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Happy 5th Year!

Happy Blog Anniversary Weilding The Axe! Seems hard to believe it been five years already. There's been days when I just wasn't feelin' the blog but all in all its been fun to post and share the triumphs, joys and sometimes silliness that is my world. I can't guarantee there will be another five years, but I promise to have fun while it lasts. Thanks for reading...

-Ian

Words

"For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run

his fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the the knowledge

you'll never walk alone . . .

People, even more than things, have

to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed

and redeemed, redeemed and redeemed . . ."

I saw this in an email and am sharing. Nice words.

Fly Above Negativity

So what's crackin'? Praise the Heavens! I'm back on my laptop. For the past few days I've been using my Blackberry to write blog posts because I was too cheap to pay for wireless in my hotel room. For the remainder of my trip I'll be visiting with locals here in Vegas/LA so I can use their wi-fi service.

I really don't feel like leaving Tuesday, dammit. Why is it once I get to Pacific time its always time to return home???

So ole Ian been going through it the last few days. Feelin' a bit inadequate not only in the circle of his peers, but in the glory (or the lack their of) life. Something is missing, again. For awhile I thought I'd found it. I was riding momentum but now that's gone the empty space leaves me wanting. Sometimes it's hard when your less than stellar in a crowd of folk who fly. I haven't felt loved, which is strange here cause you're constantly surrounded by people. There's been several faux paxs, humiliation to the Nth degree. A friend, (actually, the gentleman in the picture to the left. Mama always said give credit where credit is due. Buy Jamal's book while you're at it! ) recommended owning the situation, then moving on. Old habits die hard. But I'm making the effort...

I could use a good shoulder to cry on, but I refuse. For once, maybe not once OK, I'm going to pull it together and try. Use all the tools and resources I know are at my disposal, attempt to make the best of what I have. Hey, for what he's worth, Pharaoh is across the room. He's jammin' out to some music, but he's always willin' to listen when I need his ear. His brotherly love is enough to tell my crazy ass the truth, unlike other people I often surround myself, so best align myself with the truth, the fabulous, and the Divine. Yes, I'm leaving, but I'll be back. This is my resolve. And when I'll be back, I'll be a stronger brutha...

Angels & Demons

I loved both Dan Brown's Robert Langdon novels, but this book, Angels & Demons, was my favorite. I'm hoping the movie will prove to be far better than Da Vinci Code. While this book is just as lengthy and informative with some historical facts, many segments can be removed and you'll still have an intriguing plot to carry the story. However, let's hope screenwriters gave this one better justice.

Still not sold on Tom Hanks as the the lead character, but he's growing on me. If this film does well, perhaps this will give Dan Brown the impetus to pen further Robert Langdon. Or maybe they'll consider turning his other works, Digital Fortress and Deception Point, into cinematic masterpieces!

Seeing My Valley As A Peak

So what's been on my reading syllabus since coming home? Well, I'm struggling through E. Lynn Harris' Basketball Jones, half ass reading Iyanla Vanzant's Up From Here, and rereading Diana Gabaldon's Outlander. Oh yeah, and less I forget, also Brother Hill Harper's Letter to a Young Brother, which some could argue, I'm neither young nor a "brutha," since I'm almost 40 and peeps here in the old neighborhood think I long ago crossed the color line, never to return. My Blackness, or lack thereof, is a matter of interpretation depending on my associates at the time...Why black people gotta be so judgmental?!?!

I digress. Back to my literary adventures. Now, I wonder? Am I an oddball or what, but I have an uncanny tendency to read books backwards. I"ll truck along for so long, reading from the beginning, then I'll skip to the last chapter and find out the ending. After doing so, Ian reads the middle parts. I've never been one for suspense. Boy's gotta know the details NOW! Am I the only one that does this??? Perhaps that's why I'm having trouble reading Basketball Jones, I already now the ending (I won't spoil it if you haven't read it). Suffice to say, Jones is my least favorite of E. Lynn's books.

For a l'il bit of inspiration and motivation, I picked up Hill and Iyanla's jawns because I knew returning to the homestead would be an emotional challenge. The physical part, while taxing, has been the easy part. Dealing with my folks and the peeps from the old 'hood, has been the hardest part...Last Saturday night, the next door neighbors were smoking herb in their backyard, (you could smell the shit all around the block) That, and smoking cigarettes, and drinking alcohol. Umm, OK, I was unprepared for my own cravings for weed, nicotine, and alcohol would kick in with a vengeance. Old habits die hard. I haven't lit up a joint since I was, well...a considerable time ago... Not within the last five years! I don' judge people on smokin' weed. Too many do; that ain't my thang. Now, for your highly more destructive and addictive drugs, I do have a problem and will lecture you.

The agony! Last night I commented to Brother New York (Cocoa Rican) I've been sorely tempted for a cigarette since Saturday. Of course, I'm forbidden to leave the house under the "household convalescence rules," but you know I could charm my dear sweet younger sister to go grab me a pack. Wouldn't be nothing for me to sneak out in the back and light up in the dead of night. My folks, the warden and security guards, sleep like rocks. B.ut I'm hanging on in there. It's been a little over a month, whic is to be commended, and I will have my temptation. Boy will I! The power of suggestion is a cruel seductress... I have to remember to take it one moment at a time.

Hill and Iyanla were supposed to carry me through this tumultuous time. Unfortunately, neither author's works are holding my interest. Maybe I'm not just in the right frame of mind to handle Iyanla? And Hill is a good brother, but once I start reading him, inevitably, the comparison comes along as to why my life sucks so bad and his has reached stellar heights. Brother Harper seems to have obtained it all...sexy, talented, good writer, lawyer, friend of Barrack Obama (FOBO) . What I got? Two cats and a pocket full of lint!!! LOL.

Aw, don't listen to my negativity. Troubling me most is remaining here in my parents' home and being confronted with the demons from the past, living up to parental scrutiny, and attempting to be my own man, while relying on them for assistance. Issues. The first thing I'm doing once I get back up on my feet, literally, is going back to therapy. Happiness and I have had a strange relationship ever since I was knee high to the grapevine. I'm not sure why maintaining happiness has been a challenge, but I'm hoping to change my attitude, thereby, changing how I view happiness.

A relative purchased a copy of Peaks and Valleys by Spencer Johnson, the same author who wrote Who Moved My Cheese?. So far the book has been an easy read and actually inspiring. It's all a matter of changing one's outlook to change perspective, seeing your valleys as peaks, and vice versa. It's helping to an extent, and I'm grateful the seed is being planted. With perseverance, hopeful by summertime, I'll be in a much better place.

Ian's Inquiry: What book or books has/have inspired you to challenge yourself?

And Still, I Rise...

One Day More

.
My morning's darkness gives way to the light,
the haze of night is shaken from my sight,
and a whirlwind of thoughts soar,
take heed,
I ain't got time to be bored.

What day is today?
Is it tomorrow yet?
How long, how long, how long....
have the days been since that November night?
Come on already!
Just make it right.

What's going through my head?
Exuberance, joy, pride, hope, anticipation...
Got's no time to rest
time to get up from this here bed.

Words fail to gather to me now,
As I recognize the dawning of tomorrow
It seemed so far away,
the countless ticking hours,
slowly, slowly, slowly
Sixty days became fifty-nine days,
fifty-nine days became fifty-eight days,
and so on.

But at long last we are down to one,
Only one day more.
Yes, thank God Almighty,
its only one day more.

And when the 'morrow comes,
At noon a man will rise,
place his dark hand on the Bible,
and recite the Oath of Office,

Marking this tremendous American first,
January 20, 2009 will not be just one more day
in a season where light is scarce,
though it will be a cold Winter's mourn,
Americans and people around the world,
will gather and watch this moment,
and bask in the promise of new radiance

Riding on the words "Yes We Can,"
never forgetting the dark days past,
holding dear to the goals and the hope of our foreparents,
A grandmother will look at her grandchild,
a father take hold of his son's hand,
and with a few tears of joy,
they will celebrate together this installation of our new President,

Clinging to Barack's words "HOPE" and "CHANGE,"
We will forge ahead,
never forgetting those who came before.

Our Rosa, Martin, Malcolm, Thurgood,
our Chisholm, DuBois, Bethune,
Just to name a few names,
those among thousands who walked ahead,
We will not forget you,
Our day,
our one day more,
we hold you dear in our thoughts and our hearts,
you gave us inspiration when there was none,
tomorrow will be a celebration of you as well

For this child born in August,
who would later hear the words spoken on another August day
took up your mantle,
gathering that inspiration and rose up to the occasion,
and becomes America's 44th President,

That child,
Barack Obama,
represents your face of America,
a face not so new,
but symbolizing the face of a people,
a people who have been here since the beginning

Barack will take residence in the home built on the back of slaves,
hold an Office where many men before
had not always been so kind to America's darker skinned children,
But Obama's ascension to the Oval Office is a new dawn,
a time to put aside negativity.

For the dream has always been,
though oft times forgot,
this measure of equality
seems at long last,
that American has been given her due,

Too,
we are reminded Barack is not just for one group,
one set aside of individuals,
but for all Americans,
The Black, the White, the Latino, the Asian,
and our brothers who tread the soil long before
European settlers or slave ships from Africa
touched this continent....
Americans,
the tribes of the Native Peoples,
Native Indigenous Americans.

With respect,
I nod and bow my head in honour,
give thanks to you as well.
We who behold this marker in history,
Just like another set many year a' fore,
renew our promise in America,
that we are One.
That the whole is always greater than her parts,
is always best when united,

One people,
one mind,
though we come in different colours,
different creeds,
different faiths,
different genders, race, sexuality,
we are the cacophony of voices that becomes one.

Let's never forget what November 2008 brought,
let's usher forth renewed faith,
take courage to stop the ways of the past,
and bring on a new day.
It is our celebration,
it is our time,
our now,
how great, oh how great,
if we can only wait,
just one day more.....

written 19 January 2009
-Ian E.

cry with me

"cry with me"

cry with me, please

come over, sit, and watch in silence

as i lament my lover i had to leave

my lover who swept me off my damn feet

when i wasnt even trying to fall

the one who stole my heart in an hour

who lit a candle and kissed my lips

who laid me down and loved my soul

and kept me warm with the heat of his flesh

my lover

who smiled and attempted to pronounce my name

who thanked me for being there

and played music of his homeland

who gave me his everything and stared me down

mesmerized by me being me, and i likewise him

and said again, thank you for coming here

cry with me again, please

cause i'm missing him again today

and i know we cried yesterday

but today is another day

and i'm missin' my man, again.

Now, I didn't write those beautiful words. The real author who did, granted permission to post it. When he sent me this, I swear tears started flowing. Coming from him, it was a deep, deep glimpse into his soul. Now my brother isn't heartless, but I know he's not as emotive as I am. He ain't on Love's conquest like I am. Yet these simple scrawled words sent touch a place in my understanding of him. I ain't about me, make no mistake. I know who it's about and my prayer is my friend can be reunited with his "le bel homme de Chocolat De Paris."

So what do you guys think of this poem? My buddy wants honest feedback. And while I'm no poet laureate myself, I thought it was well written. I'm curious what y'all thought too.

-Ian

Coal

by Audre Lorde

I;
is the total black, being spoken
from the earth's inside.
There are many kinds of open
how a diamond comes into a knot of flame
how sound comes into a words, coloured
by who pays what for speaking.

Some words are open like a diamond
on glass windows
singing out within the crash of sun
Then there are words like stapled wagers
in a perforated book—buy and sign and tear apart—
and come whatever will all chances
the stub remains
an ill-pulled tooth with a ragged edge.
Some words live in my throat
breeding like adders. Other know sun
seeking like gypsies over my tongue
to explode through my lips
like young sparrows bursting from shell.
Some words
bedevil me

Love is word, another kind of open.
As the diamond comes into a knot of flame
I am Black because I come from the earth's inside
Now take my word for jewel in the open light.

DC Black Pride - Fire & Ink Presents

I happened to check my MySpace account this morning and Rod Lofton sent this to me. I'm posting it to the blog in case some of you out there can catch this opportunity...

I won't have a chance to get down to DC this weekend for Black Pride, but plans look promising for Baltimore's ("Balmor") and Philly's (that should raise an eyebrow or two) Pride celebrations. And, of course, there are several here in Central PA. One downtown (held in July) and Lancaster's (held accordingly in June). I might make an appearance. I'm not big on large gatherings for long and get claustrophobic quickly!

I'm disappointed I have prior commitments or else I would make this event. Wouldn't mind hearing both Rodney and James speak. Alas, life has it's demands, so...I'm stuck here in PA.

If you read this, are on the Washington, DC area, have free time...then check this out:

Fire & Ink Presents!
2-4 p.m.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Renaissance M St.
Hotel, Potomac Room, Lower Level
1143 New Hampshire Avenue, NW

Come share this afternoon with us, and hear 10 exciting authors read from their latest books:

Laurinda D.
Brown (The Highest Price for Passion)
James Earl Hardy (A House Is Not a Home; new introduction to In the Life)
Zelda Lockhart (Cold Running Creek)
Rodney Lofton (The Day I Stopped Being Pretty)
Michael-Christopher (Unspeakable)
M.W. Moore (Internal Chaos)
Kimberly Q (Orchids I & II)
Dorothy Randall Gray (Tamarinda, novel-in-progress)
Michelle Sewell (Just Like a Girl)

The Day I Stopped Being Pretty

Every once and a while I'll select a book without knowing much about it and find a true treasure. Such is the case with "The Day I Stopped Being Pretty" by Rodney Lofton. My words cannot give the author enough praise on the courage he summoned to pen his life journey! The book blew me away and is perhaps the most inspirational and moving life telling piece I've read.

When I finished "The Day I Stopped Being Pretty," I felt I had gained a new friend, someone I deeply cared for. Sometimes it takes a stranger to put your own life into clearer perspective, and Mr. Lofton's story did that for me. Even straight readers will be able to relate to his life unfolding because Rodney's life-situations transcend sexual orientation and speaks to acceptance we all seek, gay, straight, or otherwise.

I know with my own life, there have been harrowing events of abuse, neglect, and my own self-depreciation. I can be my own worst enemy. However, I need to remember for every misstep, every mishap, there is a reason and a purpose behind it. Then there is the old saying "Your blues ain't like my blues," meaning someone else's situation is far worse than your own and you need to give thanks. Remember "Therefore but the Grace of God..." It's so true. Yes.

Now you see why I had to wait a few days to post this blog. My foul mood the other day would've negated this shout out. So....

Mr. Lofton has had hardships, adversity, I couldn't begin to understand. I can relate on some levels, but I have not walked in his footsteps, no matter how similar our life experiences may be. I have not felt his pain, had his suffering, or experienced his hurt... Sorry, I'm struggling with words. Mr. Lofton's life adventure moved me so much, when I finished the book, I literally cried for what he had endured. So much of his life paralleled my own struggles, but his went beyond mine, to place where if it were me, I might have succumbed.

Mr. Lofton draws you quickly into his life, telling his childhood growing up in Richmond, VA and in Baltimore, MD with his single mother, eventually leading him to live with his emotionally disconnected father again in Virginia. I don't wanna to give too much away about the book, some parts you'll need to read for yourself. The overall message I came away with, something I really needed to "hear" when I read "The Day I Stopped Being Pretty," is love is a matter of self-discovery and that until we find peace with ourselves, love might be out of our grasp. Learning to love ourselves and forgive others is the key to finding love and happiness.

Out of respect, I address him here as "Mister" Lofton, but really I wanna just call him "Rodney" because after I finished reading his book, I truly felt like we were old friends. Old friends like someone you haven't seen in years, but when you meet up again, you pick up your friendship right where you left off. That's how candid and open he is about his life.

The book made me laugh, it made me cry, it made me angry at times. I hurt when he retells the death and funeral of his father. I fumed when he speaks of his stepmother's malice toward him. I was nervous when he pens going to his first gay bar...it all draws you so close to him. For anyone gay who grew up in the 80s, "The Day I Stopped Being Pretty" will resonate old memories. Rodney will open doors you probably forgot about, if you were a teen in the Generation X decade. I say this because Mr. Lofton and I are relatively the same age, him being a year older than me.

Oh yes, he took me back to those wonderful days as he narrates being in high school in Baltimore and slowly comes to terms with being gay. That first awareness of being different... That first guy you noticed... The first guy you kissed... Your first love... Your first "time." Rodney shares it all.

For me, Rodney's connection to his father, impacted me most. Rodney, like me, had an emotionally distant father, who withheld love and affection, often showing criticism, instead of tenderness. Rodney demonstrates through a series of emotional distant and occasionally physical abusive relationships, that love ultimately needs to begin at home, meaning with the "self."

I admire Rodney greatly for writing "The Day I Stopped Being Pretty." I got the book from the local library, but I purchased the book, to remind myself, on those difficult days, never give up. I've been in contact with the author through My Space and Rodney is indeed the genuine article. The pictures I've provided are from his My Space page (I hope he doesn't mind I put them on the blog). I can't give him enough praise!

Run, don't walk, to your local library and checkout "The Day I Stopped Being Pretty." If they don't have it, request that they supply it. I've done this several times with my library. For the longest time the only gay black author my library had was E. Lynn Harris. No disrespect to E. Lynn, for I love his books, but there are so many other gay black authors out there, like Rodney Lofton! There's room for er'rybody. (I'm proud they had this wonderful read for me to discover.)

For now though, this is about Rodney. If you can afford to, buy "The Day I Stopped Being Pretty" and help this brother out. You'll be glad you did.

Brother Langston's Words...

I, too sing America.

I am the darker brother
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table,
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me
Eat in the kitchen
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed-

I, too, am America.

Langston Hughes 1924

Cold Night & A Warm Book

Just getting in from watching American Idol with friends, I feel more at ease and comfortable with the show tonight. It wasn't as torturous as the previous week's episode. As always, some performances were good, some were freak shows, and others were downright embarrassing. Surprisingly, there were only two I had to leave the room due to sympathy embarrassment pangs.

I'm calling it an early evening tonight. Work was exhausting and I'm feeling sluggish. Rest assured three big, well thought, personal posts coming. Typing them out is what's delaying logging them. Usually, when I have something of substance to blog, I'll write it out by hand then transfer it onto the Axe.

Concentration is difficult; my thoughts repeatedly harbor on the words bed and sleep. The spirit (to blog) is willing, but the flesh is weak (and worn out). Gotta listen what's flowing through the veins and rest up. It's early, perhaps I'll take a short nap, wake up refreshed, then blog later. Uh-huh, riiiiiight!

This will be the scenario. More than likely I'll peruse a few pages from The Horse and His Boy, book three in the Chronicles of Narnia series. I'm reading light-hearted, but my next venture is go through and reread all the E. Lynn Harris novels, finish up the anthologies of Langston Hughes I was reading, then tear into the Eric Jerome Dickey books I haven't read. The last EJD book I read was Genevieve. Not his best work, but not the worse by far. My favorite Dickey novel was Milk In My Coffee. Perhaps I'll add that to the list of rereads along with Darieck Scott's Traitor To The Race, Wally Lamb's I Know This Much Is True, and Alice Walker's The Color Purple, all favorites I can read over and over again.

As an avid reader, I try reading a good book as often as I can, occasionally two or three books concurrently. My tastes are moderate, nothing too serious. I've attempted to read classical literary pieces, like War and Peace, only to stop and start and stop. After six times, I've given up. I've never finished. Perhaps I'm not learned enough, but Tolstoy seems way above me (and boring as a scoreless baseball game in the 15th inning)!

So it's off the computer, into the shower, on with my favorite comfy sweatpants & t-shirt, under the covers with the electric blanket on, and novel in hand. I'll probably fall asleep with the light on, becoming a ritual of late, and a expensive habit. My electric bill! Merde!

G'night folks! Pleasant dreams....

Prelude to future Blogging: "I definitely should reread Traitor To The Race by Darieck Scott."

The Negro Speaks of Rivers

By Langston Hughes

I've known rivers:

I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the

flow of human blood in human veins.



My soul has grown deep like the rivers.



I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.

I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.

I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln

went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy

bosom turn all golden in the sunset.



I've known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.



My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Fulfillment

by Langston Hughes

The earth-meaning
Like the sky-meaning
Was fulfilled.

We got up
And went to the river,
Touched silver water,
Laughed and bathed
In the sunshine.

Day
Became a bright ball of light
For us to play with,
Sunset
A yellow curtain,
Night
A velvet screen.

The moon,
Like an old grandmother,
Blessed us with a kiss
And sleep
Took us both in
Laughing.

Fictional Outing

So J.K. Rowling decided to out Professor Albus Dumbledore from the Harry Potter series, mhmm? While I applaud her for effort on understanding, open-mindedness, and acceptance of gays, didn't Ms. Rowling stop to think this publicity stunt missed the bus? You're a little too late Sugah! The books are finish! The time to reveal his sexuality would've been during the height of the Harry Potter popularity.

See the problem is Ms. Rowling knew that if she had portrayed the character as a gay individual before she completed the series, there would have been backlash. She'd have suffered in the wallet! She ain't stupid folks. This revelation, to me, is like plugging up the damn after its broken. I'm not all that excited about it. Its annoying if anything.

Had the author taken the risk, exposed the character for being different while the story was on-going, then, that indeed, would have been a bold statement. Showing true to the acceptance of all people, taking a risk at the backlash could hurt sales, J.K. could have been a true champion for acceptance and equality. Instead, I find all this hoopla just pandering to fans who refuse to let Harry Potter rest in peace.

I don't mean to condemn Ms. Rowling The whole thing just seems so superfluous. No one enjoyed the Harry Potter books and films more than me, however, what does J.K. expect gay people to do? Jump for joy at something that won't change perceptions? N-Please! More interestingly, I'm reminded when Marvel Comics took a risk for gay acceptance.

Back in 1992, Marvel decided to out it's character Northstar, a French Canadian mutant from Alpha Flight (Canada's version of The Avengers in the Marvel Universe and and Alpha Flight was a spinoff X-book title). If I remember correctly, Northstar had been also diagnosed HIV+ (somehow he was cured of the disease later on). Marvel took a tremendous risk. No character had ever, officially, declared their homosexuality until this point. In fact, Marvel had enforced a strict policy no character could be gay. In the early 90s public acceptance of homosexuality was taking small tentative steps out of the closet.

While society was exposed to Pedro Zamora (R.I.P I looooved Pedro. I recently reread Judd Winick's comic Pedro & Me. Thank You Judd!) from the Real World San Francisco, people's attitudes about homosexuality, HIV, AIDS, and exposure, were still pretty medieval.

Even though Northstar was only a minor character, just about everyone I knew who read the Uncanny X-Men or one of the X-title spinoff books, whether it was Wolverine, Alpha Flight, New Mutants, X-Force, Excalibur, etc, etc, etc thought it was a gutsy move on Marvel's part. The storyline for Northstar's coming out was a bit tepid, yet, the statement was well received by readers. Some people weren't phased at all. Only one person I knew was appalled, but he hated comic book, so he doesn't count fer shit, LOL.

Alpha Flight debuted in 1979 and over the years the writers implied Northstar was a homosexual. He declared in 1992's Alpha Flight issue 106 indeed that he was gay. For anyone who's gay and has read the X-title books, the whole mutant thing is an allegory for homosexuality. The hoopla stirred by the most recent X-Men movie, X3 The Last Stand, gave further proof to this notion.

Northstar has always been one of my favorite characters. I'd stopped reading the books only to restart a number of years ago, right around the time when Jean-Paul Beaubier (Northstar's true identity) joined the X-Men. Jean-Paul was still a character divided, coming to terms with his place in the world, coming to terms with himself. His unrequited love interest, Bobby Drake aka Iceman, made a good storyline. Jean-Paul did find his purpose though, when he became a teacher at Xavier's school and mentored young student who also dealing being a mutant and gay.

Sadly, I haven't kept up with the comic again, so I'm not sure what resulted in the Iceman-Northstar romance. Wolverine ultimately killed Northstar not long after Jean-Paul joined the team. I've heard, though, Jean-Paul is miraculously back from the dead (a very common event in any of the X-books. No one ever stays dead for long)!

In a different book, Ultimate X-Men , the writers did explore a romantic situation for Jean-Paul. Northstar and Piotr "Peter" (Colossus) Rasputin are in a fledgling relationship. In the series, its a different reality. Colossus in the "traditional" X-men storyline is heterosexual and in his mid 20s. Here, both he and Jean-Paul are in their teens going through the typical high school "life as per usual moments" most adolescents experience. From what I've been able to find out, the storyline is true to teenage angst, but tender at the same time. In fact, Jean-Paul asked Peter to his high school dance in recent issues. Peter accepted and everything was normal until some "I need to take over the world" villains showed up, then it was action time. Otherwise, life as normal for an adolescent, 20-something, kids just tryin' spread their wings a lil bit.

Ultimate X-Men introduces Jean-Paul to Xavier's School For The Gifted after he's been shot by Mr. Sinister. Waking up in a hospital bed, Jean-Paul is greeted by Jean Grey and Piotr (Peter). Jean points out Petey's been by Jean-Paul's bedside all night long. In a beautifully poignant scene, Jean-Paul takes one look at Peter and then asks Jean if Peter's single!

Enlarge the picture. Notice Peter's reaction! His going into his steel skin Colossus armor is pretty much the equivalent of him getting an erection! Sweetly delicious. I'm positive the writers meant to convey this meaning.

Teenage boys and their clever but unpredictable erection moments! LOL. The illustrated moment lends to innocence today's kids are lacking. Peter is a gentle and quiet artist from Russia by Professor Xavier. Piotr's homosexuality is evident through the inception of this reality series. downplayed, and never made an exaggerated issue. The writers maintained Jean-Paul's sexual orientation in this universe

Sniff Sniff Sniff. Yeah, it gets to me. Makes me wish I was so secure about myself way back when...

"Still I Rise"

I Rise!
by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

"On The Pulse Of Morning"

On The Pulse of Morning
by Maya Angelou

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow
I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance
Your mouths spilling words

Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today, you stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
It says, come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually undersiege
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,
Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.
The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today. Come to me, here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers--desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede, the German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved
I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours--your Passages have been paid
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
This day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, and into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

Dream

"Dream"
by Langston Hughes

Last night I dreamt
This most strange dream,
And everywhere I saw
What did not seem could ever be:
You were not there with me!
Awake,
I turned
And touched you
Asleep,
Face to the wall.
I said,
How dreams
Can lie!
But you were not there at all!