“… I began to learn the names of trees. I like to call things as they are. Before, the only thing I was interested in was love, how it grips you, how it terrifies you, how it annihilates and resuscitates you. I didn’t know then that it wasn’t even love that I was interested in but my own suffering. I thought suffering kept things interesting. How funny that I called it love and the whole time it was pain.”
— — Ada Limón, from “Calling Things What They Are,” The Hurting Kind
Tag: love
I love you. I want us both to eat well.
Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) dir. Céline Sciamma
The Florida Project (2017) dir. Sean Baker
The Farewell (2019) dir. Lulu Wang
Moonlight (2016) dir. Barry Jenkins
Little Women (2019) dir. Greta Gerwig
God’s Own Country (2017) dir. Francis Lee
In the Mood for Love (2000) dir. Wong Kar-wai
LOL..
Say what you will about the 90s, but it was a period of peak Blackness on network television in America. I loved Living Single.
Will there ever be a scene on network television showing Black people in bed with proudly Black hairstyles under a blanket that looks like kente cloth? I very much doubt it. If you look carefully at the 1st gif, Kyle is even wearing a cowry ring. I notice the little things…lol
This type of representation coupled with this kind of imagery doesn’t really exist anymore on network television, even on the much touted Shondaland. Sexuality between Black people is virtually a no go area. It seems hard to imagine these days, but it wasn’t always like this, even in fairly recent times.
We saw depictions of healthy Black love and sexuality regularly. From the working class relationship of Roc and Eleanor to the upper crust Uncle Phil and Aunt Viv, there was a wide range of depictions. It wasn’t perfect (all were straight couples), but nuanced Blackness was visible and prominent. Things like this were par for the course. It was just regular television for us at the time. Who knew that in under 2 decades, we would be opining about how things were in the 90s with respect to the number of sitcoms built around Black actors and centered on the lives of Black people? But this is where we are now.
If I saw what is depicted on the Living Single gifset above on network television in 2015, I would assume that the writers were trying to be subversive. That’s how far we have tumbled when it comes to Black visages on network television. Seeing yourself and people who look like you seems triumphant, but it shouldn’t feel like a victory. It should be the norm. At least in an ideal world. Seeing Black people in bed is something you seldom see, even if they are hilariously mortified at the idea that they had sex with each other. We laughed along at them being mortified, but we deep down wanted them to be together. We wanted Kyle and Max to be together all along. Between laughing at the awkwardness of that scene in the gif, we wanted it to happen. We wanted them to be a thing.
Beyond the dearth of Black romance in network television, the same applies for the movies. Think about the top Hollywood Black male talent like Samuel Jackson, Denzel Washington, Will Smith etc. Think about their female romantic partners or leads in recent years. Now, how many of them have been dark skinned Black women? How many of them are depicted as living, laughing and loving? Nothing extravagant here, I mean just normal, healthy, happy relationships. Fully fleshed out humanity and healthy personal interaction is what I’m getting at. What about sexuality? How is that depicted?
Here’s the reality; there will be no post-coital scenes of Black people. There will be no warm embrace, breakfast in bed or a loving morning stare between Black partners. At least, not in a Hollywood production. Good ol’ liberal Hollywood, the bastion of progressiveness we are taught to believe. Ha!
The last movie I saw with love scenes of note depicting Black skin was with Danai Gurira and Isaach de Bankolé in Mother of George by Andrew Dosunmu. It was refreshing to see Blackness superbly shot and depicted as I know it. As we all know it. Living, laughing and loving, even if momentarily. You won’t see that in a Hollywood production in 2015.
Coming back full circle, it makes me appreciate 90s sitcoms like Living Single and Roc even more. Black people living, laughing and loving. Imagine that.
Say that!
LOL..
Say what you will about the 90s, but it was a period of peak Blackness on network television in America. I loved Living Single.
Will there ever be a scene on network television showing Black people in bed with proudly Black hairstyles under a blanket that looks like kente cloth? I very much doubt it. If you look carefully at the 1st gif, Kyle is even wearing a cowry ring. I notice the little things…lol
This type of representation coupled with this kind of imagery doesn’t really exist anymore on network television, even on the much touted Shondaland. Sexuality between Black people is virtually a no go area. It seems hard to imagine these days, but it wasn’t always like this, even in fairly recent times.
We saw depictions of healthy Black love and sexuality regularly. From the working class relationship of Roc and Eleanor to the upper crust Uncle Phil and Aunt Viv, there was a wide range of depictions. It wasn’t perfect (all were straight couples), but nuanced Blackness was visible and prominent. Things like this were par for the course. It was just regular television for us at the time. Who knew that in under 2 decades, we would be opining about how things were in the 90s with respect to the number of sitcoms built around Black actors and centered on the lives of Black people? But this is where we are now.
If I saw what is depicted on the Living Single gifset above on network television in 2015, I would assume that the writers were trying to be subversive. That’s how far we have tumbled when it comes to Black visages on network television. Seeing yourself and people who look like you seems triumphant, but it shouldn’t feel like a victory. It should be the norm. At least in an ideal world. Seeing Black people in bed is something you seldom see, even if they are hilariously mortified at the idea that they had sex with each other. We laughed along at them being mortified, but we deep down wanted them to be together. We wanted Kyle and Max to be together all along. Between laughing at the awkwardness of that scene in the gif, we wanted it to happen. We wanted them to be a thing.
Beyond the dearth of Black romance in network television, the same applies for the movies. Think about the top Hollywood Black male talent like Samuel Jackson, Denzel Washington, Will Smith etc. Think about their female romantic partners or leads in recent years. Now, how many of them have been dark skinned Black women? How many of them are depicted as living, laughing and loving? Nothing extravagant here, I mean just normal, healthy, happy relationships. Fully fleshed out humanity and healthy personal interaction is what I’m getting at. What about sexuality? How is that depicted?
Here’s the reality; there will be no post-coital scenes of Black people. There will be no warm embrace, breakfast in bed or a loving morning stare between Black partners. At least, not in a Hollywood production. Good ol’ liberal Hollywood, the bastion of progressiveness we are taught to believe. Ha!
The last movie I saw with love scenes of note depicting Black skin was with Danai Gurira and Isaach de Bankolé in Mother of George by Andrew Dosunmu. It was refreshing to see Blackness superbly shot and depicted as I know it. As we all know it. Living, laughing and loving, even if momentarily. You won’t see that in a Hollywood production in 2015.
Coming back full circle, it makes me appreciate 90s sitcoms like Living Single and Roc even more. Black people living, laughing and loving. Imagine that.
Say that!
how to love
Many wonder if men even know how to love. We’re generally raised to be hounds, you see. Always on the hunt. Either claiming someone or envious of those who do the claiming. But wondering about men in general is a mistake. Instead of asking about all those many men in the world, consider the one, whichever. Choose a man you know. Ask: “How does this man love? Is it a love I understand?” The beauty and tragedy of it is you won’t know, you can’t, until you know him. The process of knowing is the key to understanding his particular kind of love and making the choice to return it.
how to love
Many wonder if men even know how to love. We’re generally raised to be hounds, you see. Always on the hunt. Either claiming someone or envious of those who do the claiming. But wondering about men in general is a mistake. Instead of asking about all those many men in the world, consider the one, whichever. Choose a man you know. Ask: “How does this man love? Is it a love I understand?” The beauty and tragedy of it is you won’t know, you can’t, until you know him. The process of knowing is the key to understanding his particular kind of love and making the choice to return it.
never desired
I never desired anyone who knew nothing of heartache. I don’t understand the correlation between desire and emotional experience, but I begin to think that perhaps I need someone who is aware of the pitfalls, even if they are forgotten in the initial grasp and share.
The tips of the iron bars of this headboard look like putrified penis heads, or perhaps my own after a dive in a mud bath. The bars themselves have the appropriate ridges and lines, and now I will see nothing but cocks when I look at it. Men are preoccupied with their cocks and how they can be used, do not believe otherwise.
When I lie down and think about the past, as sensors will do, it is usually a preoccupation with the present. I desire a woman, how did I desire in the past? What decisions led to the pitfalls? Sometimes, I feel an earthquake, and my body flies toward the headboard at a hundred miles an hour several times over the course of about five seconds. I lay as still as possible and feel the breeze from the open window to the west blow past the hairs on my shoulders and upper back, and then the earthquake is over. It is impossible be certain of everything that will happen, and in some moments the certainty of everything that is going to happen comes crashing down.
Last week, at dinner, they asked me about the girls in high school. Topics of conversation, you know how it is.
“High school?”
“Yea,” with a buzzy laugh.
“That’s been over ten years ago. Um, it’s been. It’s been over ten years. They were all wannabe cholas.”
“A what?”
“It’s been too long. I just know the one girl I loved bit my shirt and growled like a puppy. I fell in love too quickly.”
“Aw! What else?”
“Nothing else.” She had a beautiful daughter. “Stop living in the past,” jokingly. I got drunk and came home.
never desired
I never desired anyone who knew nothing of heartache. I don’t understand the correlation between desire and emotional experience, but I begin to think that perhaps I need someone who is aware of the pitfalls, even if they are forgotten in the initial grasp and share.
The tips of the iron bars of this headboard look like putrified penis heads, or perhaps my own after a dive in a mud bath. The bars themselves have the appropriate ridges and lines, and now I will see nothing but cocks when I look at it. Men are preoccupied with their cocks and how they can be used, do not believe otherwise.
When I lie down and think about the past, as sensors will do, it is usually a preoccupation with the present. I desire a woman, how did I desire in the past? What decisions led to the pitfalls? Sometimes, I feel an earthquake, and my body flies toward the headboard at a hundred miles an hour several times over the course of about five seconds. I lay as still as possible and feel the breeze from the open window to the west blow past the hairs on my shoulders and upper back, and then the earthquake is over. It is impossible be certain of everything that will happen, and in some moments the certainty of everything that is going to happen comes crashing down.
Last week, at dinner, they asked me about the girls in high school. Topics of conversation, you know how it is.
“High school?”
“Yea,” with a buzzy laugh.
“That’s been over ten years ago. Um, it’s been. It’s been over ten years. They were all wannabe cholas.”
“A what?”
“It’s been too long. I just know the one girl I loved bit my shirt and growled like a puppy. I fell in love too quickly.”
“Aw! What else?”
“Nothing else.” She had a beautiful daughter. “Stop living in the past,” jokingly. I got drunk and came home.
the matter of when
Who’s your love been through, I used to wonder. What’s been tearing you up and making you cry. Not being a mind reader, I wondered, why. Now it’s past what’s past and into now. Both with pasts, plenty of them. Never mind how. I want to be the one to look inside. No question.
the matter of when
Who’s your love been through, I used to wonder. What’s been tearing you up and making you cry. Not being a mind reader, I wondered, why. Now it’s past what’s past and into now. Both with pasts, plenty of them. Never mind how. I want to be the one to look inside. No question.