them and made it to high school. My mom made me sign up for marching band. I was against this, because most of the kids that picked on me the last three years were in band, but it ended up being the best thing for me. At long last, I had friends. Finally, no one cared about what clothes I wore, how much anime I watched, or how many horses filled up my numerous sketchbooks. If I had a problem, I had teachers who cared. My relationship with my dad didn’t improve, but when my demeanor changed and my grades went up, he got off my back and my mom realized just how bad middle school had been to me. My dysphoria never went away, but I had so many other things making me happy that I was able to forget about it for the most part. My fortunes improved even more when my paternal grandmother saw a JC Penney ad showing off the hot new spring juniors’ fashions. The clothes were so revealing and the jeans so low-cut, she promised to never again chastise me for dressing like a boy. One thing about Mama: she always kept her promises. I never heard another word from her about my clothes.
High school did have one drawback. I discovered my sexuality when I was sixteen. Absolutely convinced that there was something wrong with me, I spent my hours on the internet trying to find a way to turn myself straight without my parents or friends finding out. My dad is homophobic and everything anti-gay. The miasma surrounding his person would’ve then filled the house and God only knows what sort of horrible things he would’ve said about me. Lesbians at my school had a poor track record once they came out, whereas the gay guys did better socially. I remember one lesbian who was out – I knew her because of band and soccer. She dropped out when I was a sophomore. Rumors flew if a girl felt any attraction to other girls. I’d already experienced what it was like to be ostracized because of being different, and damned if I was going to let it happen again. I eventually came out to my mom and my best friend, who lives in Louisiana, and was met with love and support. While I still had hope that I could turn myself straight, knowing that Mom and Lyndsay had my back if I failed meant the world to me.
I finished my junior year and went through my senior year single and closeted. I went to college, and with that came triumphs like working with the campus newspaper, getting my first job, and making the Dean’s List; and miserable experiences like Parker dying because of a brain tumor, a music instructor who told me to give up on majoring in music, and being sexually assaulted by a guy I considered no more than a friend (plus the legal system failing me and letting him off scott-free). My dysphoria returned in full-force after the assault. More than ever, I wanted chest surgery. More than ever, I wished I’d been born male. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d been born in the right body, I kept telling myself. But, I wondered, what was the right body? I quit school for a year so I could cope with the loss of my best friend and the lack of justice in the world. I returned to hiding beneath my hoodies and my baggy cargo pants and never left the house. It didn’t matter that I was still in the closet. I was a lesbian, and I had been assaulted.
Two years after the assault, something amazing happened. A friend from high school insisted that I come out with her to her friend’s birthday party. I accepted. We met up with the other birthday guests at the bowling alley. I was terrified. I hadn’t been around anyone outside my family in a year. My natural shyness and the social anxiety I developed in middle school made me completely inept, but I had fun. It was a group that didn’t care about sexuality. I never relaxed, because of the anxiety, but I felt accepted, even if I wasn’t “out.”
I also met someone. Her name is Kara.
Kara was the first person to talk to me when we got to the bowling alley. She interacted with me whenever my defenses cracked. I was a little put off at first. I wasn’t used to people. Everything I knew about social interaction went MIA when we arrived at the bowling alley, yet it seemed she understood, because she never pushed me to be social or to talk. I didn’t open up a whole lot, just enough to make friends. I liked her instantly. There was just one little problem. She was seeing one of the other guests at the party, someone we would both rather forget than talk about. As much as I liked her, I was sure that I didn’t stand a chance. If things went sour between Kara and her then-girlfriend, she would either stay single for a while, or she had someone else in mind. Someone like her had to have women clamoring for her attention. Self-confidence is a sexy thing.
I saw Kara again the week before we all went to Anime Central. I went to my friend’s house to make sure my cosplays fit, and that everything was in order for the trip to Chicago. In the course of our conversation, during which she’d been censoring herself, Kara found out that I was twenty-two, not sixteen like she initially thought (I look much younger than I am). I could feel her eyes on me as I changed outfits, but I thought nothing of it. I was used to being stared at. You get used to being stared at when others are yelling hurtful things at the top of their lungs in the hallway. Even then, I felt uncomfortable. I hated my body. My scrawny, somewhere-between-male-and-female body. My fleshy prison. This disgusting thing that led to the assault. She didn’t know that, though, and I didn’t say anything.
Kara spent almost the entire weekend with us at ACen, even if she didn’t ride with us. She held my hand and led me though Artist Alley and the Dealer’s Room on Friday, and I thought my heart would pound its way out of my chest. At the Soul Eater photoshoot on Saturday, it was so cold that we pulled her into the group hug meant to keep me warm, and later that afternoon, while I was wearing my Tifa cosplay, I all but cuddled up with her. She scolded our friends for having me wear that outfit when it was so cold and draped her jacket over my shoulders. I was too shy to speak up, but I enjoyed every minute of it. She was so nice, so friendly, and so open. She was comfortable with herself. I was a moth drawn to a flame. I was smitten. I didn’t see her again for almost a month afterward, but we talked on AOL Instant Messenger and added each other to our watches on the art website, deviantART. We flirted. I dreamed about her in ways that I’d never dreamed about anyone. My attraction was stronger than anything I’d ever felt before. At sixteen, I wasn’t sure if my attraction was because of all the hormones flying around, but at twenty-two, I knew. I had my proof.
In the wee hours of the morning on 18 June 2009, after two months of friendship, she let it be known that she wanted to date me. I was stunned. Me. She wanted me. She was willing to give me a shot.
I am not a risk-taker. I have passed up so many chances in my life to do some amazing things. Fair band, going away for college, summer camps, sleepovers with friends…I never did those things. I’d always been too scared to. There was a lot at stake those times, but now there was even more at stake. There was a good chance my heart would be broken, and having experienced heartbreak before, I was very, very hesitant. But would passing this up be worth it? Would playing it safe be worth the lifetime of misery and loneliness I’d already come to know intimately?
No.
I took the risk. I have never once regretted it. As time wore on, the honeymoon phase wore off, but despite our disagreements and the handful of fights we’ve had, we never fell out of love. I fell in love with her time and again. Where I was shy and introverted, she was friendly and extroverted. Where I hesitated, she dove right in. She got me into social situations, and gradually, I became less panicky, though my social anxiety and ineptitude still haven’t gone away. She got me to try new things. Not once have I ever been pressured into something I didn’t want, and she has been there to back me up at every turn. And to that end, despite my flaws and imperfections, I was able to love someone and be loved in return without question. Things were starting to make sense.
Kara was sensitive to my dysphoria and has all but completely gotten me over it. I don’t think it was her intention to do so. It just happened. I no longer feel that chest surgery is necessary. She taught me to accept and appreciate my body. There’s nothing wrong with it, even if it isn’t what I want. Even then, she understands that this is my body and has been supportive and understanding of my decision to go through with a hysterectomy. And, with her help, a lot of soul-searching, and some research, I discovered that I’m something under the transgender umbrella. Not female enough of the time to be female, not male enough of the time to be male. Mostly in-between, but on the masculine side. Androgynous. Gender-neutral. Tomboy. Though accurate, none of those seemed to fit. I started calling myself a “genderbender,” due in part to my ability to “bend” my gender presentation to something closer to my biological sex. I was also watching Avatar: The Last Airbender when the idea hit me. I have begun to turn my online presence completely male, and I have a male name to go with it. Out of respect for my mother, with whom I have always been close, my given name will remain, though I will legally change my surname at some point. Pronouns aren’t an issue. If someone sees me as female, that’s okay. If someone sees me as male, that’s okay. Though I prefer being seen as male, I’m comfortable with both, because I’m finally comfortable with myself.
I finally know who and what I am.
It feels amazing.
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This is one of the posters that we put up for our school’s Day of Silence today! Just thought you might enjoy that.
Love it!
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