Yeah, Yeah. I know...
Ok so yes I haven't been posting. I have been traveling the world. Trying to find myself and help those I encounter in the process. Below is the transcript from a recent reading from Willing Warrior. Brad is expanding his horizons and trying his hardest to encompass the world. I have been blessed to be a part of that. Thank you Brad, and those of you who are beginging to realize we need to fight. Joshua
Part one:
September 27th, 10:38 pm. Brooklyn. Black Chevy Impala. I tell Guillemo to look at the license plate. Yes, this is the real time and date. I will never forget that date. The scar under my chin, or the one on my cheek will not let me forget. I have been on the street thirteen days. I try every few hours to call my mom to get me home. Home that is non existent cause frankly she doesn’t want me there. Twenty five bucks for head. Seventy five for more. I have 250 saved up, which isn’t bad since I eat like a pig. He seems normal. Cute, blonde hair, chocolate brown eyes. The wedding band on his finger threw me for a loop, but shit, I’m eighteen. And new to the game. He takes me to Eldert. Not so good. Little sketchy, near a beer distribution plant but good lighting. Something bugs me. Not the sketchy area, not the car, but how cute and young he is. I ask him what he wants, still not sure of the trick/whore etiquette yet. Everything. All right! Closer to my goal to get off these shit filled, scary ass streets. Despite my position, I am still acting like an elitist snob. I am too good for this. I am too cute for this. He is sensual at first. Sensing my apprehension he goes into machismo control. Not to bad at first, but a little grabby. Not my cup of tea, being the hopeless romantic that I am. Maybe, I’ve seen Pretty Woman too many times but of course in my position who doesn’t want the wealthy hottie to take me away from this? He bites. Hard. Not my cup of tea. But, I stay. Again with the biting. Are you kidding me with this. What kind of foreplay is this? Now I am apprehensive and say...”You need to calm down!” That was the wrong thing to say. The knife is not what I expected. I was expecting that whole Crocodile Dundee butch mammoth knife to come out. HA! I was actually shocked at the travesty of it. A fucking serrated kitchen knife. You know the one that does a bad job cutting a bad cut of steak? I’ll be damned if it didn’t leave a mark though. Its amazing how much blood comes out of a wound above the neck. It is amazing how much pain something no more than the length of a calculator can cause INSIDE you. Its amazing how much pain being pushed out of a Chevy Impala with a work book causes to your spirit.
Three little letters. HIV. Six months of wondering if the man that raped me so hard that I required 7 stitches “down there” gave me those three little letters. A death warrant. When the final word came that I was free and clear the emotions that overwhelmed me was surprising. I wanted to die. I did not deserve what my mother did to me. I did not want to face the world with the complete and utter lack of knowledge of how humans could take such and ugly turn. The easy turn. It was easy to rape me, because by his standards I was gutter trash. He didn’t need to know that I actually used to live on the top floor of a luxury home, or that my intelligence got me accepted partial scholarship into Yale. He took all that away and took my doubt of a higher being, or a belief in myself.
Flash forward to 2006. I have fallen for a boy. Man, really. He makes me laugh. He is scared to hear about my past because he sees me as this god that can defeat the world. His friends are in awe of my advice. Nothing compared to living on the street. Everyone has given me the nickname Prophet. Ironic since I can’t tell the future, but I can spot an evil person 100 yards away. I have managed to stay HIV negative despite the coke habit, and the GHB overdoses. Negative despite the times I have tried to die by someone else's hands. I have fallen for a wonderful boy who makes me happy. A boy that told me 3 weeks ago to the day that he is HIV positive. Are you kidding me? Did I get a defective deck of cards? What is more surprising is that the second he told me, I ran out and got my test. Anonymously, so not to be put on a list. And here I am 15 days (business days) still waiting. It seems that where I live HIV is not a big concern. I live in a city that men that are HIV come to die. My results are lost in the mail. POOF, gone. And all I want to know is if the person I have fallen for supposed to be the one I am with for life. What if I am negative? What does that mean to us? What if I am positive, what does that mean to me? My life will change...again! Why do I keep getting these challenges damn it?? I have a good heart and I care for everyone. Why do these people keep telling me “Call us tomorrow” Is it normal for me to question my existence? Why am I so scared that I might be positive due to some asshole that raped me, or cheated on me, or the fact I have not been 100% safe 100% of the time. Why am I so ashamed that my country feels it is more PROFITABLE to treat the disease than to cure it, despite every 15 minutes someone, man or woman is infected. America hs 1.2 million people infected with the disease, Africa almost 3 million. That number includes CHILDREN. Why does my President feel that cutting the funding for education and prevention is going to benefit anyone? Why have I been so lucky up until this point, despite my previous death wish. Do you care? Do you fight for this travesty, this pandemic? There is a beautiful word in the English dictionary that encompasses so many issues. The word is ROAR. Why, God damn it aren’t enough of you out there using this beautiful word for our cause. ROAR damn it! Roar.
Part one:
September 27th, 10:38 pm. Brooklyn. Black Chevy Impala. I tell Guillemo to look at the license plate. Yes, this is the real time and date. I will never forget that date. The scar under my chin, or the one on my cheek will not let me forget. I have been on the street thirteen days. I try every few hours to call my mom to get me home. Home that is non existent cause frankly she doesn’t want me there. Twenty five bucks for head. Seventy five for more. I have 250 saved up, which isn’t bad since I eat like a pig. He seems normal. Cute, blonde hair, chocolate brown eyes. The wedding band on his finger threw me for a loop, but shit, I’m eighteen. And new to the game. He takes me to Eldert. Not so good. Little sketchy, near a beer distribution plant but good lighting. Something bugs me. Not the sketchy area, not the car, but how cute and young he is. I ask him what he wants, still not sure of the trick/whore etiquette yet. Everything. All right! Closer to my goal to get off these shit filled, scary ass streets. Despite my position, I am still acting like an elitist snob. I am too good for this. I am too cute for this. He is sensual at first. Sensing my apprehension he goes into machismo control. Not to bad at first, but a little grabby. Not my cup of tea, being the hopeless romantic that I am. Maybe, I’ve seen Pretty Woman too many times but of course in my position who doesn’t want the wealthy hottie to take me away from this? He bites. Hard. Not my cup of tea. But, I stay. Again with the biting. Are you kidding me with this. What kind of foreplay is this? Now I am apprehensive and say...”You need to calm down!” That was the wrong thing to say. The knife is not what I expected. I was expecting that whole Crocodile Dundee butch mammoth knife to come out. HA! I was actually shocked at the travesty of it. A fucking serrated kitchen knife. You know the one that does a bad job cutting a bad cut of steak? I’ll be damned if it didn’t leave a mark though. Its amazing how much blood comes out of a wound above the neck. It is amazing how much pain something no more than the length of a calculator can cause INSIDE you. Its amazing how much pain being pushed out of a Chevy Impala with a work book causes to your spirit.
Three little letters. HIV. Six months of wondering if the man that raped me so hard that I required 7 stitches “down there” gave me those three little letters. A death warrant. When the final word came that I was free and clear the emotions that overwhelmed me was surprising. I wanted to die. I did not deserve what my mother did to me. I did not want to face the world with the complete and utter lack of knowledge of how humans could take such and ugly turn. The easy turn. It was easy to rape me, because by his standards I was gutter trash. He didn’t need to know that I actually used to live on the top floor of a luxury home, or that my intelligence got me accepted partial scholarship into Yale. He took all that away and took my doubt of a higher being, or a belief in myself.
Flash forward to 2006. I have fallen for a boy. Man, really. He makes me laugh. He is scared to hear about my past because he sees me as this god that can defeat the world. His friends are in awe of my advice. Nothing compared to living on the street. Everyone has given me the nickname Prophet. Ironic since I can’t tell the future, but I can spot an evil person 100 yards away. I have managed to stay HIV negative despite the coke habit, and the GHB overdoses. Negative despite the times I have tried to die by someone else's hands. I have fallen for a wonderful boy who makes me happy. A boy that told me 3 weeks ago to the day that he is HIV positive. Are you kidding me? Did I get a defective deck of cards? What is more surprising is that the second he told me, I ran out and got my test. Anonymously, so not to be put on a list. And here I am 15 days (business days) still waiting. It seems that where I live HIV is not a big concern. I live in a city that men that are HIV come to die. My results are lost in the mail. POOF, gone. And all I want to know is if the person I have fallen for supposed to be the one I am with for life. What if I am negative? What does that mean to us? What if I am positive, what does that mean to me? My life will change...again! Why do I keep getting these challenges damn it?? I have a good heart and I care for everyone. Why do these people keep telling me “Call us tomorrow” Is it normal for me to question my existence? Why am I so scared that I might be positive due to some asshole that raped me, or cheated on me, or the fact I have not been 100% safe 100% of the time. Why am I so ashamed that my country feels it is more PROFITABLE to treat the disease than to cure it, despite every 15 minutes someone, man or woman is infected. America hs 1.2 million people infected with the disease, Africa almost 3 million. That number includes CHILDREN. Why does my President feel that cutting the funding for education and prevention is going to benefit anyone? Why have I been so lucky up until this point, despite my previous death wish. Do you care? Do you fight for this travesty, this pandemic? There is a beautiful word in the English dictionary that encompasses so many issues. The word is ROAR. Why, God damn it aren’t enough of you out there using this beautiful word for our cause. ROAR damn it! Roar.
posted by Joshua-Myles at 9:08 PM
1 Comments:
I LOVE YOU JOSHUA!!!!
I know I just met you- but I think we will be friends for a long time. I see this happening.
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